TEST DRIVE MEME!

[faderifting]

TEST DRIVE: ORLAIS EDITION

I. EVERYBEAR I GO

Believe it or not, there are bears in Orlais, too. Stuffed ones posed in noble salons casting intimidating shadows as lords tell unlikely stories about how they bravely stared the great beast in the eye before they slayed it with a single shot. One comtesse keeps bears as pets in large pens on her estate, much to the distress of her nearest neighbors. But most common are the dancing bear acts found on street corners here and there. Perhaps there is some sort of special bear communication network that has passed on a message, because it seems like the presence of the Inquisition has inspired these bears to finally make a break for it out of servitude, and that is how you find yourself being chased by a bear in a belled hat down a narrow cobbled alley lined with street vendors.

II. OUI OUI MON AMI

The Inquisition's efforts are currently focused on Orlais, where a civil war is raging and intelligence indicates Corypheus seeks to eliminate Empress Celene, while the oppressed elven population's discontent threatens to bubble over into a second rebellion. The Inquisition's activities here are mostly political and designed to gather influence and information: endeavoring to make a good impression at the ball of an influential comtesse with ties to the Council of Heralds, or assisting with the reconstruction of the alienage district destroyed by fire. There are rowdy soldiers in taverns to eavesdrop on, and restless crowds listening to streetcorner speakers preach Celene's virtues, or Gaspard's, or lament the end of the world.

But honestly, who cares about any of that? Halamshiral also offers great high-end shopping. Priorities. Gowns, tunics, fur-trimmed cloaks, sleeves slashed and puffed with layers of bright-colored satin. Tall boots with gold spurs to clink as you walk. Veils, lace-trimmed smallclothes, perfumes, necklaces worth your weight in gold. If you have the coin, the shopkeeps have time for you. The slightest whiff of poverty will leave them cold toward you. They might even pretend not to see you, but hey: they work on commission.

Even among decadence and finery, there are signs of unrest. In an out-of-the-way village square, little Orlesian children gather to throw thick gold coins in a gilt fountain, with whispered wishes and giggles. All at once, a thief pushes his way into their circle, breaking the idyllic scene. He leaps into the fountain and grabs a handful of coin. Thin, dirty, ragged, hollow-eyed and, under the hood of his cloak, elven, he scans the now-screaming children -- and then takes off running.

“Stop him!” howls one precious Orlesian cherub, her rosy cheeks streaked with tears. “That dirty knife-ear took my money!”

Kids are just the cutest.

III. SKYHOLD

Skyhold is where people who don't like fun accents and life being a constant masquerade hang around repairing walls, filling out paperwork, and, on rare occasions, engaging in elaborate, color-coded team snowball fights.

That last occasion? Totally over. Now the Inquisition will see you work, work, work, work, work. Working to save Thedas is not all fun and games, and there are plenty of things to keep you busy in Skyhold. See that roof over there? It has a hole in it. Climb up, someone suggests, and fix it. See that hole over there, in the wall? Some drunk from the tavern fell through it yesterday, and it needs repairs. See that floor over there? It’s dirty. And here’s a mop.

If these tasks seem too menial and demeaning, perhaps you’d like to head up to the library and reshelve some books. Perhaps you’d like to meet a special friend there? The stacks are warm and cozy, and at least a little out of the way. Secret spaces are at a premium. But be careful: you aren’t the only one in Skyhold, no matter how many people shipped out to Orlais.

If warm ovens are more your style than warm books, try the kitchens. They could always use a helping hand - especially because one of the baby griffons has made its way down there. A sharp-beaked competition for your plans to pilfer snacks, but you’ll prevail, right? The griffon loves chicken, and the taste of your blood. Get her outside before she gets too comfortable.

Or just feed the dogs, you dirty Fereldan.

IV. WILDCARD

Thedas is a big place. Do something else in it. Maybe in the Hinterlands.

Comments

/thumbs up

[gatheringstorm]

There's an amused snort at that, and there's a slight delay in response as she takes another sip. "Isn't that the truth. Many here have tried to keep up before, but I can tell you now that those who have been able to keep up are very few in number. Avvar come closest; they're fucking huge, for humans."

There's a sad smile at mention of the Avvar, something she'd rather not explain so she moves on. "Eh, I wouldn't call mercenary life 'fancy', not by any stretch. Most of it's long, boring doubts of travel and then battle at the end of it. Well. Sometimes there isn't any actual fighting, but that's rare."

[chicaneries]

Dylan notices, of course - he wouldn't be who he is if he couldn't pick up things like that. But he knows better than to pry; he has no reason to, and its not like knowing the story would benefit him in anyway. So he lets it go and moves the conversation along.

"It's far more exotic than what my previous job had to offer." Not that all the petty Orelsian drama was bad back when he was there, but they did get pretty predictable and repetitive after a while. Even more so, what with the civil unrest going on. It was either all Celene or Gaspard and frankly just hearing the names now was enough to get on his nerves sometimes. "I've always been a fan of travel, though I could never do it as much until serving the Inquisition."

[gatheringstorm]

"That's pretty much all I've done, so I've been everywhere except Tevinter, Seheron and Par Vollen. Not much point going to the places that would kill or enslave me on sight." Korrin shrugs, not having any real desire to see the center of blood magic and slavery anyway, or the constant battleground that is Seheron. The stories her parents told were harrowing enough. "Though if I had to pin down a nationality due to time spent in one spot, I'd be a Free Marcher. Decent brews, a lot of variety and the Grand Tourney right there. What's not to like?"

[chicaneries]

A small nod. He can easily understand her reluctance, since those were places he avoided as well. Tevinter wasn't the most welcoming of places while Seheron and Par Vollen was--well. The less talked about those places, the better.

"It's a great place to be whenever I'm around the area." The Grand Tourney brings a few fond memories as well for Dylan, though none of them were probably what most people would assume it to be about. "Though admittedly despite all of its flaws, I'm still partial to the place I was born in." Even his years in Orlais couldn't quite change that - nor did he want it to.