allthisshitisweird | TEST DRIVE MEME!

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Pam started anyway, eyes wide and the light at her fingertips blinking out in a breath. For the briefest moment she looked as though she may bolt, instead of answering, but instead she swallows, looking down at the book in her hands.

"The names are...harder." Her accent is a strange mix of Rivaini and Ferelden, but there's no doubting the alienage in the way she clips her vowels. "I'm supposed to be shelving them," she admits.

Raylan gave her a bit of a smile. "I'm sure no one's gonna mind," he said, coming forward and taking the chair opposite with an easy, loose sense to his movements.

"Why don't you show me what's givin' you trouble?" he asked, moving his chair over so he could see the book. The chantry theoretically taught everyone to read, but a lot of children came to the Circle with only the barest ability to identify letters, so Raylan had had to give a remedial lesson to more than one. This wasn't that different.

With a nod, Pam moved the book closer towards the chair the man was sitting in and tried not to hunch. The book is old, yellowed and smelling of time and paper; the herbs listed are rare, even here, but she makes a decent attempt at sounding out one of them.

Then, with a frustrated sigh. "You must think I'm rather dim."

Raylan listened, ready to correct if she made any serious mistakes, but she was doing a pretty good job. He shrugged at her words.

"The fact that you're interested makes you seem pretty bright, actually," he countered. "Ain't your fault if you've had a shitty teacher along the way. Sometimes you can substitute dogwood for that," he said, nodding to the word she'd just worked out. He wasn't the type to waste time on self-deprecation. He preferred to get shit done.

"Can't help but be interested." Pam admitted. "Can't learn if you don't try." Which was not the entire story, not by many longshots, but still.

She sighed and rubbed at her face, smearing dirt and makeup alike before peering at Raylan with some suspicion. "Who are you?" Since you're such a helpful person, ser.

"Name's Raylan Gibbs," he said, offering her a hand to shake. "Pleased to meet ya. I'm on the mage council and I do teaching and research." He didn't seem bothered by the dirt on her face, or her ears or anything else. He figured she knew what state she was comfortable in and was perfectly capable of changing it on her own.

Pam seemed only half-aware of smearing around her eyes until she extended her own hand to Raylan's; internally she sighed a little, her shoulders dropping before she rolls them back up. Her handshake is firm but she pulls her hands away quickly. "I work in the dirt and with a lot of potions, I should really wash up."

To that extent she closes the book but doesn't make any other indication of wanting to move. "What does the mage council do? Do you have a botanical researcher?"

"Uhhh..." Raylan thought about it for a minute. "You know, I really oughta know the answer to that. I'm not sure, but I don't believe we do, no. I can put this back, if you wanna go and do that," he said, putting a hand on the book but not trying to pull it away. "If you'd like, we can meet up a little later, keep workin'." It would mostly be Raylan letting her sound things out and correcting any mistakes she made, but that would help her learn faster than just letting her struggle on her own.

Well. If they had a researcher, perhaps she could apprentice...if not, perhaps she should take Raylan up on his offer, because while she could copy things just fine reading them wasn't her strong suit. No one at Dairsmuid realized she had any trouble because she kept them all at arm's length.

Then they'd died and here she was. Alone and surrounded by strangers, just as she'd started to miss the last set of strangers she'd found herself surrounded by. "Alright," she said, and then gave him a nod.

"Pamelia."

Raylan nodded to her, then gave her a smile. "Good to meet you. Meet you back here in two hours?" he suggested.

"Two hours," she repeated, nodding. That would give her time to...what? Be more presentable? Calm herself, at least, unless she wanted to be an agitated mess the entire evening.

Unfolding herself from the chair she climbed past him, making her way to the stairs, taking them down two at a time.

It's enough time for her to have washed up, changed clothes, and done something about the dark rings of eyeliner from rubbing at them. Also eaten, once she'd thought of it, and now it's dark.

Well. At least the library is well-lit.

TEST DRIVE MEME!

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