TEST DRIVE MEME!

[faderifting]

Surprise, Beartch

Bet You Thought Etc.

Maybe the Inquisition sent you, maybe you came seeking the Inquisition. Maybe you fell out of a rift into this world last week and are still just trying to find your feet. However it happened, early fall finds you in the Hinterlands. Tucked between Ferelden's massive Lake Calenhad and the icy Frostback Mountains, the Hinterlands are a hilly region covered in patchy forests and small farms trying to eke out a living between the boulders. Though somewhat remote, the area is rich with game and minerals and home to Redcliffe, a bustling town on a busy trade route.

The Inquisition has set up several camps and sent personnel to try to restore order to the region, unwilling to let it slip into chaos. There's a lot to be done, some of it straightforward killing bad things, some of it weird and nebulous morale-building.

I. DRAGONS

There is a dragon in the Hinterlands. Everyone knows this. It's difficult not to notice when a dragon flies overhead with a mouth full of screaming sheep (alas, the poor dead sheep) or scorches your fishing boat and makes you swim for it (alas, the poor soaked fishermen). But she's only rarely sighted, and her lair is as of yet unknown, if "yet" is defined as "the moment before this exact moment, right now." Because you've found her. She is, at this very moment, screeching so loud it rattles the cliff sides that are trapping you in her territory and raining fire down over the only clear path of escape. She and her two dozen children don't care if you only wanted some elfroot and spindleweed. They also don't care if you have a sword. You look way more delicious and less woolly than a sheep.

II. CROSSROADS

In the year since the Inquisition's formation, the Crossroads have changed. Most of the refugees from the Mage/Templar War have moved on--if not back home, to new places--and there's been some progress rebuilding the homes and fortresses ruined by the war. Very few people are still living in caves. But rather than quieting down, the Crossroads have begun to bustle. Between the Inquisition's locally stationed forces and the increasing number of travelers and merchants now that the roads are safer, there's enough business to support a tavern with a few rooms for rent, and the Crossroads are becoming a trading post in their own right rather than a dot of houses on the path to Redcliffe--a great place to stop for a drink, to buy basic weaponry, or to unload all of the bear skins you've collected.

III. BEARS

You have turned the wrong corner, forded the wrong stream, crested the wrong hill, entered the wrong cave. Maybe you are far from camp. Maybe you are in camp. Whatever has happened, wherever you are: you are being chased by bears. Did you provoke the bears? Are they huge? Babies? Fade-touched? Mage-controlled? What are they chasing you away from? What are they chasing you into? What do you plan to make out of their hide if you kill them? What do you think they'll craft out of your hide if they kill you?

IV. CRYSTALS

Members and trusted agents of the Inquisition are given access to one of the Inquisition's stores of ancient, mysterious sending crystals, allowing them to communicate instantaneously by voice. It's magic. And a magical excuse to ask everyone what their favorite constellation is in the middle of the night.

Or to call for help because you've been treed by bears.

Either way.

V. MISCELLANEOUS

Choose your own adventure! Hunt game, kill demons, gather herbs, track bandits, haggle over the price of armor, fall off a deceptively tall rock, get lost circling the same hill ten times trying to find a way up to the weird glowing skull on a stick you can see is up there, climb trees or abandoned towers, rummage around in empty homes, run from a dragon, cry over how cute that fennec fox you just shot was, set up camp and chat around the fire, knock yourself out (figuratively, or even literally if that's more your speed)-- the Hinterlands are your Frostback Mountain oyster.

Comments

Timothy Gutterson | Justified (Ex-Templar AU)

[dontmiss]

I./IV.

Oh. Huh. So this is where the dragon's hiding.

Well, not exactly hiding. He's doing the hiding right now, wedged into a cave halfway up the cliff side and out of reach of the nasty little baby dragons that seem intent on eating his ankles and then the rest of him.

He manages to squirm until he can reach his sending crystal, which he holds up in front of him. In anyone else, this would probably be urgent, but since nothing's actually biting him right now, he sounds like his normal bored self.

"Hey, if anyone was wondering where that dragon in the Hinterlands lived? I found her. And a bunch of her kids."

crystal

[apostafuckyou]

Andraste's tits, Tim.

[Raylan decided to just swing through to see if there's anything salvageable in the few places he knows other Circle mages went after the rebellion. Saving Tim from a dragon was not supposed to be on the menu. As if Tim hasn't saved his ass plenty of times.]

Where the fuck are you?

Issaqundaar | Dragon Age OC | Native

[thesteelwolf]

I - Dragon Baiting

[ Not how she'd have liked to face a dragon- a little more assistance and more ammo would be preferable but she has enough to start, her bayonet for the dragonlings, grenades enough and a distinct lack of fear of death. This is a Dragon. Ataashi. Glorious and chaotic and raw power- it is high time she's able to compare some of her more specialized shells against something as legendary as dragon hide. Despite the sudden wave of the young hurtling at her Issa practically smiles, humming under her breath as she loads up a shell bound in red wax paper. ] This-

[ To whoever's trapped with her, the poor bastards. ] Will be loud. You'll want to plug your ears.


III - Bear Baiting

[ Bears- she's tested against their hide plenty, now it is a question of rate of reload and firing. Three sprint to where she's stopped, waiting until they pass a white chalk mark she'd scratched into a tree on her way past. Then? She squeezes the trigger of what looks like a ships cannon- but lighter, the barrel longer, a crack of thunder and shrapnel whipping through the air to cut down the first. The back end snaps down as she loads up a second charge and swings back up with a clang. The lock slides into place and she pulls the trigger for the second bear.

Nm. Could be quicker. ]


IV - Troll Baiting

So. [ Low, rumbling, accompanied by the ringing tap of a hammer against steel. Conversation while working, how is that for being social? ] What is most frightening? Lightening, ice, fire, or metal? And which mages have the most skill in the first three?

4

[apostafuckyou]

I'm voting for fire or lightning. Depends on what exactly is meant by most frightening. Fire freaks people out pretty bad, but lightning hurts more when it hits.

frodo baggins ( tolkien ) rifter

[famousest]

( dragons: actually the worst )
[ while frodo knows a fair amount about a dragon--that being smaug--he had never expected to see one in person. they are, after all, (as everyone knows) terrible beasts, wicked and cruel and servants of various dark lords. except these ones, apparently, which are rather just like very large, very ill-tempered, very fire-breathing flying housecats. to his estimation, anyway.

frodo is not, in fact, actually facing said dragon. that would be foolish. he's a hobbit, after all, not a great warrior. and while the ring is neither as loud nor as heavy on both body and soul, it's still a burden-- one which he must take care with, even here. atop that, he's still far too thin and ill-looking, though he's begun to regain some of his colour after several days of care and regular meals and sleep.

instead, then, he's helping to clean up after the dragon's latest tantrum. the fire is out at last on the building she'd scorched in a fit of temper, and a few members of the inquisition have been tasked to help the owner recover their possessions and repair the damage. frodo is, therefore, mostly running back and forth carrying things for larger and more able-bodied persons. he's starting to look a little worn out, though. maybe give him a hand? (just kindly don't call him a dwarf, thank you, they're lovely folks but not his people.) ]


( crossroads )
[ that little not-a-dwarf (hey, doesn't he remind you of a certain small gardener??) has wandered to the bridge leading to redcliffe farm, in part to avoid the worst of the foot-traffic around the crossroads, and in part because after his time in the black lands, he can't get enough of grass and running water and flowers and trees.

he's settled at the edge of the rebuilt bridge, legs dangling and crossed at the ankles, and he's toying idly with what looks like a plain gold ring on a chain hanging from his neck. when he hears the first footsteps on the bridge, he hastily drops it back into his shirt and glances up. for a moment or two, he seems a little stricken, blue eyes almost feverish-- but then the look fades, and he offers a small, slightly hesitant smile. ]

.. I think down the stream one might do a little fishing. Do you suppose?


[ ooc; if neither of these work, i can certainly work up another prompt! (or you can prompt me.) ]

yells

[harthad_uluithiad]

[ Sam squints, peering down the creek. It's been a long, tiring day, and like Frodo he's spent much of it dashing back and forth, running various errands and carrying messages for bigger and more important folk than he.

Speaking of more important folk, and of being run off his feet, he is, in fact, so exhausted that the full significance of the figure sitting at his feet doesn't hit him right away. He frowns, still studying the stream. ]

It might at that, and if we've any luck at all we might even catch something. That is assuming we can find bait.

[ He glances down at the new recruit to evaluate his likely fishing skill, stares for a moment, and then does a double-take, nearly falling off the bridge in his shock. ]

Mr. Frodo?

Cremissius "Krem" Aclassi | Dragon Age: Inquisition

[aclassi_guy]

II. Ah, the joys of Capitalism

"I'm not paying a whole soveriegn for that much, I've got a whole company to feed! And I've seen some bandits, but this is highway robbery."

Krem's been arguing with this merchant about the price of flour for what seems to him to have been an eternity. A long one. He's got a headache and he's wishing he had a few other options for who to deal with.

"Come on, this is for the Inquisition," Once more, into the breach, as they say, even if he'd much rather be fighting rift-dropped demons than this stubborn, meal-mouthed, moneygrubbing merchant, "You can't just raise prices because we're not regular Army."

"See if I can't, then."

He really is going to strangle someone, if someone doesn't intervene.



III/IV. It's not like scouting is his regular job, after all. And this isn't scouting-- he's not stupid. At least, that's what Krem tells himself, he's not stupid, this wasn't scouting, and that's not a bear. Technically, it's two bears. Well, three. The problem isn't the bears.

The problem, is that Krem has somehow stood himself between the bears. Specifically, between the two adorable fuzzy small bears, and the very large, angry-looking, mother bear.

Krem considers his options, and bolts left, pursued by a bear, and flinging curses in every direction as he goes.

He's hoping to lose the beast in a thick copse of young trees, but she barrels right through them as if they weren't there, leaving splinters and leaves in her wake. So he keeps running, and running some more, and eventually stops; so he can shimmy up a tree, armor and all.

Well, that's embarrassing. Maybe she'll lose interest and go away?

Given enough time, he'll eventually decide to take his lumps and call for help on the sending crystal. But Maker help him then; the ribbing he'll take from the Chargers is bound to last months. Or longer. Rescue him from this terrible fate, will you?

III/IV

[gatheringstorm]

Well, at least she's in the general area. Korrin, Vashoth mage of the Valo-Kas, responds rather quickly. She's a regular at the Herald's Rest, so it's not hard to spot him there when buying people a round or trying to rope people into a card game or several. He seems like a good guy and the Chargers good people, even if their captain is a Qunari. (Which she has to remind herself of these days, since she's almost warming up to him against her will.)

There's no teasing on her end when she replies. "Fucking bears. Alright, give me coordinates. If you see blasts of lightning, that's going to be me."

Kain (FFIV) {Grey Warden AU (resemblance to persons living or dead-especially dead- is coincidence!)

[in_death_sacrifice]

I

She's magnificent. Look at her.

[It's... definitely not what most people would say when they're essentially trapped by a dragon, but Kain had come out here purposefully because he'd heard of dragon activity in the area. Oh, sure, he's got to continue on his way to the Inquisition eventually. But this is far more important. This involves dragons.

He has his two-handed sword already in hand, prepared to fight, and is wearing his usual Grey Warden armor. True, he may be somewhat out of his mind when it comes to the creatures, but he's not foolish enough to drop his guard either.] It's almost a shame to destroy the young ones...

II

[Totally exhausted and sore after a day of fighting, Kain heads toward the tavern. Healing, what healing? No one has time for that. Though he's at a point where he'd like to at least get off his feet for a bit. But as he opens the door and heads in, he pretty much collapses on the first person who happens to be there.

My apologies.

[He hastily moves away, or tries to as much as he can at the moment. Ow. Seriously, it never feels as bad when in the midst of battle.]

IV

[The notion of a communication device seems absurd, though Kain can see the practical uses of it. Which is what he intends to use it for now. He may as well find out more information before he gets to Skyhold, right? Kain has a deep and serious sounding voice, with just a hint of an Orlesian accent.]

Since this was issued by the Inquisition, I ask any of you who can receive this message... Has joining been worth it, to you? What sort of things have you accomplished? Does being in the Inquisition keep you well occupied? Is the food terrible? Tell me anything of your experiences, good and bad.

i've never seen him before in my life (also, ii)

[fightorfright]

( She had just come here for a drink, but instead, Amélie finds herself with half her tankard sloshed down the front. )

Maker's breath! Watch where you're going, will you?

( The words tumble out of her before she can second-guess herself. Once she does, however, she's taken aback by her own aggression, and shrinks in on herself, tucking her drink close to her chest, lest the man feel so inclined to spill it again. )

Bartholomew Fatima | Xenogears | Rifter

[awildsmile]

I

Dragons weren't exactly a new thing to Bart, Duneman's Isle was crawling with them, but few idiots went out into the dunes to rumble with dragons without a Gear. Okay, Bart was that kind of idiot, but there was treasure on that island and he was a pirate, it only made sense! But he didn't go alone and he was hardly trapped, he could run if he wanted to, not that he liked running, but it was nice to know that he could.

He wasn't too concerned about himself, he could fight that wasn't a problem, it was anyone who just happened to find themselves in this situation with him that was a potentially collateral damage. Bart was good at protecting himself, and much as he liked to and tried to protect others, he was infamously bad at it, he had a terrible habit that included firing at friendly vessels that looked like enemy vessels. He couldn't exactly guarantee anyone's safety.

That didn't mean he wouldn't try very hard.

"Hope you know how to hold your own in a battle, it's gonna be difficult enough fighting all these bastards without having to cover your ass too," a full grown dragon and a bunch of babies? Not to mention dancing around all of the fire momma is so graciously whipping around their arena. Yeah, his hands are full here.

II

Okay dragons, dragons were evil, more so than he actually remembered them being on his world. Where he came from they were solitary creatures, you fought one and that was it, no nests, no dragonlings. It was a fair fight! You know, from a certain point of view.

This dragon scooped Bart up with her tail and catapulted him into the nearest wall of rock. Good strategy, but he was aching all over now and he was a complete mess of cuts and bruises, but he was alive and that was the point. He might not have magic and potions, but he had ether and once he found out the monster breathed fire he could counter it with water. It helped. It kept him from getting several nasty burns.

Might have shocked a few onlookers who'd, quite possibly, had never seen someone manifest a tornado of whirling water. Or it could be this thing about magic, not that what he did was magic, but it sure looked like it.

Whatever, he was too tired and was in the process of trading what he could from his spoils of that particular battle (scales, teeth, hide) to a miserly merchant who clearly liked to take advantage. Perhaps it was because he wasn't from this world. Or maybe he did this with any foreign element, the man spoke with a funny accent and he wore a ridiculous mask, and there was something pretentious about him that inspired a desire to snap the merchant like a twig.

He didn't like being looked down on and he didn't like being underestimated

"Look, I might have been dumped here last night, but I wasn't born last night, I know when I'm being lowballed. You can either give me what it's worth, or I can give you a black eye, that's an exchange I can get behind," not that Bart would fight him over spilled milk, but he definitely would over an unfair trade.

II

[thesteelwolf]

A large (but gentle) hand rests on his shoulder from behind, connected to an equally large horned woman that leans around him to offer the Merchant a friendly smile that has slightly too many teeth to be entirely without bite. "It is upsetting to see a dishonest merchant trying to take advantage of a valiant warrior. You would not wish to upset either of us, would you?"

The strangeness of the south is not lost on Issa, but one benefit to the Bas that wandered about hawking their wares is their rather uniform reaction to a friendly Qunari towering over them. Either immediate compliance- or a stuttering terror that is typically followed by, well. Doing as she asks. All the more so when she smiles, elbow idly resting on the saber on her hip. Not even a threat but- it is read that way and it has yet to cause trouble. Well. Trouble she cannot handle. "He is tired, I am tired, you are being particularly troublesome. I think you give a fair price and in return we get out of your hair."

Eliot Waugh | The Magicians | Rifter

[thegreatestproject]

II. Crossroads — Grabbing a drink

Eliot has a lot to catch up on, but near the top of the list is working out how magic functions around here. What better way to get his education started than over drinks with a brand new friend at the local tavern.

The more he finds out about it, though? The more he regrets being so damnedly proactive.

"So, basically, being a magic-user in this universe means making yourself vulnerable to demonic possession." He looks off into the middle distance for a second, processing that. "And I thought the risk of agonizing death was bad enough."

I | III | Tyrion Lannister | ASOIAF | A Dance With Dragons

[tallasaking]

All right, when Tyrion thought as a boy, I would truly like a dragon, he did not think that would ever include, 'but I would not like to be eaten by one'. So he takes a good long look at the dragon, and her babies, nods his head slowly --

And then proceeds to run like his ass is already on fire in the other direction. He's not entirely certain where he is, or how he got here, all he reminds is a green hole in the sky and then tumbling off down into a glen -- but here he was. Being chased by a dragon.

He will be trying to hobble his way out of the valley before he gets eaten, but he's a polite fellow, so he'll be yelling to the first person he sees, "DRAGONS! I WOULD RUN NOW BECAUSE DRAGONS!"

~~~~~~

Later on, when he has managed to hobble himself out of hiding from said dragon, he will be limping his way back to civilization, slowly but surely. He's a lone dwarf in a very strange land, nothing at all where he was before he had fallen asleep and frankly, getting his bearings was a little difficult when he wasn't precisely certain where he was at all.

Which of course, was when he ran across the bear.

You will find Tyrion atop a large rock then, tossing stones down at the bear with a make-shift sling, hitting it with remarkable accuracy. He's already got a nasty scar running across his face, taking half of his nose, but despite a deep claw mark across his chest, he looks like he's not going to take any more.

"Go on, you dumb beast! I can keep throwing rocks at you all damned day! Go find a fish!"

III

[circleprodigy]

Tyrion's shouting earns him some attention, from two sources no less. The first is a large mabari with kaddis, taking advantage of its greater speed to distract and harass the bear for a moment, then he hops onto the large rock beside the dwarf, guarding him. That happens because his companion catches up, a slight, pale elf woman in armor.

"Hey! Over here!" She throws a barrier spell over the dwarf and her mabari, just in case, then raises her staff to do what she does best. A ring of ice sprouts up from below, quickly surrounding the bear and holding it fast.

Sansa Stark | Game of Thrones

[theladyofwinterfell]

Sansa has never seen a dragon before. She's heard of them, of course, because how couldn't you? How could you not know about those terrifying beasts that can black out the sun and lay waste to an entire village? She's never seen one before now but that has changed.

There's a dragon flying above the Hinterlands and if the bears weren't enough to fret over, now she has a bigger problem. She has no idea what to do about it, either, save to try and run for cover.

"Dragon!" she shouts, scrambling as quickly as she can. She wishes she weren't wearing a gown, if only because it makes her flight that much more difficult. "Be careful! It's a dragon!"

[aceso]

Christine hears the dragon, of course. If her screeches aren't enough, the flapping of those powerful wings would be enough. Usually there are tell tale signs of the dragon's devastation when coming into an area occupied by one. This one must have just entered the area, or its nest is further on and she's come out this far to hunt. Seeing Sansa, Christine realizes she's still too far away to place a barrier on her and instead she throws a fire spell off in the distance to hopefully distract the dragon.

"This way! We need to find a narrow place she cannot get to!"

Noelle Lefebvre | Dragon Age OC | Native

[legerdemainist]

II. When Inn Rome

"Oh, this hearth is so much more comfortable to rest before than a campfire and the beds surely much softer than tree roots and rocks to sleep upon," exposits a slight elven girl over her mug to whoever is nearby in the tavern and paying her even the slightest bit of attention. "I think I shall from now on only be attending such tasks for the Inquisition that take me along roads littered with such places of creature comforts."

She flutters her lashes rapidly, with possibly sincere and certainly patronizing concern. "Oh, that is, of course, not meant to insult those who care for such things and would prefer to live among the beasts of the wilds. There is something noble in such simplicity, I think. But such a life is not for me, I am afraid.

"I am too enamored of my dry feet, my clean clothes, my blessed drink--" She gives a smile to the barman, and then opens her mouth wide in surprise at the sudden thought that has hit her. "--and my games! Has anyone a deck of cards?! I should very much like to strike up a competition! That rather sounds fun, doesn't it?"


IV. My Deepest Apoolgies

Simply, suddenly, a bright, young, Orlesian voice pipes up over your crystal:

"A curiosity, if you will permit it. Tell me true, friends... In your heart of hearts, what do you believe is best in life?"

a hundred years later

[redinside]

Let us now imagine, if you will, that this particular man is permitted to go places and do things that involve interacting with other people, unchained, without any guard hanging right over his shoulder like a nervous gargoyle. While we're at it, imagine the barkeep has either risen above popular opinion or remained ignorant of it, and thus served him a pint of stout so strong you could stand a fork in it. A more naïve person might indulge some illusion of freedom, mitigated only by the presence of Inquisition Templars, who glance his way now and then even as they carry on amongst themselves.

While this girl carries on amongst herself, as it were, he scrubs a hand across his pale forehead, over one eye, down his stubbled cheek, looking tired. (He always looks tired.) And when no one else answers her, he does, more or less conversationally:

"Maker's balls... do you ever stop talking?"

abelas ( dragon age )

[virabelas]

( shems, shems everywhere )
[ while a team from the inquisition is in the hinterlands, life goes on at skyhold. today there's a particularly odd newcomer, though. an elf, actually, which wouldn't be that weird if not for the fact that a.) barring thranduil and his cousin, he might be one of the tallest elves around, b.) he looks faintly disgusted by literally everyone, and c.) he's wearing armour that looks downright ancient.

for his part, abelas wants to be done with this errand, learn what he can, and bring that knowledge back to his fellow sentinels. the world is changing--again--and they need to be prepared for it, but he doesn't like being away from his duties. particularly given what he's picked up on his journey here.. to tarasyl'an te'las, of all places. can they possibly understand its significance? (he doubts it a great deal.)

he pauses when he reaches the great hall, surveying the clutter of people in mild dismay, before stopping the next person to pass him. ]

Where can I find the leaders of the Inquisition? [ sorry if he's a little scowly and abrupt, he's probably been asleep for a few centuries. ]


( pensive stare: perfected )
[ at some point later in the day, abelas can be found perched like a particularly brooding hawk on the edge of the battlements. in his bright armor, and with his hood down to reveal stark white hair and the full extent of his vallaslin (which marks both shaved sides of his head and nearly meets at the back of his skull), he's pretty much impossible to mistake for anyone other than the strange, haughty not-dalish elf.

he's peeling what looks like an apple with a small, pretty blade that looks easily as ancient as his armour, and he doesn't bother to so much as glance up as footsteps near. slender hands do pause for a moment, though, the knife sliding free from the flesh of the fruit. ]

It seems remarkable to me that there are so many here that trample these grounds, that walk these halls, that pray to their Maker here, who have neither understanding nor regard for those that built this fortress. [ the knife slides through the apple again, and he drops the skin to his side. ] But then, I suppose that much of this place's significance has been lost to time.


( the wildcard option )
[ want another prompt? im down. maybe he can even be talked into taking that trip down to the hinterlands, who knows. ]

[circleprodigy]

[...that is one tall Dalish. At least he seems so to Inessa, whose height doesn't even reach five feet. The slim, pale elf in Grey Warden armor and with a staff on her back looks over and up at him, noting the scowl and odd armor. For her part, she remains utterly calm in demeanor and tone, even as the mabari at her side perks up and stares at the newcomer with interest.]

Which one do you wish to seek first? The ambassador's office is closest, through that door on the left. I don't know if she's there at the moment, however. [Ambassador Montilyet and the young Warden have had no need to interact professionally, and she doesn't know her well enough to drop in as a friend.]

Elsa | OUAT/Frozen DA Nativeized

[frosset]

II. No Rest for the Wicked

Elsa stands at the Crossroads, looking unsure of the direction she wants to go. Also generally unsure of all the people moving to and fro. She's not used to being around so many non-mages, and while no one gives her a second look she feels like she has a beacon shining on her. Anyone who looks too closely at her may notice a small little accumulation of snowflakes falling around her as she tries to decide if she should stop at the Inn or leave town and stay in the woods.

"Why is such a simple decision so hard to make," she whispers to herself, glancing up and finally noticing the snowflakes swirling around her head she looks a little panicked as she waves her hand and dispels them, turning to walk away. It's clearly not safe for her to be around people, she doesn't know what she was thinking.

III. #@$%ing Bears

The bear had come from nowhere. Elsa had been sitting at the sad little campsite she'd built for herself, heating up a modest dinner, when the creature had rumbled out from the dark and caught her off-guard. She's on her feet in a flash, her staff in her hand as she uses it to focus, a wall of ice springing up from the ground to hold the bear off as she gives herself a chance to put some distance between her and the bear and cast a second spell.

"You picked the wrong mage to bother!" she growls as the bear finds it's way around the ice wall, a frosty blast springing forth from her fingers and coating the bear.

II

[thecookery]

Turns to walk away but instead comes face-to-face with someone standing there holding a sack of potatoes and eyeing her skeptically, you mean?

There's a drawn-out moment of silence as Avery looks her up and down and shifts the heavy bag in her arms, before eventually asking, "You lost or something?"

Cecelia Wynn | OC (Regency-era Werewolf what what) | Rifter

[inthemoonlight]

I.
Cecelia has heard of dragons, of course. They're the monsters in stories that kidnap a princess and then a brave knight comes to slaughter it and rescue her. And when she landed in this strange world with the green glow in her hand, she learned that dragons supposedly existed here. But hearing about dragons and being prepared to see one are two different things. The screech it lets out as it flies overhead chills her to the bone, and she can't move for fright.

Someone really should instruct her to move before she's eaten.

II.
Taverns are rowdy places for the working class to gather and drink away their coin. At least that was what her father had often said, as he was a landed gentleman and could say what he liked. But Cecelia is far from a gentleman's daughter here. She's a rifter, an outsider, and she admits to a bit of curiosity about what a tavern is like. When she sees other Inquisition agents enter, she slips in behind them, a small slip of a woman the height of most elves. Her eyes dart around, and she hopes for some guidance on what to order.

"I do beg your pardon, but what is it you have there?" she asks, nodding towards your drink.

V.
If not for her husband, Cecelia wouldn't be a werewolf. But she knows what the change does to the mind and his biting her was never his intent. It's certainly not her intent here to bite anyone either, but with the full moon comes the loss of her human mind, and she needs to get as far away from people as possible so she doesn't hurt them. Back home they had a cellar with cages and a staff who knew their secret. Here she's alone and can't trust this secret to anyone.

And yet the intrepid explorer on the mountain tonight will hear the howls. Hopefully that will be enough to scare them away. If not, a very large wolf is hunting them down.

II

[legerdemainist]

The girl who answers is just as small and even younger than Cecelia herself, though perhaps all elves tend to such youthful and spritely appearances? Smiling openly, she speaks with a clear fantasy-French accent when she says, "This? Oh, my dear, this is only the finest ale they have available at this wonderful establishment."

Glancing about conspiratorially but not... actually... lowering her voice at all, she continues, "All my life, I have heard only the most dreadful stories about Fereldan ales, and so, as this is my first time in a Fereldan tavern, I just knew that I had to have one. I could not resist.

"Don't you know the feeling?"

Reinhardt Wilhelm | Overwatch (Rifter)

[crusadad]

I.

Most people would be at least a little bit scared when confronted with a dragon. A real, live, fire-breathing dragon, just like in the stories. But while there are many knights in this land (Real! Knights! Knights with tales of heroism and bravery, of demons and dragons and the triumph of good over evil!), there are none perhaps so stupidly brave as this one. His new armor fits his natural strength, and while he's no longer rocket-propelled he still has a large hammer and an even larger desire to swing it.

"You are quite the impressive specimen, Madam! But your days of terrorizing shepherds have come to an end!" he roars at her, almost as loud as the roar that she gives back. He laughs, loud and boisterous, and raises his hammer.

"COME AND FACE ME!"

II.

It's hard to miss a nearly 7' man in full plate in a tavern that's as small and quaint as this one. Especially when he seems to have little to no concept of what an "indoor voice" means, only lowering his tone to a dull roar after it comes the time when most people are headed to bed. He's boisterous and jocular, perhaps especially so for a man with nary a trace of anything but white in his hair or beard.

"Haha! And then I locked paws with the mighty beast, and I stared into her eyes. She was a majestic creature! A mouth big enough to fit a man's head, and teeth as long as my finger!" He holds one finger aloft to demonstrate. "Ah, but she did not scare me! I threw her off with all my strength, and managed to roll off of my bedroll to grab my hammer..."

raleigh samson. iii.

[redinside]

Dawn is barely warming the horizon, a damp frost hangs in the air, and the alarm went up mere moments ago: bears. Bears in camp. In all this excitement, surely no one will blame one of their fellows for facing the wrong target. Not to mention it was only very recently that Samson became the former General of the Red Templars, so it it's an easy enough mistake to make out of reflex—or an easy pot-shot to take while the taking is good. Which no one will blame you for either. Maybe not even Samson himself, who staggers after barely turning aside the attack, greatsword skimming the dirt.

"Not me, you tit! Get on that bloody bear!" Whichever bear you like. There are several.

Thanks to the dream that woke him, he was already half into his armour—his Inquisition issue armour, not the other armour, just like it isn't the other sword that he now drags to his hip. If it weren't for that, he might've been laid flat just now. Stupid. Fatigue's no excuse to forget your lot.

[liberalum]

Bears, they shout. What did they expect, Dorian doesn't quite mumble into his bedroll. It's tempting to just lie there and hope that everyone else sorts it out, but a panicked cry rakes across his nerves and with a heavy sigh, he drags himself up and off the ground, feeling around the dark interior of his tent, just as it collapses in around him.

Not to worry! He struggles out into the bracing pre-dawn air, dressed only in the smallclothes he went to sleep in and gripping, most importantly, his staff of serpentstone, which crackles with his ire in the form of cold-white lightning. But the bear that collapses his tent was on its way to dying, so he turns his attention outward.

A stray fork of magic zaps and dances its way up Samson's standard-issue sword.

But the next bear, one that's ambling with truly impressive speed up onto the former General, gets a face full of magic, the smell of storm and burning fur rising as it gives a pained growl and a heavy shake of its head. Despite that Dorian is not quite awake, he falls naturally into the fluid motions of spellcasting, more flare and flash than your average Circle southerner, and perhaps a little sharp on the edges of someone who doesn't appreciate this imposition on his beauty sleep.

florus/fausta ( da oc )

[infamis]

( crossroads | market )
[ there's a rather stunningly attractive.. man? let's say man. let's say androgynous man. he's wearing men's clothing, anyway, long-sleeved and high-necked and lightly armoured, his long dark hair elaborately braided and pinned at his nape to keep it out of the way. he's been peering thoughtfully at some of the wares in one of the roadside stalls, and on closer inspection, it seems to be simple, pretty hair-pins.

he taps his mouth for a few more thoughtful moments--and his hands are long-fingered and well-manicured--before finally plucking up one shaped like a flower and enameled a bright turquoise. he slides it into his hair, then turns to the person at the nearest stall with a quick, slightly flirtatious smile. ]

Does it suit me? [ that voice is confusing and that accent is decidedly tevene. ]


( crossroads | tavern )
[ remember that attractive vint from earlier you maybe saw from a distance? well, apparently you were wrong?? amazing how a few small changes can alter one's perception. with a few strands artfully loosened from the loops of braiding, lips painted scarlet, and the top of the high-necked top opened, it becomes apparent(???) that she's a woman. maybe. probably. there's definitely cleavage, anyway.

she's also apparently paying attention to.. someone, but when she notices the glance on her, she smiles, slow and promising and just a little wicked. man, woman, human, elf, whatever, she apparently doesn't make distinctions.

a moment later, she rises to her feet, weaving her way with careless grace between the other patrons, then seating herself quite close and leaning in. the smile, steady up until now, widens faintly, and she cuts copper-coloured eyes across the room to a young woman in a low-cut gown leaning against a very interested-looking drunk. ]

It's interesting, seeing how they ply their trade here. [ trade? which trade? ]


( skyhold )
[ florus makes no secret of his work back home; in fact, if anything, he seems to flaunt it.. tastefully. he's never learned to be ashamed, and given how far he's come for someone in his position in society, well, it would take quite a lot to teach him at this point.

despite that, he doesn't seem inclined to indulge in said work at skyhold. (for one thing, very few could actually afford him.) instead, he's taken quite enthusiastically to using the connections he's cultivated and the information he's collected over the years to help the inquisition in its fight. .. it means he writes a great number of letters, to be entirely honest.

.. which is what brings him here in the early evening, tapping on the doorframe to announce himself. herself, rather, as florus is almost certainly fausta today, given her skirts and jewelry and familiar scarlet lips.

she smiles, lifting a still-unsealed, neatly folded letter. ]

Perhaps you have a few moments for me? I need kinder phrasing than what I'm sorely tempted to use. The gentleman in question is, to put it gently, odious.


( wildcard?? )
[ what it says on the tin... ]

skyhold

[indulgentia]

Everything suits you. [ only said with some of a pout, as lucrezia spins from her stall- festooned with ribbons that she's been pouring over. it's good for the locals to see her, to hear her accent and take her coin and notice the utter lack of anything venatori-esque about her.

she plucks a ribbon from the display and beckons florus to bend for her- he's got more than a solid half foot on her, after all, and then sets about weaving it through his braid. it sets off the color of the flower nicely, and she steps back to admire her work, clasping her hands together. ]

You look utterly divine, Florus.

[ as if he'd survive, being anything else. ]

Sephiroth | FF7: Crisis Core

[complecti]

i. make a dragon wanna retire, man

[Dragons. They were not an uncommon sight on Gaia, there even existed iterations of such creatures in summoning form, usually more dangerous than the actual monsters that roamed his home world.

Here it seemed these were creatures that inspired fear, massive amounts of it. Most of the natives and those that arrived in this strange place with Sephiroth scattered the moment she cast her shadow, her roar splitting the air.

Her call drew out the younglings as well...what a shame, but Sephiroth had no intention of dying, not here. Granted it would take more than this to finish him off. Still, there were the lives of the remaining stragglers to be considered, those that had been walled off with him as rocks and veils of fire blocked the exits.

So these creatures are purposeful then? Not as mindless as they seem, this will be a tragedy. Sephiroth can respect strategy in his foes, even in dragons.

Slotting his ice materia into place, Sephiroth raised his sword just as the massive beast began spitting flames at him. Bringing the blade down swiftly the flames parted around him like curtains, scattering to the wind and leaving him whole.]

Keep your distance.

[To the stragglers: an order...a warning? Is he that confident or does he have so little sense of self preservation that he's willing to put himself at risk. To his credit what other's see as risk, Sephiroth does not, but he has a deeply rooted sense of duty instilled in him as a 1st Class SOLDIER and as a ShinRa employee that risk and self endangerment did not often register.]

ii. i went down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees

[They give him a wide berth.

New comers, refugees, and those that have set anchor in this place, because they see something different and possibly dangerous in this stranger from another world.

They're not wrong.

It might be the way he faced off against the dragon and rumors were spreading by word of mouth.

It could be the materia he uses reflects the magic in this world, he's yet to learn the fear that mages inspire in others by their existence.

It may also be the weapon he's carrying, a blade as long as Sephiroth is tall and for someone who appears human he's monstrously so at 6'5".

It could also be the strange, green glow of his eyes or how his pupils are slit like a feline or a serpent.

It might also be the simple fact that Sephiroth radiates an unapproachable demeanor. It's not that he lacks courtesy, or that he's particularly cruel to anyone, but he isn't friendly either. He's no use for civilians given his isolated existence and therefore wouldn't know how to interact with them in a normal setting.

Like bartering. Something he would like to do, because one merchant in particular is in possession of a kit that looks as though it was meant to care for a sword...it's dated so Sephiroth isn't entirely sure.]

How much for this?

[Gold was standard, graciously, but the exchange rate and their terms for currency are strikingly different. Not that he's really getting anywhere, the merchant just seems to gawk at him with an open mouth, most unhelpful.]

iii. some folks even see the bear in me

[He seems to fare far better in the wild. Dangerous beasts that breathe fire, and fade touched beasts he can understand, he could fight it and that made more sense to him. People were a mystery that he hardly trusted, perhaps it was the reason he had so few friends.

And now those friends were not here and neither was ShinRa, so what was he to do with himself? How was he going to navigate this world as a SOLDIER without a purpose.

Not one to normally find himself distracted by his own thoughts, he's taken completely unaware when, not one, but two bear cubs roll into the back of his legs. He swings his sword around in a broad stroke, fortunately it's sheathed and he just barely manages to curve his strike upwards, missing one of the cubs.]

Go away. [Translation: I don't feel like killing something small and helpless.

But apparently his intimidating demeanor only works on people. The bears, for their part, take an interest in his boots and begin nudging and pawing them. Sephiroth returns the favor, nudging back and rolling one cub onto it's back.]

I don't play and even if I did, I'm not in the mood. [The cub doesn't care, apparently, and proceeds to bear hug his whole foot and gnaw on his boot. Sephiroth lifts his leg, taking the cub with it so that he could shake the creature off.

It rolls a few feet before assessing this challenge and charging again, it's sibling is sitting off to the side, clever enough to gauge the situation.]

Fine, but you should know, I do not take training lightly. [Sephiroth held out his sheathed sword for the bear cub to grab and he swung it carefully, shaking the cub off and rolling it again.] Your stance is terrible. You'd have a hard time making grunt, never mind becoming a SOLDIER. I recommend you give up while you're ahead.

tvallan "stone-heart" hanesdotten ( dragon age oc )

[mountainmade]

i. not yet in the path of the dragon.

[ she doesn't appreciate dragons the way that she appreciates bears. being avvar, it is perhaps unsurprising that she thinks this way, but she would be the first to admit she can't put her finger on why she feels this way. possibly out of tradition, out of being habitually respectful of bears (a regular sight in the frostback basin, and here, in certain regions of the hinterlands) and having little contact with dragons.

hence her curiosity. to mount a willing expedition into known dragon territory is not for the faint of heart, which is perhaps why there were so few takers to tag along with her. it is not the safety of numbers she was after, in any case — more the company. she had not decided whether she wishes to engage it, not yet. she'll come to that. good luck to whoever has taken the plunge to come with her. ]

Unprincipled. That is what dragons are.

[ arguably, so are bears. many wild creatures would count as such. there is a crease in tvallan's calm brow that suggests she is having more a conversation with herself than anything else. ]

ii. keeping an eye on the crossroads.

[ while tvallan would not consider herself an arm of justice or anything as noble (or pompous, take your pick) as that, merchants taking the piss within earshot is not something she can idly ignore. when calm — which is, admittedly, most of the time — tvallan does not cut an immediately intimidating figure, despite her height and broad shoulders, bulked out by fur. even the warpaint looks fairly unassuming when coupled with her habitually mild smile. catch her in a mood, however, and that's something else.

she tips her head, eyeing the errant seller with a cool eye and thin lips. ]

My kin do not hold much value in your gold, lowlander, but this much I know; such a flimsy breastplate is barely worth my breakfast. [ firmly, ] I'd not advise you to take such a sum off this patron, lest you want your reputation to suffer.

[ at times like these, people tend not to argue with the six foot tall woman and her great sword. the merchant very suddenly retreats, without completely the sale. to the very nearly swindled customer: ]

Can't trust anyone nowadays. You're best off asking about crafting materials, so the sly ones don't feel as confident in trying to trick you.

ooc.

( OTA!! and my third time appearing on the tdm here with tvallan 8') but third time is the charm right... )

i

[gatheringstorm]

That's like saying a thunderstorm is unprincipled. Which, sure, but that's beside the point. They're raw forces of nature, pure chaos. A pretty awesome sight, when you're not in its path.

[Korrin, who doesn't give a flying fuck about bears other than as throw rugs, speaks in an admiring tone about dragons. Yes, they're destructive and need to be put down when in the path of civilians, but she can appreciate their majesty for all that. Something about dragons just calls to her, whether or not those rumors about qunari and dragon blood is true. The Vashoth woman, staff in one hand and empty spirit blade hilt in the other, considers herself ready to take on any challenge, dragons included.]

sand dan glokta | the first law (rifter)

[clicktap]

a. WEIRD GLOWING SKULL

It's human. He thinks. There’s been little opportunity to study those others, but the size fits. The absent horns fit. The odd, spiraling carvings, less so.

Glokta leans himself against the skull, free hand tugging carefully at the crystal rammed through it. The pillar wobbles dangerously, and he gives up with a curse. No way to do it without sending them both the damn mountain.

He shifts heavily onto his cane, braces himself against the oncoming wave of pain. This little outing's been hardly worth the price of admission. A glower down the short slope back to camp reminds him that the worst is yet to come.

“Who made you?” He demands. The dead man doesn’t answer. Recalcitrant fuck.

-

b. PAPERWORK

Glokta’s never been a man for books, but here even a basic grasp of letters and accounts seems a skill in demand.

He’s set up shop in the town’s second inn. The crude sign out front can’t disguise its origins, converted from an abandoned home by unscrupulous neighbors. The Inquisition’s business here has seen a thriving industry in warm food and drafty accommodations, even as winter strips the fields bare. How much rat is passed off as rabbit, now? How much cat? Sometimes it pays not to chew.

So he sits, and he drinks, and he makes it known that the Inquisition is offering his services. It’s tedious — mercenaries checking their pay, and peasants wanting messages drafted. Always some inane prattle about births, and deaths, and the sustaining power of faith. But there’s meat in there too: Passes blocked, soil gone bad, a suspicious new Orlesian dress.

Gossip. It’s a web, then a window. And if sifting through it all gives him a pounding headache then at least it’s kept him busy. If you must be a monster, be a useful one.

“Yes, yes, have a seat.” He gestures impatiently, without looking up.

-

c. PLAIN GOLD RING

There’s a wedding in the square.

A robed woman — doubtless some form of acolyte — beams before the couple, hands raised in blessing. The pair stare into each other’s eyes with the undisguised self-interest of youth. Around them, houses crumble and the woods strain with war. But in that moment, there’s only them. The scene radiates benevolence, hope. Vapidity.

Glokta turns away, rubbing his gums.

He’s not two steps before a shriek rings out. The little crowd falls back as the groom sputters, choking, clutching at the knife buried in his gut. Blackness seeps across his fine shirt, his pained gasps steaming on the chill air. A wiry young girl kicks and bites, desperately trying to throw off the hands suddenly grabbing for her. The bride won't stop screaming.

solas ( da )

[dreadedwolf]

( skyhold | rotunda )
[ naturally, most of the time, solas is easily found in the rotunda, and this morning is no different. seated at the table he keeps most of his work spread out over, there's a cup of tea steaming and evidently forgotten at his elbow, and he seems to be frowning thoughtfully at the newest part of the fresco he's been slowly adding to. the sound of footsteps brings his glance up, blinking as if coming out of sleep. for a moment, two, there's no real reaction, but then he offers a quick, polite smile. ]

I apologize, I was-- well, wool-gathering, as the phrase seems to go. Did you need to speak to me?

[ and then he apparently remembers his tea, and lifts it to take a sip (and make a disgusted face). ]

I'm not entirely convinced that I'll ever find tea that I enjoy.


( skyhold | etc )
[ technically, solas can be encountered any number of places in skyhold-- if you can actually catch him. he seems to know the fortress extremely well (perhaps he's explored it during his dreaming), and so he apparently knows all the shortcuts and all the little tucked-away passages most people have yet to find. it means that while he shows up here and there, he tends to pop up and then disappear just as quickly.

maybe he's in the gardens, eyeing the chessboard speculatively; or in the kitchens, trying to reassure one of the cooks that no, he doesn't need more than this roll for dinner, thank you, it's plenty, no, he's not too thin for his height??; or maybe out on the ramparts, doing something vague with measurements and magic. whatever the case, despite his apparent ability to ghost around skyhold as he likes, he's never unwelcoming or unfriendly.. as long as he's given the same courtesy. ]


[ ooc; shrugs ]

[rowancrowned]

Only briefly. [ as if that will soothe him. thranduil holds his position at the side of the table, taking a moment to look over the books spread out over solas' desk. ] Why, then, must you keep trying? [ his fingers trail over the embossed title of the book at the top of the stack; he adds it to his own reading list with the confidence of the determined, resisting the desire to flip open the front cover.

he's having a conversation, after all. ]

I have a question about the Fade. [ a beat. he's solidly straightfaced, polite, even if there's warmth in how he lingers, how he cuts the distance between them. ] You are the expert.

Dr. Whale | Once Upon a Time

[galvanist]

2a: frontier medicine
[ Yeah there's no way in hell he's going after the bears. He's a doctor Jim, not a big game hunter. So Dr. Whale spends the majority of his time at the crossroads, partly to get drunk, partly because again, he's a doctor. Though considering all he seems to be able to use are herbs and bandages, he might as well be a big game hunter, the amount of use he's turning out to be. Whale knows a little about battlefield medicine...but at least back home, back in his proper home, they had sutures and forceps and other equipment that he's finding strangely lacking in this world.

It's at this moment that Whale realizes just how much he misses Storybrooke in the 2010s. Other worlds suck. Especially if the other worlds have healing magic, THAT IS CHEATING AND NOT REAL SKILL and also possibly one of the reasons why he's been spending way too much time at the tavern.

So hello there hearty hunter, you have bear skins. That means in Whale's mind you fought a bear and your dumbass might have gotten attacked by a bear. Whale walks up, sighing a world-weary sigh before he asks, ]

Well? Did our fuzzy friends manage to swipe somewhere? You've got all your limbs so hey, that's a plus.

[ As he talks, he does a quick once-over for bloodstains. Might as well be nosy. ]

2b: i am so sorry
[ Alternatively, are you an attractive lady ages 20 to 40? Did you want to go to the tavern just to be by yourself? Well I'm terribly sorry because Dr. Whale is here to ruin your evening by sitting right next to said lady and giving her a grin that's way too flirtatious. ]

Come here often?

[ it's obvious from his tone that he thinks he's hot shit. The likelihood of this ending terribly for all involved is pretty high. ]

4: #teamscience
[ "Oh here, have a magic crystal, don't ask why you have it or how it got magic or what sort of price had to be paid in order to make the magic crystal, just take it!"

Yeah right.

Whale's not an idiot. You don't just give someone a magical object even if it seems to only be able to talk to other crystals via some sort of crystal network. So, hello there person who obviously has a crystal. Whale's walking right up to you with a bit of a disgruntled look on his face. ]

What's the catch with these things? [ said as he nods towards the crystal. ] This isn't something they'd just hand out for free.

4.

[eviscerates]

( No way. She knows the voice, and she's holding her sending crystal loosely in hand, looking away. There's a few racks of herbs trying nearby, only recently bound, and her crystal is in hand only so she can call back to Skyhold and see what else they might need. Fair, though, it's not like she's got the cloak on. Still.

Ruby casts him a sidelong look, tilting her head a little, one eyebrow quirking up as she squints ever so slightly. )

Fancy seeing you here. ( Ruby turns, crystal still in hand. ) I guess the catch is that you can't ask people for their numbers, any more?

( And then, only then, does her mouth start to tug into a grin. )

lord el melloi ii-fate-rifter

[kartereo]

a. dragons

Of all the creatures in all of the worlds, it had to be dragons.

The part of Waver that wasn't looking around for every possible escape route grimly noted that such event seemed to a part of a reoccurring life theme. The only two things he wanted, quiet and seeing Iskandar again, were constantly thwarted by everything else. Clock Tower, his debt to the El-Melloi family, his students, everything and everyone not named Gray really. Dragons were nothing more than a variation on a theme.

Not that this variation was not to be taken seriously. Waver did take it seriously, in so far that he was scrambling through his coat pocket to fish out a cigar. Laughable, really, smoking in the face of a firebreathing dragon, but Waver knew that it could buy him safety. If he lit a cigar, the magecraft he embedded in each and every single one he carried would spring to life, creating a bounded field around him. At the very least, he could hope that the dragon would get bored of seeing fire bounce off a shield and go elsewhere. Assuming his magecraft decided to work at all, of course.

More embers came pouring down, just as Waver pulled out what he was looking for. Noticing that his shoulder had a bit of a flame to it, Waver put the cigar's end over the small fire.

"Light, damn you."


***

b. crossroads

The Crossroads represented an opportunity for one of Waver's truest loves: finding a quiet place to be, and ignoring everyone around him. Back home, this mean staying in his apartment with a few video games over the weekend, ignoring grading, but there was no such technology available. He chose a quiet corner to occupy instead, one hand around a glass of wine and an air of trying to ignore the dim chatter of the world around him. There was precious little else to do, although Waver hoped that someone might leave a book behind so that he might have some form of entertainment.

"Of all the days not to have my usual bag with me," he chided himself. That bag always had a copy Odyssey in it, a copy too precious to him by half and well worn with highlighted passages and notations. "Fuck."

He breathed out, leaning back in his chair, trying to remember the first few lines of the poem. He'd seek out paper and pen if he could recall, and start writing it all down if he had to.

a

[alankazam]

Alan lifts a hand, and the end of the cigar finally catches, puffing into life.

Far be it from him to guess why the stranger he's been caught with wants a smoke at a time like this — but at a time like this, it seems cruel to deny the request.

Alan's certain that he could escape, if need be. It's just not a plan that would involve anyone else's survival.

"They're hungry," He comments, like no one else in their little search party has noticed. Behind them, a nervous-looking farmer brandishes her pitchfork up towards the sparks in an imitation of bravery. Another volunteer pales like he's about to faint. "But she's scared. They'll rush anyone who runs. She'll only go for the biggest threat."

He scratches at the back of his head with a shrug. It's a proposal.

margaux | native original

[indocile]

ii. the crossroads

( the journey this far hasn't, all things considered, been that bad. margaux doesn't like farming, but camping is just fine, and better than the prospect of overstaying her welcome in val royeaux. having said that -

she is looking forward to the 'getting to skyhold' part of things, but the inquisition has such a strong presence down here. maybe she can have already joined when she gets there. maybe there's someone besides the merchants she's been traveling with that can take her the rest of the way - make herself useful right away.

a bit of trade, a bit of listening, and keeping an eye out for an inquisition uniform. a nice afternoon, probably. assuming no demons, red templars or apostates bust it up. )

iv. crystal.

( the orlesian accent that comes over the crystals is - educated, but belatedly. there's a bit of polish on it, but it's a haphazard job and the product of picking up the way people talk around her rather than actively trying to sound a particular way, currently. )

I've never seen so many Dalish before.

( a beat. )

Or, ah, any? Are they all one clan?

( man, they can probably hear this. )

ii. the crossroads.

[cestrumnocturnum]

[ Surprise: an apostate.

Although it might take some guesswork to assume this about Benji. There's no staff at her shoulder and no Templar seems to be actively oppressing her in this exact moment, so what other tells can there possibly be? In her hands, half-wrapped in roughspun cloth, are tied bundles of herbs -- elfroot, dried spindleweed, and one drooping curl of crystal grace -- and she holds them to her chest as she takes a moment to sit, perched on wooden fencing defining the main road through the Crossroads, and people watching.

(She has no voice for haggling, but suspects the prices being asked of her wares are too low. The only solution is to do nothing.)

It's rude to stare. This is probably something Benji has been told and something she has experienced for herself, and yet, the furtive study she gives the remarkable looking elven woman has a way of looking pronounced on her face, even if she doesn't mean to.

Margaux barely has to do anything but accidentally make eye contact for Benji to blush from the ears across. ]

Dorothea | Native Dragon Age OC

[magpienests]

II.

"Please, sir, this is all one great misunderstanding," offers a heavily-accented voice, as the door of the tavern swings open and a young elf girl comes backing out, arms raised in a placating manner and followed by an angry, older human. "I am no thief, and if only I had one, I would empty my purse right here and now to prove it. But even so, I do of course offer my most sincere apologies for my mistake."

She pauses a moment and then smiles as if a helpful thought has just occurred to her. "Perhaps you can take this as an object lesson! A sign on the door explaining that no one is to enter the back room could be useful, to avoid such confusions in future. Or a lock? This could also work."

When the man--the proprietor presumably?-- does little other than to shout at her to never come back and then slam the door behind him as he returns inside himself, the girl frowns at his retreating back and puts her hands on her hips.

"I was only trying to help."


V.

Did somebody say climbing an abandoned tower? Because, yes. A missing stretch of staircase and questionable structural integrity are concerns for lesser beings when there is almost certainly treasure waiting up there at the top.

All it needs is a little elbow grease and some creative ascension techniques. That loose brick in the wall isn't a sign of imminent collapse, it's a handhold waiting to happen! Those overgrowing ivy and vines? Nature's ladders!

See? Thea will show you how it's done!

II

[limier]

Wren sighs, and pushes herself away from the wall, to plant feet solidly between Dorothea and Skyhold's passing gaggle.

"Pockets, please." She gestures: It's not entirely a request. There have been enough visitors in and out of late to give cover for all manner of small misdeed. The theft of material goods is a lesser threat than that of information — or of anything that Thea might have intended to leave behind. "Since you've nothing to hide."

Save for a lot of words. She's never understood why people think talking makes you look more trustworthy. Wren has no real authority here, and she knows it, but she also knows that even outside of armor she can be a hell of a barrier.

It's another long moment before she blinks, and her eyes narrow. There's some faint familiarity to Thea, the nagging impression of an association. She can't place it, but she can guess well enough. There are few places outside a Circle where she's spoken to elves. A servant? Or a mage?

Anakin Skywalker | Star Wars | Rifter

[nosand]

III.

Anakin had decided he hated this day.

First, he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. Second, he was being chased by a bunch of large, to him unknown animals. And third: His lightsaber was - for whatever reason - not working as it should. Didn't he always make sure to keep it in an excellent state? Granted, his Master wouldn't approve of him violently cutting down the local fauna of this planet, even if said local fauna was very inclined to have him for dinner. So at least this was one lecture he had quite efficiently dodged.

Now he only had to dodge these massive creatures made of fur and teeth and claws and anger.

As he ran, he tried to activate the commlink that was supposed to be on his wrist - Only to find that one gone as well.

"Oh, come on!" the Jedi groaned under his breath and skittered around a formation of large boulders. A few quick leaps brought him up onto the largest. And hopefully out of the bears' reach.

He needed to come up with something. And fast.

[obi_wanmanshow]

On one hand, that argument wouldn't hold water, given that the only, only reason he wasn't carving bits off of local wildlife was because he wasn't capable of it, under the circumstances. But Obi-Wan is, at the moment, disinclined to address any inconsistencies in motivation because of all the kriffing bears. Where does the Hinterlands keep getting them all? They're supposed to be apex predators, and certainly they act the part.

Obi-Wan is beginning to feel the same kneejerk exasperation most people express when they say, in that particular tone, Ferelden.

But enough of that, it hardly matters, not when he walks over the next hill just in time to see someone leaping like a grasshopper up an erratic series of boulders; not an easy feat, unless you had the Force to propel you along.

"...Anakin?" Even if altruism and the Force weren't prompting Obi-Wan into action, he'd have broken into a run, once he recognized who it was, "What in the world are--"

And then the bear came around the curve of the boulder, huffing an annoyed, moaning roar.

"--Ah."