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

[infamis]

[ the comment earns a bright, pleased laugh, equally amused and flattered. ] You think highly of my skills indeed. Perhaps I'll try it sometime. After all, I hear that the south doesn't have proper courtesans.

[ he's heard quite a bit about the south, actually. he'd done his research before leaving the imperium. florus isn't where he is in life because he was incautious. besides, he quite likes lucrezia and he rather likes her brother; if he was going to travel with her, it only made sense to see what they were both getting themselves into. ]

I imagine they think we're both blood-mages, anyway, [ he muses after a moment, tipping his temple against her crown fondly. ] I wonder if Magister Pavus's son found it difficult here at first. .. Do you suppose he's gone native?

[indulgentia]

[ she laughs, gently patting his arm. ] I would be so pleased if you would make sure I was treated to the sight of it!

[ as for the south as an unwashed, uncultured whole- well, she's not been further than the silent plains until she came here. even a mage of middling talent like herself might have been stolen to one of the barbaric circles before all this. even with her name. but with things as they are, well-

cesare had declared it safe and necessary both that she go, so here she is. it smells approximately like she thought it might. ]

Oh, of course. [ she gives a very serious nod, brows slightly furrowed. ] And that we haven't seen the Pavus heir is more than enough all on its own, don't you think? I'd wager he's found himself a mabari to slobber all over him. [ she sighs. ] A shame.

[infamis]

It will be entirely for your amusement, I assure you. [ otherwise, well, he has no real interest in new patrons. not here, at least. he's not a charity, after all, no matter his efforts at home to bring attention to particular issues.

florus echoes the sigh, then smiles at a puzzled looking inquisition scout. doubtless, it's rare to have a lady of lucrezia's quality in this place--florus himself earns curious glances even at home--and he'd be willing to wager that everyone in the area of any consequence will know by nightfall. more vints! vints that are, apparently, not terribly inclined toward murder or mayhem. at least not immediately. ]

A shame indeed, [ he adds a little mournfully. ] He's lovely. I suppose that's spoiled now, though. He'll have a beard, I'm certain, and an accent. [ a beat, mouth pursing thoughtfully. ] Still, we should call on him, I suppose.

[indulgentia]

[ a lady of her quality or of fausta's- who is striking in a way lucrezia's angelic face and short stature will never quite manage. and for a moment, she forgets herself and is concerned, because someone that lovely won't have the codes that protected her in tevinter. florus, she reminds herself, is accomplished enough that even her brother admires her, and will certainly keep himself safe.

not that lucrezia won't offer her family's resourced to reenforce that, of course. the borgia are where they are due to their abilities to make friends.

dainty, she steps over a puddle, minding her slippers. getting them wet would ruin them, and she hadn't the sense to get them enchanted whilst still in minrathous. ] Perhaps he can be civilized. When we call upon him! We'll bring the good wine and remind him of home.

[ hopefully he doesn't have a beard. hopefully they don't need to shave it off post-wine. ]

[infamis]

I fear that we'll have our work cut out for us. [ though he's not terribly serious about it. after all, considering all the talk, dorian pavus may very well be happier here. while it's an unusual thought to consider, how can florus fault him for finding some manner of freedom? besides, the man's a decent sort by all he's heard, which can feel quite rare among the altus class. ]

I'm certain by then that I'll long for the opportunity, though. Anything familiar. [ he's never been out of minrathous before now. and while florus is independent and confident, this is all still very, very foreign in some ways. ] I suppose we might also invite Felix Alexius while we're at it. I can't imagine that there are many more of us, though. [ unlike the orlesians, who are apparently legion. he's admittedly a little interested in inquiring about orlais. it's always sounded less unpleasant than the rest of the south. ]

[indulgentia]

[ she strokes his arm in what she means to be a comforting way, head still turning about now and then to catch the full sight of all the crossroads have to offer. (not much.) ]

Why, Florus, if I didn't know you better, I'd think you were suggesting a party.

[ and after the incident with the chestnuts, she's been itching to plan another. maybe-- a little less tevene, but she's still very good at rounding up a group of people and letting them have fun. people say the most interesting things at parties. ]

No. [ the pretty little rosebud of her mouth is pinched for a moment as she goes through the list of people in minrathous worth knowing and finds no more. ] I think you're right.

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.]

[mountainmade]

I cannot argue she is impressive.

[ there is a brief pause as tvallan glances towards her companion thoughtfully, pleased for the conversation. ]

They live and die by their own terms. There are no accords to be made, no harmony to be struck. Not really. Wolves and bears are wild, but open to reason, unspoken agreements. Dragons can only be appeased — or defeated.

[ in the shadow of the rocky passage that leads to the dragon's territory, tvallan and korrin are, for the moment, unnoticed. but an avvar and qunari lunging headfirst into her path... that's a confrontation that they'll be hearing all the way in redcliffe, she'd wager. ]

[gatheringstorm]

[Korrin flashes a grin, already having a soft spot for Avvar. To be taking on such a creature with one at her side seems rather fitting. Asher has gone beyond, but his kin are still a presence in her life, in some form or another.]

That's what I love about it, the simplicity. Dragon-hunting is so much easier than politics; there's no political bullshit to deal with, you just have to stay alive long enough to make sure it falls. And all its annoying children.

[Because she has no doubt that those are around, too. They always are. With that in mind, she glances down to her belt.]

I've a couple of pitch grenades to spare, if you want any. That ought to slow them down enough for me to fry them.

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.

[dreadedwolf]

It wakes me up. [ after all, solas's hours tend to be slightly odd at the best of times. he spends a great deal of time walking the fade, so returning to the physical world can mean lingering grogginess. he sets the cup back down, then offers the other chair with a wave of his hand, sitting up to clear some space on the table. shuffling some papers together, he glances back up over the top of them, smile returning. ]

I am happy to help in any way that I may, of course.

[ and he appreciates others taking an interest in the fade-- particularly when they're outsiders. thranduil in particular has been a delight for a number of reasons, not least of which being his age and interest in elvhen history. ]

[rowancrowned]

[ of course he makes himself comfortable, sitting back in the chair and crossing his legs at the knee, utterly at ease. the difficult thing about the rotunda is the library above it, and then the spymaster above the library. ]

Have you tried 'chocolate'? [ one of the similarities between worlds is foods- grains are grains, there's always wheat and salt and sugar, but some rarer things hold as well. ] There is a drink made of it. Perhaps you will find it more to your liking.

[ he appreciates the effort to make him feel wanted, welcomed; keeps his eyes from the papers written in solas's own hand and looks at him, instead. ]

If I wished to see the history of a place in the Fade, would I need to be in that place myself, sleeping?

[dreadedwolf]

I've considered it, [ he admits with an amused glance, setting his papers atop a stack of books and then weighing them down with what's probably an elvhen artifact someone's brought him for study. ] I hear that it's somewhat expensive, though, and while I don't favour tea, it does the job well enough.

[ he shifts in the chair, though, resting his elbow on its arm and his chin on the backs of curled fingers. ]

That's correct. [ he hesitates, then lifts his head once more, waving his fingers to dismiss his own answer. ] --Rather, you would need to be quite near it, at least, and there's no guarantee that you'd see what you wished to see. [ his lips quirk. ] The Fade is unpredictable at the best of times. It might take days or weeks.. or longer. Depending, of course, on how much history that place has seen, what has occurred there, if there were settlements or battles.. [ he trails off a moment, brows arching. ] May I ask about your interest?

[rowancrowned]

[ solas please that is likely an irreplaceable thousand year old piece of something, not a paperweight. so thranduil's going to pick it up and toy with it while he talks, idly studying it and turning it over in his hands. ]

When was the last time you did something for the simple pleasure of it? Outside the Fade.

[ his aesthetic being what it is- which is sorely lacking, in thranduil's opinion, but he's begun to recognize unwinnable battles- tells a tale that suggests it has been a very, very long time. he smiles, dismissing time. ] I am patient. I have no specific questions, merely a general curiosity. Books only say so much- and I fear the ones I would like to read are long destroyed.

[dreadedwolf]

[ he actually considers the question for several moments. something for the simple pleasure, hm? well.. ] Orlais. Frilly cakes. [ yes, thank you, he's entirely serious. ] I like Orlesian pastries in general, really. [ he's certain he'd run out of paper if he had to list everything he finds wrong with orlais, but they do have a few things that he appreciates and enjoys.

apart from silly small indulgences, though, and his painting, he generally doesn't allow himself much. he has too much work to do, even without his full power.

thranduil's comment earns a curious glance. ] Do you seek to see Skyhold, then, or elsewhere? [ he's confident that the fortress will keep its secrets, but it's still something to keep an eye on if that's the case. ]

[rowancrowned]

[ an honest answer. well, thranduil wasn't expecting an outright lie- deflections seem to be more to solas' taste, but thranduil can't fault him for it. it's his own preferred distraction. ] What makes a cake frilly?

[ is it the icing, the ingredients? he's curious, leaning forward ever so slightly, lips barely parted. the hunk of stone and whatever else in his lap is gently ignored and set to the side in favor of the conversation. ] I suspect Skyhold will be easier to begin with, being as layered as it is. But I find myself visiting very strange places, and I would like to know more about them.

[ perhaps not that orlesian bathhouse, but they'd made camp in some interesting places along the way. ]

[dreadedwolf]

I'm afraid I didn't ask. [ he still seems amused by it, though, a smile threatening the corner of his mouth. ] I suspect it comes down to the decorative icing and filling, though.

[ .. ah. yes, he had a feeling about this. and if anyone might very well find a way to discover what skyhold is hiding, he supposes it would be thranduil or galadriel, who have time and patience on their side, who are more like solas's own people than the elves of today. ]

You may find another place easier to begin with, [ he says after a thoughtful moment, tapping a knuckle lightly against his mouth. ] Skyhold is a somewhat unusual place in the Fade. [ for a reason, of course. ] I've dreamt in many places, wandering the wilds, and yet the Inquisition has flung itself farther and wider than I might have imagined it would. Perhaps next time I, too, will leave behind these stone walls and accompany you.

[arlathvhen]

[ Beleth politely waits for Solas to notice her, hands clasped behind her back. Once he does notice her, she smiles, bobbing her head. ]

It's no trouble, hahren. I just had a question, that I was hoping you would be able to answer.

[ She steps forward, glancing curiously at Solas' desk, and the mass of papers and books. But she quickly turns back to him, expression affable. And innocent. Completely innocent. Time to make good on her promise to Cole. ]

I was wondering, if you know why scarecrows are so highly regarded among the shemlen farmers?

[rowancrowned]

[ it's a fair and fae smile. thranduil ought to acquire a box of cakes to make it appear again. and if it softens the way for more companionship, well- they are elves. they ought to stick together. ] So you are not the one to name them?

[ his time is- constrained. limited. corypheus is actually a threat, nevermind that his release was entirely the fault of that hawke person everyone won't stop talking about and elven oversight would have prevented this from happening at all-- but that's a conversation best left to him and galadriel, getting them nowhere here and really only leading to mutual commiseration when it's himself and his cousin. ]

I do not intend to do most of my sleeping outside the forest, but I would welcome your company next time I find myself ... adventuring. [ he laps a finger against the artifact, and gives a winning smile. plus, if solas comes out more, he won't have to share a tent with alistair again. ] Tell me, have you ever been-- seduced by an Orlesian comtesse?

[dreadedwolf]

[ a question? well, he's always happy to indulge curiousity, so of course he nods to encourage her to continue. he even, after a belated moment, begins to straighten the table so she can take a seat at it without trouble, should she like.

he pauses, though, when she continues, glancing up with arched brows. ] --Scarecrows? [ that's.. certainly not the sort of thing he would have expected out of beleth's mouth, but he does sit back a moment later, a book forgotten on his lap.

.. scarecrows? ]

They're meant to frighten birds away from crops. [ but surely she already knows that. ]

[arlathvhen]

Ah. Hmm.

[ She nods thoughtfully at this, seeming to mull over it for a few moments. Still appearing to be digesting this stunning information, she accepts the offer (kind of) of a seat and sits on the table. Then she looks to look at Solas, eyebrows arched. ]

I heard it was because they were outstanding in their field.

[dreadedwolf]

[ he shakes his head, reaching for his tea again, cupping the mug between his palms. ] I'm afraid not. If I'm not mistaken, I believe the term was decided by the Iron Bull. I'm certain he's not the only one to think it, though.. simply the first to speak it in my hearing.

[ it's not like anyone can argue, either-- orlesians do like their food decorative.

he brings his tea to his lips, then nearly chokes on it as thranduil abruptly switches topics. he lowers the cup abruptly, coughing once into his fist and glancing up in some surprise. ] --I beg your pardon? [ seduced? by an orlesian comtesse? ] I-- no. [ he nearly laughs, sitting back in his chair, brows climbing. ] I'm afraid that I don't spend a great deal of time among the nobility. It sounds as if your last trip might have been rather interesting, though.