allthisshitisweird | TEST DRIVE MEME!

Entry tags:

! test drive

TEST DRIVE MEME!

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[ With the help of a spirit of Faith, Christine gets to examining Kain for wounds and healing what she comes across. Her eyes glow blue as the spirit's energy passes through her, which is one of the reasons she asked his thoughts on magic healing. The sight can be a little unsettling. ]

It is not so bad. Your body is just in need of some rest.

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!"

"Pain can be alleviated." Having mana to spare, Inessa sends over a simple healing spell just to be certain he won't fall over on her. She has no strength to carry him and Garahel's battle prowess might be needed on the way back. The mabari is content to sniff that hand and raise his paw to it. Shake?

Peering at his palm, Inessa then looks back up, eyebrows raised. "You...killed demons with a rock? That's quite impressive, especially for one who has never encountered them before. You must be quite the adventurer at home." Or at least he has the makings of one, if drastic changes don't have him freezing up when action is needed. "The 'green hole' is a fade rift, a tear between the physical world and that of the Fade. The Fade is...many things, but to hopefully simplify, it fuels our magic, and it is also the realm of spirits and demons. A semi-recent catastrophe called the Breach created a large rift, the mother of them all. It is now sealed, but when it still existed, it dominated the sky." She points to where it used to be. "Right there was nothing but swirling green, seen for miles around."

Sansa doesn't need any other instruction. She follows the woman quickly and decides she'll ask any questions about the fire she'd seen blazing later. Questions can wait until she's not being attacked by a dragon.

"I've never seen one before now," Sansa admits, drawing up closer. "I just know enough that I shouldn't get close."

[ he's been biding his time with this one, waiting to catch him alone, ascending the stairs with a watchful grace, fingers trailing along the rock. ]

These bricks were fired in Ferelden; the stone quarried in Orlais. She has been built and built over again in stages.[ the layers of plaster on his wall were stacked like so many pages in a book. he bends to pick up the apple peel, conscious of who will have to if he doesn't, and leans against the wall, neatly crossing one leg over the other. ]

But that is not whom you speak of. [ an easy statement. ] What did they call this place when you were young?

[ it's-- a risk. but based upon what the mortals might call antiquities so easily worn, so casually handled. ]

Edited 2016-09-19 00:39 (UTC)

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.

"Indeed not!" Christine answers, placing a protective barrier over Sansa as she approaches. "Perhaps her dragonlings are close, and if we move away, she will not pursue." The mage quickly surveys the area, looking for escape routes where the dragon can't follow. There's a thicket of trees not far off, and though the dragon can torch them if she wishes, it seems better than standing out in the open.

"Let us try this way."

Somewhere quieter. [ he's weary of people, in truth. he and his fellow sentinels have served together so long, and slept so long between their periods of service, that they have little need for talk between them. the noise of this hall, therefore, is distracting and discomforting.

he nods toward the open door leading out into the gardens. ] The gardens are meant for everyone here to enjoy, are they not? They seem suitable.

[ abelas gives the stranger a longer look, staring, frank and a little interested despite himself, perhaps. this is not one of those little shadows running about below, after all. a 'rifter', he suspects. not one of his people, but not so different, either.

he cuts a slice of the apple, offering it out on the blade of the knife as he snorts gently at the question. ]

It had not yet been built when I was young. [ and he wouldn't have been allowed to see it even if it had been, given his station at the time. but he'd gone to mythal eventually, and mythal had a much better use for him. mythal's service, he hadn't minded. he'd taken her mark willingly, and he's been hers.. all this time. ] .. The name was Tarasyl'an Te'las once, and that's the only name that should perhaps be remembered. [ it's the only name the wolf wants it to be remembered by, at least, and that's good enough for abelas. ]

[There are a lot of people in the hall, and while Inessa doesn't exactly have an aversion to crowds, she can well-understand the need for piece and quiet. So she nods, leading the way toward the gardens.]

Indeed. I am Inessa Serra, of the Grey Wardens. My companion is Garahel.

[Garahel trots a little ways ahead, more eager for earth and grass than he is for stone floors. Upon passing through the doorway, the Warden mage smiles a little as the gentle wind and sound of birds are all that reach her ears.]

"Precisely so, Lady Sansa." He gave her an encouraging, if not crooked smile, as he tapped his torn apart nose. "Just remember, watch where you are going, and keep heading in that direction. Are you ready?"

For he has the first rock in hand, and he knows precisely where to aim it.

Sansa nods quickly and starts darting toward the next outcropping of rocks. She doesn't stop until she's scrambled atop it and has rocks in hand; she's torn her gown in the process and scraped an ugly mark against one shin.

"Lord Tyrion, I'm here!" she calls out. She starts pelting the bear with her stones in order to distract it from Tyrion's flight.

He could feel the energy flowing through him, easing the broken ribs, the bruises and the slashes from the .. demons. He cleared his throat, standing up straighter. "...you know, I think I am going to have a few questions for you in turn, but perhaps before we start getting in depth, we might want to consider escaping to someplace with a fire. Possibly a bottle of wine. And some meat for our brave friend here."

He paused, then added, deciding that it was important to answer her question, "This wasn't the first rock I have climbed today, and there, I had much bigger rocks to throw down. Once those things are down into the dirt, it's rather easier to smash their heads - at least I think it was their heads - with a bigger rock." Another pause, and a wry, "I am something of a fanatic about surviving. I have to do it at any cost. Sometimes I even surprise myself with how much I continue to enjoy breathing air."

A frown passes his face at her explanation, stretching the scar that runs across his nose and down into his beard, up across his cheek to his forehead. "So what are you are telling me is that -- this is an entirely different ... place, than the world I am from?"

Huh. "Well. That would explain your dog. And your ears. And your dragons."

"Bigger rocks definitely help, but that you acted instead of froze still says much. These must be overwhelming circumstances, and not all have reacted quite as well." Fortunately, Solas seems to be predicting most of the rifters' arrivals, so instant death for them tends not to happen.

The scar is indeed notable, though having one of her own, she refuses to stare and make him feel self-conscious about it. That question gets a soft laugh and a nod, as she gestures for Garahel head down first before they follow. He loves to take point. "You have no elves in your lands? We seem to exist in several beyond Thedas, but they are not as ubiquitous as humans. It is the same of dwarves, and...I have yet to hear of qunari from elsewhere, yet. It will be interesting to discover if that ever changes.

But yes, we can escort you to the nearest Inquisition camp. You're quite deserving of a fire and wine, after all you've been through." And realizing he knows her dog's name but not her own-- "I am Warden Inessa Serra...though just Inessa is fine."

"Well, as I have said -- surviving is a priority. Freezing makes surviving the situation ... remarkably less likely." He gives her a crooked smile, a little high still off of the blood pumping through his veins. "I am always pleased to find myself on the other end of the fight with a few more scratches but everything where it should be."

He hobbled after her - his legs were of course even shorter than hers - and he chuckled softly. "Is that what your people are called? No, we have no elves. Dwarves are not considered as much a race or a people as they are considered a ... abomination of nature. And I have no idea what these qunari are, but you would not find one in Westeros. Which seems a pity - they sound fascinating."

Another smile quirked across his lips, slightly more wicked, "I could go for a warm bed and someone in it as well, along with a big, thick book of history on this place -- but let's start off with the simple pleasures in life. Warm skin, warm stomach."

He paused, and then bowed as graceful as you please, "Tyrion Lannister, of House Lannister." A curious look, "We have Wardens where I am from - what are you a Warden of? North, South, East, West?"

Meanwhile, Tyrion heaved giant stones at the bear, causing it to snarl and jump up at him. Tyrion sneered past his own bloody fear, yelling things at the bear as loudly as he could, to keep the beast's attention on him.

He backed away though, letting the bear get distracted enough for him to escape to the next outcropping, his short legs hobbling up as quickly as he could. Oh, this was going to hurt like fire later ...

"Over here you wretched pile of fleas!" He bellowed, nodding at Sansa to get ready to make the next run.

Sansa catches his eye for a moment before running to the next outcropping. It goes on like this for a few more cycles before she's close enough to the smoke to see that it's a camp. Oh. That might be good, right?

"Tyrion!" Now, Sansa has a spear. She has no idea how to use one, mind, but she thinks heaving it in the general direction of the bear is probably a good idea so she does that and hopes for the best.

"I've never seen a dragon up close before. I don't think I ever want to see one again," Sansa says, just above a whisper. It's not something she'd ever had on her list for life goals or anything like that.

"How did you do what you did? I've never seen anything like that." Magic? Sansa thinks it must be possible, considering she'd come here through that strange green aura but she's never seen it done consciously. Hmm.

"A Warden of...no, I am a Grey Warden. Grey Wardens are an order dedicated to fighting darkspawn. If those are not familiar, they are corrupted, hostile beings which enjoy spreading their corruption to all within their reach. The Grey Wardens were formed to prevent them from spreading their corruption to all of Thedas, as has nearly happened five times." Trying her best to give the very simplified version here, but Inessa knows it will likely spawn dozens of questions. That's alright, though, she's long on patience.

Used to the need to quicken her steps in order to catch up on people, she finds actually doing the opposite a nice change of pace. It's also nice not to crane her neck, looking upward so often.

"I hold no significant rank; Warden is the initial title for all who undertake joining the order, which I had done only relatively recently."

"That?" Christine asks, leading Sansa away as fast as she can. "It was a spell." Magic is so well known in Thedas that it really outs this young woman as a rifter.

"I had hoped to distract her. I do believe she's slowed down to take a look. If we continue this way, perhaps she will not catch up." She spares Sansa a brief glance. "I am Christine. I shall do my best to protect you. Are you newly arrived from a rift?"

Seven's Blessings but it is a camp. It is sadly a camp that does not have any people in it, but it is a camp with a camp fire and yes, look, a spear. A spear that Sansa throws - and while it doesn't hit the bear anywhere vital -- it does get him right in the paw. The creature yelps and pulls back, starting to run.

Tyrion's moving towards the campfire, "Quick! Grab a branch! We'll scare it away."

"A ... Grey Warden." He frowned once more, before his mis-matched eyes flashed interest, "Ah, that sounds like our men of the Wall - the Night Watch. Those who take the Black, to guard us against the White Walkers. You must be a fellowship of ... mostly skilled warriors and ah, are you some sort of magical, elven priestess? I have never heard of powers like yours."

Or seen them. He migh have heard of them, from tales of Stannis's pet Red Priestess, but he had never seen them with his own eyes.

"The men of the Wall hold no real ranks either - except the one in charge. He is the Commander of the Night Watch."

Sansa grabs the branch and sets it alight, waving it toward the bear to frighten it away. It startles, finally, and seems to be perfectly happy to beat off back to the bushes to nurse its wounds instead of troubling them any longer.

Once the adrenaline of it wears off, there's a dull stinging in her shin that reminds her that yes, she's injured. She'd come through the rift injured, running from Ramsay, and her slide down the rocks had done her no favors.

"My lord, I have to tend to my leg. I'm bleeding," she says, lifting her torn skirt a bit to show him.

"Priestess? The Chantry folk would find that horrifying, no doubt. Non-humans aren't permitted among the clergy." The thought amuses Inessa a little, but she keeps focus on the topic and shakes her head. "I'm a mage, born with the ability to manipulate energy which originates from the Fade. Mages aren't excessively common, but we are know throughout Thedas...and feared. Sometimes it's justified, many times it isn't. People fear what is different.

As for ranks, there are others. The leader of the Inquisition Wardens is currently Warden-Constable Blackwall. Warden-Commanders lead the Grey Wardens of various countries. The First Warden technically leads us all, though in reality focuses attention on the Anderfels region and Weisshaupt, our main fortress far to the north." Her lips form a thin line, not having many pleasant memories of the place, but her down remains calm.

"White Walkers...are these also tainted beings, or something more?"

Sansa nods. "I suppose that's what you'd call it. I was running and this green light appeared," she says, describing it. "And when I reached it, it seems that it brought me here and away from the ones who were pursuing me. Then I ran into the dragon."

All told, it's working out a little better than she anticipated, running from Winterfell.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 8 of 24

TEST DRIVE MEME!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

battlements

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject