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

[in_death_sacrifice]

[It sounds terrible, but Kain would have done the same thing in such a situation and he would expect no less from anyone else ever facing the same. That's just how it is. When a demon has taken over, the person is just a puppet being moved around by them, and no longer who they were inside. He nods agreement, that's all they can do now, is try and find any means possible to fight.]

When have I ever given our enemies any sort of mercy? You can count on it. I'm sure your research will serve you well, too... Anyway, it seems there's plenty out there to fight. Good.

[It's the only way he knows to make a difference, put his sword to work killing evil things. Perhaps that atonement will be within his reach now, after all. The more Red Templars he destroys, and darkspawn and so on... the better.]

[in_death_sacrifice]

[As her eyes glow, Kain watches intently. He's known a spirit healer before, quite well actually. It's been a while though, and he'd forgotten what it looked like. Definitely unsettling if you don't expect it.]

That's a relief. I can't afford to lay around for very long. [Well, when can he, really? He's gone through some pretty annoying recoveries.] You're a spirit healer, then? That's no easy power to master...

[anacardiaceae]

You would need something enchanted to pull from the air and force the coldness into the metal.

Shouldn't be impossible by any standard.

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?"

[aceso]

"It sounds like you have had a busy day," she states, glancing behind them and hearing the dragon's wings beat.

"I can cast Haste on us. It will make us move faster. All right?" Christine rarely asks for permission to lay down a barrier on someone, but if she's doing something that will directly affect their body, she always asks if there's time.

[aceso]

That is what they all say.

[ It's said with a sigh, but she refocuses to lay a rejuvenation spell on him, in order to ease some of his aches and weariness. ]

No, indeed. I studied for a long time before I took my test in the Fade.

[inthemoonlight]

Cecelia responds with a thin smile. Oh, the elf has done nothing wrong, It's just that these Orlesians sound so very much like the French her country is at war with, and always seems to be at war with, really. It's hard to disassociate the two from each other, but she is trying. She at least has nothing against elves. She knows what it's like to not be the norm, though thankfully she can keep it hidden, unlike those with small statures and pointed ears.

"I do, in fact. I have never stepped into a tavern before." Her accent is a mix of Yorkshire and Lancashire, though to the untrained ear, it simply sounds Ferelden of some type. Outside of Skyhold, Cecelia tries to keep her rifter status under wraps behind a thick leather glove to hide her shard, and she gets away with it well enough. Her bearing, however, does suggest some upper crust of Ferelden nobility, so the statement about her first time in a tavern is apt.

"Do you mean to say that you enjoy the ale, despite what you have heard of it?"

[legerdemainist]

At that Noelle laughs, a high, tinkling thing. "Oh, no. It is just as awful as the tales have made it out to be, if not more so!"

Raising her cup as if she has just given it the highest of compliments, she continues brightly, "And I intend to enjoy it most thoroughly," and then takes a generous drink. Seemingly mindful of neither Cecelia's accent nor her rounded ears (nor indeed her questionable smile), Noelle waves her closer.

"Would you care to have one with me?"

[inthemoonlight]

And come closer Cecelia does, though she looks skeptical.

"Join you in having awful ale? I cannot see what the benefit would be, except perhaps you laughing at the disgusted faces I would make."

[legerdemainist]

"Is that not enough?" she asks, with a faux-innocent expression that soon becomes a teasing smile.

"Well, then, what of the thrill of a new experience? One had perhaps even with a new friend?"

[tallasaking]

Tyrion huffs out a breath of relief, then turns to the camp in which they've found themselves. Well, it was hardly a room in the King's Landing -- but there was fire and a tent. Good enough for Tyrion.

He looked over at her, before his lips press together. "We'll have to find something to clean your wounds, then bandage them. Go on, sit. I'll see if they have clean water."

[tallasaking]

"Yes, or more specifically Red Priestesses. They worship the Lord of Light, and they're rather fanatical but they do have all sorts of interesting abilities." He nods his head though, at her explanation, "That, my lady, I can assure that I understand."

He arched one eyebrow at her expression, before he continues his line of questioning by answering hers, "They are the creatures north of the Wall - creatures with dead eyes and dead bodies -- they will either kill you and possibly eat you, or turn you into one of them."

[circleprodigy]

That definitely puts her in mind of darkspawn; how can it not? "The parallels are certainly interesting...and unsettling. Darkspawn can't directly turn anyone into one of them, but when they infect others with their taint, if that person doesn't die, they'll become a tainted creature called a ghoul. Their minds are mostly gone, their bodies given to corruption which manifests through hair loss, sores, and so on. The best thing that can be done is to put them out of their misery, before they can harm others. There is no coming back from that."

Her eyes darken a little, having seen that truth by now no matter how much she might wish otherwise. She smiles a little at his understanding, not surprised but glad to see that he doesn't seem the judging type. "Many of the Chantry folk can qualify as fanatical, but they have no magical power. Mages are not permitted among the clergy, and until semi-recently were not permitted an existence outside the Circle of Magi. Those who left were counted as apostates and returned or killed, depending on the threat. Now the Circles have fallen and the mages' future is not likely to be settled any time soon."

[rowancrowned]

Thank you. [ he has his manners, and they work as well here as they did in arda. thranduil takes the apple, and sets the peel down at arm level on the battlements, where he won't forget it. ]

How would you translate that? [ oh, he has bits and pieces of elvhen, nouns mostly- no hint as to sentence structure, as to the thing that really build a tongue into some form of coherence. he hungers for more, not bothering to keep the warm curiosity out of his gaze as he watches abelas, admires the work of his armor and clothes. ]

Men have short memories. And these elves- they beget children when they are but children. [ neatly, he eats the sliver whole, then rests his hand on the stone. ] Memories fade quickly.

8D

[rowancrowned]

I suppose.

[ OH LOOK a hobbit. a new hobbit, because the only hobbit he knows to be here so far is one samwise gamgee, and he is not the sort of elf who can't tell not-elves apart.

(mostly. he struggles with dwarves, sometimes.)

but for hobbits he has only a softer expression than the one he might usually bear, and with his hands clasped at the small of his back, cuts a less intimidating picture than usual. ]

Do you have a pole, little one? Or are you quick enough to catch them with bare hands?

[theladyofwinterfell]

Sansa is happy enough to sit, though she's afraid that she might not get back up again any time soon. The flight had given her energy to keep away from the bear but now that she's settled, she cannot help but sigh and feel the weariness seep into her bones.

"I never would have gotten away alone. Thank you, Tyrion."

[theladyofwinterfell]

Sansa considers it for only a half a moment before nodding in agreement. If it's something that will help, she isn't wise to turn it down. Not considering the dire circumstances in which they find themselves, anyway; she can think about the strangeness that is magic later.

"Yes, please? Anything that you think might help."

[virabelas]

[ he makes a musing noise as he cuts a slice of apple for himself, settling more fully against the stone. for a few moments, he's silent, as if he's mentally translating. ] It doesn't translate especially well into this tongue. [ he presses the slice of apple to his mouth as if he's going to take a bite, then pauses. ] The place.. mm.. 'the place where the sky was held back' is closest, perhaps. [ he finally pops the apple piece between his lips, chewing thoughtfully as he glances down into the courtyard.

at last, he frowns. ] Generations and generations, and each new one less recognizable than the one before. [ after all that was done to save them-- in the end, had it amounted to nothing? between the humans and their own ignorance, what remains of the people is all but extinct. (it offends him to see them wearing vallaslin so proudly. they have no idea--)

he distracts himself from the ugly thought by turning his attention back to the stranger. ] My name is Abelas. What shall I call you?

[famousest]

[ he flattens a palm against his chest, feeling the hard edges of the ring dig into his chest beneath the fabric. if he looks a little paler when he nods, it's only because.. well, he's so very tired. and now he has no idea how long he'll have to carry this evil thing. ] We.. were nearly to the mountain. Another day or two, I think. And then I-- I awoke here, falling out of one of those rifts.

[ his smile returns a moment later, though, sam's familiar and dear indignation enough to buoy flagging spirits, at least for the moment. he reaches out, gathering both of the other hobbit's hands in his own, pressing them fondly. ]

Don't fret. I'm certain I've been no company for anyone until now. Today is the first day I've felt myself enough to meet others and help. [ he frowns a little uncertainly. ] And I've been mistaken for a dwarf several times since I arrived. It's very odd, you know. Hobbits and dwarves hardly resemble one another at all.

[famousest]

[ he looks a little alarmed by her alarm, then (very briefly) offended, then a little puzzled. ]

Well.. that is because I'm not a demon. I'm a hobbit.

[ he should think that's apparent. at least, the not-a-demon part. the hobbit part might be a little harder, given that no one's heard of them here. (which isn't all that surprising, really-- it's not as if his people are particularly well-known even in middle-earth.)

he glances down at himself a little uncertainly, as if a little worried he's grown a tail or claws, before lifting his gaze again, brow furrowing. ]

Do I resemble a demon, then?

[famousest]

[ for a moment, frodo stares in shock as the semi-familiar sight catches up to his brain. then he's scrambling to his feet, a hand clutched to his chest, blue eyes wide and stunned. ] Why, you're an elf! [ a proper elf, that is. the sort that frodo's accustomed to.

and more than that, there's something he recognizes about him.. something he can't quite put his finger on. ] I beg your pardon, I simply-- I had hardly expected to see an elf from home here.

[ a blond elf. a blond, familiar elf. where has he seen his face before? there's something..

and then he has it. ] Oh. You must be Legolas's father, King Thranduil. [ not only is the resemblance there, but he's seen sketches of him in bilbo's book. ]

[fightorfright]

( That name alone is enough for Amélie to look vaguely disgusted. )

Eugh. Why is it called that, then?

[fightorfright]

No, it's just - ( Sweet Andraste, she really has put her foot in it this time. ) Never heard of much else coming out of the Fade. Not til recently, anyway.

( She looks him over once more, wishing everything would make more... sense, really. )

Go on, then. What's a hobbit?

[aclassi_guy]

Oh, it gets her attention, alright, in a big way. The two little ones squall and drop, but the mother bear turns, roaring pain and defiance, and meets Korrin's stonefist directly in the teeth. The attack stops the bear cold, and she stands shaking her head, stunned, unable to react.

Krem lets Korrin have a low, impressed whistle. Nice. Writing's on the wall, now: he starts his awkward descent.

[aclassi_guy]

"That's..." Not the point, of course. The point is, company gets fed, merchant gets paid, everyone goes home happy, "...Generous of you. Thanks."

Krem wasn't raised to be ungrateful, so he doesn't say a word about rewarding bad behavior, or paying for his own grain, only takes the proffered sack of grain from the supplier and shoulders it without even a grunt of effort. The rest will be delivered where it has to go, but this is enough, for the night.

"Coulda handled it, 'course," He's not a charity case, after all; and if he wasn't willing to pay, it isn't the same as being unable. He offers her a grin, "If you ever find yourself in the Herald's Rest, I'll owe you a drink."