allthisshitisweird | TEST DRIVE MEME!

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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.

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Garahel barks happily as it strikes the bear, still ready lunge from above should it break free. As it is, there's a growl from the currently helpless bear who naturally does not like its predicament. Knowing that it won't last and that she needs to act, Inessa doesn't dare turn her attention away from her target, placing an array of ice mines before her to freeze it in place again when it does try to retaliate. Until then, it's time to summon a blizzard. Dark clouds gather above and bring bitter winds with them, but only above the bear and the immediate area surrounding it. That will keep it too chilled to move fast.

Was the dog cheering him on? He had the distinct feeling that the dog was cheering him on. Was he dreaming all this? Was he going to wake up in Meereen, having fallen into a bottle of wine after he had spent all that time sobering up?

It was starting to seem more and more likely, as the woman started putting out complex circles that disappeared then re-appeared with ice, and then the sky opened up and winter came bursting from her fingertips.

Tyrion was so damned startled that he took a step backwards, right off the Sevens be damned rock, and tumbled back into a bush. Yes, this was just how his day was going.

"Garahel!" That one word is enough for her mabari to scramble over to Tyrion and assist him getting back to his feet. He remains watchful, too, just in case other bears appear, attracted by the noise. They like to do that.

Meanwhile, Inessa is ready for when the chilled, very injured bear breaks free of the ice circle and stumbles into her mines. Conjuring a boulder from the Fade, she slams it into the creature, who responds with a roar. Before it can break free again and charge her, she blurs away with Fade Step though not towards Tyrion and Garahel. The more they can divide its attention, the better. And if she's right about her assessment, it won't take much longer before it falls.

"Ah, thank you ... Garahel!" Tyrion patted the dog distractedly, before he goes to grab another rock to fling at the bear's haunch, forcing him further into the ice ... traps.

"Go on, you gigantic furry bully! If you want us, you'll have to go through the ice traps! So if you want to be an icicle, just keep on coming!" He bellowed, picking up another rock and tossing it right between the creature's eyes.

Doing her best to keep focus, she nonetheless smiles as the shouting from the dwarven man by Garahel reaches her ears. He's spirited, and she can appreciate that, which Garahel seems to as well. The bear staggers around, still enraged but now able to do quite as much about it now. That suits Inessa just fine, who adds to its pain with blasts from her staff, singing the bear's flesh and fur with lightning. Bombarded by magic and well-aimed rocks, the bears roars and tries to use the last of its strength to reach the small elven woman...and stumbles into the next mine, freezing solid.

"Hah!" Tyrion smirked, before he shook his fist towards the bear, "That is what you get when you cross a lion, a dog and a ... woman with shapely sharp ears, you grizzled wretch - what in the Seven!?"

Yes, and now, his hand was flashing bright green light because he had a ... shard of something in his hand. The light reflected off his confused mis-matched eyes. Then at the frozen bear, and back at his hand, before he sighed.

"... I suppose there is a very good explanation on what precisely is going on here?"

"There is, but you're not going to like it." The elven Grey Warden smiles apologetically, making her way over as there's no more threat from the bear. Let it be a testament to others of its kind, not to mess with the Inquisiton's forces. They won't listen, of course, but it's a nice dream.

Garahel, now that the immediate threat has passed, turns to Tyrion and sniffs at him, tail wagging enthusiastically. Battle buddies, yes?

"You were near a rift, weren't you? One of the green shimmers in the air that brings forth demons from time to time? And, as a tangent, are you hurt at all?"

"Madam, I have lived my entire life as an outcast on almost every single level." Tyrion answered drolly, as he moved closer. "I assure you, whatever you are about to tell me, I have lived through worse."

Battle buddies indeed. He offered out his hand to the dog, giving it a crooked smile, "I owe you a side of beef, my friend. Once I figure out just ... where I am."

He frowned for a moment at the pointed-ear woman's question, "I was near a gigantic green hole, yes ... and there were these ghastly creatures. I thought they were White Walkers. I beat them to death with a rock." He looked himself over, then snorted, "I hurt all over. However, I am not dead, so ... I am doing fairly well, all things considered."

"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."

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?"

"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."

"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."

"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?"

"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."

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."

"I could not agree more. If there was a creature I hoped we had in common, it would be the Dorne grape, which makes the finest wine in the world. Not, instead, the disgusting thought of creatures that will still eat you and are the things of nightmares." He sighed quietly, "Of course I could not land in someplace pleasant. The gods do enjoy their sense of humor, after all.

"...Well that seems, if you pardon my bluntness, ridiculous. This might be the best time possible to hammer out terms, before this Chantry gets back up on its feet and can start making demands that you mages do not want to answer." He paused, then sighed, "Forgive me - I cannot seem to keep from politicking, even when I am a stranger in a strange land."

"Work seems to carry a certain momentum, whether you desire it or even realize it. I think I understand. And that political savvy could serve you well here, especially once you learn more about Thedas and is tangled web of issues. You're not wrong, either; it would be an ideal time, if we didn't have to expend nearly all our efforts to finding and defeating the being who created all these rifts to begin with. Demons pouring into our world tends to take precedence." Inessa shrugs, not exactly thrilled for her fellow mages that everything is put on hold, but it is what it is, and railing against it won't fix anything.

"I am not the best person to speak on their behalf, regardless. I am a mage, yes, but I am also a Grey Warden. My departure from the Circle would be seen as legal, no matter what. And Grey Wardens are supposed to be apolitical, given our singular focus." Though yes, her tone does indicate that doesn't happen a lot of the time.

"I'm not familiar with the Drone grape, but perhaps Antivan wine will be an acceptable substitute. Spiced and heated above a fire, it does much to take away the weariness that comes of wilderness treks." And they're closing in on the camp, too. The tents can be seen by now.

"Perhaps it is on hold, but there is no shame in those breaths inbetween battles to get something down on paper that someone important has to sign." Tyrion stated simply, as he put his hand on Garahel's back to help with his balance down the path. "This creature does need to be defeated -- but what happens after he is, and you have nothing put into place? ... if it would garner me any favors with your fellows, that could be the first thing I study here in Thedas."

He tipped his head with interest, "So the Grey Wardens are exempt from all your laws, and yet, have to profess not to be interested in any? Now that must be a ... entertaining position to be in." Especially since her tone states that there are exceptions to that rule.

"Mmm - yes. I do believe I would accept a glass of that, if it was offered. Would there be food to go along with it?"

"Indeed, though it's relatively simple camp fare; the standard field rations, more ram meat than you could ever possibly want, and sometimes soup or stew, if someone's been tending the cookpot. Whatever else there is we bring in from Redcliffe Village, which is not overly far away."

Inessa nods to the Inquisition guards, who seem unfazed at the notion of yet another rifter joining them. Garahel perks up at mention of food, definitely wanting some of that ram meat. "'Entertaing' is not quite the word I would use; 'exhausting, perhaps. Even more so for those Wardens of significant rank, I imagine. I don't envy my superiors in Skyhold."

And as she leads him toward the mess tent, Inessa glances at him curiously. "...you would really spend your focus on mages? Even though you are not one yourself, and have no stake in this?" It's not condemning, but in her experience, that sort of thing is pretty rare.

"I have eaten bread not fit for anything but the refuse pile. Ram meat sounds like it would be an absolute culinary delight. Whatever the form." Tyrion answered frankly. He looked curiously at the guards, but does nothing more then offer them a cheeky little salute.

"Exhausting is always the position of leadership. One wonders why they do not fall asleep with their faces planted on the desks." He stated, his smirk flashing again, before he looks over at her.

"I have a particular weakness for downtrodden things. The mages seem like they have had the boot to their necks for too long. Besides, I hate to see a good bargaining position wasted."

...he seems to mean it, at least as far as Inessa can tell. She tends pick out the liars easily enough, after all that exposure to them. Those with genuinely good intentions can seem vanishingly rare, at times. So her expression softens a bit, not that she was being hard on Tyrion to begin with. "Well, then. If you can assist the mages in any way, it would be appreciated. Lady Josephine Montilyet is our ambassador and chief diplomat; her advise would be invaluable. The Mage Council will have much to say, though I know little of their dynamics." Warden business has meant skipping out on the clubhouse meetings.

And upon entering the tent, they're greeted with the aroma of ram meat stew. What variety! But there is also relatively fresh bread from the village and freshly brewed tea, along with a few other goods to round out the selection.

He gives her a faint and knowing smirk, before nodding his head just so so she knows that he was in fact serious, "If I can make myself useful, I will do so to the best of my ability. I shall be delighted to make the acquaintance of the Lady Josephine ... where-ever she might be." He arched an eyebrow, "Are you telling me that you even have a Mage Council and they do not have on paper?"

Seven, they needed his help more than ever.

A deep inhale, as they entered the tent and he could almost taste the stew in his mouth.

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TEST DRIVE MEME!

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