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

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.

[kartereo]

"Cheers," Waver said, making a genuine effort to ensure that this cigar puff was very much downwind from Alan. Not everyone appreciates the smell, and Waver had gotten plenty of side-eyes from his adoptive younger sibling for even engaging in the habit. "For the light, not for stating the obvious."

Actually, that had not been obvious at all, and Waver was glad to have the information, especially regarding the dragon's habits. He knew nothing of the things, they were pure story back home.

"All right. If you have that information, then you have something in mind, right?"

[alankazam]

"Yes. Sort of." His nostrils flare. It's habit, not objection. The words stay mild, unperturbed — but their pace lifts noticeably. "We need to buy time to run. I can do a distraction, but it won't last long without cover."

He shoots a questioning look to Waver. The skills of shardbearers seem terribly random things. Half wield immense and unheard-of talents. The other half try to tell him about 'television' plays.

"Or I can keep the hatchlings off them. We've got to be ready to act when she stops the threat display."

The girl with the pitchfork leans in to whisper, "Them little ones ain't no bigger than deer, we could take them easy —"

The high dragon stops flaming, and bellows. It's a bone-rattling roar, echoing off the tight canyon walls with shattering force. Across a little ravine, heavy boulders shake loose and plummet to the river far below.

The white-faced volunteer faints, dropping flat to the dirt. The dragonlings shriek excitedly and swarm forward, making a beeline for the group. From the cave mouth, their mother huffs great steamy warning sounds as she lifts one titanic paw to step free.

[kartereo]

"Cover," Waver repeated, his eyes drifting down back to his cigar. In theory, he could provide that, although he was loathe to reveal the secret that hid in each and every cigar he carried on him. "Will foreign magic work here?"

It was a simple question, one that he needed an answer to immediately. Hatchlings, the dragon bellows, everything was secondary to that piece of information. Waver's ears ached as the roar's echos carried through the canyon, and he rubbed as if that would stop the ringing there.

"If yes, then I can provide cover," he added quickly. eyes set on the mother dragon now moving forward. "If you're not certain, then calculate if an attempt is an acceptable risk."

[alankazam]

"It's acceptable!" Pitchfork answers for him, gasping as she tugs at the fainted volunteer. He doesn't budge. "We accept it!"

Will foreign magic work here? Alan doesn't have a clue, but it's do or die time. Better to do. Alan nods hurriedly to Waver, and begins to...

...Take off his shirt? Hopefully that's not the distraction. The first dragonling reaches them, skittering on outsize claws and snapping for Fainty. At this distance, it's sort of cute, with a stubby little snout and enormous dewy eyes. Like any other baby.

Pitchfork slams her weapon into its jaw, sending out a spray of blood and teeth. It wails, and two of its siblings peel off the pack to begin ripping at the wound. Pitchfork sprints aside. The high dragon lowers her horns towards them, lunging out to take a bite of the air where she stood just a second before.

"She must have eaten the drakes!" Alan stoops, groping for the fallen man's shovel and tossing it up to Waver. Another gesture, this time over the shirt: frost hardens and crackles over the bundle of cloth. "Ready?"

[kartereo]

Waver had never wished more fervently that he had his assistant with him than he did when the blood starts to flow. Gray had her scythe and the general ability to withstand combat, unlike Waver who after enough running, would become nothing more than a wheezing mess. Then again, just about any other mage from the Clock Tower would be capable of more in this moment. He even missed catching the shovel, instead allowing it to clatter down onto the ground and smack his foot before picking it back up.

"Everyone get within arms length of me then," he snapped, now no longer asking about risks but instead making it clear that he was in control. It was an illusion, of course, but no one ever trusted a nervous mage in a situation of life or death. "That way I don't miss a single person here."

He flicked off a little bit of ash from the cigar, as if that was the catalyst for the spell. It wasn't, of course, it was just annoying to have there. What came next was all too simple: the air where the great dragon should have snapped her teeth next simply saw her snout press against the barrier. A great, terrifying, fire breathing dog with her nose to the glass.

Waver breathed a sigh of relief.

"How long until she gets bored?"

[alankazam]

"She won't." Alan glances over the barrier approvingly. It's better than he could do. Pitchfork makes the sign against evil on her chest. "This is her territory. We need to get out of here, and to make sure she doesn't follow us."

The dragon snuffs, and cranes her long neck back. Heat ripples in the air that trails from her nostrils. Seconds later, fire blasts over the shield in a smothering arc. At her feet, the hatchlings yip and tustle over the meat of their sister, tiny sparks flying from their own mouths.

"How far away can you be, before this'll stop working?" A gesture to the barrier. "Can you get them out behind it?"

"He's too fuckin' heavy for me alone." Pitchfork chimes in, stooping to haul up their comrade once more. "C'mon, wake up, you dense git."

[kartereo]

Waver counted the number of cigars still on his person mentally. He wanted to stretch the supply out for as long as possible, given he had no idea where he might get replacements, and he was loathe to use everything up on a single life threatening situation.

"It is attached to my person and thus the radius of it relates to where I stand," he said. "Meaning that if I move, the field will move with me. But no one can leave unless I drop this."

Other magi had fields that could be passed through like a membrane. They were older, more advanced, more ancient in bloodline, and honestly in a situation such as this one, they too would probably prefer a less porous barrier.

"I can drop it and let them run, but I wouldn't advise it."

His eyes drifted from Alan over to Pitchfork, then addressed her directly. "I can't lift and keep this up, but how bad is it?"

[alankazam]

"He's just out cold." She complains, swatting at his cheek. He sputters blearily. "Only time I've seen him do this, he realized he'd been chatting up a Chantry sister."

"Here," Alan drops to press the icy shirt over his face. A second later, he's sitting bolt-upright, ripping it off. Little bits of skin stick to the frozen cloth, but at least he's awake — bloodshot eyes fixed in terror at the dragon overhead. He looks like he's about to repeat the performance.

"No you don't," Pitchfork covers his eyes, nudging him up. Finally, he stands... if a little wobbily. To Waver: "Can you run with us, then? She's gonna fly, right? Soon as she's out of this box?"

Alan peers curiously at the cigar, but doesn't voice his thoughts aloud.

"Y'all wanted a distraction, well, hills still got giants." Pitchfork purses her lips, thumps Fainty on the back. "We could lead her to one o'them."

[kartereo]

"I don't exactly have a choice but to run, now do I?" he said, his voice bone dry. There wasn't any other option, but at least everyone was conscious. That counted for a lot, and he could only hope that running wouldn't be for too long a distance.

He saw the eyes on his cigar, offering Alan a questioning eyebrow raise before blowing out some smoke. Without any wind, the thick smell lingered in the air, permeating everything.

With the mention of giants, Waver perked. "How far are the giants from here, precisely?"