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allthisshitisweird2017-02-25 07:19 pm
faderifting) wrote in allthisshitisweird2017-02-25 07:19 pm
Entry tags:
TEST DRIVE MEME!
I ROLL TO SEDUCE THE BEAR
Tucked between the massive Lake Calenhad and the icy Frostback Mountains in Ferelden’s chilly, hilly south, the Hinterlands are a region covered in patchy forests, small farms, and a bustling fishing village called Redcliffe. The region was recently the frontline of a war between mages and Templars, but the Inquisition’s military presence has restored order and is now focused on helping the locals and influx of refugees rebuild their lives. Whether you’re a recent recruit or a hardened veteran, a Fereldan local or someone who recently fell out of a rift from another world, you may be asked to go lend a hand.
I. FLOODS
A burst of unseasonably warm weather (in no way inspired by real life events) is initially greeted with relief, gloves discarded and scarves unwrapped—but followed within the week by severe flooding across the region. Maybe you’re sent out to help debris from a road or collect the bodies of those swept away. Or maybe you’re less lucky and instead there when the waters come, shepherding refugees to higher ground, or caught riding in the flow on a dislodged roof or log. Maybe there’s a bear on the roof with you.
II. TREASURE HUNTS
Given the lack of banks and lockboxes, when the people here have something they value, they often hide it—under the ground, in a tree, behind a waterfall. So here you are, with a sketch of some landmarks found on a body, trying to find… something. If you find it, it might be useful: weapons, runes, a stash of supplies. Or it might be someone’s box of racy letters and a request to deliver them to a now-married woman who will slap you on delivery.
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.
Armand Cardinal Richelieu | BBC Musketeers
IV. Crystals
[The Cardinal is a man used to people listening to him and more importantly obeying him. He's also a man used to being in charge.]
I have attempted to gain knowledge of this place, however I am quite confused as to why the Inquisition would find itself in league with the Devil himself by aligning with these so-called mages.
[He's from a time when the Spanish Inquisition was quite active and he himself has presided over several witch-craft trials. To say the man is confused would be an understatement.]
V. Miscellaneous
The Cardinal had been here several days and was trying to figure out how best to align himself. He was thinking these 'Templar' types were similar to his own Red Guards. At the very least, he might be able to get information from them. He was used to holding the power of all of France.
When he had been brought here, the Queen had announced she was with child. But, the Cardinal knew that she had betrayed the King in a manner worse than how he (the Cardinal) had betrayed her. She was thought to be barren, so she needed to be killed. Who could have known it was the King who was sterile? Though, now that it had been announced, all he had to do was get rid of Aramis....
He had to return. He had too much work to do. This complicated matters of state far more than he was comfortable with. He was also tired of what little he had here... He needed something more and needed it now. To anyone who looked somewhat in the know, he would ask several questions, because he needed to know how best to connect with those in charge. He needed to establish his network of spies. So, his questions might seem benign. The sort of questions any Rifter might ask. Except, they were pointed as well. They tried to get to the heart of the power structure in this place.
"But most importantly: who is in charge?"
Crystals
[Arcane magicks in her world work somewhat differently, though some things look similar enough to pass for what she recalled from her own experiences. She could no longer use them, not here, but she knew how useful these arcane talents could truly be.]
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Prompto Argentum | Final Fantasy XV (spoilers will be withheld)
[A wet Prompto is a sad looking Prompto. The poor guy got caught in a swift moving current when he attempted to cross, clearly underestimating how deep the water is and the power of the current. He's managed to climb atop a large rock in the middle of the river, out of the cold water, but now he's stuck. He knows if he tries again, he'll just get swept away to who knows where and probably drown. And he's cold. And hungry.
By luck, he spots someone nearby. He shouts at the top of his lungs, hoping to rise above the roar of the river:]
H - Hey! Can you toss me a rope or something? Please?
[Someone take pity on the poor schmuck.]
3. BEARS
[He really does have some shitty luck.
Prompto's gone and run into the area's favorite brand of resident, aka the indomitable, relentless, angry bear. He made the mistake of... honestly he's not even sure WHAT he did to piss off the bear. Smell funny, or something.
So for whatever reason, he's now found himself face to face with a snarling bear who's making her way towards him.]
N - Nice bear. I'm just gonna - how about I go this way and leave you alone? You get some peace and quiet, and I get to keep my organs inside my body.
[Nope, she's not having it. She-bear roars angrily before charging straight at him.]
V. Miscellaneous - Archery Practice (More Like Archery Fail)
[Prompto's a good shot... with a gun. Bow and arrow, though? Not so much. But as far as he can tell, he's stuck with one for the foreseeable future. So he's set up a little practice area for himself, taking aim at a bullseye he's carved into a tree.
He knows how to aim, to his credit, but the issue is more with being able to hold the arrow still long enough to get a shot. The weapon feels clumsy in his hands, and the arrow keeps falling over.
When he does manage to fire one, it either falls too short or it goes way past where he wants to hit it. After several attempts, he groans and drops the bow, rubbing his sore fingers.]
Guess I'm not good at the self-teaching thing.
Archery Practice
No, she had been erred for a demon for her own unusual ears, in spite of her appearance being more similar to that of the humes and not of those creatures that joined them in the green. Her body had been made more so by the excursion to this world, having noticed a few hanges that she is yet still adapting to. Her ears, however, were easily hidden albeit uncomfortably so, beneath a cowl and cloak.
No need to panic the humes any more than necessary, alone they have intelligence, in numbers they inclined towards losing their heads. No need to startle this one further.]
Perhaps not, but the bow is an artist's weapon, its technique is ground-up. It is unique among long ranged weapons [Fran's voice is calm, but her accent is foreign, even for this world] the most important first step is knowing which eye you aim with, it will determine what handedness you are with a bow...it could be that you are using a right-handed bow when you should be using a left-handed bow. Your archery equipment should end up agreeing with your dominate eye.
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Bears
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1. Floods
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Bears!!
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The Eighth Doctor | Doctor Who
Come on, come on, quickly now! [The Doctor calls out to the small group of refugees he's shepherding to higher ground.] That water isn't going to slow down for our sake, and I've a feeling that there's worse to come very soon.
[He hasn't any idea how he came to be here, but it's a problem for a later time. Right now there are people, frightened and soaked people, who need all the help they can get in getting to higher ground and that's all that matters to him. He doubles back, darting to the rear of the group to check their progress and ensure no one falls behind, and thinks that they're actually doing rather well when he hears it. A rushing, roaring noise that's just on the edge of hearing but rapidly getting closer.]
Alright no one panic, but perhaps we should pick up the pace a little--
[He's barely gotten the words out when they see it, a rush of water heading towards them all, and while most of the group is out of it's range, he can see a young mother, trying her best to keep up with a child held tight in her arms, isn't going to make it above the water line. It's one of those choices which there's really no choice at all, and the Doctor grabs for them both, calling out to one of the others ahead before all but bodily tossing them to waiting arms. They barely clear the edge of the waters, but they make it, and he takes that bit of relief before the wave slams into him instead. Then everything is churning, murky water and muck, things that slam into him and leave his head ringing, and it's all the Doctor can do to grab onto a log and cling to it, keeping an eye out for possible rescue or anyone else who might need a log to cling to as well.]
Crystals
[It's a warm night and mercifully free of flooding, and the Doctor is curious about the crystals and the rather fascinating details he's learned about the world he's in so far.]
From what I've been told already, these crystals are a type of magic, yes? And magic is something that some people here have and others don't? So what exactly is this magic like? How does it work and what does it do? I can't say I've ever seen real magic before, but I'm always open to new experiences.
Crystals
Magic can do many things; heal wounds, energize debris to create walkways or repair structures, provide a protective barrier, damage ones enemies with ice or fire or lightning...and so on. I don't mind giving a demonstration for those interested. Knowledge is key toward fighting the present bias against mages.
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crystals;
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Oghren | Dragon Age
One could say that Oghren was the one who had decided to go on this treasure hunt or one could just say that he'd been told he was getting booze out of it. Either way most of the location finding was left to you because he was more of the swinging his weapon at things type. (Yes, this was referring to his axe even if he could tell you his other 'weapon' was very impressive.)
Still, partway through the journey it would be easy to see a stupid grin on his face and sometimes a childish chuckling could be heard. Prompted or not, he finally looked over.
"Imagine if the treasure was some lady's knickers." Yep. That was what he'd been thinking about this whole time. What if the treasure happened to be lady's underwear. Why did you decide to go on this venture with him again?
III. Bears
Now this was something more his style. Hitting things with his axe always got his heart pounding and he had that thing off his back the moment he saw the big creature heading his way. Honestly he wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten over here but he was pretty sure it had something to do with booze and bets. Yeah, that seemed the likely culprit.
"I was gettin' a craving for some roasted bear on a spit. Come here and taste my axe and then we'll see how much meat you got on you." He gave a little laugh as he swayed a bit, axe at the ready. "Some good bear goes good with some piss ale. Makes the tough meat almost juicy. Heh."
Apparently he'd decided he was going to take on this thing himself, unaware of the fact that others might be nearby. Uhhhh...guess you could help!
Misc.
At Skyhold, the drunk Dwarf could usually be found and the Warden camp or the tavern. Either way he was sure to be telling tall tales just to get people stirred up. That or he'd be the one instigating the drinking games. And winning. Already several had called for mercy while he gave a cry that they could come back to face him again after they learned to bleed ale. Care to listen or take his challenge? Beware of either.
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"Ever had maraas-lok? If we're going to have a real contest, ale doesn't cut it. Most people can't last one drink." Is Oghren most people? Time to find out.
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Romanadvoratrelundar II | Doctor Who Universe
Romana had been President of Gallifrey far too long. She's a bit out of practice with the whole 'running for her life' thing. (Spats with the Daleks not withstanding.) She had taken to exploring the forest, but had gone in deeper than she expected.
That was when she stumbled upon the bears. Well. Bear. One. And clearly a momma bear recently coming out of hibernation. Probably with cubs still in the den.
"Oh, this is very not good at all. Where's K-9 when I need him?"
She hadn't said that very loudly. But the Bear still heard her and roared at her. Romana gulped, did as much as she could to gather her robes into her hands so she wouldn't trip and started to run.
She found a type of pine tree and she tried to climb into it, hoping the bear would get confused and leave her alone. Unfortunately, it was now stalking the tree and waiting...
IV Crystals
I am Romanadvoratrelundar, former President of the Supreme Council of Gallifrey and all her Dominions. Holder of the Wisdom of Rassilon. Preserver of the Matrix. Guardian of the Legacy of Omega. Keeper of the Rod and Sash of Rassilon. But you may call me Romana.
If anything I just said makes any sense to you at all, please respond.
[And that's really all she has to say about that.]
IV
[Because why not.]
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IV
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Fran | Final Fantasy XII
[She was doing her level best to maintain a low profile in this world, but as a Viera, Fran is finding the navigation somewhat difficult. Oh, parts of her had changed, such as the shape of her feet, giving her a more hume appearance, but it did little to aid her ability to fit in. She had no idea what a desire demon was, but hse'd been accused of it in the last village before enough hostility forced her to bid a hasty retreat.
Though not before doing what sky pirates were exceptional at doing and stealing a traveling cloak and some shoes. If one leaves such things hanging on a line unattended, then one deserved to have them removed from their possession, besides she is not feeling much in the way of moral compunctions at the moment. The cloak will hide her more, peculiar assets, as uncomfortable as tucking her ears down and throwing the hood over her head might be.
Fortunately it is a roomy garment with arms giving it a cassock-like appearance that covered...well...everything.
Shoes were another matter, these were too big and made for the feet of a male hume, most likely. If that wasn't bad enough the reshaping of her feet meant learning how to walk all over again. Not a convient set of circumstances when one is happened upon by bears, but it doesn't stop her from sprinting, in a somewhat encumbered fashion, away from the large predators who clearly thought she was easy prey.
She's still quick, sailing her way over the terrain as though she knew it by heart, not that she did, but she could hear, smell, and see things so acutely that steering her way around trees, over shrubs, and around bends came easily enough. This does not discourage her large, hairy, pursuers however, determined as they are, these bears give a spectacular chase finally walling her into a recess with walls on all sides and bears between her and her way out.
Reaching over her shoulder Fran withdraws a broadsword and directs the blade at her vicious entrappers, her only option is to fight her way out or die trying. She would be a sorry pirate indeed if she simply gave in and let these bears have their way.]
I've no intention of being an easy meal for you, if this you had a mind for.
IV. CRYSTALS
I verily believe that I could spend the rest of my days among humes and never fully comprehend their vehemence toward one another. I overheard one hume call another with tapered ears a "rabbit" [yeah, no, elves are not a thing on Ivalice, you're just pointy eared humes] it seemed to be a thinly veiled slight of a sort, judging by the tapered-eared hume's reaction.
Is a "rabbit" so terrible a thing in this world? [Because if that is the case, then she has a problem.]
IV
IV
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Re: IV
Re: IV
adric | doctor who
What Adric is, however, is extremely curious. A map's turned up: this is a fact not disputable. He may not care about treasure, especially considering the circumstances of even being here, but he can't not want to find out what it is that's been hidden in the first place. Welcome to the treasure-hunting squad. ]
I suppose the first thing to do is match ourselves up with these landmarks. I'd say that shouldn't be particularly challenging, but this ink is a bit faded...
[ Honestly, the lack of quality control. ]
[ iv. crystals
Adric is all about prodding this baby. It belongs to him and it must therefore be messed with. He doesn't make the rules. ]
And communications just go out to every other crystal? That must be terribly inconvenient. No interface, either. What are we supposed to do if we've missed someone's message? How would we even know?
[ Magic crystals made for intuitive use. He would always have failed to figure it out within ten minutes. There was never another way. ]
II
That bit looks like a nose? Rocks shaped like a nose, maybe? That should stand out, I'd think. I'm not sure what to make of the bit at the bottom, though.
[Or rather he thinks it might be bears, but he doesn't want it to be bears because one, what sort of an idiot buries their treasure near bears, two, what sort of an idiot takes the time to draw the bears, and three, why is it always bears? Maybe Adric can see something Anders can't.]
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crystals;
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Armadus Richomme | AU'd Richelieu (sorry for the second)
Grand Cleric Richomme had been sent from the Imperium to observe the Inquisition. Well. Sort of. More accurately, to infiltrate it. To learn as much as he could and to return to them with any useful information. That was what they wanted him to do. What he wanted to do was infiltrate them and see if there was way to negotiate an agreement between the Andrastian Divine and the Imperium Divine since the threat of Corypheus had grown to be so great.
He had been here for a few days, under the guise of any other refugee sort that needed help. So far, so good. No one suspected who he was or what he was doing. Good. What he needed now was information. Who were these Rifters and what sort of power did they hold? In general, what the hell was going on here? He had far more questions than answers and it was frustrating.
But he couldn't reveal himself, lest he be sent back with no information at all. Or killed, which to be honest, he figured some of the Imperial Clerics wouldn't mind at all.
He believed everyone here was beneath him, but he was disgusted by how accepting these people were of the Rifters, when the same courtesy had not been extended even to their own people to the North. He had to set that aside - to an extent, lest his presence be discovered.
Currently, he could be found wandering around Skyhold.
To anyone who looked vaguely in the know, he would ask, "Pardon the interruption, but do you know anything about the care of these so-called Rifters?"
To anyone who looked less than impressive (which let's be honest, is anyone who isn't from the Imperium), he would ask, "Forgive me, I'm finding myself a little confused. I have a tear in my robe. Where is the best place to get it mended?"
It wasn't an entire lie. He held his robe so that the tear was clearly visible. He just could mend it for himself, so didn't actually need assistance. But it was a good way to test those around him.
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She fishes in the little bag out her side, withdraws needle and thread.
"It is a sight indeed, no? This Skyhold."
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working on practising more of my knowledge yay
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gervais vauquelin | former enchanter in the white spire | original
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The conversation carries on nearly a full minute, entirely one-sided, before a small elven face pushes its way through the flap. She seems poised to speak, but cuts herself off at once upon sighting Gervais. Excuse her a moment, while she just. Stares. ]
You're not the midwife, [ There's the faintest touch of accusation to it, as though he's gone and made off with her somewhere. After a moment, Cerise catches herself to add: ] Sir.
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Fenris | Dragon Age II
[When he’d spotted a bunch of slavers dragging along a captive, Fenris had acted at once to stop them. In the battle that ensued, the poor unfortunate slave had been fatally injured. After taking down the slavers, Fenris tried to save the guy… but it was no use. With his dying breath, he’d handed Fenris a piece of paper. A map…]
[Now here he is with this bloodstained map in hand. He figures there’s something very important to it, and it’s the least he can do. It takes a while to find the exact spot, with quite a few false leads. But eventually, he’s finally gotten to the place… and he’s finally found the supposed ‘treasure,’ this meaningful item which the dying man had meant to lead him to.]
[Yeeeeah it’s a stack of love letters. Very explicit, very dirty ones in fact.]
[And he has no idea what they say whatsoever.]
[Brow furrowed and eyes narrowed, he’s holding up one of the letters, trying to work out any pieces of it that he can. Perhaps the man intended them to be delivered, after all…]
III. Bears
[Facing a bear is no easy task. This battle has been going on for a while now. Fenris growls as he lunges at the creature, swinging with a heavy strike of his two-handed sword. There’s blood splattered on him- mostly the bear’s- and he’s definitely wearing it down by now. It’s time to bring this fight to an end, once and for all.]
[Is he going to try this? Yes, of course he is. No one’s around, as far as he can tell, so it’s not like he’ll have to explain anything. He just wants this over. Not that he’s done this much with bears, but, well, there’s no time like the present to try it out.]
[His lyrium markings are already glowing brightly as he takes a couple more swings of the sword, the bear weakly rearing onto its hind legs for a last desperate attack, with claws wildly flailing… and then… and then… Fenris swiftly reaches his hand into the bear’s chest. It all happens fast, and then it's over. Suddenly, there’s more blood spurting out everywhere, as Fenris’ hand pulls back out holding the creature's heart, the bear collapsing to the ground…]
IV. Crystals
[Unseen by anyone he’s talking to, Fenris is holding the crystal out at arm’s length, as if it’s something dangerous or disgusting. It's basically both.]
A magical crystal. [The word “magical” is said as if it’s a curse word. Clearly the person at the other end of this thing is highly unimpressed.] I never thought I’d see the day that I would make use of a magical crystal. Now we know the world is truly on the verge of ending.
V. Playing cards
[There’s wine, and there’s a deck of cards. What else do you need? Instead of his preferred routine of going off to quietly brood and drink in a corner of the tavern, Fenris is surprisingly in a good mood tonight. He's not normally one for playing with just anyone, but... well... it's been a while since he's had any opportunity, lately.]
Care for a game?
V
Hell yeah, and the wine. Deal me in. Where've you been, Fenris?
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Irving Braxiatel | Doctor Who EU
[Strictly speaking, Brax is not unused to travel. Nor, for that matter, needing to cross a not insignificant amount terrain in search of any of number of things. He is, however, not entirely prepared to deal with the wide varieties of wildlife that can be found across Thedas. Partially because he's never entirely gotten in the habit of needing to protect himself... and bears aren't precisely susceptible to the sorts of hypnotism that he'd usually turn to.]
Wonderful.
[This is offered in a sigh, and mostly to himself, while he considers the merits and embarrassments of simply turning and fleeing.]
This is the last thing I needed today.
{IV}
[Brax is no stranger to crystals that have some variety of power or another, Gallifreyan society being what it is. True, the ones he knows best aren't anything to do with communication - and certainly aren't implied to be magical besides - but as long as he overlooks that it's not so hard to consider it to be a slightly unorthodox version of the communication devices that he is familiar with.
Albeit one that might be more easily lost, or stolen, but just at the moment he's not too worried about that.
The voice that addresses the crystals is warm. Friendly, even, if perfectly polite. The sort of voice one might find on a well-meaning professor or the more affable sort of politician; the voice of someone who is very much used to speaking publicly.]
Well, I certainly can't say that I expected any of this. But - and correct me if I'm wrong - I'd imagine that's not an uncommon sentiment? After all, it's hardly every day someone finds themselves quite unexpectedly translocated.
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Nope, it's not uncommon at all. We have plenty of rifters around here, from a ton of different worlds. I tried to keep track, but honestly lost count a while ago. If you're overwhelmed, well...you'll have a lot of people in that support group.
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III. for all the lovely 'i Don't have a brother, what are you smoking' ness
yesssss good /chinhands
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Calpernia
[ Ah, the south. Surely, Calpernia thinks as she watches a bear on a log float by, this is what they mean when they talk about its rustic charms.
Such as the rustically charming roof that she was currently stuck on top of. Peeking over the edge, she affirms that the water is still a mere handful of inches under the eaves. How was it that the Hinterlands even possessed this much water? At least she was lucky to manage to get on this roof, before the waters rose. If you wanted to use 'lucky' rather loosely.
She straightens up with a sigh, turning her gaze to the sky. At least it's a nice day, out. She never got much of a chance to just relax and stare at the clouds, before. ]
iv. Crystals
...Bears. Why are there so many bears in these woods? Never have I seen them in such numbers, nor so hostile to people. Surely they can not repopulate so quickly. Is there some kind of bear farm that raises them, and releases them?
[ #thetruthisoutthere #bearfarms #butwhywouldyoufarmbearsandreleasethem ]
v. The Campsite
[ She's used to camping, and it is no hardship for her to bear it. But the looks that she gets, the whispers when her back is turned (and sometimes, even when it isn't)? The coldly polite barrier everyone erects between her and them. It reminds her of those long years in Minrathous, before she discovered her magic. No one quite knew what to make of her strangeness then, and avoided her whenever possible.
But she can't diffuse this situation with a magical awakening. The suspicion has been wrought with her own hand, and thus must be fixed likewise. So she works around the camp, helping put up tents, carrying wood. And starting fires, of course, for those come to her as easily as a flick of the hand. Once camp is settled, she sits in front of the blazing campfire, by herself. She will not hide in her tent, like a shamed woman. She has no shame in herself, in the goals she aspired to, in what she did to reach them. Let them see that for themselves. ]
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Fai D. Flourite | Tsubasa Chronicle | AU'd
II - Treasure Hunting
[There's no mark of identification on the tall, skinny man who's currently sitting back against the trunk of a nearby tree with a wooden lockbox cracked open in front of him. There's a patch over his left eye, but he carries no visible weapons. If anything, his silk shirt and embroidered boots mark him as an Orlesian, although when he speaks there's only the faintest trace of an Orlesian accent. He's very pretty, with golden blond hair tied back in a low, loose ponytail.
And he's giggling. There's a letter in his gloved hands, and he's giggling.]
Oh dear sweet Andraste, I don't think that's even possible....
V - At the tavern
[What do you call a pretty man with an eyepatch, a tricorn hat with a feather, buckled boots, a snazzy frock coat, and the biggest, cheeriest grin you've ever seen as he's strolling into the local tavern? A pirate. A fop? Really out of place.
All of the above.Maybe just call him Fai.As if he doesn't have a care in the world, he saunters right up to the bar, rests his elbows on the bar and his chin in his hands, and bats the eyelashes of his one good eye at the bartender. The bartender patently ignores him--until the pretty man slaps enough coin on the bar to buy a round of drinks for the entire tavern. Which is what he promptly does.
What is a pirate/fop/whatever-the-hell-he-is doing out here in the Hinterlands? Who knows. Maybe ask him, since he just bought you a drink?]
V - Tree climbing
[Or more appropriately--tree falling.
The blond man working his way up the tree just ahead is skinny and graceful, and looks as though he's having no trouble scaling what should be an easy tree to climb. There are plenty of branches. There's not even a bear chasing him up said tree. Except just as his foot goes to press against a particular branch he hesitates, catching sight of something. Maybe you? Either way, he's coming right back down the tree now. In a big hurry.
Are you close enough to try to catch him, or are you going to get squished? Or maybe just stand back and laugh?]
V
My goodness, that was quite a tumble.
[He sounds *so* concerned.]
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ioane of denerim | native oc.
b - hes an elf now i guess
"Sorry, I'll just," He's backing out of the room on instinct, when he notices what she's actually doing, and then he's staring some more. All things considered it is — not the weirdest thing he's seen around here lately, but that doesn't mean it's supposed to be happening.
Is she trying to steal them? What's with the sheets tube?
"Do you need help with that?"
He is not here as a servant. He's here as a surgeon, which is to say, generally above this shit — Maker bless Skyhold and its bizarrely polite and frequently-injured shem.
But for all that, not so much has really changed, and he told everyone he was coming here. If she makes off with something, he knows exactly where the blame's going to fall.
"An extra pair of hands. Miss."
well congrats
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XT13ijUfSts
Fuse with her, Ioane
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Rhys | Dragon Age: Asunder
I. Floods
You would think with everything Rhys had been through, he would be more aware of his surroundings. But, as can be the case with flash floods, he was caught completely unaware. He had decided it was finally time to come to Skyhold and offer his services to the Inquisition properly. This wasn't quite the welcome he had expected. Not that it ever was...
He heard the water crashing towards him too late and was swept away. It was all he could do to keep his head above water. There wasn't time to cast any spells. And of course, the armor he wore was weighing him down. He did what he could to call out.
"HELP! Someone! ANYONE!"
IV. Crystals
Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I am told I have you, the Inquisition, to thank for that. I am here to help, though I must apologize for the absence of Evangeline, she was needed elsewhere.
[He might sound just the slightest bit sad about that. He misses her, something he'd never thought he'd say when they had first set out on his Mother's Adventure.]
I. Floods
Rhys's rejection had never faded from his mind, the strong rush of emotions to never see that creature again, he called it friend and it had been inhuman all along; Cole would normally never have let Rhys see him again, never have gone against that wish.
But he would not and could not ignore this.
He doesn't have to run or climb, he simply moves with steps and thought to where he needs to be, on a stone arch where he can drop to his belly, one hand clinging to the rough stones while the other lashes out, whip fast, and snags the back of the armor. It wrenches his shoulder but his grip remains firm.
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Jowan | Dragon Age
The flood waters had taken Jowan by surprise, largely because he wasn't entirely certain what all the rushing noise and crashing had meant until it was suddenly a wall of water slamming into him. Everything had been a blur then, water and things going past and yells that might have been his own, but he'd managed to catch a hold of a bit of floating something - part of a wooden wall maybe? he couldn't tell - and pull himself onto it like a half-drowned, half-starved mage. Which he technically was.
He'd thought at least he could do something about the first part as he lay there, coughing up water and wondering how it managed to get everywhere, when he heard a growl and looked up slowly to see a rather feral looking dog nearby. It was watching him and he could just picture it sizing him up as a sort of slightly soggy lunch.
"Stay back," Jowan tried to threaten in his most intimidating tone, though truthfully it sounded rather wobbly. "Bad dog! I'm warning you! I mean it!"
II. Written Nope
Somewhere here there are supplies. He knows this because the map he found on the poor unfortunate sod said as much. 'In case times get tough, I put something by'. It had said and since it isn't going to do the original owner much good, Jowan decides that times are rather tough for him and he could do with something to help him out. Especially if that something turns out to be food or clothing. Or both.
Of course the problem he's finding now is that the map, such as it is, had been made by someone used to the are and he... really isn't. As far as he can tell there's a sort of squiggle thing that might be a river or maybe a road and then some rocks that might also be bushes and then it would be under a tree. That... He squints. Might also be a weird rock maybe.
"I'm never going to find anything here," he all but wailed aloud. "Everything's just trees and rocks and things trying to kill me!"
IV. Voice of Nope
[The voice is a bit strained and nervous, like the speaker isn't entirely pleased with the idea of talking to other people but doesn't have much choice. Which is entirely true really.]
Um, does anyone happen to be near a... tall tree? Near a river? Only there was a very angry goat thing and it chased me and then there was a cliff and I sort of slipped but I caught this tree and it broke and I fell in another tree and now I'm stuck.
I think I might have hurt my arm too...
1. Nope ... with Griffons!
Yes, that's right. A griffon. Ridden by a Grey Warden.
...and that griffon just plucked that mage right up in his claws and started to carry him off away from the dog itself, with the Grey Warden mage yelling, "No! No! Bad Butterball! This is a mage, not food! Not food! We are not taking him to eat him - oh bother - hello down there! You might be in for a rough landing but I will try to soften as much as I can! Whatever you do, don't cower! Griffons see cowering as prey!"
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Varric Tethras | Dragon Age
I. Floods
Ah, shit.
This'll teach you to leave the tavern, Tethras, you smug idiot. Touch down now and you'll be up to your forehead in floodwater. Your favorite.
He's sitting on a floating log, toes trailing into the current, a frown fixed on his terribly handsome face. Above his head, arms aching, he holds a board on which there rests a pile of parchment, drying in the sun and blessedly held together by twine. His pen is gone, lost to the disaster. A damn waste.
Anyone else in this position might call for help, but that's for anyone else. Varric has a certain reputation to uphold, which means he is totally silent and sulky as the current takes him gently through the Hinterlands.
Never again, Tethras. The outdoors: not even once.
...or maybe just with Hawke.
V. Miscellaneous
Exactly where he belongs, either before or after the flood situation: Varric lounges in the tavern, a generous mug of ale beside him on the table, and ruminates. Spring is springing, it's very poetic, or he likes to think it would be if he had any knack for writing poetry.
Instead, he focuses his thoughts on the Inquisition, Seeker Penteghast, whether she's still herself, whether she's still at Skyhold, ready to eviscerate him for yet again disappearing. ...maybe it's not time to go back yet.
Sure, he might be a coward. Varric never made any claim to bravery. But at least he's a comfortable coward, and the day is nice, and the ale is cold, and he can be sneaky just a little bit longer before he returns to any real duties.
Misc.
And then it's easy to ignore those questions, because the corner he's headed to has a very familiar someone in it already. He opens his mouth to say the Dwarf's name before he stops, considers the fact that Varric for once isn't announcing who he is to everyone, and closes his mouth. Instead of being loud, Anders chooses to take a seat at Varric's table.
"I knew you'd turn up again. I'm glad to be right, and I'm glad you look to be in once piece."
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Simon Ashlock | Native AU (Templar)
For someone whose job description until now has largely entailed locating, chasing and retrieving, Simon is not making himself terribly useful here. His much-vaunted tracking skills work fine on people, particularly when those people are flinging magic around, but inanimate objects don't have the same habit of leaving convenient trails behind.
"At this rate, it'd be quicker to make our own damned supplies than find caches," he grouses. "Maker's breath, we'd be home sooner if we planted wheat and waited for it to grow than if we stuck around trying to find where the rebels hid their food."
V -- Miscellaneous
Simon hasn't paid much mind to the notices and pamphlets hung around the tavern. The one he keeps seeing copies of is for an archery tournament, and he couldn't hit the broad side of a dragon if it landed right next to him. But this one, small and cheerful and placed right at eye level as he sits at his usual table, is another matter.
"Sing-quisition?" Maybe the name leaves a little to be desired, but that's a minor concern. And the songs are all a bit secular for his taste, but he can learn whatever heathenish ballads they want with a good will, as long as he gets to sing. He takes down the contact details and downs the last of his ale, and ventures forth in search of the choirmaster.
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Dryly,
"It is not about the supplies, Ser Ashlock." She stoops low — the trouble of being nearly a head taller than most hereabout — squinting to compare the sketch to a rock on the horizon. "The war may be gone of these hills, but the people are not so quick to forget."
The Inquisition is a welcome presence. It brings money, supplies, stability. The remains of the Order? Less so. A short gesture upwards, to the dimming light.
"The innkeep will make most of his coin in the next few hours. He wanted us gone for them."
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Lukas Fremantle ¬ native OC: Tevinter Mage
There is, Lukas has concluded, some unwritten law which dictates that Tevinter citizens travelling South must never be warm or dry. No doubt the good Maker's message telling them to go home. Wouldn't such an option be delightful? But the possibility of home is as remote as that of dry socks, and here he is trudging through ankle-deep mud, struggling to - by the old gods, this is embarrassing - wrestle out of his water-logged outer robes before he catches his death. The current had slammed into him and swept him what feels like miles off the trail, left him gaping like a fish in a shallow puddle, he can't even see his staff anywhere around the dank, muddy landscape. Just the debris that's been swept around with him. Sticks and stones and the occasional animal corpse, and the smell of wet dog, somehow. So Ferelden in a nutshell.
His day is not complete, though, until he stumbles over a sharp rock embedded in the muck and falls flat on his face, sending a massive splash up from the weight of his soaked clothes. Lukas is normally a man of magisterial class and grace, but these are exactly the kind of circumstances in which he reverts to his crasser roots.
"Fasta vass! Fuck this entire benighted country!"
IV. Crystals
[A weary, Tevene-accented voice comes through the crystal to ask a very important question:]
I don't mean to question the wisdom of the natives, but is there a reason why I should sit up this tree until the bear has gotten bored and gone away? It's only a bear. I can shoot lightning, you know. Lightning does kill Southern bears, doesn't it? Look, robes aren't made for sitting on branches...
V. Misc
"One more round. You know I'm good for it."
Some men in exile drink to forget. Some drink to dim the pain of separation. But Lukas Fremantle, in exile, drinks to celebrate. Another day survived in the Ferelden ass-end of the world. Who'd have thought that a bear would be an opponent worth drinking to? But any excuse will do, when you are cheerful though in need of warming up, and rich, let's not forget rich. He is good for another round. The barkeep nods appreciatively at the coins he sends clattering to the table. The other patrons cheer and swing their mugs up and drink to the best 'Vint they've ever known. Lukas smiles in half-drunken indulgence. He likes this atmosphere. It has a rustic charm. And essentially these are good people. He'll drink with whatever company he can get.
"I don't know what this is made of, but it does the job," he happily tells the patron closest to him. "Here's to adaptability. I'm doing terrific, if I may so so myself."
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Alan offers as he leans in, tipping his head to regard Lukas. It might be conspiratorial, if it weren't otherwise utterly flat of affect. What's this made of? Well,
"Is terrific the same as adaptable?" Unblinking, he fiddles at his own mug — remembers, after a moment, to offer a faint, cockeyed smile. "What were you doing, before you adapted?"
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Wyla | Skyrim (Dragonborn) | Rifter
Okay. She had been pulled away by floods before.
In dungeons.
With draugr and skeletons... and skeevers.
This was a little less dangerous than that - but by the Black Isle, so much more annoying. At least she had managed to grab onto a rock and somewhat pulled herself up on it, thanking Azura that she wasn't wearing heavy armor.
Now she just had to make her way to the other side without getting pulled away by the water again. Great.
"Hello?"
V.
Leaning back against the chair in the tavern, Wyla gives a content sigh. Not wet or exhausted from fighting a flood and with some ale in a mug and she was almost as good as new.
This was a nice place, where ever in Oblivion she had ended up. Part of her wanted to say it was still Tamriel, but there was just some things a little bit off with the people here - especially the mer. So tiny!
If you're irritated by being stared at from the oddly dark elf, she'll probably apologize. Maybe.
Fiona | Dragon Age
If anyone were to ask Fiona whether or not she expected to be winding her way through these lands without a watchful eye fixed on her every move, she would not have dared to hope. Ferelden…the Hinterlands, in particular, had taken some of the heaviest damage in terms of property and lives lost on both sides of the mage and templar conflict. That she had been one of the leaders in the mage uprising only sharpened her regrets, but she would not change one line of what was done…after all it was done…and it would have happened in some form or other she was certain. Still, the devastation was beyond what she could have imagined and she owned her blame in what happened…but mages were only a single wedge in this toxic pie. The Templars and the Chantry were equally responsible, not that her opinion on the matter was particularly objective…but she was doing her best to set things to rights, and with so many other things on her mind she was surprised that she wasn’t reeling from the pressure of it all. Her resilience, steadfastness, and tendency towards reactivity made her both the best and the worst of leaders…she knew this, even while she sought out the position of Grand Enchanter…but things had to change.
Fortunately her involvement with the Inquisition left her little time to dwell on the matter, but what drew Fiona from her present thoughts was not the next assignment, it was the roar of rushing water and the panicked sounds of her traveling companions. A few had been caught in the current and swept away, lost to her, she was certain, and it took every ounce of control not to react to the situation as her instincts would have her do. She was inclined to pursue them, hopeless or no, but there were others beside her, still standing, that needed her as well. Shaking off her pain and her frustration she held her ground, they would soon have their own problems as the flood threatened to come their way promising the same fate. Tearing herself away from what she wanted, she focused on what she needed to do and she needed to do it quickly. Raising her staff a wave of magic shook loose enough rock and debris from a nearby crag to hold off the rushing water, but only temporarily as it was coming with such swift ferocity that nothing could hold back such a brutal show of natural force. Looking to her remaining companions she commanded:
“Go!” Their hesitation, while it was natural and mildly touching, received reproach that was quick and sharp, “I cannot concern myself with my own safety if I’m too busy worrying about yours, now go!”
Her remaining followers were reluctant to leave her, but did as they were told, heading to higher ground while Fiona attempted to buy herself more time.
IV. Sending crystal
It seems that my exploits as a Grey Warden have somehow transcended my infamy as leader of the rebel mages somehow…though not by much. After all that has happened I expected a bombardment of the usual line of questioning, the why’s, what’s, and how’s of the rebellion…I have grown accustomed to having my brain picked over the matter…
[Now here’s a voice that has been absent for quite some time, soft Orlesian tones refined by years spent away from her homeland and underscored by weariness.]
…Grey Warden business is something that I have not had my hands in for quite some time, but the past is ever waiting beneath the surface of the present I suppose? I guess it should not surprise me and if there are any pressing questions you might have of me concerning the events that took place in 9:10 Dragon I can try to elucidate some of the vague details, preferably in person. Now that I have returned I find myself available in a way that is unsettling…
[She doesn’t particularly enjoy periods of respite, at least in her experiences anyway, it’s so inactive, passive, it leaves her feeling open to the unexpected. She’d much rather be primed for the next disaster, it makes the transition easier.]
With that being said, it would be remiss of me not to warn you that it may not be the most satisfying conversation, this is not to say that you should be discouraged. You may find a kernel of knowledge in whatever information I am able to provide, it could certainly happen, but try not to set yourself up for disappointment.
[Though the flexion quality that her Orlesian accent happens to take on at this point suggests that there are things she cannot or will not discuss.]
On a less weighty note, I’ve not returned empty handed, I’m under the impression that when one travels extensively they should return with something and food is always appropriate. I’ve more candied fruit, cheese, and cured meat than I know what to do with…the cured meat in particular looks like a weapon for clubbing rather than something I would be inclined to eat. If you are feeling exceptionally fearless I invite you to take these curiosities off my hands.
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Ah, we have the Grey Wardens in common? Or did, I suppose. I would be interested in hearing whatever news you were willing to share, of course. More perspectives are always welcome.
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Diana of Themyscira/Wonder Woman | DC Comic (post crisis-pre52)
There is something to be said about being blind for the odd month or two that puts the idea of being powerless into perspective. To this world, Diana is only powerless in so far as she can not shoot ice or fire from her fingertips. She is still very strong, though now she finds she gets tired more quickly than she used to. She is still far more durable than the average human, but where normal blades would not have been a major concern for her normally, suddenly they've become an actual threat. None of this actually stops her or slows her down enormously. She's fought with limitations before, this isn't any different. But they are certainly different limitations.
So. If you find yourself near the training grounds, you will see a tall, muscular woman, wearing not a stitch of armor except for a pair of large silver bracelets that hug her forearms like manacles. She's testing the heft of a sword, but pauses to offer you a smile when she notices she's not alone.
"Oh, hello," she says, easily and pleasantly, "Would you care to spar?"
2.Has flooding got you down? Dial 1-800-Superhero now!
This is familiar. This is the only time that Diana truly feels how limited her powers are. Flight used to come so effortlessly to her. Now, 20 hours after the floods had caught her at the Crossroads unawares, she can feel the drag of energy expended like she's never felt in relief efforts before. She has a little more. There is always a little more. She can't effortlessly lift walls or fly long distances anymore, but as long as she hears voices, she will move towards them.
2b. Services suspended due to inclement weather.
Well. She needed the rest anyway. It probably would have been much nicer to have her rest at the Inquisition camp where there was a fire and blankets and even a little food, but the roof of a washed out house works just as well. Diana is a woman of great will, raised by women known for their resolve. Still, when one's body decides one is done moving for the next few hours, there's only so much arguing one can do before they must concede to the truth.
Falling several feet from the air into cold, debris filled water also makes for a very strong case of conceding to the truth at speed. There is very little she can do now except wait for the water to recede and a little of her strength to come back or for someone to find her.
3. Choose Your Own Adventure.
Diana is curious, though reserved in her new arrival. She has done this before, been the stranger from a different land and she's not the young woman she was when she first did this. She is more cautious, more ready to hold back and observe before interacting. Politics, especially the politics of Man's World, has taught her much. But she is still entierly herself, immediately present and warm. The way she carries herself, easy and regal with an underlying power, does not quite fit the plain clothes she wears, the ever present bracelets catching the soft glow of tavern light as she listens to the bard sing or glinting in the sun of the Hinterlands.
[small caveat for the canon familiar, i haven't read all of the crisiseses because i love myself and life is short. my apologies for any contrary information. Diana is from the end of Ruka's first run (post-neckbreak) 4 the curious.]
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"To spar?" Wren smoothes her face back into a mask of polite neutrality, adjusts the strap of a gauntlet. "Ah,"
She’s tempted. It's a rare opportunity to train against someone with whom she shares both size and a center of mass. Rather more common are challenges by the cocky, unarmored, and mildly insane. Wren would accord the latter to Diana and make some polite excuse, were it not for the mark of her hand.
A Rifter. Of course. They're all mad,
"Perhaps with blunted edges," Calmly. A short gesture to her own armor. "And a moment — if you'll grant — to level the odds."
Quicker to have off with it, than to try and piece together a set to fit her partner. It's not that she completely underestimates the woman: Diana's musculature, her manner, they both speak to an evident experience.
It's just that. Like. Who the fuck swordfights with bare skin?
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Ade Tokunbo | (Native OC)
[Setting up took some time. Building the wheels, longer. But not long after the floods have swept through the village, Ade works to remove the debris from the road. Namely, by attaching logs to pulleys and pressganging the villagers into lending a hand. Of course, those villagers may not be too enthused, which is why she's taken up position at the end of the rope.]
On my count! Ready? [Mumbles and shouts arise.] Three. Two. One! Heave! [Heave.] Three. Two. One! Heave! [Heave. And just like that, slowly but surely, a log is returned from where it rolled into the muck to hanging in mid-air, not far from the home it originally belonged to.] You lot up there! Get ready with the hammers! [Now it's just a matter of reattaching it.]
On my count! Three. Two. One! Heave! [Slowly but surely, the log rises. Ade almost slips in the muck. She feels like home.]
II. Treasure
[It's dark, now. But the map said there would be a cache near the riverbank, and that's where Ade's wading for it. Still, searching through the silt and the weeds in the dark is just asking for finding nothing but pebbles. She glances around and sees nothing save the shapes of trees. Thinks she might be safe enough, so she kneels alongside the riverbank and breathes out. Slowly, carefully, measured. Like breathing a fire to light. Only in this case, it's… well, a light a light. Soft and white. After a few moments, the ball the size of an apple floats up, and around it, Ade feels the Fade ripple.]
A little more to the north this time? [She wonders aloud, before turning towards where the river branches off from the hill.]
II
Definitely, she hadn't meant to wander off so close to dark, not knowing all the nonsense that lurks out in these hills lately. But the dog had to take a piss, and the problem with spending your life ranging the same little plot of countryside estate is that when it comes to anything else — trees, for example, or reeds and rivers — it all just kind of blends together.
Mysterious orbs of light do not.
She smothers the gasp with a hand pressed over her mouth, another dug tight into a raised of furry hackles. It's the latter which gives them away: A steady, rising growl from the throat of the old mabari. She's heard stories about wisps, about the little demons that lead over-curious young children to their certain doom. It's just she stopped hearing about those when she was maybe six.
Both their eyes glint in the dark as Cerise freezes, gaze locked on Ade through the dim. A silent, whispered, fuck, fuck, fuck, ]
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Sister Miriam Godwinson | Alpha Centauri | AU'd
I
[The floods came through. But, as all such floods must, eventually the waters recede, the birds return, and the trees remain. Though, as in all such floods, there remains the matter of what to do with the bodies, who were not as lucky nor as blessed as the birds, the trees, and the waters. Some may claim they died on account of their wickedness, though Miriam is not one of them. Not today, at least, for today they must be accounted for, and the pyres must be lit, and their souls must be sent away to join all others.]
All things in this world are finite. What one man gains, another has lost. We have all lost much today. We can but hope that those who remain will gain some measure of peace and comfort in the days to come, as the departed who now sit by the side of the Maker.
IV
[The crystals are new and work by magic. Miriam is... somewhat suspicious, to say the least, but still: it is not the crystals that are evil. Not yet. Not until the Wicked get their hands on them. So, she asks a question in the dark of the night, hardly expecting an answer.]
Who do you suppose is listening to the conversations we have among ourselves?
IV
I am, [ But that's probably not so helpful. After a moment, Alan adds. ] The Maker. The stars. Anyone who's found one of these — everything around them.