allthisshitisweird | TEST DRIVE MEME!

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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.

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Ah, so business as usual.

[He's... only half-joking, but there's a flicker of a smile around the edges of his expression all the same. Enough to suggest he isn't particularly put out by it, at least.]

I'm sure there are some people who might. Anyone meaning to make something out of their fur, for one.

[Of which he most certainly isn't one and he doesn't suspect that his be-kilted companion is either. But that doesn't make it any less of a point all the same.

Fortunately, the bear itself doesn't seem to have noticed them, just at the moment. Brax isn't yet ruling out the possibility that it might yet do so, but beyond that he's quite in agreement with Jamie. If they don't end up needing to have to fight it, so much the better. Especially as he's currently unarmed.]

And I think I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you.

[There was something the Doctor sensed when he grabbed the other man's hand, but he couldn't really acknowledge it until they stopped. And by then, of course, he had released the other man's hand.]

Something like that, yes.

[But the Doctor didn't care about that, because he realised what he had sensed. He turns and looks over the other man very carefully.]

You're a Time Lord. [He frowned.] But that's weird. Not Good and weird. I can't tell which one you are.

[It's not himself. Although he didn't know how many new regenerations he had been granted, he'd never be sure if he'd be able to encounter any of them. It wasn't the Master. This one felt older than Missy somehow. And familiar, but... he couldn't for the life of him place the other man.]

[He doesn't look armed for the simple expedient of the fact that he isn't armed. Not that he's unwilling to carry weapons, but for the most part he hasn't really had the time to find any; something that's a bit of a problem when he hadn't had much reason to carry one previous to his arrival.

(And that's leaving off the fact of how a staser might be taken, in a world that certainly doesn't immediately seem to have quite the level of technology to at least make it not stand out like a sore thumb.)

He doesn't realize that there anyone nearby until an arrow pierces the bear's heart, and only then does he left his eyes in the direction of where the arrow had come from.]

Nicely shot.

[For now, it doesn't matter whether or not he can see her. There's clearly someone there, and he figures a little politeness can hardly go amiss.]

[He manages to catch one of the last, largest branches in one hand on his way down, not enough to break his fall but enough to slow his momentum at least, so that when he thumps to the grass below it's a thump instead of a... well, splat. Or crash or crack, or any other manner of unpleasant noise.

Still, it's a rough enough landing that Fai sprawls out on the grass with his one good eye shut tight for a moment, bemoaning life itself and this tree in particular. When he opens his eye again it's just a crack, peering out at the owner of the voice. He hears that tone, stranger, don't think he doesn't.]

You're one to talk--you distracted me!

[Still, he somehow manages to sound more amused than anything. Still whiny, but amused instead of angry.]

Ohh? My humblest of apologies.

[He sounded really sorry about that.]

[Still, he set down his medicine pack, and began to rummage through the bottom-most drawer.]

Why were you in a tree?

a. GRIN AND BEAR IT | hinterlands.

Ioane is a creature of cities and crowded streets. The Hinterlands feel quaint and backwater to her, like some parochial dream. She's never been this far from Denerim before. Everything looks so picturesque!

It's easy to get caught up, staring at the beauty of the trees and the wildflowers, when she's sent on an errand by one of the many (many many) people that she answers to. The Inquisition will take any help it can get, apparently, so she's been a kind of runner, a servant with quick footsteps who doesn't turn up their nose at bedpans and bullshit.

And from there, it's easy to get lost. Really easy. Find some spindleweed, they said, and Ioane ran off to find it before realizing she knew what it even looked like. These country people think everyone is a country person, and the accents between Denerim and here aren't different enough to notice. Before long, she's wandered into the wrong neck of the woods, and is that a bear?

Ioane's never seen a bear before. They're so big. She gapes in open wonder, studying the sheer girth of the creature, the fur, the beady eyes, the huge nose. She's completely lost in observation, until the bear rears itself up on its hind legs and begins to roar.

Ioane screams.

b. YOU JUST GOT SERVED | skyhold.

Ioane is positively thrilled when she finds out they need her as a servant. A servant. She never thought she'd be so lucky! It's the kind of job no one in her family has ever had. A servant in a castle! The Maker himself must be smiling down upon her.

She does her duties with unusual cheer, which probably underscores how she hasn't got a clue what she's doing. Her experiences with feather beds have been minimal, verging on nill. She hasn't got a clue how to make them. She's never folded clothes before. She's certainly never changed someone's sheets.

She puts an impressive amount of effort into doing it badly, methodically rolling up the linens into one long tube so she can unroll them over the bed with no creases or wrinkles. It really makes perfect sense in her head.

Honestly, it's only your bad luck, walking in on her while she does this. "Oh!" she says, smiling too widely not to be covering for nervousness. She feels guilty just for being here, even though it's actually her job, and it ends up leaving her seeming like she's been caught in the act of doing something illicit. "Hullo, Ser. I, uh, didn't see you there. I won't be long."

She goes back to unrolling her sheet tube.

[Uh huh. Sure.

Fai groans and levers himself up on his elbows, still laid out on the ground but at least able to get a better look at his newfound company. Since, you know. One eye and all. He watches the man rummage around in his pack for a moment before answering.]

Scouting, of course. What else would I be doing in a tree? It seemed like the best place to spot any rampaging bears that might be nearby. [a pause] I suppose I'm lucky you're not a bear. What are you doing?

Greig stares. Ser. Well, that'll last about a minute. It's a sign he needs a haircut, more than anything, but he'll drink it in while it's there.

"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."

Edited 2017-03-11 00:28 (UTC)

[There was a growing pile of rather... unusual paraphernalia building up around the Medicine Seller as he rummaged. Some of it was medicine.]

[He finally found what he was looking for and offered a black lacquer-ware canister. It was decorated with white cranes soaring gracefully over a flowering plum tree against a backdrop of gold clouds.]

This poultice should help any cuts and bruises.

Ioane's never been good at hiding her emotions. It's a lot of why things were so rough with her father. When the elf offers to help her, her eyes narrow, and her face pinches into a suspicious expression. She hmphs and turns back to unrolling the sheet.

"If you want the position, you'll have to talk to the housekeeper." Ioane never mastered the art of cold disdain. The sad parody of it she wields is closer to an open challenge.

Hey, careful!

[That is not a sensation Jamie cares for at all, even though he's holding on tightly enough now that he's able to making it through the rocking without losing his grip again. That might not be the case a second or third time. Still, he gamely lifts his head up as best as he can, peering in the direction the Doctor is looking. It's doable...if they can manage to get there. He grimaces, teeth scraping against his lower lip for a moment before he lets it go and a determined look comes onto his face instead.]

Right. I'm going to try kicking. You coming back down here or are you just going to hold on, then?

[And it's a fair point on Brax's end as well, but since he's not planning on making anything out of their fur and Jamie's not planning on making anything out his fur Jamie's more than happy to let it go in favor of leaving instead.]

Aye, well, then let's get out of here before one of them turns up.

[Because that's a very real possibility around here. Bears paying attention is, too, because even as he starts to point towards a clump of trees, the bear lifts it's head and starts to sniff the air. It's a point that's not missed by Jamie, and the pointing rather suddenly turns in to something rather more urgent as he makes an attempt to grab at Brax's sleeve.]

Come on, let's go!

Edited 2017-03-11 04:20 (UTC)

A lot of problems come from being a competitive asshole. In this moment, it's the sudden, intense sensation that he should be folding some sheets right now to prove a hostile stranger wrong.

Wrong about what? That doesn't really matter. Don't you loathe being mistaken for a servant? Under pretty much all circumstances, yes. So what's the problem?

The problem's mostly that he's Greig.

"I suspect my patients would object," Against common sense he eases himself into the room. If his tone's a little pointed now, it's still momentarily more passive than aggressive. "Particularly Chevalier Waters."

Whose room they're both currently occupying. Who Greig hates with all his being. Who has made a generous donation to the Inquisition and probably shouldn't have his sheets stolen while convalescing.

"I'm looking for anything he might have accidentally ingested," A gesture to the far cabinet. I'm looking for poison, is what he means — though Don't chase me out of here like I'm the one trying to steal something, you fucking horse-faced thief is also probably a fair interpretation. "Is that alright?"

Ioane is at least optimistic enough about the Inquisition not to hold grudges. She perks up at the suggestion of some kind of secret mystery to uncover. Something she can do to help the Inquisition. Something she's probably better at than rolling sheets.

Which is why she opts to blithely ignore his pointed tone.

"What do you think he was eating?" A tiny smile creeps onto Ioane's face. She knows whose fault she wants this to be. "Bad food?"

Oh, Andraste, how she hates the cook.

He takes it for a yes, smoothes his shoulders into something a little more relaxed — and at once more puffed up. His movements unwind, begin to take up more of the free space as he begins picking through the dresser.

"Orlesian. Would he even know?" An idle joke, a peace offering; she sounds Ferelden. Hating Orlais may be the one thing Ferelden and Nevarra actually have in common. "No, if it were food poisoning, we'd all be down with it."

He's still watching her from the corner of his eyes, does a silent mental calculus of whether she's really committed to the act... or perhaps not actually looking to shove the nearest valuables up her sleeves.

"Flasks, bottles; something alcoholic he might have kept back for his own." A gesture to the closet, an eyebrow lifted expectantly. Are you helping, then? "Or bath oils. Salts, maybe."

He'd expect different signs of a contact poison, but Maker knows what a drunk will try to shove in his mouth.

It doesn't occur to Ioane that she would have the authority to force someone out of a room that isn't hers, largely because she's never had, you know, a room that was hers. Which is to say the peace offering works splendidly. She grins-- lopsided and toothy-- and walks over to the dresser. She stops before she opens the thing.

"They know you're searching his room?" It's not an entirely idle question. "Not really in the mood to get fingered for stealing today." She says it while making a motion that-- pending the advent of jazz-- will some day be called 'jazz hands'.

It's not as though he'd tell her, if they didn't, but:

"Yes." He declines to mention his own suspicions. "One of the mages has an eye on him while I'm here."

Pretentious fucks.

"Are you new of the position?" A case opened, contents skimmed — it'd be useful, perhaps, if he spoke the language. But not knowing Orlesian is half of what allows him to be here right now. "I thought Rebeka was on this wing."

Not that he's particularly aggrieved. Rebeka's sharp tongue was notorious.

Ioane can't quite keep herself from scoffing under her breath. Poor, dumb Rebeka. "She hasn't been feeling well," since I blacked her eye. Why dish it out if you can't take it? 'It' being a few blows. It's Rebeka's own fault for running her mouth. "I'm new, yeah. Ioane."

Haven been given permission, in some capacity, to snoop through Waters' things, Ioane sets right to it. If she were a fancy Orlesian lush, where would she hide her drink? Well, why would she need to hide it? Fancy people don't need to hide shit. Not unless it was shameful, or dangerous, or embarrassing. Which means it ought to go someplace no one would find by accident. Drawers and mattresses are right out. In his personal belongings? No, his page likely pokes through that. It's got to be someplace secret.

Paging through the closet, Ioane looks for signs of use. Something that's been touched that shouldn't have been touched. The interior isn't very dusty, but there's signs of use near the bottom, and that's-

"Do you want to open the secret compartment in the closet?" She asks, tone wry. "Because I don't."

"Greigor." He’s still fiddling with a useless fold of fabric when her words pull him up sharp.

Someone more charitable, less of a prick, might go: Wow, nice work Ioane, good reasoning. You sure figured that one out quick — Instead,

"You’re kidding me." The words are flat. He’s quite certain she’s not kidding him, but it’d be nice to pretend. Greig peers over (under) her shoulder, hissing a quiet string of Nevarran expletives. Opening this thing is objectively a terrible idea. A trap is unlikely, given Skyhold’s age, but whatever’s inside could be as damaging to know of.

Risk and reward, of course. If Waters takes a turn for the worse, bad news for Greig’s little reputation about the castle. If he improves?

"I’ve got it." He stoops low, prodding to search for the mechanism. "If flames shoot out, you can say it was my idea."

Not exactly an act of bravery. Even if this goes poorly, he wouldn't mind taking the credit for being clever enough to spot it.

Ioane isn't thinking about credit or prestige so much as the gnawing concern that Waters is going to be pissed when he finds out. Who will the lout prefer to blame, the elf or the Fereldan? Ioane guesses the elf, given that he's also foreign, and also also an ass.

She'd defend him, maybe try to speak up for him, if he was less of a prick. Her personal code of honor dictates that all people worth defending ought to be defended.

But he's not, so she lets him fiddle with the secret compartment. "Shooting flames?" she says with a roll of her eyes. "Like he'd risk his silks."

"You never know," There it is. Click. "Saw a drawing out of Halamshiral. Dress covered in —"

Candles, he doesn’t quite have time to finish, because then the back of the wall is sliding onto itself. The hollow beyond is dim; Greig steps away, waits a moment for his eyes to adjust.

"Can you check the door’s closed?" The one out to the hallway, where anyone might stumble in. He doesn’t really say it like he’s asking. "Thank you."

Edited 2017-03-12 00:49 (UTC)

[Huh! Definitely an odd thing to say... it makes Kain pretty curious.]

Business as usual? Are you saying you've experienced something like this before?

Ioane does as she's told, which, really, she ought to get an award for. It's not like this guy is really her superior. She doesn't have to. But as far as she's concerned, she's doing a really brilliant job fitting in and laying low, she's only gotten into about five fights since she got here last month, and only one of them was when she was taken on as a maid a week ago. And Rebeka was asking for it. So it's not really her fault.

Anyway, she closes the door.

"It's all locked," Ioane says. Unable to keep back her curiosity, she tiptoes back to where Grieg is crouched to look over his shoulder. "What's in it?"

What, I can't just be pleased to hear from you?

[ He's definitely missed the traveling companions he actually started to figure out understanding. ]

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TEST DRIVE MEME!

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ioane of denerim | native oc.

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b - hes an elf now i guess

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well congrats

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