TEST DRIVE MEME!

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

II

[theexile]

[She'd been out gathering plants for the Inquisition today. A necessary task given how many people they take in constantly. Of course some of what is needed is further away but that doesn't bother her since she's used to being something of a nomad. It's the culture she grew up in. Honestly it's odd to her that lowlanders often seem so content to stay in one place their entire lives. Compared to the Avvar who settle for awhile then move on it seems so...permanent.

But yes, she's been out looking for plants when she hears a voice near where she's about to set up camp for the night. Studying the area, she notices a ball of light float up and decides that camp can wait for now. Moving through the trees, she spots the woman. Another lowlander likely but also possibly a mage. That alone is enough to get her to somewhat relax. Somewhat. Lowlanders are still very odd to her.]

Do you look for something?

[thewakingsea]

[Ade's still standing in the reeds, though she looks up at the interloper. She doesn't know quite what to make of her, but she assumes that since they haven't shouted for a Templar, they might be a decent sort. The light keeps floating lazily around her, not directed in any way or the other.]

I heard there might be something buried here. [She crosses her arms.] Haven't been lucky so far.

[theexile]

Something?

[Moving closer, she looks at the ground to see if there is anything disturbed. Well, minus what this woman has disturbed already. Soon she's kneeling down and the staff at her back becomes more visible as she runs her fingers over the earth. Either the thing is very buried or it has been swept away after being uncovered. At least if it really is this location.]

This soil might not be so good for burying.

[thewakingsea]

Something. [She nods. At about this point, Ade notices the staff at her back and speaks nothing of it. She could, she supposes, but... well, other people's magic is none of her business, so long as she's not going to cause much fuss about her own.]

Maybe it slid downstream... [At least, if the thing she's looking for is chest shaped, and she's willing to bet it is.]

[theexile]

Possibly.

[She studies the land a second more then looks at the water to see how fast it is moving. Not overly so currently but heavy rains and such could have sped it up. Unless this woman knows when this thing was buried, she's doubting that currently since she doesn't seem to know what it is, then likely they won't know where it ended up.

Rising up to her feet, she walks along the river to see if any plants have been disturbed to see if maybe something recent took place.]

It seems a foolish thing to bury so close to water.

[dissono]

( she merits a pause. of course, most things do, lately, and gervais is a man given to pausing in general - but he can do that in motion, coming around the table where he's been sorting herbs to usher her in and to one of the low cots where she can sit and let him get a better look at what he's dealing with besides a great deal of blood on the wrong side of her skin. )

C-c-c-c-oherent, ( he observes, ) a, ah, a, a good sign.

Where?

( the reason for his sparseness with words is probably not hard to figure out, just from that. besides, he's examining her with magic already - he wants her talking so he can track her pain levels and her consciousness, not because he direly needs her to answer his questions. )

[thewakingsea]

Don't ask me. [She's not the one who buried it. Some of the reeds seem disturbed further in, and she thinks she might be onto something.]

[theexile]

Have you a flat stone? A large one?

[She's crouching near the new area, running her fingers over it. Perhaps it ended up here? She figures they'll know soon enough.]

[thewakingsea]

I will in a moment.

[Thank you, river. It doesn't take too long to find a rock that's been weathered by the water until it flattened out, and when she does, she passes it along to her companion.]

[theexile]

It seems the waters did not make it travel far. Whatever it might be. It might have settled here since the soil is drier. Perhaps a storm carried it.

[Whatever happened, she works the stone into the ground, careful about not breaking the reeds in the process. Rather she seems to be shifting the ground so they can continue to grow where they are.]

Since you have light, we will need your eyes.

[To look for it.]

[magerebel]

Sadly, beyond the amusing anecdotes, there really is not much to tell, though as of late there has been a growing interest in how I was able to rid myself of the darkspawn taint. I have few answers in regard to this as there are a number of extraneous factors involved. I suppose the second most popular inquiry is "what was Duncan like?"

[thewakingsea]

On it.

[She kneels in the muck, and if she's at all bothered, she's not showing it. The light floats over from where it's been bobbing, and this time she focuses on making sure it stays put. It hovers not far from them.

She digs with her hands, if it helps.]

[theexile]

[With the other woman looking, she focuses on digging. She imagines will only be shallowly in there so she spends more time shifting dirt to the side than really putting depth in there. Besides, it does help to widen the area so that way it's easier to actually see into the hole.

After a time she pauses when she thinks she might have hit something. A box? Another stone? Hard to tell.]

What is this?

IV

[justice_is_blond]

It's a bear. Maybe you should shoot lightning. Any natives telling you to sit there are likely messing with you.

[His Fereldan-accented voice is very amused.]

[circleprodigy]

I admit to curiosity regarding the removal of taint; that is a highly significant achievement. If it could be repeated...but then, I suppose it would have happened by now. Even so, any information is better than none. What made you unique in this instance?

iv.

[elegiaque]

( gwenaëlle makes her response private, for reasons that will become clear; )

Do you know if you're still subject to Corypheus's ability to influence the Wardens and their Calling?

( 'their'.

this little orlesian voice did not get their secrets from joining. )

[intruthandlove]

Diana hums a laugh. Exhaustion was certainly awful, but she didn't mind the giddy feeling that seemed to come with it. It certainly helps that her new companion is an amiable one.

"I would say something about the weather being perfect for a short rest, but that may be tempting the gods." Or whatever spirits preside over this world. Either way. "I'm Diana."

lmk if this is too ridic

[intruthandlove]

She very nearly asks if the bear speaks Greek, but Diana has a feeling neither the bear nor the young woman would find it terribly funny. Time and place. She keeps her attention on the task at hand, continuing to back the both of them up slowly as the bear pauses and sways from side to side, growling and huffing.

"She has a cub with her," Diana says instead, nodding slightly to the bundle of brown that's lost interest in the confrontation and has started to tumble away. Hopefully, mother will soon follow. "There's no need for a fight, she's only concerned for her cub."

They should be fine, she thinks. The Hinterland bears are outlandishly aggressive, but it seems safe to assume that mother bears are the same everywhere. The bear begins to turn to follow her cub. Which, naturally, is when an arrow almost buries itself in Diana's neck. The arrowhead clangs against the silver of her bracelets as everything in Diana shifts from flight to fight.

"Suffering Sappho, this place is mad," she mutters, looking back at the young woman to make sure she at least is still all right. Their still hidden but impending attackers are secondary to the following very important question: "How good are you with a sword?"

[intruthandlove]

There is something to be said of the artistry of this world's fighters, elegance and grace with blade and movement. She can take the moment to admire it now, when it's being used this way, without the intent to kill.

She sees the opening, the half a moment, and takes it without hesitation. But instead of the blade, it's her hand, palm flat against Coupe's side. The force applied, careful and precise, would normally be more than enough to knock someone across the courtyard. Here, Diana suspects it will be at most half that. Still better than striking anyone with any weapon, dulled or not, until she understands the full breadth of her limitations.

[intruthandlove]

[ That is a surprisingly complicated question. ]

There was a bear in the Hinterlands that caught me off guard. Then... [ She pauses. ] Bandits found us on the way back. There might have been demons, I was a little delirious at one point.

[ She sounds apologetic about that. The pain is starting to make things blur together, wearing on even Diana's high tolerance. The presence of demons was debatable, but the injuries on Diana are both several days old, oozing blood from having bandages torn away, and relatively new ones on top of the dried blood. Almost all were surface flesh wounds. ]

[limier]

It’s like being clubbed with a tree.

Wren staggers, thrown off her motion, the pain sudden and lancing —

(Fifteen years ago, a vashoth man, furious to find her with his friends’ blood still on her hands,)

— A choked breath out, no air in her lungs, blade thrown up on defensive reflex. That old silent assessment, her ribs,

(More than seven feet, a true ox, before Arnault buried the axe in his back,)

— No — nothing snapped from place, she thinks, but if they aren't fractured then fuck are they ever bruised. She can feel the muscles spasm, doesn’t have the breath to curse. The tendons of her neck jerk and tense as she smothers down the hurt, lips curling into a snarl.

Instinct only. She’s never been one to lose herself in the blood of it; her head’s still about her. She’s still in for this.

(Just how damn strong is she?)

Her tactics need shift. Getting close enough to go for a grapple is no longer going to be an option. Wren toes the edges of the ring, wary of any potential pursuit, acutely conscious she is being humoured here. Giving up would be far too rational an option.

The next time she dives forward, it’s dirtier: The sword a distraction to low kicks and other petty motions, an attempt to lead Diana forward, to goad at any holes in her guard.

[intruthandlove]

There is real concern on Diana's face as she waits for Coupe to recover. Ought to have told her to keep the armor on is the scolding thought that crosses her mind while she waits. It's a relief when Coupe dives forward, when the fight takes a familiar turn.

There is not artistry in the fighting Diana has learned and lived. There is grace, certainly, and she moves with it, easy and fluid, but what Coupe thinks of as petty is every spar Diana has ever fought. It feels dishonorable to pull her punches so she doesn't, meeting kick for kick and jab and sword swing, the force of each kept carefully in check. This is a dance she's familiar with, sinking back into her calm, even as the blade of Coupe's sword clangs loudly off the silver bracelets as Diana blocks a slash with them.

[dissono]

( gervais doesn't actually look up from what he's doing - his hands are gentle, finding her wounds both with traditional examination and the more magical kind, removing bandages carefully, assessing the mess she's made of herself. or a bear has made of her--

but she might catch the wry amusement that tilts the corner of his mouth. where on your body, diana. oh, well; she's talking, that's the important part, letting him gauge her alertness and cognition. he's already found what he asked for, he's not going to waste the time it takes him to get through a sentence on correcting her. )

N-n-no, ah, no, no, no cauterized, cauterized wounds.

( rage demons are hard to fucking miss. he rises, then; this will all need cleaning so he can see what he's dealing with. )

[limier]

Maker. She has seldom felt her age so keenly as she does trying to dance about the strikes.

Diana’s clearly built of something else. Something different, inhuman (not the first Rifter to wear one such a guise, not the last). Her blows hammer out with a force still restrained, and all that Wren can think over and over is:

Thank fuck for magebane. Thank fuck that if they ever need to, they still own a way to put these people down.

May it never come to that. Wren is not so paranoid that she'll look past gentle intentions, nor so impractical as to ignore the woman’s potential. We can use this. We need to use this.

So they spar. She lasts longer than she ought to, perhaps, longer than is wise. Wren isn’t in the habit of bowing to injury, not for something so minor as this. So she lasts.

Not forever.

In the end, she’s too slow to meet a parry, feels her step slip. She knows she’s falling before there’s any time to correct the course. Her roll halts midway through its course, torn open by a splintering pain from her side and —

Yes. There go the ribs now. Now she knows for certain. Wren’s face drains white as she clamps a bracing hand to her side. A long pause before she rises to her knees, moves shakily to find her feet.

"Well-fought," She grits it — not sore at the loss, only. Well. Very literally. "I must. Concede."

When's the last time she's said that without steel at her throat?

[intruthandlove]

[ it is entirely possible she is still slightly delirious. Pain isn't a new thing, but exhaustion is still a bit novel. She does catch the slight smile, which she takes as a good sign and returns with one of her own. Grim doctors can be ominous. ]

A good thing, I should hope. [ burns are awful, even when one is more durable than average. ].