allthisshitisweird | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Oh, let me see that." Vida tsks a little, reaching out to test the fabric. "Well, not so very bad. I can take care of it, if you would like. Did you just arrive?"

She fishes in the little bag out her side, withdraws needle and thread.

"It is a sight indeed, no? This Skyhold."

"I've been here a few days. But, I suppose that is close enough."

Oh, look at that, well. She's quick to help out. He takes a small step back.

"I... don't have any money."

Not exactly true, but sometimes it's a good way to see how people react to such situations.

"It is nothing." She bites off the end of the thread, waves him back. The man seems a refugee — if by Val Royeaux's standards, Vida doesn't own any great wealth, she's at least had safety and comfort beyond most. "A long journey, yes? I am certain that our hosts would not have you freeze upon arrival. Even small rifts may grow."

A wry smile; an offered joke.

He steps back closer to her and offers the robe to her. Well, this is at least how he is used to being treated.

"Yes, it was quite harrowing."

Which is his own pun. Also a way to test this person's knowledge. His journey in some ways had been worse than he was expecting, if only because he wasn't used to travelling quite this distance.

"We can all pray to the Maker that they will not."

Piety, how provincial. Raised among Orlais' twin streams of falsehood and faith, it's difficult to shake a certain doubt in such sentiments — even if she admonishes herself for the thought. Vida is not without her own quiet devotions; it does not do to judge those of others.

"There is a saying, I am told, in the Western fields: Pray to the Maker, but raise your hands to the plow." As though she's ever seen a plow in her life. She sets about stitching. The point stands. "Do you intend to find work here?"

The Inquisition attracts many seeking such positions. Whether for righteousness, or the hope of square meals and a letter of reference.

He looks down at her while she does her needle work. "There are many duties that need to be fulfilled in order for the Maker's design to be realised. Some people plough, others stitch, still others ensure peace in the land."

He goes quiet to consider her question. "I will do what work is needed, though I am not sure what I intend for myself is what the Maker plans for me."

Wisdom, indeed. It takes all sorts — a reminder she must try to hold, surrounded as they are by such... varied company.

"If you were certain of His plans, I should only doubt." A small smile. "It speaks well for you to have come here. I have not been long, but it is clear they need every soul."

"Doubt tends to be deadly in these troublesome times."

He looks down at her handiwork.

"I imagine the Maker has blessed this place. He has certainly blessed you with fine skill-work."

A laugh, not unkind.

"That is not the Maker, but I thank you all the same." She ties off the stitch, folds the cloth over again. "Here, the seam should not show too terribly. Vida d’Orsay,"

He doesn’t sound Orlesian, and she wouldn’t expect a poor man to know her reputation, anyway. In some ways, that's a relief. An opportunity to avoid some of the cities' stifling pomp.

"I was sent by Duchess Trellier, after the troubles at Halamshiral." Vida presses a hand lightly to his shoulder, as she offers back the robe. "Should your fellow travelers have need, I am easily found."

As assumption, but few make the journey to Skyhold alone.

"Isn't it? You don't think that such skills and gifts come from the Maker?"

Interesting. He may not blend in as well as he would like. At the mention of his travel companions, though, his face fell slightly. This story was well practised.

"I was travelling with my friend, first along the Imperial Highway and then across... We fell to some bandits. I tried to tell my friend to not fight them, but..."

He shook his head to indicate that his friend didn't make it. And then he straightened, as if he was recomposing himself.

The Truth was much more mundane. Oh he had been travelling along the highway and then along toward Skyhold. But, no one wanted to be near a Magistrate when he was in his full armour, so he was more or less left alone the entire trip.

"I am grateful for your assistance."

"The Maker has given me much in opportunity. But He has never required my stitching Him into His bodice."

At least, she dearly hopes. Still, her face falls in slight sympathy, squeezes his arm gently.

"There is a small shrine, in the gardens here. The sisters attend to it. They will say words for him, if you wish it."

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