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TEST DRIVE MEME!

WHEN SKYHOLD'S GONE THEY'LL BEAR ON

HINTERLANDS ARE FOREVER

How’s the weather, Inquisition? Terrible. Heavy rainfall pelts the plains and the mountains, four straight days of it! Dark clouds block out the sun. It may begin to feel like there’s no end to the storms in sight. When darkness falls, cold evening temperatures turn that rain frigid. Your boots, your socks, they’re soaked through. Everyone smells like wet wool.

And as if all that weren’t enough: the increased rainfall loosens patches of mud and shale, causing mudslides.

1. We’re not in Orzammar anymore…

A recent group of dwarven traders bearing fine crafts and goods were inbound for Skyhold, ready to flood the markets with their wares. Instead, they got flooded out.

Yes, word has reached the Inquisition that the traders have been unfortunately detained by the weather and they are now in need of a rescue. Dare you venture out into the lashing rain and sliding mud to rescue the traders?

If you do so dare, you’ll find some of the traders to be exceedingly grateful for your efforts, ready to bestow handsome rewards on you, O Brave Soul -- just as soon as you’ve escorted them safely back to Skyhold. Or you might find a cluster of more disagreeable traders, grumpy at the water in their boots and the loss of their goods. Some of those goods might still be rescuable, if you want to wade out into a mud field to retrieve a fallen chest, or tug an errant terrified donkey back onto what’s passing for dry road these days.

As you carry these treasures back to their masters, or back to Skyhold, you might consider helping yourself to a sampling of the wares on your way back. After all, your reward might not be adequate, and you are risking your life for these ungrateful sons of mothers. Just don’t get caught. These traders don’t look kindly on thieves, and frayed tempers snap easily.

Feel free to get stuck on your way to the rescue, too. Weather out the storm with a fellow do-gooder. These days, the rescuers might need rescuing just as much.

2. Are you mad? That’s twelve year old scotch!

In Skyhold and the surrounding tent towns, what with the confusion and the panic and the scramble for high ground, market stalls are left unattended and wares are ripe for the taking. For some, temptation proves to be too much. Where there’s disaster, there’s often looting! A few vendors defend their own wares, and those that can’t make desperate entreaties for assistance. Bandits! Thieves!

Are you a brave and hale friend to the Inquisition and to good honest trade, ready to defend the wares of the waterlogged merchants? Or maybe your sticky fingers spot a tempting treasure too great to ignore. If they didn’t want it stolen, they should have taken it with them! Watch out for that Qunari metalsmith with the mean right hook. He’s not to be trifled with, and his blow will leave you toothless in the mud.

3. I gotta go, Julia, we got bears.

The rainfall has disturbed more than the mud. Bears, resting in their caves, have found their caves to be too damp for their liking, and they’ve taken to the open air to vent their spleens. Some people say that the bears are as frightened as you are, but when you’re faced with a six hundred pound beast with huge pointy teeth, their innocence is a little harder to keep in perspective.

The tents surrounding greater Skyhold are especially worried by rogue bears. Make a stand against them, or else help evacuate a threatened campsite. Mudwrestling a bear is a great way to impress the ladies, or the gentlemen… but no one will blame you for beating a hasty retreat.

4. We got 12 skins of water, 56 ales, two vodkas, four whiskeys, six bottles of wine, tequila, hazelnut paste, cheese, bread, eggs, bananas, apples, bacon, steaks, pancakes, dry grain, milk, sweet tomato sauce, half a pudding, half-ounce Sour Wine, 3 1/2 grams Grand Inquisitor Kush, one ounce of 'shrooms, 15 ecstasy potions, a smutty woodcut, a bat…

TIME TO HUNKER DOWN. In the tavern, the barkeep is handing out free spiced wine to anyone who takes refuge behind her door. The din of conversation and lutesong makes a fine lullabye for the careworn traveler, and you might find yourself inadvertently dropping off to sleep. Or maybe someone’s fallen asleep on you.

Who can blame the slumberers, finally safe and warm and dry? In the tavern, the fires have been built up to ward off the chill and the damp, but relaxation is a little more difficult these days. You really have to elbow your way in there to get close to that warmth. Once you get close enough, you’ll find that the hearths are taken up with dozens and dozens of wet socks and wetter boots, steaming gently as they dry. Be disgusted if you want, or else peel off your own and go barefoot while you wait.

Hey! What’s going on over there? Someone’s taking one of your socks! Stop, thief!

If you can’t make it to the tavern, you might find yourself holed up somewhere a little more unlikely. The limited space within Skyhold means there aren’t a lot of free rooms. That door you shoulder open in desperation might have an owner already. Intrusions aren’t always unwelcome, but beware of what -- or who! -- you might find.

5. Lots of fish… and lots of weather.

WILDCARD. Whatever you do, just remember: there’s a lot of rain, you’re very wet, and if you’re feeling amorous, keep in mind that everyone smells like wet wool. We cannot stress this enough.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I saw a keep's ruin - I should estimate it an hour's walk hence, toward the north. If it has a name, he says he doesn't know it.

( her answer comes promptly; anders can likely hear the rush of rain, the labored breath of her companion behind her. )

I have kept him warm and as dry as I might.

[There are hushed voices for a few moments, Anders asking after closed rifts near keeps, before he replies again.]

Watch the sky, if you can. If the guess I'm being given is right, you're about a half-hour away by griffon, but I'm going to need something motion or reflected light, to show me where this cave is. I'm on the way there, hopefully.

( by griffon, he says -

everything is strange. she isn't sure she isn't still in shock. what's one more peculiar thing of seven or fifteen? )

You won't soon miss us, sir. I will see to it.

( you'd never know she'd just this hour tumbled from another world, so steady as she sounds. when anders comes near enough, he will indeed see: an enchantment worked upon the cave's mouth, the veins of iron ore glowing ethereally blue, the light hard to mistake for a natural phenomenon when it pulses in time with a heartbeat. )

Edited 2017-04-22 04:45 (UTC)

[...she's as good as his word, clearly. Anders has never seen metal glowing like that and he's quick to guide the griffon down. Buggie stays outside, happy to be munching on a rabbit he brought just for this purpose, as Anders comes in.

The woman gets a nod before he's approaching the scout and getting to work.]

I'm seeing to him, but it seems safe to assume you've questions.

[She spoke of coming through the rift, after all. Anders' hands are glowing as he works, most of his attention on the injuries but he knows how to multitask.]

I'm Anders, by the way.

[A name might help her with everything that's likely unfamiliar.]

( in the absence of a true healer, petrana has done a serviceable job - staunched the flow of blood with an improvised tourniquet of the man's own torn shirt tied tight around his thigh, partially cauterised the wound with...well, it isn't clear what with, but "magic was involved" seems like a safe guess, under the circumstances.

the woman in question is nothing remarkable to look at, standing five feet and bedraggled in her sodden traveling dress, a mess of water and dust and blood. steady enough that it seems unlikely any of it is hers - or hard to tell, at least. perhaps she's too focused to have even noticed. the introduction momentarily seems to take her aback -

how long has it been since she had to tell someone who she was? what a peculiar thing to think. )

Petrana. My name is- Petrana.

( just that, for now, she decides. )

Where are we, please?

Petrana. We're in the Hinterlands, a region of Ferelden, which is basically the country of mud and dogs and songs about mud and dogs.

[He gives her a glance and a small smile to show he's joking in between carefully undoing the tourniquet and mending the man's wounds the rest of the way.]

This region is specifically known for large bears wandering around and being nuisances, but thankfully the griffon knows how to sound an alarm if one comes tumbling out at us.

[There's also currently a dragon somewhere in the area, but no one needs that worry lurking in their minds.]

You did well, I should note. You helped him hold out. Thank you.

He came very admirably to my aid, and was injured in the doing - it is the very least I might have done.

( well, already she doesn't sound Orlesian, all that thoughtfulness and gratitude. She studies what he's doing, head tilted, curious - a different practise than she's used to, but recognisable.

What she says, though, is, )

I had rather find a dog than a bear.

[It's definitely a sentiment he can appreciate, though it's not entirely surprising. Few people are heartless enough to ignore someone who had just helped them.]

I would too. Though generally the Maker doesn't ask what I might want. There.

[The scout is in travelling shape, but they have a slight issue - Buggie can't carry three people.]

How do you feel about a walk in the rain, Petrana? It's not too far to the settlement, and this way our man here can have a ride back rather than having to tax himself further.

( Not great, if she's honest, but - )

I will manage.

( As she's managed everything else, with her hands steady and her jaw set; she can't be even as old as thirty, but she wears her youth lightly, as something she might forget in the face of all that life asks of her. Life has asked, over the past few years, rather more than she'd expected it to. And she manages.

Manages a smile, too, or something like it. The part of her that's afraid is smaller than the part of her that thinks it novel to be spoken to this way, as if she's anyone. As if she merits consideration, and not just fear. )

[He gives her another small smile.]

I can't say I'd expected you to be eager for it. I'm glad you can manage, though.

[Anders helps the scout to the griffon and hands over the cloth with the scent of the place he wants Buggie to go. It seems to work, and he rejoins Petrana after the griffon takes off.]

She's still growing, which means even two can be a burden. Three is impossible. Perhaps in the future. But at least...

[Barriers don't just help against damage. Anders casts, and the rain starts skipping off them rather than soaking them further.]

There are perks to having a mage as a companion on the trip. If I don't miss my guess, you've something as well. I've never seen ore flash like that.

( Yes, about that -

Petrana hesitates, but it's the hesitation of someone choosing her words carefully, not someone who doesn't intend to speak. She regards the scout thoughtfully, but not lingering; the flooding makes the terrain more treacherous than she imagines it must already be, she will serve no one (least of herself) if she falls because she was woolgathering. Finally, )

It is permitted, here?

( There's something in her caution. It might give him pause. )

I had little choice but to cast, for the nature of his wounds-- but he did not remark it.

Edited 2017-04-22 08:11 (UTC)

[It gives him a lot of pause, catching his attention. Most worlds that seem to have magic don't really have issues with it, by the sounds of things. Systems have been worked out, people are free to use it or not. She's the first magic user who sounds worried about it, and she has to be a magic user, because of the display.]

We're free... now.

[Aware of his tendency to go a little too off the deep end when talking mages and freedom, Anders chooses his words with care.]

For hundreds of years we weren't. We were locked up, deemed too dangerous to be allowed lives and freedom. Some of us... A number of factors combined to break the system that held us captive and used us, and it hasn't reformed as of yet simply because there's a great threat everyone can agree is a danger. When he's dealt with... It is my hope that we can build something so that it's permanently permitted, before the end of the war, so we cannot simply be rounded up and caged again.

The people of the Inquisition are used to having mages around, partly because we've numbers and safety there, partly because they need us for now. Others won't be so friendly.

I see.

( She doesn't sound chilled by what he says; if anything, she sounds relieved. Reassured that what she's done to get herself and the scout out of their dire straits is not going to be punished, later - unfriendly might be an understatement, is almost certainly, but it still allows a greater freedom than she'd anticipated. It's hard to miss that she loses some of her tension.

They walk in quiet a while - the rain beats, the scout dozes fitful, but Petrana doesn't speak again immediately, gathering her thoughts. Finally; )

To be a witch has always been to court a death sentence. The last to be convicted and burned was decades ago, but - the crown and the church have not become more sympathetic, in time.

[A death sentence. He's quiet for a while as well, wrapping his mind around that. Killed for something you can't control, for something that could help their people and their country so immensely...]

I'm going to guess you don't consort with demons.

[The scout hadn't been terrified, after all.]

That the crown and church lets fear rule them?

The power of the Empire is absolute. A woman who seeks power that is not the Empire's to mandate, that woman is a traitor.

( Or man, but. Practitioners like her husband are rarer; witchcraft is women's work, women's business. It is of no surprise that while her husband wields the greater power, she is called witch and he is called warlord. Or that there had been such reluctance to publicise the nature of his crime--

Sometimes she wonders if she'd have followed him, if she knew. Other times, she knows it would have changed little. )

There is but one punishment for treason.

( Unless you're the Archiduc's nephew. )

Edited 2017-04-23 07:59 (UTC)

[Anders shakes his head.]

Power never likes to be threatened, and it will hold anyone down it has to, no matter the consequences, to stay on top. Even if it winds up holding everyone back.

[Magic is powerful, and could change the world in so many good ways if allowed. Yes, there's risk as well, but there's risk with every advancement, and with every shift in power.]

I'm sorry that they're that harsh. Here... There are sometimes villagers who will rise up and kill a mage, child or adult, but that's due to the teachings of the Chantry making them fear magic. If the Chantry stops gaining power from caging and using mages, that may become less common.

A child--

( That a child might even have magic to be persecuted seems to trouble her - a thought crosses her mind that she suppresses ruthlessly, her hands flexing at her side as if she forestalls some other impulse. Does not allow herself to reach. )

I know of no children who are taught to craft, in all of Lamorre's empire.

( Marius had so many ideas -

Would hers have been the first? )

But I fear they would not be spared the pyre, did they exist.

[No children taught the craft? Maybe they just manifest their abilities later.]

Some have their gift show as early as four, other... I think the oldest to suddenly start casting was around fourteen or sixteen. I've not made a study of it. But I was twelve when it first happened.

[Not spared the pyre. Maker. At least he was alive, as were a portion of the mages born in this world. Many still died wrongfully, but many had a chance too.]

I can't wrap my mind around death being the sentence for all magic. I... Maker.

( Show their -

Petrana realises her mistake, his; her hands press together and she shakes her head. )

Witchcraft is not - to have, or to have not. It's to do, or do not. I am made a witch, not born...my husband, he describes it as he might music - you might have within you unimaginable talent, but if you never hear a note played, nor touch an instrument, it is nothing.

Magic is natural. It is ... beautiful. It is in the world and pretending otherwise will not make it so, but, to be a part of it, to move the world with your own hands, you must learn, or touch something, or - it would never simply be, as you say, I think. I have never heard of such a thing.

Edited 2017-05-01 07:22 (UTC)

You--oh. So it's not... It's not inborn? You're not born a mage or not, you learn or not?

[Restrictions make a little more sense, then. But death is still an extreme response, especially when Anders whole-heartedly believes that magic can change the world in a good way. He shakes his own head.]

For us, we're born with it, and it manifests suddenly. I don't think any mage has ever been able to control their first casting. If you're not born with it, you can't learn it. Sometimes I think that's what fuels the hatred here - what we have, some can never have.

( A nod of confirmation, agreement - relief that it's understood, and equally that he doesn't condemn it out of hand, given what little she now understands about Thedas. She wonders, fleetingly, if he would have chosen -

but either of their lives would have been very different, would they have traded places. What good is it to wonder? )

Is it common here, that mages are ...

( What's a tactful way to put this. )

Well, you're a man.

( Yeah, nailed it. )

I suppose with it being so - being inborn, it's different.

Edited 2017-05-02 05:03 (UTC)

[He gives her a shocked look.]

What? A man? I'd not even noticed. You'd think I would have checked, but I entirely forgot to this morning.

[Now his expression becomes something of a slightly smug smile.]

Are you asking if all mages are men? The answer to that question is no. We're equally men or women.

I wondered only if it is usual, for there to be men who practise magic.

( So he has answered her question, in any case; a moment later she clarifies-- )

I can't claim to have met many who work this craft, but they have been with but one exception women as myself. It is, ( a bit wryly, ) a womanly sort of wickedness.

( Or it's just that men have more options, if they want to change the way their lives look. But the church will have it how the church will have it -

and there are so many sins a woman can be punished for, but at the end of the day, most of them are getting uppity. )

As far as I've noticed, my genitalia's never gotten in the way. And I take it you mean defying authority is womanly?

[Anders' expression becomes very wry, and a little sad.]

I've had my times of defiance in the past. And the current, and the future. You're likely to hear all about it from multiple sources more than happy to elaborate, exaggerate, and speculate.

What I mean to say is that if a man wishes to make his way in the world, he is as like to turn to magic to do it as he is to turn to needlepoint.

( Defying authority isn't a woman's pastime -

that's the point. And when they are too afraid to try, for fear of so many deaths gone before them, it stays that way. )

Men defy one another all the time. I am sure that is just the same, here.

Edited 2017-05-02 06:27 (UTC)

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