TEST DRIVE MEME!

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

tavern

[puravida]

Vida wastes a good five minutes or so debating the appropriate way to handle this situation — what would Andraste do? Certainly, it'd be charitable to let him sleep.

It'd also make it hard to finish these sketches. She needs that arm.

Deliberately, carefully, Vida sets the little stub of charcoal aside and tries to unwedge her shoulder. It's a delicate process, not helped when someone bumps against her from the other side.

She'd shoved out with the impact, dislodging Diwa's head (success) and sending it crashing out in the perilous direction of the floor (whoops).

Is it too late to pretend that wasn't her?

[sans_harmony]

Well, someone has to answer for it, obviously. This unthinkable affront to the dignity of a Shaper cannot possibly be allowed with impunity. Do you want rebels? Because that's how you get rebels.

But Diwaniya has been having a hell of a month, because rebels, and hasn't slept in the better part of a week, and when he does wake up just in time to land squarely on his bony ass, he doesn't have it in him to throw a proper tantrum.

He gets up, dusting off his wet robes with as affected an air of calm as he can manage. Did that just happen? Of course it didn't. Who saw that? Nobody. He shoots Vida as formidable a glower as he can muster up, for good measure, whether she's the culprit or not, but her sketches mercifully distract him before he can ask. He tilts his head to study them, as nonchalantly as if he owns the book himself.

"What are those?" Yes. Good plan. Shift the subject before anyone can mention that he just completely wiped out.

[puravida]

"Ah," This must be how the righteous feel when pardoned from execution — though doubtless, they do so with more fleas and festering wounds and it's all very terribly dramatic. A glance over her shoulder to their neighbours, wary of future elbows. "Drawings?"

How helpful. She clears her throat, tries again,

(Resists the urge to snap the book shut on him. She did kind of just shove him on his ass. Can't hurt to be nice.)

"That is: Studies," Working feeling back into her freed arm, she gestures to the little plant cuttings, pressed between the pages. "For a border. These local blooms, they have a certain homespun quality, no?"

He doesn't sound Ferelden, that should be safe. She offers her best appeasing smile; it takes more than a glare to cow her, but that doesn't mean Vida's keen to get into a tavern row with a ridiculously-costumed stranger. It's just bad taste.

And it might get the pages wet.

[sans_harmony]

The plants are all utterly unfamiliar, and for a guy who's spent the past four years ruling the de facto herb-and-spice capital of his world, that's like being hit with a 'where the hell am I' two-by-four. (The rift and the demons had been more akin to being run over by a 'what the fuck is happening' truck. Diwaniya's current traumas are many and varied.)

The word 'studies' perks him up, because at least that's familiar, but he gradually comes to realize that she's talking of art, not botany. What good are some pretty pictures going to do him right now? The flicker of hope on his face vanishes immediately.

"It looks like that's to be expected around here," he mutters, glancing sidewise at the humble attire of the other patrons. "Forgive me. I thought you might have some actual expertise on the local flora."