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allthisshitisweird2017-04-21 11:07 pm
faderifting) wrote in allthisshitisweird2017-04-21 11:07 pm
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TEST DRIVE MEME!
WHEN SKYHOLD'S GONE THEY'LL BEAR ON
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…
2. Are you mad? That’s twelve year old scotch!
3. I gotta go, Julia, we got bears.
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…
5. Lots of fish… and lots of weather.
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.
Wilhelmina Schmidt | Native, Original Character
[It's raining, and she's tired, and it's raining, and she's miserable, and did she mention that it's raining. She'd heard Ferelden smelled of wet dog and mud, but she didn't think she'd experience it herself so quickly. Still, a little bit of rain didn't hurt anyone (except if you drowned, and that's not counting the wears). Still, the wears are the most important thing, Wilhelmina knows how much time it'd take to fix up some of those pots and pans, or to clean out the rings and bracelets, or to do anything besides sit here and get thoroughly drenched.]
Come on, you. I haven't got all day. [Yes, she's talking to the chest she's trying to drag out of the muck.]
but you can't stay here
[Much better inside the tavern, even if she must smell several dozen pairs of socks and the feet that used to be inside them. Still, a pint of beer never hurt anyone (Except if it's been thrown at your head), especially when it's a half-decent pint of beer. She's picked a spot at a table, sings songs if someone else starts them, cheers if someone buys a round, and tries not to notice any of the pickpockets plying their trade. Or, in other words, it's just about any night she's ever spent at a tavern, enough that if she thinks about it too long, she think she might get used to it. If she thinks about it longer, she thinks she already has.]
If Sorrow, the tyrant, invade the breast, haul out the foul fiend by the lug, the lug!
Let no thought of the morrow disturb your rest, but banish despair in a mug, a mug!
[Her singing's more based on enthusiasm than skill, as if shouting makes up for being unable to stick to a pitch.]
but you can't stay here
It's less enjoyable now, certainly, when he hadn't chosen to come so much as been forced to by the weather, and when dirty rainwater has wicked its way up the skirt of his templar armor all the way to the crotch--but there's nothing that can break him out of a sulk so reliably as an excuse to sing. As often and loudly as he complains about the 'secular nonsense' people like to belt out in taverns, he just so happens to know the words to an awful lot of these.]
Or if thy wife prove none of the best, or admits no time but to think, to think,
Or the weight of thy horns bow down thy crest, divert the dull demon with drink, with drink!
[He catches Wilhelmina's eye--it's hard not to, when she's the one singing the loudest--and raises his voice with a mischievous flash of a smile to try and beat her volume.]
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Or if thy mistress proves unworthy to thee, ne'er pine, ne'er pine at the wanton pug
But choose out a fairer and kinder than she, and banish despair in a mug, a mug!
[You're on!]
you don't have to go home.
What is this if not an opportunity to practice?
"I've got it!" David says, and waves his hands in front of himself. He presses a fingertip to his temple, and squints.
The chest shoots straight up into the air as if shot from a cannon, complete with the faint sound of an explosion and the scent of gunpowder. "Uh." David stares up into the rain as the chest rapidly becomes a dot disappearing into the sky. "Sorry?"
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Maybe try using your hands next time! [He did, actually, but more of a waggling them motion than a getting your hands dirty way. So, she thinks about it, frowning just a bit, before amending herself.] Or, well, put some elbow grease into it.
[She's not sure she wants to be standing here when it comes down, which raises a very important question.] It's going to come down, right? [She's not quite sure how it works, but it can't simply just float above the Hinterlands forever, right?
Right?]
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[Look, David's abilities have always been wonky, and falling into another dimension has somehow made them wonkier (is wonkier a word?). He's hedging his bets, here.]
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[Wow, it's still up there. Still down here: mud. Also, rain.]
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[A loud bang. The chest bursts forth from the ground beneath them. David yelps and falls backward into the mud.]
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Of course, she doesn't have much time to think about it before the chest is reintroduced to the ground, only coming around the other way. She also yelps and falls backward, and decides that she's just going to sit here for a moment or two.]
Well. I guess that's one problem solved?
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Uh. You might wanna check if everything's... in there.
[God only knows if this is the same chest. Did he just create a chest? Is that possible?]
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[Okay. Okay, we're standing up. She'll deal with the mud later. Luckily, the lock got dislodged by the magic (somehow, she's not going to question it), so she'll peel up the lid.]
All present and accounted for.
[It's... a bunch of pots.]
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[Maybe he doesn't know what that's called?] I'm a blacksmith.
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[He's had quite enough attempted TK today. He grabs one end of the chest and begins to drag it (hoping vainly that she'll take pity and help him).]
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[They manage to get it inside without any further injury or heartbreak. He's soaked, of course, but... whatever. There are worse things.]
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[Is there such a place? She doesn't know, but she'd like to find it herself.]
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[Why is he here.]
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Kind of hard to miss the dragons, really. Usually you want them to miss you.
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[He's sure he's heard that word... somewhere before? Probably in a book.]
I'll keep that in mind if I ever run into, uh, a dragon. [Sorry, it's hard not to sound skeptical in Tolkien Disneyland.]
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Never seen one in person, myself. [Just statues. A whole lot of statues.] I'd like to keep it that way.