allthisshitisweird | TEST DRIVE MEME!

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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.

Threaded | Flat

crystals

( there is some strain in the voice that comes over the crystals; a woman's, almost orlesian and slightly too loud - )

This is a - communication? Crystal? For the Inquisition? My companion tells me he has rescued me.

( despite the wet weather, her tone manages to be drier than the western approach. )

But he has been grievously injured in the doing, and the waters are rising - we are trapped in a cave. The - rift? The rift that I came through, he says - it is still outside, but not ... open. Thank you, I would like to know what to do next.

tavern

( eventually, the answer to that question is: get warm and dry. petrana peels off as many layers as she can without becoming indecent to dry the sturdy outer layers of her traveling dress by the fire, her stockings, her garters, her boots. she sits damply nearby them in her shift and a blanket, untangling her hair with a borrowed comb and trying to decide what to do next. besides, apparently, "go with the inquisition".

she's been called a lot of things. "rifter" is a new one. )

Tavern

A Shaper does not accept charity. A Shaper who's still about sixty percent sure that he's dead right now should have refused the offer of shelter, too--but if there's one thing Diwaniya knows, it's rain, and the myriad ways in which it can fuck you up when it pelts down hard enough.

His clothes are waterproofed enough to withstand a dunk in a peat bog, and he's not about to take them off in front of these peasants, but neither is he about to stand out in the storm just to be contrarian. If this is a magical last-second stay of execution, he isn't stupid enough to throw it away just yet.

Although if he does persist in zonking the fuck out against the shoulder of the nearest possibly-armed stranger, he may wind up having to fight again after all. He will cross that bridge once you wake him up. (He's snoring. It will be difficult.)

Wildcard

Diwaniya likes to think he understands crystals. He's worked with thousands of them over the course of his career, of all different colors and patterns and magical properties and levels of luminescence. And all things considered, he thinks he's had weirder bits of shrapnel than this embedded in him before--until the thing crackles with green lightning, and he lets out a loud, inadvertent and embarrassingly high-pitched yelp in the middle of the crowded pub.

Fascinated and slightly horrified at the same time, he's now trying to pull the thing out of his palm. Why this may not be a good idea, he has not the faintest clue.

Edited 2017-04-22 04:44 (UTC)

Rifter

Bears. Why bears of all damn things?

Not that his daggers wouldn't work, mind you, it was just such a hassle to deal with giant omnivores. Predators left him alone thanks to the fact that he was a walking corpse, but bears didn't mind scavenging.

Gabriel minded a lot, thank you.

He decides to run for it, his powers of invisibility oddly muted here, and he doubted that the bear couldn't smell him even if he was in stealth. Covered in a dark cowl and a cloak covering most of his body, at least it wasn't immediately apparent that he was a very dead man.

He was just in the risk of becoming one, thanks to the bear.

Native

Determination moved the body towards the tavern, clutching their bony fingers in slight confusion. The sensation of a body was still odd to the spirit, and they couldn't quite shake the feeling of the former owner's struggles.

They - he - stops outside, tugging the black cowl further over his face. The 'Inquisition' was here, and he needed answers to the shard in his body and why he could not leave it.

When he opens the door, light of the tavern mutes the green glow in his eyes just enough to not be too obvious.

(deleted comment) (Show 1 comment)

1. Traders
[Of course Celinie is helping escort the traders to safety and shelter. She couldn't possibly leave them to fend for themselves in the deluge. The only benefit to the utter downpour is it discourages bandits and highwaymen from picking a fight with the group. Which is a small mercy, but it's something.

Although that poor donkey stuck in a rut and stubbornly refusing to move. She glances over her shoulder to pass a message.]

I'll go fetch him. Wait here where the ground is solid.

[Fortunately, she's got a knack with animals. Shame the Echo doesn't allow her to understand Donkey as well as Beast Tribes.]

4. Tavern
[At last, warmth and dryness! So much water is still foreign to Celinie, even after all her time spent adventuring across the face of Eorzea. It's not the first rain she's seen, but it does qualify for the worst, though she doesn't consider it so. Having been raised in a a stripped portion of the mine reserved for the indentured workers, marvels like rain and trees are still points of fascination for her.

She wriggles into a small space against the wall, not too far from the hearth. And before long, a stranger is dozing off using her shoulder for a rest. It's of no bother to her. She's waterlogged and if someone can take their repose against that much wet, more power to them. Her only true concern is assessing the condition of her belongings, meager though they are.

Pawing through her bag, she extracts a leather wrapped bundle. It is laid carefully on her lap, gently unwrapped. Within is a decrepit book, binding fraying, pages yellowed with age. An odd thing to treasure so dearly. However, it is the only item on her person which is not entirely soaked through and Celinie means to keep it that way.]

Thank the Twelve. It made it.

[When there are lulls in the music, she'll read aloud from the precious book. It's a play of some sort and she joyfully reads each part with different intonations.]

Wildcard!
((Celinie has a gift that allows her to see brief moments from someone's past. Usually things their soul wishes to share. If she gets a sudden headache, it's your history about to be laid bare to her.))

1. Hinterlands
[What's this? A dwarf merchant plundering fellow merchants? Damned straight, Feja is. Though good luck making out her face. She's got nondescript traveling clothes on and a water-resistant leather hood that's keeping off the rain and masking her features. Dwarf, just curvy enough to be female, and currently piling abandoned merchandise on the back of a donkey also left behind. It's like Satinalia! Free product for the taking and a method of transporting it.

Seems she's not the only one choosing to pick over the leavings for anything not nailed down and potentially useful. Just she happens to be the one cheerfully whistling and humming as she works. Shut up, it is work. Hefting all these goods without the aid of her team? Honest labor going on here. Feja's not about to go picking a fight with someone else over salvage. Besides, her pockets are already plenty full of the smaller trinkets left behind.

One barrel is full of smoked nug and that gives her pause. Trade it for other foodstuffs or have a little roadside snack?]

Mmm, now that smells tasty... Savor or sell it?

2. Skyhold
[The plundering continues! Honestly, it's not Feja's fault that her fellow merchants are too squeamish about a little rain to take proper care of their products. Not that she's foolish enough to try pilfering the Qunari standing right there with a glare. He's guarding his goods, so good for him.

Nothing a bit dishonest about collecting abandoned wares. She's just making sure they're not left to thieves and bandits. They'll be back on the market on her shelves in Kirkwall in no time. Not like she's going around picking the locks on their moneyboxes, sheesh! Just a jeweled dagger stowed in her boot, a Formori enchanted ring tucked into her cleavage, a stack of trade agreements rolled up and stashed within an inner jacket pocket. The bigger items are tossed onto the wagon she'd brought with her. Shields, weapons, armor, a crate of alchemical reagents, a barrel of mead. Basically anything not nailed down and not being guarded.

Though there is someone standing there just watching. Stop being lazy! One hand goes on her hip while she stares down the offending sluggard.]

There's coin to be had if you're looking for work, but not if you're just gonna stand there.

4. Tavern
[All those goods Feja boosted on the road? Yeah, she's peddling those to the tavernkeep now. At a discount. Because we're all in this together, right? After all, she got the items at the best price around: free. So cutting a deal might slash her profits, but it's still a 100% margin. Besides, the faster she moves the goods, the less likely she is to attract a cranky previous owner. All she's hawking to the barkeep are the comestibles, the booze and the viands, minus a couple of smoked nug shanks she nibbled on the way. Damned tasty road food.

She's even doing her part and providing some right quality employment. Feja just acquired a bounty of goods to sell; she's not about to risk them to another scavenger while she beds down for the night.]

I'm looking for a couple of hands looking to make some coin tonight. Anyone game?

[Although her hirelings better not try stealing from her. She'll cut their hands right off.]

i. i always wanted to shine

( this is, miraculously, a situation to which sarra is uniquely suited. she hasn't been with the inquisition for very long at all, but certainly long enough to jump when they see some of their people need rescuing from the rain and mud. after all, the inquisition has been so kind to take her in, and those poor souls need help! why, she'd just be cruel if she didn't go.

(it might have less to do with altruism and good faith than it does with her excitement about showing of a new trick, but the inquisition doesn't need to know that.)

everywhere sarra goes, there is a twenty foot radius where the rain does not fall. all the way to the clouds from whence the rain pours, it just doesn't fall where she steps. every few minutes as she travels, she glances around, looking at the others who volunteered for this little rescue mission, waiting for them to notice the total lack of rain around her.

and why, how strange — the wind has been at their backs this whole time. it must be unconnected, surely. a stroke of great luck. )

ii. and now i know i can't deny my nature

( when sarra was young, she didn't have many friends. there was river, who grew up in candlekeep with her, but she was just one girl, and sarra has always been more extroverted than the library could keep up with. sometimes it felt like her truest friends were the storms she would play with in the summers, when it was hot and wet even without the rain. she hasn't played with a storm the way she had when she was a child in years, but something has her feeling nostalgic today.

rather than hiding herself away indoors, safe from the rain, sarra has left the safety of redcliffe and journeyed further into the hinterlands, searching out a tall hill. once she's found one tall enough, she climbs it, and stands in the rain for a moment, merely breathing. in the next moment, she claps her hands, and the sound is magnified like a thunderclap, ringing all through the hinterlands. another moment passes, and then a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder appear in the distance, and sarra grins. this isn't faerun, not nearly, but even across the planes, storms all play the same.

she takes another breath, draws her hand back, and throws a bolt of lightning forward. time to have some fun! )

Edited 2017-05-10 12:25 (UTC)

you don't have to go home

[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.]

Edited 2017-05-12 02:05 (UTC)

4. Because Tavern.

Why. In the name. Of Andraste's Sacred Ass. Had she agreed to come to this dampy, stupid moldy fortress in the middle of nowhere? It was raining entire fucking lakes. Why in the world would anyone stay in a fortress where it dumped a lake on you? That was just stupid. This place was stupid. Everyone here was stupid.

She had found herself a seat next to the fire - one she got to keep because Hello. Fire mage who could keep the fire going, and was starting to dry out. Someone put a drink at her elbow and she glowered suspiciously at it, and then at the person who was now sitting across from her.

"I'm not a whore. Just so you know."

5. And thank you for the fish!

You know what is worse than getting caught out in the rain in the mountains with a stupid, moldy fortress in the middle of nowhere? Getting set upon by bandits in the middle of this.

Piss. Poor ones. Even Satinalis's own crew was better than these guys - at least they knew that a staff meant bad things were about to happen. So if you are travelling up the road, and see over the horizon the flare of flames and the screams of the terrified, and then hear the feminine bellow of, "WHOSE PRETTY FACE IS GOING TO BE BETWEEN YOUR LEGS IF I DON'T GIVE YOU MY PURSE? WHOSE?!"

... you might want to check up on the bandits.

Edited 2017-05-19 19:53 (UTC)

1.

[He desperately misses the Circle, right about now.

Sure, he's missed it for a while, but nothing makes him long for a nice, secure, dry tower quite like almost being stepped on by a pack animal. Or stepping in mud up to his calves. Or water gathering in his shoes. Or-

He could go on, and he has been the entire time. Lucky you.]

-we're positive this is an animal and not a demon? Could have fooled me, I swear it almost looks smug.

[And right on cue, the donkey stops. He curses under his breath, giving the rope a tug.]

This was not what I signed on for.

4.

[So here's the thing about throwing ice around at pursuing wildlife when it's wet out: it's pretty damned effective, but not only on his enemies. Ryan's returned with crystals of frost still clinging to his clothes and his long braid, damp and exhausted and downright miserable-- and he has no problem nudging people aside with those cold, cold hands. He needs it more than they do, thanks, he's worn himself out too much to use magic to heat himself back up.]

Sorry, sorry- pardon me-- oh, come off it, you'll live, it's just a bit of cold...

[...it's still awfully crowded, though, and he reaches a point where he's going to have to dislodge someone if he wants to have a seat near the warmth. So.]

Ah- 'scuse me. I don't suppose you'd mind moving over?

1. Sing for your supper

[ There's no space by the hearth, but there are other ways to get dry and stay warm. If she can earn a few coins and perhaps a meal out of it, all the better. It is not very late and she's coaxed the bard with the lute into a few more lively jigs and one sweet swaying melody. Bells on her wrists and ankles keep time with their own soft chimes while Koriandra dances in her small, cleared spot on the bar, flashing skirts and flashing smile.

There is little coin to be earned here, but the barkeep gives her one of those Fereldan beers she's heard so much about and a small bowl of stew with bread. The bread is stale and the stew is watery, but the beer is cold and feels good on her dry throat and it is more than she had a moment before.

She will collapse in a flurry of colorful skirts and flyaway curls, folding her legs neatly under her. If you happen to be sitting near her, you'll get a sunny smile and an offer to share her food. ]

2. A Mouse in the House

[ While a packed tavern has it's own charms, Koriandra has endeavored to find somewhere a little less full and a little more bed like. There are few comforts she clings to these days, but beds, in nearly any state, are one of them. Blankets are even better and she is very bad about checking to see if a room is otherwise inhabited before making a beeline for the bed and collapsing on it, immediately tangling herself up in the covers.

You might have thought you staked claim on this room, but if you come back or even if you turned your back for too long, there will be a lovely woman asleep in your bed, tangled up in colorful skirts and blankets and snoring softly. ]

3. WILDCARD!!

(4) Why is Carver Hawke back in Ferelden? Good question, not getting answered. What matters is that he's here, soaked through his leathers, which aren't Templary at all. Not now. He might be a deserter. Again, if running from Ostagar counts. Maybe it doesn't. Maybe being shuffled out of Kirkwall when the Templar Order bit itself in the arse trying to get at the mages doesn't count either.

If it does count, it's not his fault. Aveline said he had to.

Anyway: Ferelden. Soaked. All 6'4" and his numerous muscles stuffed into a corner of an overflowing tavern. Somehow, despite his entire life being one bad joke after another, he has had better days.

"I used to get so bloody mad," he says to no one, "when people said Fereldans smelled like wet dog."

The way his nose is scrunched up indicates he now sees their point. That's what a dozen years abroad does to a man. Makes him soft. Ruins him.

bear (and maiden fair???)

[renly had hated hunting, and grandmother saw it as the province of lesser warriors, so of course loras had no time for it. he could pull a longbow, and he'd practiced in the training yard of storm's end until he hit the bullseye every time, as he'd felt a knight should be able to do so, but he'd never bothered to try a moving target, and more importantly he hasn't got one right now.]

Does anyone have a bow?

[his courtly mask slips even as he puts himself between the huddled campers and the bear. he deftly unhooks his nice white cloak, only a little muddy, and tosses it towards someone who looks both cold and capable of catching it. he hopes they at least manage to give back the cloakpin. the bear hulks on two legs, and loras doesn't bother to wait for the bow he's requested, drawing his sword and stepping forward. how does one fight a bear? he holds out his free hand cautiously (a shield might help).]

Nice bear.

[he eyes the claws nervously. his kingsguard armor is only a little better than tourney armor, mostly intended for standing about the castle looking important. he doesn't know how well it'd stand against a sword, let alone a bear's...claws? teeth? exactly what did bears do to people? loras is acutely aware that everything he knows about bears he learned secondhand (renly was right, they do smell foul).

he takes a breath. surely it can't be much worse than the slog of men and swords that was the blackwater (he tries to forget he'd had garlan beside him then). it's only a beast and he is quick and he is clever. one blow to the skull is all he needs. he shifts into a fighting stance.]

mud guard

[loras looks like a wet cat but he's surprisingly good at maneuvering armor in muddy wet weather--he's had almost a decade of practice in the stormlands. still he wishes he had a horse. the dwarven merchants are walking all the horses of their caravan on leads. he thinks it's only fair they offer him a horse, but of course he's too polite to ask. instead he trudges passive-aggressively, wholly unaware of the pout on his face.]

3 -- Bears

As keen as he is to join up with the Inquisition, Vandelin's beginning to think that perhaps it wasn't the best of ideas to part ways with his fellow traveling apostates. It's been ordeal enough to survive without consistent food or shelter and with very little welcome anywhere, particularly for people accustomed to having basic survival needs provided for in a tower, but at least strength in numbers made avoiding and dealing with threats a hell of a lot easier. And whatever else his erstwhile comrades might be facing right now, Vandelin's pretty sure they aren't dealing with shit like this.

"Go away," he commands the bear from atop his unsteady tree-branch perch, in the most imperious tone his high reedy voice can muster up. "Get! Go on!" The bear remains unmoved, snuffling at the base of the trunk as if calmly convinced its meal will be forthcoming if it only waits.

None of Vandelin's particular areas of magical study are designed for use on bears. He lets go of the branch with one arm to fling a bolt of flame at it, which does nothing but singe its fur--and now, unfortunately, it's on. The beast roars fit to wake the dead, standing on its hind legs to reach just shy of where its quarry has managed to climb. Hurling itself against the trunk, it begins to try and shake him loose.

Vandelin could call for help, of course. But damn it, help is for the weak.

4 -- Tavern

It's perfectly understandable that sleeping space would be at a high premium tonight, whether it be in a bed, or on the floor by the fire, or...anywhere else on the floor, even. And it's unsurprising, if galling, that an elf would have twice the trouble carving out a spot for himself, and being a mage would square that already-compounded difficulty. After one particularly sharp jab to the ribs and a mumbled slur about his ears, Vandelin takes the hint. Or appears to, anyway. He holds up his hands, humble and pacifying, and makes himself small in a damp standing-room corner near the bar.

But when Elbows McRacist begins to whimper in his sleep--quietly, at first, but crescendoing to a full-blown terror of thrashing arms and half-coherent pleading--the nondescript elf he'd driven off earlier seems curiously unconcerned. In the space his adversary has now cleared around him with pinwheeling fists, he returns to spread his modest little quilt, and lies down without further ado.

Edited 2017-06-22 18:25 (UTC)

Threaded | Flat

petrana de cedoux | rifter, original character

Diwaniya | Geneforge | Rifter

Gabriel Corpseblight | WoW OC

Celinie Beaudonet | Rifter, FFXIV OC

Feja Bermi | Native DA OC

sarra | rifter, d&d oc