TEST DRIVE MEME!

[faderifting]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Maybe you’ve been around for a while, or maybe you’re new to the Inquisition. Maybe you’re new to Thedas, having recently fallen from a tear in reality and been collected by uniformed rescuers. Whoever you are, you’ve been sent to Kirkwall, to an outpost where many of the Inquisition’s members and allies work on some of the biggest mysteries and problems the organization must solve if it’d like to keep the world from ending, where “ending” means “falling under the power of an ancient powerful corrupted being who wants everyone to bow to him as a god.”

And just to be clear, it would like that. It would like that a lot.

I. THE GALLOWS: The Gallows is an island fortress in Kirkwall’s harbor. It’s been home to, in order: Tevinter slaves, a Circle of Magi, a lot of creepy red lyrium, and now the Inquisition, which has occupied the fortress with the provisional Viscount’s blessing. There are walls that still need rebuilding and corners that still need dusting, but for the most part the Inquisition has gotten down to business. There’s space in the stone-floored courtyards to train or spar; or, if your skills don’t lie in the realm of hitting things, there’s a large library and several offices supporting the Inquisition’s areas of research and diplomatic efforts. If you don’t know what to do with yourself, then by all means, ask; someone will definitely be able to put you to work.

II. KIRKWALL: A quick row across the harbor will take you to Kirkwall proper. The city is built into the cliffs, from exclusive and wealthy Hightown at the top to impoverished Darktown in the abandoned mining tunnels below. In the middle is Lowtown, home to taverns, merchants, and plenty of trouble to keep anyone looking for it happy. You’re welcome to spend your free time and your money here—but try not to annoy the locals too much, please, in case their welcome runs out. It’d be a shame to have to pack again so soon after arriving.

III. QUESTING: Barely had time to make yourself at home, did you, before you were sent away from Kirkwall again—but this time on a mission. There’s a rift outside of Markham, pouring demons into the fields, and the Inquisition has been asked to lend a hand. Maybe literally. If you have an anchor embedded in your palm, you’re needed to close the damn thing. If not, maybe you’re here to fight demons or guard against bandits on the road, or to gather samples and take notes on the rift’s location once its closed, or to speak to Markham’s nobility afterwards to make sure that they fully appreciate the Inquisition’s efforts. Regardless, it’s a long trip, so we hope you like campfire cooking and sharing a tent.

IV. SENDING CRYSTAL: Joining the Inquisition gets you access to the very latest in barely-understood magical communication devices—namely, a crystal, small enough to wear around your neck, that will allow you to communicate verbally with anyone else who has one. Or everyone else who has one. Say hello.

V. WILDCARD: The whole of Thedas is yours to explore, from coast to uncharted wilderness. Choose your own adventure!

Comments

[minrathousian]

"...Be useful or run along."

How that stupid boy managed to reach adulthood without someone sewing his mouth shut is a mystery Atticus still has yet to unravel. Tranquility is an abomination, but perhaps in certain cases... well. He closes his eyes. "Shut up, Benedict."

Whether the boy listens or not is irrelevant; he can either mind the counsel of his betters, or he can struggle along in his present imprisonment on his own. Atticus won't waste energy defending a liability.

"Enchanter," he begins lightly and turns his attention back on Vandelin, "perhaps one day when this is all over, you will be fortunate enough to visit the fine city of Minrathous, and enjoy its hospitality for yourself. I expect you'll find the experience to be an illuminating one." Possibly he can glean something of what Vandelin is thinking just through reading the young mage's facial expression; or possibly he recognizes something in the unflappable, neutral smile Vandelin wears in response to a petty barb.

Atticus isn't sympathetic; he doesn't understand sympathy. But he admires anything--even demons and darkspawn--capable of leveraging the limited tools of its environment in order to gain the edge against an opponent. Admiring an enemy, in his opinion, is always preferable to underestimating one.

[altusimperius]

Benedict has taken another deep breath to no doubt cast another zinger at Vandelin, but the rebuke from Atticus immediately sucks the wind from his sails. He scowls, glaring fervidly at his mentor and then back at the elf, no doubt plotting all kinds of horrible things that he'll definitely do to both of them once his parents bail him out and he's back in Tevinter and can just hire an army of magi to firebomb the city from Sundermount.

[misdirection_hex]

There's something disconcertingly disarming about having someone in this miserable city finally, finally address him by his rightfully-earned title--all the more so when it comes that quickly on the heels of a casually-flung racial slur. Even with the other mages here, it's been 'Mister' or 'Serah' from the start, as if they can't recognize an enchanter at a glance from the colors and patterns of rank on his robes.

The fashions of Hasmal's Circle had always been a bit more Tevinter-inspired than the others, situated on the border as they were, and so perhaps there is something fitting about a magister being the only one to acknowledge his position--but no. To say so would be to give both Atticus and the human Inquisition mages the benefit of the doubt, and Vandelin doesn't make a habit of doing that for anyone.

"Oh, I have no doubt it would," he says, the flicker of appreciation fading from his eyes and leaving them a touch harder than before. "I've heard so many stories. I've always thought I might like to see the ancient bells in the Vivazzi Plaza myself. And what is it they say about the Proving Arena? 'A green jewel in a city of stone?' It's just that you can't be too careful with the travel arrangements. Everyone I know who's experienced your 'hospitality' had a hell of a time getting away from it. You seem to love the elven people so much you just can't bear to let us go. Of course I'm flattered, don't think I'm not, but--I don't have the time to get caught up in sightseeing. You understand."

[minrathousian]

"...You seem to love the elven people so much you just can't bear to let us go. Of course I'm flattered, don't think I'm not, but--I don't have the time to get caught up in sightseeing. You understand."

There's a crack in the wall there.

Atticus smiles. He doesn't argue or cajole. He dips his head once in a manner that is almost gracious, and accepts what he hears, both spoken and unspoken. "I understand, Enchanter. You're right to be cautious, of course. And this," he adds, spreading his hands to either side as far as he is able, given the shackles that bind his wrists, "is hardly the time for such discussion."

Behind him, he can almost feel the impotent rage emanating from Benedict like a contained brush fire. If the boy could set his robes alight from indignation alone, it's likely that he would have by now. Atticus turns back to his spoilt brat of an apprentice, fixing him with a piercing stare just long enough to convey to him that he'd better cool his heels if he knows what's good for him. Then he gestures at the work table. "Instead of spewing profanity at our jailers, perhaps it would be a better use of your time to set out our research supplies. We have work to do."

[altusimperius]

Benedict narrows his eyes, his arms remaining crossed and his posture slumped. There was a time he'd have obeyed Atticus without any trouble, but that time is over.
"Oh do we," he grumbles, "yet would our work not be much more easily done if we didn't have jailers in the first place? Atticus??"
Normally he'd preface the man's name with Master or Magister or some other honorific, but no such title is deserved anymore as far as he's concerned.

[minrathousian]

Atticus remains still and stone-faced just long enough to give Benedict time to consider, reconsider, and then regret those words. He drops his eyes to the chain connecting one shackled wrist to the other, examining it thoughtfully. Then he carefully gathers it up into one hand so that it won't swing freely and do unnecessary damage to his charge's face.

That's about all the warning Benedict gets before Atticus backhands him across the face with enough force to send him sprawling, and possibly to draw blood.

[altusimperius]

Though Benedict may be slightly concerned by the shift in Atticus' demeanor, he has no reason to think anyone would ever have cause-- or the gall-- to strike him. For this reason he doesn't even think to cringe before it happens, and the blow hits him full force with a strangled yelp, jolting him to the end of his own chain. It's too short for him to go far, but he gets a nice abrasion on his wrist from the shackle, and he claps his free hand to the struck side of his face, looking at Atticus in horror.