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]

He catches glimpses of her memories of what this place looked like before, in another life; like seeing a reflection of something through two mirrors. Her throne, this palace, the windows and the vaulted ceilings, would be a prison even without the bars affixed to the windows.

The dark, cavernous hall provides ample room for Atticus to cloak himself in shadow and remain out of sight, though it does attract the attention of the inquisitive spirits whose whispers reach towards Petrana from the darkness. Some turn their attentions on Atticus, but their offerings to him fall flat; there's nothing a spirit can give him that won't rip him away from what he longs for most: this, the Fade, walking through dreams, and changing them. They are a perfect canvas.

He reaches upwards with one hand and, like ripping aside a curtain, he strips the oppressive darkness away from the windows and lets bright, dazzling light spill into the chamber. It bleeds into the shadows, washing it away in a deluge, and Atticus remains motionless, rapt with anticipation, to see what will be revealed in its place.

[ipseite]

Not a palace.

The palace entire comes away when he tears the shadows apart; the bloodied throne crumbling to nothing beneath her, leaving Petrana in her rich violet gown sprawled in the lush grass of the fields of Cedoux, a place never visited in life by the toddling little girl who runs through it now, laughing and running through it on confidently wobbling feet.

Sorrow dogs at Petrana's heels too close and even now a shadow remains in Veda's labored breathing and the sickly sheen of sweat on her smiling face, a little mimic of her mama.

"It isn't real," Petrana says, looking up at Atticus, calm. No one has ever visited her dreams - the demons at their edge are new and strange to her, the somniari entirely alien. Her sleeping mind, absorbed in night-grieving, does not question his presence.

All of this is wrong. Him, too.

"Come to me, Veda," she says, holding her arms out. The little girl stumbles into them and falls terribly, terribly still.

She rocks her, absently. A voice behind them says, "You must let her be, Petra," very softly. She ignores him. It's her dream. He can fuck off.

[minrathousian]

The stillness of the child in Petrana's arms makes something long dormant lurch unpleasantly in Atticus' gut, and he finds himself taking an involuntary step backward from the scene, as though putting distance between himself and that small body will also put distance between himself and that sensation. But it follows him; just beyond them the Fade gifts him with a glimpse of his own son as a small boy, picking flowers in the grass. Tavi is there just for an instant. When Atticus blinks, he's gone.

"It isn't real," he agrees quietly.

"You must let her be, Petra."

Behind them stands a young man clad in armor, his long brown hair loose around his youthful, sorrowful face. He looks as though he just strode direct from the battlefield into this pastoral paradise; blood is smeared and splattered across his exquisite plate mail, and smoke and ash have stained his cheeks and brow.

All of that is somewhat less attention-grabbing than the sword he carries. It's on fire.

Atticus approaches him slowly, looking over this Fade apparition with curious eyes. He turns to look back at Petrana, and that strange, uncomfortable feeling sinks its fingers into him again. He offers, "If you wish it, I can send him away."