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

[misdirection_hex]

In Vandelin's nightmares, everything towers over him. They are nightmares in part because he can't exert any control over them, any at all, to cut things down to size.

He winds his way among buildings that touch the lowering ink-green sky, houses whose doorknobs are far above his head, statues whose shoe soles alone come up to his waist. His staff and robes are the simple, shoddy uniform of an apprentice, none of the brocade or delicate metalwork he wears in his waking life. He tilts his head back, back, far back, to look a pride demon in the face. They look alike, all of them, but he recognizes this one well.

"It's almost as if you miss me when I'm not here," he tells it.

[minrathousian]

Atticus ghosts into the periphery of Vandelin's nightmare and studies the uncanny valley created by the towering, familiar objects that pepper the Fade's landscape. He stops by an impressively large door and touches it; it melts, like snow when touched by sunlight.

He follows a narrow, angular path through the strange buildings, following the dream road towards its heart, to where the dreamer is... and stops short of rounding the corner when he glimpses--and recognizes--the back of Vandelin's head and that insufferably smart note in his voice. He also sees the pride demon.

"It's almost as though you miss me when I'm not here."

How determined is this young idiot to court death--or worse, possession?

Atticus begins to shrink back into the shadows, to fadestep away from the dream entirely, then stops. Cautiously, he leans around the corner created by one of the large, towering buildings, and watches.

[misdirection_hex]

It wouldn't be a pride demon if it didn't feast on that stubborn, suicidal pride, that impulse to stay and stand his ground solely because he's frightened. He can't let fear win, can't let this terrified little creature be who he is--and so the demon waits for him, often, with a mirror of his own smug, serene smile. The nightmare is his Harrowing all over again, and he never learns.

"We might as well be old friends," the demon agrees, with wry conspiratorial warmth. "You always did put up the fun sort of fight."

You're different, special, exceptional, the kind of praise that 19-year-old Vandelin could so easily fall headlong into and sink below the surface without a trace. 32-year-old Vandelin doesn't trust a compliment anymore.

"Not tonight," he snaps--too quick, too sharp, the kind of emotion he'll be furious at himself for showing when he has time to think--before turning on his heel and hastening back down the path, past Atticus' hiding place, fast enough to leave a chill breeze behind him.

[minrathousian]

He withdraws further into the shadows as Vandelin strides past him; in his wake, the chill begins to add a layer of cold frost across the wooden doors, stone walls, and glass windows. Light and color begin to fade, drawing substance away from the nightmare. The illusion is dissipating, now that the dreamer has departed.

Atticus steps carefully out of his hiding place and onto the path. Before him, he can see his own breath with each exhalation; like everything else here, it isn't real, but is a placeholder for something else. He follows the path that Vandelin took with his eyes, considering the reckless gamble that he'd just witnessed, then looks back to find the pride demon regarding him appraisingly.

The pair of them need little time to size each other up and come to the same conclusion: ...no, perhaps not.

Atticus draws his cloak further around himself, and fadesteps out of the remnants of Vandelin's nightmare.