allthisshitisweird | TEST DRIVE MEME!

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TEST DRIVE MEME!

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!

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i
First, Tavin is not lost, he is absolutely not lost, it's just that the last time he had reason to come through Kirkwall it was for the briefest of trips on the way to elsewhere to investigate something else, cities themselves generally lacking in interesting wildlife to study but it looks different. But he gets his grumpy horse stabled and he must look like he belongs, heading in somewhere approaching the right direction because no one is shouting?

(Too often in Tavin's life there have been people shouting.)

Unfortunately most people seem far too busy to actually stop and let him ask a questions such as where might a man find Grey Wardens or could you possibly direct me to those studying the impacts of these rifts on the native fauna, I cannot be the only one intrigued and who do I sign on with, also where is the library? Not exactly in order of importance but he has a heavy pack and a lot of papers in it, he'd like to get them stored safely, thanks very much.

iii
What a stroke of luck! Tavin has no anchor to speak of but Tavin is a respected zoologist if not always a respected man and brandishing the right papers when you've got a good Nevarran name behind you as well as field work and hailing from the University of Orlais and well, off you go into the wilds with people with anchors and swords and magic! Magic! Tavin does indeed have a bow too but what he's more interested in is not the pulsing green rip in the sky, or the demons, leave that to the mages, the Chantry scholars, the arcane researchers.

No. Tavin is busier and most excited in the aftermath when sensible people are resting. Taking samples. Sketching. Leaping upon anyone who's seen this before for their observations. Trying to get an assistant since none of his usual suspects wanted to come with him even if this is obviously the opportunity of a lifetime. How can you say no to this Nevarran borzoi, look at that face.

v
[Or wildcard it and I'll follow along.]

The woman who stops is wearing a mismash of clothing that, while not unstylish exactly, reflects no underlying understanding of the fact they're from a variety of cultures or styles. (Kirkwall merchants have a much better selection than she could find near Skyhold, and Cosima is starting to adapt her style to Thedas.) Her glasses and her Doc Martens aren't from Thedas at all.

The potentially confusing picture may become clearer with a glance at her hand, however. In the Gallows, she doesn't bother with the small gloves she habitually wears when venturing out into Kirkwall proper; here, people know she's a rifter and deal with it or don't.

"Hey," she says to Tavin, slowing down on her way to wherever. "Are you looking for somebody?"

I.

He was hard at work sifting through heavy tome upon heavy tome of books in the library.

In his home nation, Polnya, he was known as the Dragon. He looked like a youthful gentleman, high-born and resplendent in rich reds and gold — and a rather disgruntled one at that. He was murmuring, chanting unintelligible, silky syllables to himself with a cold grimace upon his face. To the untrained ear it would sound rather like a song, but it was magic he whispered to the long shelves of books, each one drifting to his hand of its own accord. When a book or two snagged his attention well enough to move him from boredom and frustration to mild intrigue, he balanced it in the crook of his arm and made his way to a table to begin his study.

Anyone who would happen across this gentleman would find him pouring over such tomes as Phylacteries: A History Written in Blood or Fade and Spirits Mysterious, his eyes darting hungrily across each new page. And if someone were to observe him long enough, every now and then, a forearm-sized wisp made of smoke and mist would drift in from a nearby window, come to a rest in one of his open palms, and flash a set of flickering images from around the fortress grounds before disappearing in a bright burst of blue flame.

V.

Around the fortress grounds a wanderer may be privy to a strange apparition.

First came one drifting along with the same, delicate wave as a dandelion seed in the breeze. Then came another roughly 30 minutes later, and another, and another in rounds and cycles. They were small, smoky, mistilke creatures, for lack of a better word, that might take a teasing spin above one’s head, or crackle and hiss faintly through the corridors, intent on some secret mission. They flickered ominously with each change in direction, as if they struggled to hold on as they rode the wind.

The strangest thing about them, though, is if one were to stop and peer and them long enough, they would give the impression of staring right on back, a hollow, shadowy semblance of a face materializing in flashes at the thickest parts of the mist…

Edited 2017-06-26 22:58 (UTC)

It would overstating it to say that this is the best day of Tavin's life because there are several days all attempting to fight one another for that particular honour - going to where Toth was slain as a boy, graduating from university, that one field trip where he got to watch a baby dragon hatch and then nearly got eaten but oh how worth it that was! - but that mark! The stories he has heard of those marks!

"My lady," he greets because you have a proper Nevarran gentleman even if he's dirty from time in the field and the getting here, "I have no contact precisely - was there to be one? I haven't been anywhere I could write ahead and at first I'd been set to make my way to Skyhold until I got word that the Inquisition had moved so then there was making my way here, ensuring safe passage--"

This continues in more or less the same tone for several minutes with a lot of apologising because some people really were raised to have manners. (The most polite Dracula-sounding dude, like classic Dracula, what does a Nevarran sound like we don't know but we think it's a vampire probably.)

"I've come to lend my expertise in my area of study, I didn't think to be so lucky as to meet one of you marked by a rift so soon. Such fortune is so rare!" Somewhere his horse is just sighing. Deeply.

The first impression that Madame de Cedoux gives is not, typically, 'bold'. Words like soft or amiable or reserved might sooner come to mind; her one disastrous foray into the field will not encourage a second attempt soon. Still - what she is, under the tranquilly politic exterior, is most of all curious. On the list of things that she fears particularly, magic is increasingly low, familiar to her and gaining in confidence.

So she's startled, the first time she sees mist that seems to know what it's about. She makes a little noise, the second. The third time, however, she picks up her skirts off the stone floor to hurry along behind it, only partially stymied by their cyclical comings and goings.

Either, she reasons, she finds the source or what they seek. And, just in case -

to light her way she will insist if all proves well

- she wraps flame around the fist not clutching her skirts.

Cosima grins, a bit amused to be called "my lady." (The only other person who had regularly called her that was Herian; not a bad person for Tavin to group himself with accidentally.)

"Nah, I mean, I'm sure someone is technically in charge of volunteers. Not my department." She offers her hand (not the one with the shard); she's learned not a lot of people shake, per se, but a hand clasp seems a friendly enough greeting most of the time. "Welcome. I'm Cosima. It's a little bit aaaah," light and high pitched, demonstrative, "still chaos, but I'm sure no one's going to turn down a new recruit. What's your area of study, specifically?"

Cosima would be in the library anyway, even if she hadn't been assigned to the research division, so it's really just as well they didn't try to row against the stream on that one. She's got a specific project today, though, a list of books she's looking up and, unfortunately or otherwise, Fade and Spirits Mysterious is on the list.

The nobleman with wisps of smoke drifting around was not, in fairness, the weirdest thing she'd ever seen in a library. (Finals week in undergrad had been interesting on more than one occasion.) Still, she waits a while to see if he'll finish up before finally realizing he's not going to move any time soon.

She approaches in his clear line of sight. Her time in Thedas has suggested to her it's not good to sneak up on people who may or may not be casting spells.

SENDING CRYSTAL.
I fear it had been overlong since last we spoke, Inquistion. For those not yet known to me: I am Herian Amsel, Knight Enchanter of the White Spire. For those better acquainted with me, I apologise for my abrupt absence. My orders bid me elsewhere. I hope the seasons have not treated you poorly.

KIRKWALL.
( SHE'S ON A HORSE. HAS A STAFF. LOOKS DRAMATIC AF, so same as usual.

Herian frowns as she rides into town, the sounds of hooves lost to the general din of this place. Her gaze is sharp and careful, and if she spots a familiar face then it'll be marked by the faint quirk of her brow and a nod - smiles are reserved for those of more affectionate acquaintance. Regardless, she dismounts in a smooth motion, leading the giant palomino horse over to the conveniently located water trough. )

Good day.

KIRKWALL OPTION B:

( she just Sparta kicked a pickpocket against a wall, nbd. Maybe she was getting your purse back, who knows. )

OR WILDCARD BRUH.

( Flattened to a nearby merchant's stall like a frightened cat, clutching her small purse to herself and huge eyed, it isn't hard to see why Petrana might have looked like an easy mark - the glow of an anchor-shard calling her unlikely to be local, her soft, low accent hinting otherwise at Orlais, the way she carries herself even in her simple dress not suggesting a woman accustomed to places like this or even a great deal of independence.

She is trying. She is adapting. She manages better than some might, her willingness apparent in, yes, the plainness of her clothes and her presence in the market at all. Still; the learning curve in some places is steep, especially when it's so rare she can expect to have her hand held through it. )

I - thank you -

While Tavin's getting his horse settled, someone else enters the stables seeking to do the same. Well, something similar. A tall, horned woman enters astride an equally-horned beast resembling nothing so much as an overgrown nug. She urges him onward to a nearby stall.

"C'mon, Asher. Just a little more and I'll spoil you rotten." The nuggalope grunts in response, complying.

It's good to hear your voice again, Herian. [Inessa doesn't judge or lecture, they all do what they must. Garahel, perking up, lets out a friendly bark in the background.]

Are you in Kirkwall already or on your way?

[Cosima's first instinct when she catches sight of Herian at a distance is to fling herself at Herian like a romcom, or at least like a homecoming YouTube video involving a soldier and a very enthusiastic golden retriever. But, for the sake of Herian's dignity, she comes running up and stops short, grinning.]

Welcome to Kirkwall.

[She is totally not out of breath at all. Smooth, Niehaus. Very smooth.]

Edited (Cosima was so excited I forgot how brackets work) 2017-06-27 00:46 (UTC)

You are welcome.

( "None are necessary" is also true, but to have even the ability to offer thanks dismissed when you have recently been robbed does not seem to sit well with people. She is learning. She is also holding the thief by the scruff of his neck and with one arm pinned behind his back, apparently unconcerned by his struggles. )

Are you harmed?

And yours, Inessa.

I am arrived, though only by a small collection of minutes. Not so pleasing to behold as Skyhold, I think. Have you been well?

( Petra holds the man's gaze for an uncomfortably long moment, catching her breath. )

I don't think so, ser, only greatly startled.

( She hesitates - )

Perhaps he has learned his lesson for today?

( A rare moment of brightness - her mouth tugs at one corner, a smile that she doesn't quite catch in time. She bows, excessively formal in a way that is teasing only because it's Cosima that it's directed at. )

I checked the Gallows first. '''Twas a pleasant surprise to find that you were not so located.

( Herian, please. But she's smiling, and Cosima is breathless, and now she's been sassy she's not sure what to do. )

Mayhaps.

( The human is lean, and younger than might be guessed at first glance. Though she releases him, he is still caught. ) Better he be placed with the city guard. Theft is theft, failed though it was.

Okay, look, I have only been imprisoned once since you left, and it totally wasn't my fault at all.

[In the slightest.]

Man, it's good to see you. When did you get back? Or ... not back, but here. You know what I mean.

As soon as Madame de Cedoux summons the flames, the mistlike apparition's mouth (?) gapes wide open and quivers in a silent cry. It dives sharply forward, circles closely around her flames and careens straight into her first, where it dissolves in a showy explosion of blue flame and sparks.

The flames do not cast any heat. Neither do the sparks -- in fact, they feel like a brush of icy cool air, like the frosty breath of a winter's night.

And as quick as it happens, the mist-thing is gone, nothing but a faint trail of glimmering particles twisting through the corridors this way and that, a serpentine trail marking a beacon back to its bearer. The trail lasts for but a few moments, as now a brand new flickering mist-sentinel drifts by the nearest window. There it hovers, taking up exactly the station where the previous creature left off. And it seems to be terribly preoccupied with that flame-fist the woman wields.

The second sentinel waits and watches the Madame, silent, inscrutable.

Yes, I - I see.

( It's with some effort that she steadies, hand flat on her stomach to keep her aware of her breath. Steady, steady. Everything is well. )

Would - shall I accompany you?

That -

Perhaps it's telling that when the initial shock wears off - and with it the sudden roar of rising flame, how she'd prepared to defend herself when the mist-thing dove toward her - her second reaction more closely resembles exasperation than anxiety. Someone, she decides, is showing off and that is not at all unfamiliar to her.

She tilts her head at the second creature, and after a pause, shakes her hand out, flames dissipating.

Only once?

( Her tone says "forgive me my insolence" and "babe HOW" simultaneously, somehow. The horse raises his head from the trough, water dripping from his mouth as he shakes out his mane. She huffs out a quiet. Death of laughter at the creature, rubbing his neck before she retrains her focus on Cosima - it never left her, really. )

I arrived some hours past, but I had reports to make that could not be delayed, now that my mission is completed. ( And a moment of hesitation and a grin, only brief, ) It is good to see you, as well. Have you been well?

I quite agree...and well enough, I suppose. You're fortunate in terms of timing; it was no small feat, getting the Gallows habitable but now the red lyrium is gone. The Veil remains thin, but all rifts have been sealed. I think the griffons like their new roost, as well. It affords them quite a view.

Can't complain. I'm officially Inquisition now, with a job and everything. And, uh, Kirkwall's climate is definitely an improvement, so there's that.

[There seems to be so much to say, Cosima doesn't quite know where to begin once she's answered the question. She settles on:]

Did, uh, everything go okay? With your, um. Quest. Job. Thing.

[She is really, really trying not to pry.]

By no design of mine, though I cannot deny relief to be spared such a task. How fare the Wardens? Do they enjoy the view as well as the griffons?

( a faintly, very very faintly, joking tone. maybe. )

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TEST DRIVE MEME!

octavian 'tavin' nestor sokolov | da oc

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The Dragon (Sarkan) | Naomi Novik's Uprooted

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v.

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v - tag all the test drives

herian amsel | da original.

kirkwall b.

i

Sending Crystal

Kirkwall

Remembering your paid run out BUH

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mocks u with my 100 icons

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y u do

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tity tho

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forgive me my lack of icons rn

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<3

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