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 filled with bears. Choose your own adventure!

Comments

[elegiaque]

Well, anyone with a crystal, though I would not - having spent some time in the Gallows - describe the Inquisition as discerning where personnel is concerned.

( Like, at all. )

And they did give me one, for all I've never joined. But I promise you, there was a rousing evening where half of Skyhold seemed to be playing bed, wed and behead on the crystals.

I won.

( 'But Gwenaëlle, that literally isn't a game you can win.'

No, she definitely won it. )

[resplendissant]

Bed, wed, and behead? [The curious expression he gives her is possibly the most honest expression he's shown her yet.]

That sounds a diverting pasttime, madame.

[elegiaque]

( Her grin is positively impish- )

Yes. Someone chooses three names, and you decide which of them you would, and why. If by the end of it no one is slightly horrified or alarmed, you've played it wrong.

( Plowing through the choices Zevran had given her with a ruthless streak emboldened by liquor had made for a very diverting evening. )

[resplendissant]

[Curiosity turns to amusement, not effusive or wholly unreserved- Louis is not yet comfortable enough here, does not trust anyone enough to be himself in a place where he has neither power nor connections to defend himself with should it come to it.]

And you won, madame. I must congratulate you. [Reserve is all well and good, but you don't need to be honest with someone to flirt with them.]

[elegiaque]

( Gwenaëlle, by contrast, is never anything but thoroughly, incomparably Gwenaëlle - for better or worse. She has tried, but she has no talent for dissembling and no patience for it, either; instead she's a small force of nature, and consequence falls where it will.

It's never dull. It's not always ideal, but it's never dull, and her laugh now is easy, easier than talking about mage fucking freedom- )

After a few glasses of wine, every game is a good game. Which, I suppose, is rather the point- we are under a great deal of pressure, here. Sometimes, the crystals are the release of it. For as much professional discussion of the business of the day, there's banter and play and knockout rows. Much of that could stand to be private - it isn't as if there's not the means of privately contacting who you'd speak to - but if you want to ask the entire Inquisition to stop what they're doing to decide which of their compatriots looks most fetching in the bath houses-

( She spreads her hands. )

Even the most joyless among us will at least answer to scold everyone else for answering.

[resplendissant]

[It is safe to say that Louis finds he likes Madame Gwenaëlle Vauquelin. He allows his amusement at her tale to escape him as laughter.]

And what is your opinion, madame? Which of my new compatriots looks the most fetching?

[elegiaque]

Well, were I a member, I'd naturally have to say myself-

( Gwenaëlle being comfortably of the opinion that she is the prettiest thing Kirkwall has seen in some time, period, )

but in the absence of an oath of loyalty, without presuming your proclivities and regrettably having seen neither of them undressed, I'd have to say...Enchanter Julius, or perhaps Herian Amsel.

Of course, you only need go as far as my library for a better view.

( It's only a bit of harmless flirting, and Thranduil enjoys that painting as much as the next person. )

[resplendissant]

A shame, then, that you are not.

[He stands, offering her his arm.] The view your library offers must content me, if you will acquaint me with it.

[elegiaque]

( There's an element of mischief in the way her lips quirk, crooked, and she takes his arm as she rises. It lingers as she obliges him by leading the way to what has formed the heart of her home, the library a split-level masterpiece of architecture - twin staircases descending either side of the enormous hearth that acts as a centerpiece, soft and luxurious seating and low tables nearby. Not difficult to imagine her spending a great deal of her time here, as the shelves fill with titles of her choosing, and the room shows her hand and inclinations well-

and her pert bottom, a full length portrait of the lady of the house hanging above the fireplace. In oils she glances back over her shoulder, gaze lowered rather than looking directly at either the artist or the viewer, a soft robe she must have been wearing moments before she assumed the pose hanging from one hand, one foot slightly arched. It depicts in detail the scars she sustained from the claws of the rage demon, scraping around her torso and down the back of her left thigh; it is both beautiful and a testament to what brutality she's already survived.

Just think what she might do next, now that the worst has happened and she knows how much she is and is not still afraid of. )

My grandfather's natural son is an artist, ( she says, conversationally. ) He's painted all of my portraits,

( clothed and unclothed alike, )

and all of them before I was sent to Skyhold, after the rift I was caught by, but he was very understanding when this one arrived there and I wished to have my scars added to the finished work. It was supposed to be a gift, but I changed my mind.

( Keep it. Hang it up. Remind herself that she's still beautiful, that she survived, that there's not a single thing in all of Thedas that can make her less than herself, thank you.

And it's occasionally entertaining, seeing people turn poker faced when they walk in. )

[resplendissant]

[Louis follows graciously into the house, appreciatively admiring all the fixtures and decorations, taking note to himself of all the books and vowing that he'll stay in her good graces to gain access to them.

His expression doesn't turn pokefaced when he sees the portrait and realises what it is, because the appreciative expression already is the poker face. Instead, his smile widens a fraction, he blinks, and... laughs.

It's delighted, impressed, and the most honest expression he's shown her since they met.] Is it a good likeness, madame?

[elegiaque]

It is a perfect likeness.

( With which she is quite pleased, to judge by the trace of smugness in her sunny smile upon his reaction. )

I did consider donating it to the Inquisition to be hung in Skyhold when we left for Kirkwall, ( thoughtfully, ) as a gesture of goodwill for my time there.

[resplendissant]

I am glad you did not, madame. One seldom has the chance to witness such beauty.

[Amusement still plays about his lips. Why had he never thought to have his loves commemorated in such a way?]