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

[dirth]

[ Solas is, at least, accustomed to being taller than most of the elves on Thedas, and he makes no comment of it, simply allowing her the illusion. The Dalish and their city counterparts are nothing compared to the people, and it leaves an ache in his heart the more he thinks about it, the more he lends himself to dwelling upon their fate.

At least there is something brighter to consider, for now, and he looks upon her with a gentleness that he cannot hide. He is thankful for so careful and thoughtful a gift, even if it was only due to the fact that he had broadcast his desire and she wishes to see more of his work. There is no denying the pride he feels at the realisation that his artistry is being recognised. ]

Then you have my thanks. [ She is young and sweet, he thinks, but the world will not devour her. She will stand tall, and Solas accepts that for what it is - the strength of her heart in spite of her heritage. She may not bear the markings of the Dalish but she is not of the People all the same, he is sure. ] I will continue to paint them where all eyes will be upon them. You have my word.

[kecharitomene]

Merci, Solas.

( It means much to her, that's clear; the imagery itself (what he chooses to paint does not escape her, particularly with her recent history-), but the simple fact of something so beautiful created in the midst of such struggle. They live, whether they will it or not, in very interesting times where hope is hard to come by.

To be as she is, it's not blindness. It's a purposeful act of defiance; a decision that she makes every morning when she wakes up and smiles at the new day with all of her teeth.

I am bigger than you know, I can move mountains, I know what hope is and I will rip it out of the bodies of my enemies with my hands-

Anyway, she likes the pictures. )

My-

( there's a moment where she's clearly trying to decide on the right word )

-wards would like them - they like the ones you left in Skyhold. Katherose didn't know I would see you, but I think she would like for you to have this - they wanted to share with me.

( The drawing she offers him (emerging from slipped between leather armor and soft blouse) is carefully folded and treasured - a colorful and clumsy reproduction of his Skyhold work in a child's hand, signed with a flourishing and unsteady K. Before he can object; ) I have so much of their work! It would please her. You'll take it.

[dirth]

I do not think you are the one that ought to be giving thanks.

[ It's appreciated, all the same. At least he knows that there is someone who is appreciating the time and effort he has put into his murals and frescos, be it here or in Skyhold. It has been a long time since he has had the chance to show his thoughts and feelings through his art, and he is being given ample chance here. It is an expression of himself, his hope, his desires for the future, and he wonders how many can see the depths of his heart in them.

Solas defies in his own way. He seeks to offer the truth. He stands up to all those that would threaten him. He holds himself to no Circle or Wardens or mantle; he was with the Inquisition because he chose to be, not because he was chained. That is how he survived in this world, despite the weakness he feels.

Turning to look at her properly, he tilts his head, curious. He says nothing, at least for now, and lets her speak, and then he finds the time for his own words. ]

Ah. [ He takes the drawing and stares down at it for a long moment. It's clumsy, true, but there is something in it that makes his heart ache. Someone - a young one, a child, someone unaware of the darkness and failures of this world - has seen his artistry and felt moved by it. It is serving it's purpose, and his fingers trace it gently. ]

Are you certain? It is clearly a treasured gift.

[kecharitomene]

( The affection is clear in the way her fingers linger on the page before she lets go - but she does let go, looks back up to him, smiling. )

I can't give them things like this. You know?

( It had pained her, leaving her little mage ducklings behind in Skyhold - kissing all their faces and Benoit's knuckles (healing so well, he says!), telling them she would find someone to read to her their letters, promising to send word back - but this is the truth of it. They are safer there, with people who would have said no, you can't when Benoit had tugged on her sleeve and asked if he could get a tattoo as well when they stopped to disguise her face. With people who can teach them to control their magic, who can give them books to read and keep them settled in one place.

Galatea is a tool for one purpose. She looked into their eyes and killed for them, she would die for them, but the life she leads does not have beauty in it fit for children. )

This, ( pressing her hand over it, over his hand, too familiar in the way of wild things, not presumptive like a person but irrespective of convention like a fucking bear, ) this is what I want them to think of to feel safe and good.

( And in her own childish, clumsy way, it means something to her to express her gratitude to him. )

[dirth]

[ Solas takes the page with care, letting it fold gently before he tucks it into the bag beside the paint, careful to make sure that there is room and space so that there is no risk of the art being spoilt by anything spilling. ]

Yes. I appreciate the sentiment.

[ He has no children nor wards of his own, after all, even if he feels a particularly concerning pull towards the odd spirit that had been so close with him. He can't quite recognise how it feels to be paternal towards someone, but he does understand the feeling of care, of compassion, of wanting to protect and cherish. It's an age-old nostalgic thing, now, that he lets slide off his shoulders as quickly as it came.

There is no time for it, not now. There is a path to be walked and there can be no shackles to heed his path. ]

Let them know, then, that I appreciate their work and their strength. [ Solas is quiet and soft as he speaks. ] If there is ever a time they wish to paint with me then let the invitation be extended. I would not loathe the company.