Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faderifting) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
allthisshitisweird2017-09-30 08:13 pm
faderifting) wrote in allthisshitisweird2017-09-30 08:13 pm
Entry tags:
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 filled with bears. Choose your own adventure!
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!
no subject
People get used to you, the shape you occupy in their life. Somewhere along the way, he must've gotten used to it, too. And the way she won't look at him —
He'd laugh at running off to join the Grey Wardens, if she hadn't gone and really done it, if it were still just the kind of fancy he thought they'd left behind; if they weren't both here. If that thing weren't in her hand, and Maker's bride, that thing in her hand.
"What's it do?" The fear in his eyes is plain as the glimmer of reflected green, and though he doesn't pull away, he can't make himself reach out to take it. "Fern..."
no subject
"It closes rifts?" The statement almost sounds like a question the way she says it, because, "At least, that's what they've told me they do. I haven't tried yet, though, I've been--too scared to try." And too green to combat magic to be worth much of anything on an away mission with Nell, though she's trying now, trying so very hard--oh.
Oh, no, her magic--
She gives her head a hurried little shake and covers her mouth. "I'm so sorry," she blurts out, "you came all this way, but I can't go home. I don't know when I'll ever go home, this thing hurts me so badly when I'm away from Kirkwall even for a little bit. You should go," she presses him again, turning her eyes to his pleadingly, "you should go tell everyone I'm fine. I'm fine, Finch." She even tries to smile to make it so. It doesn't really work.
no subject
There's a pit in his stomach, full of ice, and her admission of fright doesn't stay its spread. They're both scared. It doesn't help.
"We'll tell them together." He insists, and the words trip over themselves, muddle at the edges with the things he's trying not to say. "We'll — I don't know. Find someone to write it. I'll explain. They won't worry so much if we're together."
The smile he flashes back isn't any more solid.
"We'll tell them, and we'll. We'll figure this out." He swallows, hard. "Kirkwall's home for a lot of people. Maybe,"
"Maybe it can be home for now."
no subject
"And then what?" she bursts out, knowing that her words are going to hurt but somehow unable to stop herself from saying them. "We'll just... go back to the farm? Plant turnips this year, beets next year? Pretend I never ran out on you to join the Grey Wardens?" Then she gestures helplessly, like her next words are just as implausible as all the rest: "Get married?"
She bites her lip and looks away, to stare at a bunch of dried elfroot waiting to be packaged up and sent to the Inquisition soldiers fighting in the field. The thought of going back to her family's farm outside Ansburg, to just herd sheep and tend crops, to forget all about her lessons with Nell and Clans Ashara and Dahlasanor, and what she'd shared with Sina makes her dizzy, and angry, if she'll let herself admit it. She's been to Llomerryn and Rivain, seen sea serpents and a corrupted kraken with her own eyes, helped a strange rifter elf create explosives out of powder made of every conceivable colour--
No, she can't fight yet, but if she can just stay here, if she can just keep learning--
Fern folds her skinny arms around her chest and keeps her eyes averted. Maybe she's ashamed of the words, ashamed of the uncharitable thoughts about the life her family lives on their farm, but she won't take them back. She can't.
"I'm an apostate," she says flatly at last. "I can't go back."
no subject
One of us should be. Why not go back? Are you really so much better than us?
He presses one wrapped palm to his forehead, watches the door.
"It's just your hand," He says, at last, because saying anything else would be insane. "It's not the same thing."
But he's looking to the entry, and not her.
no subject
She could choose not to say anything, let him think he's right--but already there's so much he's going to find out, so much that will hurt him--
"It's not just my hand," she says quietly.
Fern takes a cautious, deer-like step after him, stands at his side. Then she reaches out to cup her palm around the unlit wick of a candle. In an eyeblink, it flickers to life.
no subject
Not visibly, not in the pantomime manner of a spooked hare. He grows instead — at once — very still. As though she'd conjured ice and not,
Not this.
Finch might not know his Chant, but he knows the stories. Knows a little better the ones that came out of the war; scorching tongues and not fields, and haven't they always been lucky for that? To be so far from the towers, the cities (this city).
"What did you do, Fern?" His fingers tangle up to his bangs, tug nervous. This isn't Tevinter. "Maker, what did you do?"
It's lost, more than it's anything. Everything about this place is foreign, but Fern shouldn't be, can't be. He knows her well as breathing.
no subject
Of all the things she'd thought he'd say--
"Nothing," she blurts out, staring up at him with new, unexpected pain in her eyes. Is he afraid of her now? Is that what this horrible feeling is? "I'm sorry," she adds and reaches out as though to touch his arm, "I didn't mean to frighten you--"
you already got this tag in discord i'm just posting it here so we both have a reference
He lies, reflexive. Defensive.
Finch pulls away, toward the door (remembers to duck the rashvine this time). It’s not that he can’t see the way she’s looking at him, it’s only that, Maker. What’s it even supposed to mean? The pulse in his ribs isn’t for tales of witches, of Magisters, of men cursed to the shape of beasts. He knows what all those look like, and none the stranger before him.
Already, something small and slithering whispers: No one would have to know. If she hid it, then no one had to know,
"You didn’t do anything at all."
He moves to leave.
no subject
She brings her hands up to cover her mouth, tears suddenly standing in her eyes, and then turns away from him.
She lets him go.