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 filled with bears. Choose your own adventure!

Threaded | Flat

IV. Sending Crystal

I greet you again, Inquisition. My mistaken impression that Skyhold might be a more enjoyable place to work has been corrected. [It's not like they have their shit any more together vis-a-vis rifters, and it's cold and gross and nobody appreciates his genius there either so what even is the point.]

The forest is still standing, I hope? No natural disasters have struck? Corypheus has left the city undisturbed in my absence? [Not that Diwa's presence or absence would have any bearing whatsoever on anything Corypheus chose to do, but...shut up.]

III. Questing, because we don't need no numerical order

"They might at least have let me put my bags down first," Diwa mutters, warming his hands around the campfire and watching its red glow mingle with the green of his shard. His tone is approximately 40% less sour than it would have been a few months ago. Progress?

"But no matter. It's nice to be needed."

V. Wildcard

It's all good.

ii; Kirkwall
The hand is a problem but Brónach adjusts, she adapts, she's a bosmer living abroad. The furthest abroad she's ever been.

A city is a city is a city but this one only takes getting used to with the strange folk that tower over her (no argonians waiting, no khajit to trade with) and the new insult to be hurled her way. Some of the merchants don't want her eve eyeing their weapons when she starts to hover, or they ask if she's looking to recommend to her master--

"Need to find a damned blacksmith," she mutters under her breath more than once. People are always looking for work and Brónach? Well she'd like to see these people make what she can; that's the trick to being a bosmer living abroad and keeping up your traditions.

iii; Questing
Getting out of the city to go somewhere else? She would've volunteered immediately if her hand hadn't done it for her, slips away with her pack and her own damned rations - the cooks gossip as if she doesn't hear the words tumbling out of their mouths, everyone so fucking loud - and hisses through her hand aching when--

She's seen worse. What daedra come up with are worse. Aiming with a light shining in her eyes is a problem but spend your whole life with a bow and you start firing true.

Sharing her tent however is-- well slightly more of an issue. Would you really want to crawl in and sleep beside someone with the face of the cat that ponders just how long it's going to bat around a mouse before it devours the head and nothing more? (Maybe you are, this place is already full enough of the mad that Sheogorath might be at work.)

v; wildcard
Pick your poison I'll roll with it

Edited 2017-10-01 08:46 (UTC)

I. MAPS, MAPS, MAPS
[Somewhere inside the Gallows there is a room filled with maps, and Louis has found it. There are cities detailed here, countries delineated by careful black borders, continents showing rivers and mountains. It's familiar enough- except that he knows nothing of value. If all he's been told is true, then it's imperative he learn as much as he can of their position in the world.]

Explain these to me. [There's not even a suggestion in his voice that this is a request.]

II. GOOD MORNING, KIRKWALL

[The first time he is jostled he is surprised, but does not react. Expectant stillness settles over him, ready for-

-but, the guard does not come, of course. The uncouth man is not led away for so disrespecting his royal person and stumbles away down the street. Again he remembers where he is.

Each time he is jostled in the crowd he remembers faster. Each time he reaches to pick up a craftsman's wares and his hand is slapped away, he remembers. The knowledge stings worse than the jostling or the slap to his hand. But there's nothing he can do with that bitterness, there's no purpose it can serve him here. He sets it aside.

When he spies in the crowd a face that he recognises as a fellow inquisitor, he approaches and greets them.] Kirkwall is a busy town.

[Etiquette may not be the order of the day here, but it's a hard habit to break. Make small talk before bringing up more important matters.]

IV. CRYSTAL CLEAR

[The magic has been (vaguely) explained, but Louis still starts when he hears a voice coming from the stone around his neck. He's hesitant to use it to contact others, but there's nothing which prevents them from speaking with him through it.]

Repeat yourself. [Eventually he'll grow used to it. He hopes.] Please.

I. The Gallows

When Carlos arrived and finally got off the boat he had to brace himself up against the nearest solid structure so that he can get his land legs back. He had managed to not throw up once during the trip but that didn't mean he hadn't felt sick nearly the whole time.

Still, he was here. He had made it and while the statues and gates had terrified countless mages before him, he felt relieved to be here. It had been a long trip. Not just the ship ride over, but everything that had happened to him since the Rebellion had started. He felt as if all of it had moved him towards this place where so many had died and suffered but which managed to hold all of the promise of his future.

Once he had soothed his stomach and could stand without swaying, he grabbed his staff, straightened his robes, and walked into the Gallows. He had someone he wanted to find but first he needed to report to the Inquisition's headquarters here.

I. The Gallows

[As quaint as it was to watch the sparring or to see everyone flitting about, assuming they were of some use, it was dreadfully dull. All of this was. But rather than be directed and herded like some sort of blithering sheep, she roamed the library at her own volition.

There were a few books on a table and trying to appear productive, she flicked through the pages, skimming over the text.]

Oh my, another history to learn. Wherever will I find the time?

[Sarcasm and cynicism, it was at least a way to amuse herself.]

II. Kirwall

[While the markets didn't have anything that she wanted to buy, there were at least new and unique items to hold her attention. After all of the merchants that had visited Versailles, the novelty had worn off. This was something amusing and she was in dire need of it without the champagne and gambling to pass the time.

She toyed with a piece of fabric at one stall, glancing over it with a small glimmer of derision. Cheap, just as she expected.

To the person next to her, she handed it over to them]

This might actually suit you.

V. Wildcard

[Choose your own adventure!]

I. THE GALLOWS: Exploration

[Let it be known that this marks the first time Captain Jack Sparrow ever been in a place called "The Gallows" and not have a noose around his neck. The pirate gingerly wanders around this slipshod fortress looking mighty out of place here. There's far too many knights in shining armor running around for Sparrow's liking and twice as many mean-looking gents running about looking unsavory as hell. Had this been Tortuga, Jack wouldn't be complaining but this isn't the Caribbean.]

What a lovely place. [The pirate murmurs under his breath with dry sarcasm.] I simply love what they did with it. The foreboding atmosphere and crumbling architecture certainly brings out the glow of those queer menacing stones.

[Jack is of course referencing the peculiar shine of the red lyrium that illuminates this hellhole. The Captain feels a little uneasy about those things.]

Ugh. Where's the rum, lads? Surely I ain't the only bleedin' person needin' a drink.

[Now taking his leave of the courtyard, Jack could be found rummaging down the halls of the fortress looking high and low for anything remotely alcoholic. The man is literally ~~dumpster~~barrel diving in search of anything savory.]

Bloomin' hell!

[He fusses in annoyance as he starts indiscriminately tossing supplies out onto the floor like some rambunctious raccoon. The pirate is making quite a mess of things, honestly. There's poultice medicines, random jars and vials scattered all over the place as he searches. Jack apparently doesn't give too hells about anything other than alcohol.]

Do these people not drink?

[Guess who's not too terribly fond of the Inquisition already. This scurvy bastard over here.]

❧

II. KIRKWALL: Lowtown Taverns

Now this is more like it!

[Finally in his element, Jack enjoys a drink or two with the local whores and harlots in this downtrodden establishment here in Lowtown. There's singing, there's dancing but most of all these's rum! Plenty of rum! The glasses are overfilling with rum and ale. Jack of course can drink one or the other other but he prefers the rum. ]

Ladies, fetch me another bottle of your finest brew. [The pirate all but sings as he tosses coin after coin towards the tavern wench. Of course these aren't HIS coins. Jack pilfered these from a drunken old sod out front. Someone may have witnessed the crime unfold but does anyone dare confront him? Probably not. After all, Jack is armed.]

Make sure the mug is nice and cold, you hear?

[He says after giving the wench a firm slap upon her rump.]

And make it snappy!

[Oh, the disrespect of it all--! Someone should tell him to sod off. ]

Edited 2017-10-05 21:14 (UTC)

I. GALLOWS: LIBRARY

Some things can't be done through sheer stubbornness. Learning to read a new alphabet is one of them. He does try; on the table, beside the book that was handed to him when he asked for something introductory, he's printed out each of the new letters in no particular order, with a few already corresponding to the symbols in a foreign sharp-edged script. Not enough of them, however, to turn the sea of letters on the page in front of him into a breakable code, no matter how long he stares at them.

How long he stares as them is, incidentally, a very long time, reaching for understanding like it might be buried somewhere in his own chest, like his magic was. But he does give up eventually, and when someone passes the table at a pace that doesn't imply they have somewhere else to be immediately, he lifts one hand for attention. "Excuse me." He's soft spoken, but with a voice smooth and weighty like a river rock, which is not my fault, I didn't invent him. "Would you read the first sentence of this for me?"

II. KIRKWALL: DARKTOWN

Holland wasn't here long before someone (presumably, hopefully) impressed upon him the need to hide his inky black eye in public. It's something he hasn't done since he was a child trying to slip unnoticed beneath the noses of hungry adults, and now the thought of hiding rankles his pride nearly enough to outweigh the tattered scraps of his self-preservation instincts. But only nearly. When he ventures out, he wraps strips of linen around his head at an angle to patch it over.

With some additional effort that sort of thing might let him blend in in Darktown, one more one-eyed beggar, maybe there's even a club—but his clothes are clean and his posture is nearly a dare, and when he sees something that catches his uncovered eye, he doesn't hide the flash of green light in the hand that reaches for it. It, a plant growing out of the rotting old wall, a touch of bright green and red. Even here. Even among all this.

It's very pretty. It will also almost definitely cause a rash. If someone points that out to him, he might care enough not to keep touching it.

V. WILDCARD: WHATEVS

i. the gallows

The Gallows remind Daenerys in some ways of Dragonstone. The high towers, the narrow hallways, and the general location. So it's no surprise to her that she finds her way often to the higher points easily accessible without climbing out the windows, where she can look out over the bay. She leans against the ramparts, lips pressed together in a thin line.

In the wind and the smell of sea salt if she closes her eyes she can almost hear the beating of wings, imagine her dragons circling the towers, always vigilant, hunting or just playing games with one-another. Her heart aches for them, she has heard some say things about Rifters and their absences never truly being noted from those who had arrived later from the same realms, but she doesn't know how much she believes that.

"Valar morghulis," she mutters to herself, somewhat bitterly.

iv. crystal

I have been hearing things since arriving in this... place. Those that are called "Rifters" by the natives, we are less than welcome here.

I would like to walk the city, but as I have no skill with a sword, I find myself in need of an escort. If anyone is interested in assisting me, it would be greatly appreciated.

Kirkwall

The difference between Mal and most Circle mages is that beyond the fact that Yes, she did like the safety and education of the Circles? She really did not think much of the frou-frou dress code. Robes? Why? That just seemed like a good way for someone to stick a blade in you three-inches deep through your shiny silk. No and thank you. So when Mal Draco climbed off her horse right inside the Kirkwall gates, flashing her Inquisition paperwork, she was dressed in purple and green leather battlemage armor. Her bright purple hair would be also be a dead-give away that whatever this mage was? She wasn't like your typical studying nerd mage.

She patted her horse's neck, and started her search, pausing everyone she saw with an Inquisition badge, "Have you seen a young man with black and white hair? Mage, kinda squirrely in an adorable way?"

The Gallows

After finally tracking down her missing 'brother', Mal tossed her things into Carlos's room, and started exploring the Gallows proper. And the first thing she could say was ... God. She hated the Oppressive Feel of everything. She could hear the Fade crackling on the sides, and the misery alone was like a perfume that her mother would have reveled in.

Mal wrinkled her nose at the very thought, suppressing a shudder. So, she found herself a wall, got some reagents from the alchemists and some different colored shells from the docks, crushed them and mixed them with water, along with a few pilfered eggs to make rich colored paints. She took out her brushes from her satchel, and began to paint a mural of Kirkwall, which she could just see through the large Gallows gates. The only way you would know that magic was at work, was when the brush itself lifted high beyond Mal's smudged fingertips and created swoops far, far beyond her diminutive height of five foot two.

Wildcard
(Go on, find the girl with the hard green-gold flecked eyes.)

[Her history is here hmu if you want to assume CR :3]

i.

Though she'd never been to Kirkwall's Circle, she had known people who had died here. Standing in the Gallows courtyard there's an echo of unease as Audra stares up at the former prison. The Inquisition may have done a lot to make it more of a home for their people, but that didn't erase it's history. She stops for a moment, hand to her chest as she considers that weight, before letting it out and pushing ahead. She walks with a lightness after that brief pause, stopping only when she realizes she has no idea where she's going.

"Um, excuse me?" she calls out to the first person who looks like they aren't running anywhere important. Her accent sounds mostly Ferelden, though there is a hint of Starkhaven in her syllables. "This is my first time here. Could you tell me where the mages are primarily staying?"

iii.

Audra sits on a broken rock, squinting at the location that the rift had been only an hour ago. She has a blank notebook open across her knees and a quill poised over the paper as if she's about to write, but she doesn't move. To the casual observer, it might look like she's deep in thought, contemplating what she's going to write on the page. What she's actually doing is trying to see if she can see any residual Fade touched space floating where the rift had been. This had been at least part of the reason she'd come back to the Inquisition. The rifts had been fascinating from the moment they'd started opening up all over Thedas, like cracks in the fabric of reality.

When people and objects started falling through, that just opened up all sorts of new possibilities. She presses her lips together, before finally looking away from the spot she's staring at, blinking furiously before pressing thumb and forefinger against her eyelids briefly. Then she's back to blinking.

"Oi, now I'm seeing spots. There's a note." She blinks a few more times, before writing something on the page, repeating the words back to herself as she writes them. "Don't. Stare. At. The. Sky. Too. Long."

Edited 2017-10-26 01:37 (UTC)

I: The Gallows.

Well. Here he was. After cutting a bloody swathe through Templars, abominations, and everything else that stood in the way of his escape years ago. After years of fighting to stay away from it. The place had been his home for most of his life, that he had at one point in time never dreamed of leaving, and at another, dreamed of never returning.

They'd cleaned the place up a bit. It looked almost decent, now.

They've both changed, though Gareth would guess that his change has been for the worse. He's looks a lot more bedraggled than before, more like he's missed a few meals. More like he'd been dragged through the Fade and back again. His clothes are more worn, with long sleeves and gloves that are both tied down tightly to ensure that neither shift with his casual movements. The latest in apostate chic, you know. Even the staff at his hand is a bit worse for wear, though like everything, serviceable enough.

Things haven't changed enough that he can't find his way around, and so he wanders the Gallows, poking around his old haunts. Muttering can be heard from him as he walks, providing his own commentary on his little tour.

"And this spot is where we held the weekly lashings for...whatever the Templars felt like lashing us for. One time, I wound up here for stealing Knight-Commander Meredith's pudding. And here is the very spot where I saw my first abomination! That's the Gallows version of coming of age, so of course I was pretty proud of myself. The other mages got me cake."

The commentary might not be particularly factual, but at least he seems cheerful about it all.

II. Lowtown

He's not dumb enough to be seen Hightown with his clothes in the state that they're in, so he sticks to Lowtown to give himself a bit of a real tour. His staff has been ditched for now, unwilling to attract more attention to himself than strictly necessary. There's still something about the way that he marvels at the area around him and has to backtrack whenever he accidentally walks into a dead end that screams 'tourist', but at least it's not 'mage tourist'.

He's only been to Lowtown once before, and it looked very different at the time. There's less fire now. And murder. And people running around screaming. It's definitely an improvement. It's amazing, how one can spend so much of their life technically within Kirkwall, and have never seen almost any of the city proper. But now there's nothing stopping him from wandering wherever he pleases, and he means to take advantage of it.

Maybe too much advantage, because as time progresses, he quickly realizes that he is completely, irrevocably lost. Maker's ass. What if he gets mugged? What if he runs into some evil blood mage in a back alley--Oh wait.

Rather than panic, he takes a moment to survey his surroundings, and then with his most friendly smile, approaches someone who doesn't look like they'll murder or mug him on sight. "Hello there, this is a bit embarrassing, but I've just arrived to the city. Could you give me some directions?"

{ sending crystal }
[ This fancy piece of pretty is the sort of thing that puts a runner like her out of a job, so Minka can't help but resent it a little. Then again, talking to people without having to see them? Who would pass that up? (People who aren't socially stunted is the answer here.) ]

Hello? How do I know this damn thing's on? It should tell you when it's on. If this is on, tell me how to join a division. I hear I get more money that way.

{ action }
It's not something she can just get used to. Like a splinter she just can't see or an ingrown toenail, the anchor shard keeps putting out just enough of a feeling to remind her it's there. Luckily the healers gave her a salve to put on it so whenever it starts to hurt she just slaps more on. That's the only time it's uncovered. She hates looking at it and would probably cut off her hand if she had the guts. But she doesn't, so she's stuck here until this slow ass rifts team figure out how to get out the shards.

May as well wander and see where she can find work. The docks seem promising. She can run messages or goods here, right? She'll just hop up onto this barrel and take a look around. Only when she does that, the lid breaks in half and her rear goes down into the barrel, leaving her with her legs in the air and a shriek coming from her mouth.

"What the fuck? How is that even-- whose shoddy ass work is this? Get me out of here!"

{ wildcard }
[ Contact me at

lavellan or via PM to this account if you have an idea for something else. ]

The Gallows

He's elven tall - and looks rather like one, in honesty, although his hair is shorter than the other elves of his homeworld. He's more solidly built, too - broader across the shoulders, although the sword he uses is clearly of the same ilk as that born by those of his world here. It does, in fact, look remarkably like Maedhros' own.

As does his fighting style.

The massive blade he wields left-handed, and it sings cheerfully through the air as he runs through his moves, practicing. Feel free to join him.

Questing

There are dragons in this world, and Elros is a Dragon-slayer - it's in his blood, really. He's only too glad to get out and see this new world, and hey, if he gets to kill a dragon or two, so much more the fun! He's quick to laugh and share tales around the campfire, and he won't shirk from even the most menial of jobs. Sharing a tent might be a bit problematic, considering his size though.

Wildcard

Hit me

Edited 2017-11-03 04:17 (UTC)

I. Gallows

The dwarf sitting on a bench with a book might be easily overlooked, were it not for his eye-searingly ginger hair and the fact that he keeps holding the book up as if comparing something in it to his surroundings and finding the latter lacking. Periodically, he glances around as if searching for something he might have missed on first inspection.

Meanwhile, though the spot he's sitting in is shady and the lighting a little dim, the glowing shard in his palm serves well enough to illuminate the pages he's consulting.

III. Questing

Brynek hadn't had time to check in and make his Inquisition membership official, however one would go about doing that, before he'd been pressed into rift-closing service by a boisterous human who'd insisted on nicknaming him Little Red. He's trying to take it all in stride. It's not working well.

"Is there some kind of...training procedure for this?" he asks, tightening his grip on the hilt of his borrowed sword. "Or do they just throw us hand-first at the demon holes and hope for the best? That doesn't strike anyone else as wildly irresponsible?"

Brynek knows from 'wildly irresponsible.'

V. Wildcard

Lay it on me!

I - Gallows

Every step Colin takes into the belly of the dragon, he reminds himself this particular dragon is dead.

He is a young man, dark hair braided messily, a sack slung over his shoulder. He has more goods being put into storage, and he feels anxious about their security there. He's an Inquisition trader now, although being assigned to Kirkwall means he is very far down on the hierarchy of Inquisition traders. That's fine. Colin is young, with only a few years of experience.

Up ahead are the inner doors built to seal away abominations in an emergency. Colin stops and falls back half a pace as if physically repelled.

He doesn't want to do this.

He almost turns back, but then people would suspect him. There are worse things than living in a secure fortress, free to come and go as he pleases. It's just a building. It's not haunted, and other than those telltale doors, it bears little resemblance to Kinloch Hold. No one here even knows he's a mage. No one here, although if anyone can find out, it would be the Inquisition.

Colin moves forward determinedly. That's what he's here to do.

II - Kirkwall

To Colin, walking around the trading districts is sort of like going to a museum. Not only can he afford absolutely nothing in Hightown, but it's also worth it to see who is here and which sells what. Education, yay.

He pauses in the market to take down and rebraid his hair when he spots a deep blue tunic. It seems like the only bright thing in this ridiculously depressing city. Hair back up, he steps toward the stall and reaches for it. Holds it up in front of the mirror. Smiles privately. Then he folds it carefully and replaces it on the table and walks away.

IV - Crystal

So...

[At the very end of the word, the vowel veers into an "ee" sound, betraying the sort of background the speaker comes from. When he speaks again, it's a little less clear--his diction is better, his education covering up most of the low-class Fereldan accent.]

I heard a rumor about griffons. Is it true?

II. kirkwall - the hanged man

Oh, good. My old stomping ground.

[At one of the many dingy tables sits Twisted Fate, who's hunched over with a pint. He's smiling crookedly, gesturing for you to come over and join him.]

And what brings you to Lowtown's most popular and horrible hole in the wall, hm? Bored? Poor? A bit of both?

III. questing

[Ah, yes. One of the responsibilities of having a damned shard. Not Twisted Fate's favorite tasks, but he's here already, the shard in his palm glowing fiercely the closer they get to the rift.

Fate calls over his shoulder:]

Do me a favor and keep the demons off me! A bit hard to focus on the bloody rift while they're trying to maul me to death. Hope you understand!

[Without another word, Twisted Fate shapeshifts into a wolf, taking off and weaving between demons to get closer.]

IV. sending crystal

It's been so long, hasn't it? So sorry that you haven't heard my charming voice in awhile, Inquisition, but I'm a busy man. The past few missions surely have seen to that.

Tell me what I've missed. I'd so love to know. Any wacky hijinks? Do we have another Herald? A pet dragon? I'd love to know.

( The voice over the crystals is low, musical and Orlesian in accent; the kind of accent you find out in the sticks, a mixture of different regions and none of them terribly polished. )

Hallo, strangers, ( all friendliness, ) I am very new here so maybe I don't know who to ask, exactly- you have lots of people who know all about the books. I need some reading and then I'll need some writing, and in return-

We can work something out, no?

wildcard

( galatea is a 4'10" elf who loves poking her nose where it doesn't belong. hit me with whatever. )

(sup I'm newish to this so feel free to correct mistakes, don't mind the lack of icons here!)

III-a

[a bad leg is no excuse to stay behind, and rynlan will hardly accept staying cooped up in a strange place anyway; he still firmly believes he's as useful in the field as he's ever been, and whether he still has healing magic or not, he's got years of field medic experience to rely on and help out. it'll be a good way to keep getting his bearings.

that won't stop him from complaining about camping, though.]

How long did they say this is expected to take, exactly?...

[his green eyes are bright over the rims of his glasses in the low light, and his expression is thoroughly unimpressed.]

Seems entirely too long to me, but- I suppose it could be worse, at any rate.

[it's not the North back home. anything is an improvement over that place.]

III-b

[injured by bandits, demons, or other wildlife? it's lucky that you've got a healer nearby.

it's less lucky, though, that it's ryn.]

All right, now hold still-

[he's got a steady hand with cleaning wounds, but it isn't exactly a gentle one; he's clearly more focused on his work than his patient's comfort.]

Just what happened to you, hm?

I- library or other quiet places

[or you might find him around the gallows sometime before that trip with a book or two, studying local magic while he takes notes... but judging by the way he's quick to cover them when anyone approaches, maybe those aren't just scholarly notes, there. if anyone gets close without him noticing, he'll hide the pages in a hurry, a bit flustered at the intrusion.]

Yes, can I help you with anything-- or don't you have anything better to do than interrupt my studies?

I. The Gallows

"--c'moooon, fuckin' piece of--there we go."

Had it proved possible, there would have been a small, chugging, diesel-powered mechanical device with a drill bit on the bottom boring its way through the stone floor of the courtyard. Mercifully, it hadn't worked, and the device is now making an ungodly engine-revving noise while drilling into the frozen ground just outside the door, instead.

But it's still serving its purpose, whatever that purpose might be, and the dwarf standing beside it looks pleased. The air around him smells strongly of gasoline and exhaust.

III. Questing

Nobody bats an eye at a dwarf carrying a mace and a shield, though the naked shard in his palm might merit a second glance, and the mace crackles periodically with electricity as if augmented with a rune.

The fact that he doesn't think to use the shield in any way as he braces himself against the oncoming despair demon might give an onlooker cause to write him off as not long for this world, until the thing wheels suddenly away again with a rending screech, licked with flames that can't have come from any weapon the dwarf has on him. Janzik raises a closed fist as if to send a swift, firm up your ass message, and the ground beneath the demon erupts with self-propelled magma, forming itself into curling ropes and lashing out to snare the creature in searing tendrils. The demon screeches, smokes, and falls silent.

"The hell was that thing? I almost had to chase it halfway back to the fuckin' city. You put a saddle on one of those and you've got yourself high-speed cross-country transportation. Where's your patent office? Nobody steal that idea."

Edited 2017-11-20 07:40 (UTC)

I. GALLOWS

FOOLISH!

[In the middle of the sparring arena, a very tall and muscular qunari woman has thrown her partner. He's breathing, but he isn't getting up immediately.]

You are weak. You need to train more. Do not embarrass your fellow soldiers!

[She gazes along the other Inquisition soldiers to see who might be available to spar with next, then she points at you.]

You. Here. Now!

II. KIRKWALL

[Most of her days after abandoning Seheron was spent in camps or similar arrangements; it's not as if she'd ever been brought into any major city. Unsightly cow is often how she'd been described in the past, much to her irritation. Good for fighting, good for little else.

When there is not a fight, she feels lost. She doesn't know how to manage.

It's why the nights in Lowtown are often favorable.

As the sun sets, a few bandits do attempt to corner a dock worker, perhaps seeing him as easy prey. Wordlessly, Natos steps in, growling as she charges and shoves one foe into the water and grabs another by the throat.]

Ebasit kata itwa-ost!

[The other is thrown side into a wall, his head cracking nicely.

The dock worker shows his appreciation by screaming and running away.]

...I was not the thief. Confused man. Tch.

IV. SENDING CRYSTAL

I have an urgent question. Respond quickly.

I must know if there is a bakery in Kirkwall. If so, I must be shown it.

It is imperative.

I. THE GALLOWS:

Jang sits in the library, flipping through books. Someone who was curious would note that the books all seem to be under similar headings, mainly magic research and history of demons. Looking closer, you would note that she seems to be playing with a odd deck of cards, flipping it in her fingers, cutting, shuffling and then squaring the deck as she reads, taking notes with her other hand.

II. KIRKWALL:

Jang wanders the stalls and markets, looking for any crasftsmen, metalworking and any that make fireworks. She's keeping to herself, but seems ill-at-ease with the elves, dwarves and other races. Her clothing is unusual as well, simple cloth and a large leather duffel bag she has strapped to her back. There is also what looks to be a oddly carved wooden crossbow butt, with a strange metal tube attached to it, without any bowstrings to be seen.

II. QUESTING:

Jang has joined a group heading to Markham, wherever that is. Apparently one of the rifts she was pulled through has shown up there, and seems like a good as place as any to try and figure out what is going on. It's not every day that you get sucked through a rift in time and space, but by the look of this place, seems like if she was to just tell someone that she was from another dimension, the most they would respond would be "Another dimension? No credit then, pay first."

III. SENDING CRYSTAL:

"Anyone who's listening, is there anyone else from America? USA or CSA at this point, I'll take either. And anyone who'd familiar with Hoyle's book of games, the original edition, We need to talk."

II. KIRKWALL

Barnabas has a large storefront in the market district, where he buys and sells rifter artifacts. He also offers money changing, with a rate of "Whatever the market will bare." When you go into the shop, you'd notice an array of artifacts ranging from Slinkys to communicators, some firearms without bullets, spare bullets, flashlights, power cells, Space-farer shirts which are very comfortable but do tear easily.

All of the items have a price, and a huge sign over the counter says "We buy what you sell! All sales final, no refunds, Buyer Beware."

VI. SENDING CRYSTAL

"Attention all members of the Inquisition who tumbled through a rift! Are you without coin? Without comfortable clothes? Without gear? Come visit! We buy and sell rifter artifacts, and change money from anywhere in the multiverse! Come on down, and get your first days in Thedas started off right! All sales final, no returns or refunds."

THE GALLOWS

[ Solas hates everything about the Gallows with his entire being, from the depth of the sadness of the memories to the depths of despair and uncertainty that surrounds it like a shroud. It weighs him down from the first night he spends there, unable to sleep and blanketed by the horror of the memories he knows are lying just below the surface. It would be easy to drift off, to allow himself to be washed away, to understand, but he doesn't need to. Not really. He recognises the pain of slavery and servitude, even if others do not.

During the day he can be found deep in the Inquisition's libraries, pouring over books and tomes about the Fade, the Veil and anything related to it. It's clear that he doesn't want to be disturbed, but he is often more than willing to answer gentle questions when prompted - as long as they are neither crass nor rude. There are books and books laid out in front of him and pages of notes, with details and diagrams added and adapted in his own hand, his frustration clear even as he studies hard.

Night is when he is more active than most. During the evening hours he spends much of his time away from the library and outside. Where he goes small frescos appear - beautifully painted walls of slaves throwing off their chains, depictions of freedom and beauty, all in carefully selected colours. If he's caught in the act - he does enough painting that it's somewhat inevitable - he simply frowns, ignoring whoever it is until he's left with being forced to give them a sharp "I will speak with you when the first coat has dried." ]

QUESTING

[ As someone knowledgeable about the Fade and the Veil it is not odd for Solas to be sent out whenever there is a rift that is causing a problem. He knows demons and he has magic, and that makes him a useful member of any team, even if he might prefer, at times, to be back with his books studying what might be possible for him to do. He fights, and he helps, and he protects and heals, too, when the damage is done, and when the group are on their way back he is quieter, and does not sleep much. There isn't much sleep to be had on battlefields - he would know - and he is often the one glad to take first or last guard, content to stay awake. ]

SENDING CRYSTAL

[ While not something he uses often, Solas can attest to the benefits of the crystals as a form of communication, especially when one is in need of something - and he is currently in need.

Not desperate, but enough to have him using it. ]

It has come to my attention that our paint stores are beginning to run low. [ Wonder why that is. ] If anyone can suggest a suitable place to get more, I would be glad to hear it. You have my thanks in advance.

[ That's it. There doesn't need to be much more said about these sorts of things. ]

WILDCARD

[ Come meet him in the library, out somewhere fighting or researching, while he's asleep and Dreaming or anything else you can think of! ]

DARKTOWN

[ Surprisingly or not, Darktown is the safest place for her to be more often than not. When she peeks higher than the dangerous, stretching pathways she is a target, not just from the shems but by other elves, too. Her ears, cut and scarred, show the knife she had taken in shame to her heritage, and the vallaslin on her face scream something far more deadly to her person. It's not well designed nor is it well drawn onto her skin, and it doesn't match much of the familiar Dalish tattoos that worship the great and wonderful pantheon. Her markings represent Fen'Harel, chosen for her own worship, her own desire to support the so-called trickster.

It is why she has no clan, no people, no heritage, nothing much to call her own.

Walking through the depths of Darktown, she rarely makes her way higher, and only to visit the Lowtown markets to gather what little she can with what little she has. She trades mostly in potions, in salves, things that can be given to help and heal, and the entire time she has her body covered in robes and gloves, her head bowed as she moves place to place. If her gloves are gone people see the marks of blood magic, and she has no energy to deal with ignorance most days.

It's rare that she travels higher, fearing the Gallows, but she hopes if she keeps to herself she can slip in and out of Kirkwall without too much trouble. There are mages that go undiscovered here and no one has suspected her of anything yet; there are many elves lost in the depths of poverty in the alienages and the darkness of the lower rungs of the social ladder, and she does nothing in public. People rarely speak to her once they realise where her fascination lies - herbs, planets, her chosen God, all things that do not make her popular with anyone.

The only time people tend to come to her are if they see her around, with her potions and plants, or when she is reccomended by someone else; there aren't too many people that are willing to venture outside the walls of Kirkwall to gather supplies for less than savoury exploits, and she is one of them. ]

( A ) GALLOWS: LIBRARY

[ Chloe wasn't good at fighting - at least, not good to the point that she would be of any help without a great deal of training. Training she wasn't particularly interested in getting started on when she was still trying to wrap her mind around well ... literally everything about this place, and why she was here, and what this Inquisition thing even was (did people expect it? Or was this not That Kind of Inquisition?) and so the best place to go had seemed to be the library for all of that. Learn new things, study new histories, maybe find something she could actually offer to help out with whatever she was supposed to be helping out with.

Except it's been so long since she's actually studied anything that she's not used to the effort it takes, and the brain power, and the concentration. Which is why she may have accidentally fallen asleep on top of one of said books, using one particularly thick one as a pillow, and she'll swear she's not actually drooling on the pages. Except she's... definitely drooling on the pages.

Save these books, please. ]

( B ) SENDING CRYSTAL

Alright look. I can handle a lot of change, I'll fucking deal with the nicotine withdrawal if I have to, but like --

[ She cuts off with a sigh; her head is killing her, and she might sound a little desperate, like there's something she desperately needs to feel whole again. ]

I will literally trade everything on my person for a burger. Or whatever even passes as a burger. Cheeseburger gets you a kiss on top of it, I swear. Just something greasy and worthy of being put on a Red Robin menu, I beg of you.

[ ... And apparently that need is greasy diner food. Chloe Price at her finest. ]

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