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allthisshitisweird2017-12-20 08:53 pm
faderifting) wrote in allthisshitisweird2017-12-20 08:53 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.
PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS TDM FEATURES SNOW.
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, currently covered in snow and ice; 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, currently very cold. 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. In the snow!
II. KIRKWALL: A quick row across the near-freezing harbor will take you to Kirkwall proper. The city is built into the cliffs, from exclusive and wealthy snow-dusted Hightown at the top to impoverished Darktown in the abandoned mining tunnels below, where discarded waste is presently frozen into slushy brown ice. In the middle is Lowtown, home to taverns, merchants, and plenty of trouble to keep anyone looking for it happy. And a lot of snow. You’re welcome to spend your free time and your money here—but try not to annoy the locals too much, please, in case the Inquisition's welcome runs out. It’d be a shame to have to pack up and leave in all this snow.
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 Denerim, in the snow, pouring demons into the snowy 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 snow-covered road, or to gather samples out of the snow and take notes on the rift’s location once its closed, or to speak to prominent locals (in the snow) 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. And snow.
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.
There is no snow on the crystal, unfortunately.
V. WILDCARD: The whole of Thedas is yours to explore, from coast to uncharted wilderness filled with bears, and did we mention that there is snow? Anyway: 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.
PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS TDM FEATURES SNOW.
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, currently covered in snow and ice; 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, currently very cold. 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. In the snow!
II. KIRKWALL: A quick row across the near-freezing harbor will take you to Kirkwall proper. The city is built into the cliffs, from exclusive and wealthy snow-dusted Hightown at the top to impoverished Darktown in the abandoned mining tunnels below, where discarded waste is presently frozen into slushy brown ice. In the middle is Lowtown, home to taverns, merchants, and plenty of trouble to keep anyone looking for it happy. And a lot of snow. You’re welcome to spend your free time and your money here—but try not to annoy the locals too much, please, in case the Inquisition's welcome runs out. It’d be a shame to have to pack up and leave in all this snow.
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 Denerim, in the snow, pouring demons into the snowy 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 snow-covered road, or to gather samples out of the snow and take notes on the rift’s location once its closed, or to speak to prominent locals (in the snow) 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. And snow.
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.
There is no snow on the crystal, unfortunately.
V. WILDCARD: The whole of Thedas is yours to explore, from coast to uncharted wilderness filled with bears, and did we mention that there is snow? Anyway: choose your own adventure!
questing
Most of them were weird in ways that Gareth could deal with. They used phrases and words he didn't understand, needed basic things explained to them, had some odd ideas about how things worked. So, weird, yes, but not in ways he couldn't take in stride.
Then there's this asshole.
Gareth spots him dragging around a corpse of a dracolisk like it's a sack of potatoes--or maybe a sack of potatoes for regular people, Gareth would probably struggle with even that much. The feat of strength would alone be enough to get his attention, but then there's the whole...concept of dragging around the dead dracolisk.
Curiosity will probably be his undoing, but how is he supposed to resist this? So he wanders over to where the elf disappeared into the brush, and comes upon a scene that manages to be even weirder than everything else. The man is staring at the corpse like he's expecting......something. Something weird.
"It's dead," Gareth announces, uselessly, for lack of ability to come up with any wittier commentary. "if you haven't noticed. Sorry to say. Unless you were planning on making a nice pair of boots?"
no subject
He hears Gareth coming--how not, with ears like that, one of them twitched back like a wary cat's to monitor the mage's progress--but desists from acknowledging him until the young man speaks up.
"It is indeed dead. Very astute, though I am not thinking boots. Meat, if anything, but better something I can ride." He does not look back from his contemplations, instead cocking his head birdlike to one side.
"What do you call these things?"
no subject
Fucking rifters.
"I've never eaten dracolisk, so I can't tell you if it's any good--that's what they're called. Dracolisks. Rumor on the metaphorical street is that they're related to dragons, but no one's been able to prove anything beyond them both being reptilian and damn ugly." He chatters on, while trying to work out that whole bit about 'riding'. They had, after all, just agreed that the beast was quite dead.
"I thought that we just agreed that it was dead," He says, deciding that voicing his thoughts was necessary for this. "Very dead. On a scale of 1-10, a solid 10/10 dead." Has he made his point? He's probably made his point.
no subject
"Dracolisk," Lark echoes, accent landing oddly on the vowels. "This sounds like something from home, yes. They almost look homely." That is not the word he wanted, but it's true enough--the beasts are rough on the eye. He realizes the switch only belatedly, gives an amused snort at himself, and continues: "It does not matter so much if it is good--it is meat, that is enough."
The fighting--and the closing of the rift--had been an unexpected drain on resources he was so used to being boundless. He'd have to eat more, and more often, and more unseemly things that would unnerve his new--coworkers. (Unpleasant thought, having to be diplomatic and contained and unobjectionable again. No Presence in the back of his head to deride it as below his station, though. Small mercies.)
Another snort meets Gareth's restatement of the obvious. "Very dead, but things do not need to stay so around me. I did not, after all."
On that note, he rises to his feet with a clatter of armor and stalks over to the felled dracolisk, ears twitching at their tips. He's studied enough--either this will work or it won't; he reaches back over his shoulder to touch the grip of the ugly greatsword slung across his back. Something flickers along the blade. "Rise," he commands in the language of the dead, the word awful to the ears. With it he stretches out his hand, stretches out compulsion meant to draw the dead creature's spirit back across the Veil and house it in the body once more.
The dracolisk's maimed neck curves up from the ground, bony limbs twitching once in a paroxysm of life before it falls still again.
Not quite enough. Lark hisses his displeasure like a scalded cat, ears flattening back against his hair.
no subject
It should be noted that Gareth is no stranger to gory scenes, to death and corpses. He's caused his fair share of them, used them to learn just how bodies work, and used their blood as magical fuel. He's not easy to phase.
And he's even been around Necromancers at work, before. But the bodies are usually...fresher. Less obviously dead. And they're people. And they don't use some sort of word that drives shivers down his spine and makes him want to turn and run. The dracolisk twitching around is not helping the matter.
He doesn't book it quite yet, but he does start backing up, face full of alarm. "...Andraste's flaming ass, what the fuck?"