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. TOURNEY: Barely had time to make yourself at home, did you, before you were sent away from Kirkwall again—but for fun! Sort of. You've been sent to Wycome, the party capital of the Free Marches, for the Grand Tourney. It's a week of celebration and chillin', shopping at vendors' stalls or drinking and making new friends while fighters from across Thedas try their hands at friendly (or "friendly") competitions of skill and/or muscle, leading up to the prestigious Grand Melee. Your mission, which you've presumably already accepted, is to put on a good, respectable show for the rest of Thedas—particularly if you're someone like a rifter, or a mage, or an elf, or anyone at all who isn't an Andrastian human—so the Tourney's affluent visitors take only good gossip home to their countrymen. Which is to say: if you get involved in a drinking competition, you better win.

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. Choose your own adventure!

Comments

charles vane | black sails (native au)

[sclavus]

[[ ooc; for this au we've basically swapped Nassau out for an island we made up in no man's land between Tevinter and Seheron, so feel free to assume your character has heard of Nascere being an infamous pirate haven, scum, villainy, etc, also feel free to have your native person recognize the name Charles Vane with it. canon is basically the same as the show beyond that, just swap out England for Tevinter and Spain for The Qun. ]]


I. PORT;

[ the galleon that bears no nation's flag sits silent and still, like an omen, at the mouth of Kirkwall's port, just out of gun range, seeming like any other merchant ship that comes and goes, but strange in its distance and its anonymity. only a few launchers come forth from it, carrying a few people, and a stash of cargo - several chests, all equally unremarkable unless you know what you're looking for (pick the lucky barrel). Unless you're Captain Flint or Charles Vane. What remains of the crew sit in the rigging and watch from the railing on every deck, as the few approach the docks.

After a short, quiet jumble of whispers between three of them, a lady in an elegant gown and finery takes off with a handful of sailors towards the Gallows, and the Inquisition. The captain, to a tavern, and whatever other winding roads he might take to keep the chest safe. And Vane - he stays, on watch, perhaps, though their single vanguard ship is far out of harm's way. Nerves, maybe, and his arms cross over his chest, eyes in narrowed slits and the skim over the other sailors working the ships, primarily. A glance or two, maybe, for the remaining passersby, clearly not so interested in them.

Some crews may actually take note of how closely he eyes each ship, as if inspecting, assessing. Maybe looking for a weakness, maybe trying to figure out the best way to steal it. Old habits die hard, and he is a pirate captain without his own ship. Devilishly clever as Flint is, Vane isn't a one to comfortable take orders from any man besides Blackbeard.

Vane will be lingering in the area for some hours, before one of the crew comes jogging back to give him news. In the meantime, he explores the docks, watches, and occasionally tosses a glance out to the galleon in the wider port. He may pause to chat with someone who looks in charge of one of the docked vessels - likely a quartermaster or something similar. not the captain or merchant prince that owns the ship, just someone who knows it well, questioning where they came from, how the seas fared, how they like Kirkwall as a port. Nothing too suspect. ]

II. KIRKWALL/DARKTOWN;

[ Once their dealings are settle with the Inquisition, and they have some form of tentative partnership, Vane sets out to bolster what they'd lost. Most of all - men, crew. Allies, supplies, connections. There isn't Nascere, and they won't be able to reach out to the good old channels. Time is of the essence, and they need to be on their feet, ready to run. He spends much of the next week wandering Darktown, familiarizing himself with the territories, the gangs, the carta, the boy selling drugs on the street corner, the whore houses and how committed they are to plying out secrets. The markets and the special passwords one might need to see the VIP stock. The gossip. Those are the simple things to accomplish.

Finding men - men that can be trusted, relied upon, that care for the same freedoms he and Flint do - is not so easy. But, one's to start with the basics. Best they know their way around a ship. One night, after sitting in a tavern for an hour or so, Vane stands, stepping up on a chair to call out over the others' heads - ]

I don't suppose there's any actual sailors in this shithole, is there? [ Tact is not his strong point, and tone policing is not something that will fly for even a second on the Walrus. Best they get that out of the way first. ] And I do mean sailors. Ferry skippers need not apply.

[ and by sailors, he means pirates. or privateers and bored shiphands that could be convinced into being pirates. assuming he can stomach them long enough to recruit them. it's been a long, long time since Charles Vane has ever needed to actively recruit, most in Nascere willing to jump at the chance to join his crew. it feels like starting all over, from the first step he'd taken out from under Blackbeard's wing. Perhaps there's something apt in that.

Not that he cares to mull on it - sentimentality has never been a close friend of his. ]

III. SENDING CRYSTAL;

Inquisition.

Tell me. What brings you here? Each one of you. [ not the organization leaders - the soldiers themselves. you. every one of you, he's talking to. ]

Profit? Politics? Overwhelming need to Do Good? [ a pause, a sigh, and the sound of a coin clinking against rings between his fingers. ] Or just bored out your fucking minds otherwise?

[ from the dry drawl, one might guess it's the last one for him, but Vane never had to travel so damn far just to find entertainment. ]

IV. WILDCARD;

[ idk idk hit meeee ]

[galvanising]

I think you'll find it's a fairly even split between terminal do-gooders and bored farmers [ says a Northern accent, Nevarran softened by a splash of something else. ] I take it you'd put yourself in category E, none of the above?

[sclavus]

[ Northern for Kirkwall is more southern for Nascere, but Vane hasn't been so isolated from the continent that he can't recognize what's Nevarran in the voice. Most of the diversity in Kirkwall is held by the Inquisition and what their presence brings. ]

A draw from each, probably. [ profit, sure. politics, definitely. boredom, maybe. doing good is a little hard to match with helping Flint's rebellion to incite anarchy, but yeah, if you squint and look at it sideways. ] Which part of that split are you on?

[galvanising]

Oh, do-gooder, definitely, [ she says, in a tone that suggests she is nothing of the sort ] Selfless charity day and night, that's me. Ask anyone.

[sclavus]

[ a brief, quite snort leaves him, which is about as close as an open laugh you can get from Charles Vane on an average day, in an average mood, without being Jack Rackham. ]

Clearly. That leave you as bored farmer? Sharpen any pitchforks lately?

[galvanising]

Constantly. That's my official position here, actually, Chief Sharpener of Pitch-Forks. Have they fitted you up with a job yet?

[sclavus]

Oh? Had no idea I'd been chatting with management. No assignments as of yet, though I've not much experience with pitch-forks. Could be out've my depth here. Cannons a workable replacement?