allthisshitisweird | 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. 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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

i. the gallows

Sparrows roost in the eaves of the Gallows, as sparrows are wont to do wherever they are given space. At any time of day they might be seen flying to and from their nests and pecking about the gardens. They attracted the Priest's attention from the first for their ubiquity; then, because they are small and swift and drab, the thought turns to targets. A human body is slow and fragile, moving at odd angles with unfamiliar geometries; it would do to practice at hunting.

If this "Inquisition" might be relieved of an infestation they are remiss in handling themselves, so much the better.

a. One moment there is a sparrow on the wing--

The next a shadow and a startled squawk as a figure plunges off the roof to snatch the little bird from air like a stooping falcon. It lands with a slap of bare feet on stone, momentum thrown into a graceful roll over one shoulder before popping back standing. Scarcely breathing hard, the Priest cages fingers around the captive creature and regards it with a thoughtful frown. Not so swift in flight it can't be taken by hand, hardly any natural weapons--the sparrow is making no inroads on its fleshy prison with beak and claws--it does not seem like such a species could survive for long, let alone breed to the numbers the Gallows hosts.

Maybe there's something more to it that can't be gleaned by observation. "You," over there, who loitered a moment too long or made the mistake of looking at the spectacle, "the name of this beast and what it eats."

b. Or perhaps you are there in the mess hall when the Priest strides in with a burlap bag that chirps and rustles. Pale eyes scan the room--largely empty, at this hour--before the Priest approaches the nearest occupied table and deposits the bag upon it, with a peremptory command to whoever's closest: "See that this is taken to your keeper of the larder. There will be more."

Even if they're no more than a bite a piece, meat is meat; once caught, there is no sense squandering it.

ii. sending crystal

Inquisition.

[The voice is hard to place, neither male nor female, lingering oddly over the syllables of the word--considering. An Inquisition, proper noun. What a thing.]

Your Gallows fortress is infested with beasts. You keep them in comfort and guard jealously their welfare.

Explain this.

iii. wildcard
((hmu for shenanigans!!))

Vandelin glances up from the Northern Powers dossier he's reviewing over tea and scones, managing--with more effort than usual--not to look more than politely bemused by the living, distressed contents of the sack.

His eyes travel slowly upward to take in every inch of alarming height, unfamiliar face, and gleaming head, and his mind sorts practically through the swarm of potential responses that occur. Who are you? is a strong contender, of course, but the kitchen's that way, knock yourself out dislodges it, and what eventually wins out is "Wouldn't it have been more practical to kill them first?"

"The day is hot and this Inquisition a chaos that does not attend to its own needs. Meat rots." Though not over the course of hours--which says much of the Priest's thoughts on the Inquisition. Much remains unsaid, as well: Live sparrows are a test, a wordless question of the organization's strange priorities.

The Priest matches Vandelin's searching regard, gaze frank and open. Something about this small person--this elf, note the pointed ears--resonates of home; a moment's needed to find it, in the delicacy of his features and short stature. This is how the powers that reshaped the Priest might recast a djur male, slender and finely drawn; a hint of softness creeps into the Priest's expression. Not a bad look, for something with too few limbs and pale hide and no feathers.

"You are alone." Statement, not question. Questions are a within-caste luxury, and besides there's no evidence of anyone keeping the man company. Amend: Anyone else, as the Priest pulls out a chair and settles cross-legged upon it. Congratulations, Vandelin, you've attracted an admirer. "Say how it is there is no one to look after you."

[ A husky female contralto, carrying a rural sort of accent--maybe the West County? Or is it more northern? ]

Who're you callin' a beast, eh?!

No one. [As one might explain something to a child,] No beast is a who; they are without minds.

Depends on what you think what counts as havin' a mind, don't it?

[ Huffy, and a little indignant. ]

Anything that reasons as a woman might has a mind. You speak, argue, take offense, [yes, the Priest hears that,] and so must have one.

Say how you would define a beast otherwise. [Since that seems the point of contention.]

[ DAMN RIGHT SHE TAKES OFFENSE! ]

Ayuh, don't all creatures have a mind though? Th' Winds have a mind even if we don't know rightly what or how they think. The Skies have a mind. Hell, even humans got minds even if they're a bit slow.

This does not explain what a mind is or what a beast must be. [patiently,]

All things that live must be sensible or will shortly die. That does not mean they reason.

Well how do you separate reason an' sense? I thought they were the same.

[ She is confusion! ]

[A moment's silent deliberation. Then:] A correction: all things that live are sensitive.

To sense, you perceive the world. Anything with eyes might do it.

To reason, you think of the world.

But... when you say somone has good sense you ain't saying they see good or anything.

[ Still a little confused, but kinda getting it. ]

I guess you got a point there.

[That goes without saying, so far as the Priest's concerned.]

No; to say that is to say she has good senses.

TEST DRIVE MEME!

The Priest | Original Character

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