TEST DRIVE!

[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. 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!

Comments

Connor 60 | Detroit: Become Human

[connorrk800]

I. Connor pauses outside of a large meeting room. The chairs inside have been set alongside the walls, and the trestle tables are piled high with assorted objects running the gamut from weaponry to papers to bottles and what looks like scrap. He gingerly steps inside and examines one of the tables. An array of small swords, daggers, knives both for combat and smaller blades for cutting quills and for use at meals are dumped there. There is little else in common with the blades. Some are broken, rusted, or dirty while others are as nice or better than the ones Connor carries.

He is examining one such dagger when an Elven recruit walks by with a basket filled with scraps of leather from what looks like recently disassembled armour. "You can keep that, if you like," he says to Connor. "All of this is going. Even the Inquisition needs to do a little spring cleaning from time to time." As the man walks on, Connor runs his finger appreciatively against the blade, nods, and carefully tucks it into his belt.

II. The patrons at the tavern in Lowtown were beginning to stare. The dashing rogue, one of the new 'rifters,' that had been seen wandering around the place recently was at present sitting alone with a bowl full of raspberries and staring ahead of him with a strangely intense and confused expression. His mouth was hanging open slightly.

Connor looked down at the fruit and slowly lifted another berry to his mouth. These were raspberries, then. This is what they tasted like. Inwardly, he was bursting to tell someone what raspberries taste like, find someone who would understand how incredible this discovery was. But there was only one person he could talk to... and he wouldn't talk to the deviant. Becoming human had its ups and downs...

III. Demons don't exist, even if they die well enough when Connor tears into them with his blades. They're constructs of some sort, but not demons. The humans and other sentient beings misunderstand them. Despite missing his machine mind, and its elegant logic capable of pre-planning his assaults, Connor manages to all but fly into combat, barely dispatching one demon before launching himself at another. On and on until he works his way relentlessly toward the Rift. Connor is uncharacteristically serene. He has a goal, a mission.

IV. Connor raised the crystal in front of him. "This is Connor. I need to know more about the Fade. In particular, what is the relationship between the Fade and dreaming."

V. [ Arrival. An android becomes a man]. He stared at the blood trickling down his hand. The sputtering livid green flare from his other hand threw his face into grotesque contrasts. His features were taunt, eyes wide and fixed on the red blood. The sky was roaring, crackling where the veil was torn. He could barely hear it; his ears were full of pounding like drums.

i couldn't resist / V.

[greeted]

That's not supposed to happen. ...Actually, there's a lot of things that are wrong with this picture, but the blood is the most obvious for now. The fact that it's Connor standing there bleeding is close, but still a second. The pressing matter is the blood, and he forgoes an introduction or questioning in lieu of approaching solely with the blood in mind.

Will he do that, too?

"What is happening?" he asks, or more accurately demands. Being an older model doesn't actually afford him any seniority, especially not once you factor in the deviancy, but he attempts it all the same. Power move. Or something like that. "Has your thirium colour been adjusted?"

Re: i couldn't resist / V.

[connorrk800]

Connor snaps his gaze to the other RK800. He blinks, once, registering the incongruity of yet another active Connor model but given the irrational information he is processing, it is just another data point. His eyes flick back to his hand.

"You see it too? I cannot perform a diagnostic; I thought perhaps my mind palace was corrupted. Evidently, that isn't the case."

He was functioning, in a way. Everything seemed off, slow. As he stands, the anchor makes its presence known again and he winces. "And then there's this..."

Luana Marcos | OC

[pyrazine]

i; the gallows

[She's staring at the wall of books. In Rio there had been walls of books like this, at school, sometimes, in mall bookstores when she could get in, but not in the favelas, and none in Minas. She always wanted to be that girl, who could blend into the wall of books, smart, and maybe a little nerdy. She wanted to figure out how to balance a fucking chemical equation.

Instead she was the girl who ended up learning about how to make feijoada and clean babies asses and then, how to keep her teeth to herself.

She looks like she wants to touch them. She almost does, a couple of times, until finally she puts her hand on one and opens it. Closes it. Opens it again. Breathes it in. Gets self-conscious.]

This is stupid as shit.

iv; sending crystal

Couldn't this be a phone? I'd like an app? I'd even fucking settle for Candy Crush. Instead all I get is this WhatsApp shit. Am I burning data on this thing? Caipora would be thrilled.

v; wildcard

[Give me a prompt!]

[rathercommon]

Why?

[ Kitty is standing not so far away. Perhaps she ought to recognize the look of someone who's craving a book, but honestly, she doesn't; typically, back home, anyone who might want for reading material wasn't even allowed close enough to a book to stroke the spine of one. So she assumes that Luana's stupid isn't the girl reacting to herself; instead, she assumes that it's a reaction to the book.

So she cranes her head, trying to see which book it is - ]

What's wrong with it?

[pyrazine]

[Luana has the a slight expression of embarrassment on her face, because the truth is there is nothing stupid about the book. What's stupid is something else, and that old familiar anger bubbles up to try and protect her. She remembers what Lionel said, a moment before her mouth opens.

Anger is a drug they feed you to make you forget you're a person.

It makes her forget other people are persons, too.]

Can we even handle these?

[She's so used to being told to leave places like this.]

i

[sorcerised]

[ Aro turns, startled, assuming that she's talking to him. A quick glance to either side shows that there's no one else in immediate earshot, so he steps forward, brows lifting, face uncertain. ]

Which part?

[ He glances briefly at the bookshelf to see what it is she's been reading about. The truth is, he's not much of a bookworm, himself. He studies when he needs to know something, not for the sake of studying. ]

They're not all bad. I can point you towards something more interesting, if you like...?

Re: i

[pyrazine]

[Oh.

Oh, a boy.

Oh, a boy with pointed ears, but Luana's met the width of the Brazilian supernatural community. Pointed ears are the least of her worries.]

Does your girlfriend know you're out, and talking to cute girls?

[Flirt: on.]

i.

[thunderproof]

What's stupid?

❰ the question comes from — well, from closer than maybe this girl would be comfortable with, but adalia's sidled up to her and is looking at the book over her shoulder, trying to figure out what about it is stupid. ❱

It looks pretty normal to me. Or do you not mean the book?

[pyrazine]

[The blush is both furious and immediate.]

Why wouldn't I mean the book?

[The anger is so easy to fall into. It's a delicious kind of trap.]

[idontcarebear]

a. gallows
[ on her own, misaki is pretty plain-looking. she doesn't stand out much in a crowd, and she prefers that. in fact, she'd be perfectly forgettable if she hadn't come through the rift in a giant pink bear costume. a few people were, uh, unsettled when she removed the bear's head to reveal her own extremely human one.

all she really wants these days is quiet. a moment to herself is practically a luxury for this very tired teen. so she can be found in the library, idly perusing the books for something...accessible to read, or she might just be taking advantage of the quiet to catch a quick nap. either way, you won't catch her in the conspicuous bear costume around here -- plain old clothes only, thanks. ]

b. questing
[ someone -- and she really wishes she knew who -- but someone took her michelle costume, outfitted it with some kind of armor, and decided she was all set to be sent off questing.

this is like something out of an online game. sent along to act as a guard -- is this a joke? some kind of cruel prank? wearing michelle is bad enough on a hot day, but wearing the mascot costume reinforced with steel is excruciating. it's so heavy. she's sweating so much she might actually drown. she has never been so uncomfortable in her life. ]

b

[rathercommon]

Erm -

[ Kitty can't help but stear. Or - sorry - stare. Stare. At the bear. She's not sure why the girl is wearing a giant pink bear costume, and the whole thing is so ludicrous that - she feels like she ought to ask. But on the other hand, maybe that sort of thing is just what's done where the girl is from, and so asking would be terribly offensive. So maybe she should - not ask? Befuddled and helpless, Kitty ultimately decides that the latter is rather safer. ]

Warm weather, isn't it?

Anduin Llane Wrynn | Warcraft

[lil_lion]

I.

It did not take Anduin long to settle into a reading bench in the library. The days slipped by as he poured over atlases and encyclopedias, drilling himself on the geography of his new home. On one side, a stack of books waited: 'History of the Kingdom of Ferelden," "Guide to the Frostback Mountains," "Glories of Orlais," "Itineraries of Tevinter."

II.

The wine in Lowtown was... interesting, but not... exactly to Anduin's tastes. Thankfully, the tavern was stocked with teas rather like Peacebloom.


III.

His hand hovered over the mangled limb. The man was alarmingly still, perhaps in shock. Anduin would need to act soon. The Light could not reach him here. But there was... the spirit. As they said, he could call upon its aid. What would it do to him? Would it feel like the Light? Would he still be himself? There was no time. He bowed his head and closed his eyes.

"Please," he said aloud. I don't know how to do this, he realized. What does he say? Should he say anything at all? Opening his eyes, Anduin saw the blood, the twisted flesh and exposed bone just as before. Intuitively, he centres himself, empties, reaches out for the Light. I trust you, he sends out into that space. I trust you. Please, help him. Save him.

IV.

"Hello, this is Anduin Wrynn," he spoke to the crystal. "Does anyone know how I can request books be sent to the Inquisition's main library from one of the outposts?"

V.

[Arrival, mid-dream]

Anduin relaxed the reigns and let Reverence pick his way through the blasted lands. The battle was over. Tirisfal lay open before him, break, grey and more than lifeless. A dim clamor of his forces preparing to decamp drifted to him as his charger walked heavily on the cracked earth. Its hoof falls were louder than any other sound in that once beautiful kingdom, now nothing more than a diseased and putrid husk. Plague and death had rolled over the walls of Lordaeron, barrels of green sludge that corroded and killed on contact preparing the way for the Banshee Queen to harvest souls to raise as ammunition for her pointless war against life itself.

Anduin lifted his face to the grey stone walls of Lordaeron and the sickly green mist that boiled around it- the plague mist. Skeletons recently defleshed by the plague and given a second death all but paved the grand approach to the capitol city. No one would be taking the city now, not for a long time, if ever. Above the walls, the purple-grey clouds were limed with a cold light. Anduin sighed.

ethan rayne. native au in journal. hmu for preexisting cr.

[contrarian]

SENDING CRYSTAL.

( were you in a fereldan circle twenty-five years ago? this voice may ring a bell.

admittedly, one you might prefer remained unrung. )

Isn't this cosy. I do like the updated decor. Would someone be a lamb and remind the strapping gentleman haunting those secured phylacteries of our present ceasefire.

WILDCARD.

( it turns out i am still bad at open top levels. hmu @ keanuleaves if you would like something tailored or have previous cr ideas. )

what are we doing libby

[peroxide]

Ethan Rayne? Andraste's flaming tits, I never thought to hear from you again.

❰ this is very inconvenient for william, can't you just be dead, etc etc, ethan rayne being A Problem is not news. ❱

If you figure out a way to get the man to bugger off, do let me know.

[wythersake]

Isaac doesn’t care to remind the local templars of anything: The fires that necessarily predate a cease, the method of securing these phylacteries in particular, or his name, appearance, and general opinions.

But he’s a vested interest in making his way out of this hallway in the next few hours and very little to be done for that but to push past the miniature standoff before him, or make for an upstairs window — one of the ones they’ve bothered to rip the bars off. Points for drama, but that seems a bit overkill.

"There you are," The irritation’s real. "Finally."

He shoves the crate out to Ethan without bothering to check he’ll take it. From the muffled scratching and squeaks within, dropping it would at least be briefly entertaining.

crystal; private, after having his name blurted out

[overharrowed]

...the Ethan Rayne who was at Kinloch Hold?

[Why would there be more than one, Julius.]

Sorry, if so, I suppose that's an awkward way to begin.

mahal ( native oc )

[unpredictably]

( one )

[ boy that-- that sure is a petite halla just hanging out under one of the trees in the herb garden. it is not, in fact, the first time this halla has been seen around the gallows, all by its lonesome. at least the explanation's finally getting around, so maybe you already know that this is in fact an elf.. that just likes not being an elf apparently.

its head tilts faintly, stare cautious.. but apparently not inclined to either move or change so. do what you will with that. ]

( two )

[ he's really been trying to be helpful and not make a nuisance of himself, but it's.. hard. there are always so many people literally everywhere, and with a tendency to startle at any sudden movement or loud noise, mahal's struggle has been a little too real.

he's carrying a stack of documents now that's probably far too large for his 4'10" frame, heading from tria's assistant to the library to re-file them, feeling awkward and heavy in his boots. tria had ordered him to wear shoes when working, at least, which he's obeyed thus far-- very, very reluctantly.

unfortunately, the combination of uncomfortable heavy shoes and his own clumsiness on two feet means disaster. the first uneven place in the flagstone he finds, he catches his foot on and trips-- spilling documents, slim books, and stray papers everywhere.. and possibly right into someone else's face. he goes sprawling, catching himself painfully on one hand and his knees, the other hand still clutching some of the paperwork to his chest.

for a moment more, he just trembles there, wide-eyed and stunned, but then he glances up with slightly terrified apology written naked on his face. ] I'm s-- I'm sorry, [ he whispers, voice hesitant and accented oddly. ]

( wildcard )

[ encounter him shyly watching dalish mages or sprawled barefoot out of the way somewhere or hanging out down in the stables as a halla. the sky's technically the limit. ]

one

[arlathvhen]

[ She'd heard--it was her job to hear, after all. To know what was going on, in the Gallows and about. And her people were aware that if there was something about that related to the Dalish, she'd probably want to know about it--there was no word on if this elf was actually of the People or not, but the fact that he seemed to prefer being a halla--well. It was enough to catch her attention.

So she approaches the halla, slowly and cautiously, hands in front of her, a polite smile fixed on her face. Years of dealing with suspicious humans has made her an expert at appearing inoffensive and unlikely to perform ritual blood sacrifices in the middle of a party, and if she can handle the shemlen, she can handle an elf. ]

Aneth ara, lethallin. [ Will the elf know his own language? But halla usually do, so maybe it's worth a shot. But just in case: ] Do you like the garden? We had to build it, when we first came here.

one

[rowancrowned]

[ 'what the fuck,' someone else might say. 'that's the cutest goddamn thing in existence', but that someone is not thranduil, who takes in the fact that there's a toy (and halla don't grow that big anyway, not in comparison to mirkwood elk) halla, stares for a moment, and alters his course to come greet it.

he offers the back of his hand for the halla's approval and sniffing, extended as a lady might for a kiss, and waits. something is off (he suspects he knows what) but it isn't entirely his duty to interrogate.

(he has never been allowed this close to the inquisition's own gift halla, who are still at skyhold.) ]

Jack Rackham | Black Sails

[captainjackrackham]

i. kirkwall

[ Well. It has been a while since Jack was in proper civilization, rather than in the lawless blight upon the face of Thedas that was beloved Nascere (or on-board a ship, where discipline was rather lax but still maintained, thank you). But it's astonishing just how much proper civilization resembles his home in so many ways. Yes, there's a confidence artist playing a shell game on the corner there; there's a brothel masquerading as a massage parlor; there's a tavern, where a fight is about to break out...yes, there it goes. Lowtown looks so very much like Nascere, but...But weaker. Watered down. The sounds and the smells and the sights all just a little bit less vivid. Grog to Nascere's glorious, high-spirited rum. It should make him happy, being in a proper pit like this, but it just makes him homesick.

And so Jack sighs. He's a colorful sight, a dandy in his calico finery, but there's little joy on his face. Indeed, he's so joyless that he actually looks at one of those confidence games - a thin fellow playing three-card Monte, so dreadfully bad at it that his hands are shaking - and sits down and throws a silver down on the table. ]

Yes, yes, go on and shuffle. Let's find the lady.

[ If only he could find the lady. That would make his spirits rise indeed. Nascere could be wiped off the face of the earth, he thinks, if he simply had the lady by his side. But - but, in a melancholy twist, when the shaky-handed scoundrel shuffles the cards around, and Jack points, all that's turned up is a knave.

He sighs again, and tugs at his moustache. ]

ii. sending crystal.

[ The accent is Tevinter. The speech is quick. The attitude is just a little bit self-satisfied. ]

Captain Jack Rackham speaking. Of the Colonial Dawn. That's the slightly bedraggled ship sitting out in the harbour, for anyone keeping count, though don't hold it against her; it's the mark of her good character that she's simply a bit weather-worn instead of a pile of splinters. Well - good character and good captaincy.

[ Can preening be audible? ]

I have no doubt that my compatriots have already sent up the hue and cry for able seamen, so I shan't repeat it. I'll simply say that my doors are open for any and all partnerships. Business opportunities heretofore unpursued, adventures that once seemed out of reach, I shall hear them all.

i

[pyrazine]

[She's a girl from Rio, raised in the favela. She knows three-card monte, and she has a slight advantage that her instincts and her nose are sharper than most.

But here's the thing.

Look at this sad trash can of a man. Luana looks like a maned wolf today, her hair huge and over one eye, and her smile is just this side of teasing. Hello. Hello, sad man.]

Here.

[She puts her hand right over a card, and her smile tips up.]

You look like a man who is missing more than one lady, though.

i

[sclavus]

[ he'd heard the crystal message, didn't speak up to it immediately, because jack knows he's here, doesn't he? what's there to say? words for sentiment have never been so readily available for him, and the captain had already covered anything else he might tell him - compatriots already sent up the hue and cry blah blah whatever, about 10 more words than were needed to make the statement, but that's jack.

jack calling himself captain is so freaking weird, and while one part of him is proud for him for it, the other part wants his quarter master to be his goddamn quarter master again. despite their split, he's never had another that fills the role so well. ]

That your plan to restock your crew's coffers?

[ there's several things that go unsaid - thank fuck you're alive, or where's anne, or did you make it past the venatori. he'd heard the others tell stories about the tortures they went through while they were captured, and it spun horrors in his mind for those small few they'd left the island without. those small few he cared about, anyway. more accurately, those couple.

none of those words come up from where they stay trapped in his head, instead just hovering over jack's shoulder, hands in his coat pockets, watching him steadily, as if he might disappear if not kept under supervision. ]

wysteria poppell | oc

[heirring]

i. the gallows;
[The board with its neatly arranged, well used dishes is set down in the narrow empty space of one of the long mess hall tables with a distinctive clatter. The young woman that follows it is much the same. She wrestles her skirts to step over the bench, squeezing herself enthusiastically between her two new neighbors with a few bright 'Pardon me's and 'Oh dear, that was your foot wasn't it? You can't imagine how sorry I am--'s.

When she's finally seated, Wysteria exhales in a triumphant huff, takes up her spoon (the only utensil she'd been given! How charming!) and must finally actually take stock of what's on her plate for the first time.

Her face falls. Oh, it's only just a little of course but she can feel it and that's no good. What will people think? What will they say? That she is a horrible, ungrateful, and most of all spoiled girl on top of falling out of a hole in the sky, probably. It's the sort of thing that shouldn't matter to anyone, so of course it will matter to someone. That's just how these things are.

Wysteria nudges the grey-brown oat sludge in the wooden bowl with the tip of the wooden spoon and clears her throat. She turns to the neighbor she's currently elbowing and adopts the most cheerful look she knows how to make.]

Is it this every day, or is there a rotation? Not that this isn't lovely, of course. I'm only asking out of curiosity. It's best to set one's expectations reasonably, you know. Especially when it comes to the little details in life, don't you think? In my experience, that's how you really begin to settle into a thing. Don't you agree?

[At least the bread looks reasonable, though perilously unbuttered.]

ii. kirkwall, the ferry;
[The boat ride from the Gallows to Kirkwall proper isn't long, but the quarters are close and Wysteria takes immediate advantage of the captive company as they make their way across the harbor.]

You know, I've never seen a place quite so set on being imposing as this one. Which is saying something, I'll have you know. Every designer I've ever known would really love to get in a few more giant stone towers and walls high enough to blot out the sun.

[Wysteria squints against aforementioned sun toward her new companion, raising her hand to shield her face.]

Not that I blame them on a day like this one. Good Lord, it's warm isn't it?

iii. sending crystal;
[The young woman on the other side of the crystal talks at such speed that the first words are lost entirely.]

--so much for your time. To thank you all for your very warm hospitality, I'd like to do my very best to make myself immediately useful. Of course, I imagine that will mean quite a lot of study. I'm headed to the library as we speak actually, and would appreciate any and all recommendations for papers and books I might start with. Any histories of magic or theory of would be especially useful, I think, but I don't plan to limit myself on just that. So really, any recommendations at all--

[She pauses to catch her breath.]

--you certainly have a number of stairs here, don't you?

iii. wildcard
[don't get too close or she'll start talking and won't stop.]

i

[justice_is_blond]

[Most of the time Anders sits next to Nate or vaguely in the vicinity of other Grey Wardens when he takes his meals, and they're fairly quiet and quick affairs. Sit, eat, get out and get back to work, no time spent wondering who will make a show of avoiding him today.

And then a woman does the opposite. And then she starts talking. A lot. Anders' neutral expression turns into a full smile before he's shaking his head. Rifters. They're some of the best things to happen to Thedas, for the most part.]

I'd not agree. Why settle? Why not hope for better?

[Her bread is woefully untopped, and he scoots a small bowl of jam toward her in case she'd like some of it too.]

And thankfully we don't have to settle for this all days. There's a rotation of cooks. Not all of them cook in the Fereldan style of lumpy mush.

[He sets down his fork so he can offer a hand.]

I'm Anders.