Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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allthisshitisweird2019-01-22 11:09 pm
faderifting) wrote in allthisshitisweird2019-01-22 11:09 pm
Entry tags:
TEST DRIVE MEME
TEST DRIVE MEME
While in some alternate, tidier timeline, the War against the Elder One ended years ago, you're not in that timeline. It's 9:45 and there's a war raging in northern Orlais between the Inquisition and its allies and the army of demon-bound Wardens, Red Templars, Venatori loyalists, and darkspawn Corypheus has amassed over the last four years. Rifts are still scattered across the continent, periodically spitting out strangers from strange worlds with green-glowing anchors embedded in their hands. There's no Herald of Andraste to save Thedas. Someone else is going to have to do it.
Under the leadership of the Herald's advisory council and Seeker Pentaghast, the Inquisition remains in Skyhold and manages an army of thousands. But you're not going to Skyhold. You've been assigned to the Inquisition's outpost in Kirkwall, one occupying an island fortress called the Gallows—formerly a Circle of Magi, more formerly a prison for slaves, but the Inquisition has done a good job removing the more grotesque reminders of that past and making the place livable.
Maybe it's an honor; they're doing important work. Maybe it's an insult; they're rumored to be a lot of weirdos and troublemakers. Or maybe you're a rifter and just going where the nice people with swords tell you that you need to go.
I. THE GALLOWS: Welcome to the Inquisition. Here's a broom, and there's a mess: a shattered window, a splintered pile of wood where a wardrobe was thrown out that window into the frost-encrusted courtyard, a whole shelf of jars containing rat hearts and deathroot and other miscellanea that exploded like firecrackers. The Gallows doesn't house much in the way of a cleaning staff, so it's up to whoever doesn't have anything better to do, and whether you like it or not, at the moment that person is you.
The source of the mess—an apparent invasion of ghostly spirits—has already been dealt with, but a door might still slam, and the shards of glass might still rattle. It's harmless, though. Probably.
II. KIRKWALL: The Marquis d'Lussard is very heavy, as you discover when it becomes your job to fetch him from the Hanged Man, where his sightseeing tour has ended in a drinking contest that he decidedly lost. Now he's swinging between unconsciousness and mumbled drinking songs, apparently a hugger when he has control of his arms, and heavy. He's also, diplomatically speaking, worth his weight in gold, so getting him back to the Gallows' guest quarters in one piece is worth the effort.
That means making your way through the streets of Lowtown and down to the Gallows at night, on ice-patched streets, with a masked Orlesian nobleman whose entire slumping, singing presence screams please rob me blind. Try to resist any and all urges to drop him into things, including ditches, uncovered drops into Darktown, and the harbor.
III. THE WAKING SEA: The island is too small to have a name, a dot of land off of Kirkwall's Wounded Coast that's traditionally only seen use by fishermen who wanted a guarantee they wouldn't be hassled for a few days. But in more recent years, it's been a permanent home to someone, people say, until the last few months, when the nightly fires stopped appearing. Nervous whispers from the coastal bandits and explorers who ventured out to see if its resident left anything worth stealing have reached the ears of Provisional Viscount Bran Cavin, and as a personal favor to him, the Inquisition is sending a couple of people to have a look.
And here's what you're looking at: a rocky, sandy stretch of land with a few dozen scraggly trees, each of them decorated with dolls in various styles, in various states of decay. All of them give off energy—some friendly, some malevolent, some despairing—and if you're very quiet, it's possible they whisper. Or maybe that's the wind through the masts of a nearby shipwreck. Either way, they're definitely home to bound spirits, and probably more than one spider.
There are more in the wooden hut at the island's center, which is also where the bones and tattered robes of the island's former occupant can be found. (There's no sign of blood magic or ill intent. Just a lot of dolls. Everyone needs a hobby.) Box them, burn them, have a funeral or don't. As long as someone can tell the Viscount that he doesn't have to add an island of possessed dolls to Kirkwall's list of tourist attractions/nightmare fuel, the mission will be a success.
IV. SEND A MESSAGE: Each member of the Inquisition (or rifter, or ally) is assigned a blue crystal, small enough to wear around the neck, that can transmit voice messages, as well as an enchanted book tied to that crystal that can be used to exchange written messages. They're secure enough to discuss the war, if you'd like to get down to business, but loosely controlled enough to ask a question or play a game with only a few rolled eyes from people who hate fun.
V. WILDCARD: From the Gallows' library to the pirate islands off the coast, from Hightown's high-priced market stalls to the frostbitten frontlines of the war, Thedas is yours to explore.
While in some alternate, tidier timeline, the War against the Elder One ended years ago, you're not in that timeline. It's 9:45 and there's a war raging in northern Orlais between the Inquisition and its allies and the army of demon-bound Wardens, Red Templars, Venatori loyalists, and darkspawn Corypheus has amassed over the last four years. Rifts are still scattered across the continent, periodically spitting out strangers from strange worlds with green-glowing anchors embedded in their hands. There's no Herald of Andraste to save Thedas. Someone else is going to have to do it.
Under the leadership of the Herald's advisory council and Seeker Pentaghast, the Inquisition remains in Skyhold and manages an army of thousands. But you're not going to Skyhold. You've been assigned to the Inquisition's outpost in Kirkwall, one occupying an island fortress called the Gallows—formerly a Circle of Magi, more formerly a prison for slaves, but the Inquisition has done a good job removing the more grotesque reminders of that past and making the place livable.
Maybe it's an honor; they're doing important work. Maybe it's an insult; they're rumored to be a lot of weirdos and troublemakers. Or maybe you're a rifter and just going where the nice people with swords tell you that you need to go.
I. THE GALLOWS: Welcome to the Inquisition. Here's a broom, and there's a mess: a shattered window, a splintered pile of wood where a wardrobe was thrown out that window into the frost-encrusted courtyard, a whole shelf of jars containing rat hearts and deathroot and other miscellanea that exploded like firecrackers. The Gallows doesn't house much in the way of a cleaning staff, so it's up to whoever doesn't have anything better to do, and whether you like it or not, at the moment that person is you.
The source of the mess—an apparent invasion of ghostly spirits—has already been dealt with, but a door might still slam, and the shards of glass might still rattle. It's harmless, though. Probably.
II. KIRKWALL: The Marquis d'Lussard is very heavy, as you discover when it becomes your job to fetch him from the Hanged Man, where his sightseeing tour has ended in a drinking contest that he decidedly lost. Now he's swinging between unconsciousness and mumbled drinking songs, apparently a hugger when he has control of his arms, and heavy. He's also, diplomatically speaking, worth his weight in gold, so getting him back to the Gallows' guest quarters in one piece is worth the effort.
That means making your way through the streets of Lowtown and down to the Gallows at night, on ice-patched streets, with a masked Orlesian nobleman whose entire slumping, singing presence screams please rob me blind. Try to resist any and all urges to drop him into things, including ditches, uncovered drops into Darktown, and the harbor.
III. THE WAKING SEA: The island is too small to have a name, a dot of land off of Kirkwall's Wounded Coast that's traditionally only seen use by fishermen who wanted a guarantee they wouldn't be hassled for a few days. But in more recent years, it's been a permanent home to someone, people say, until the last few months, when the nightly fires stopped appearing. Nervous whispers from the coastal bandits and explorers who ventured out to see if its resident left anything worth stealing have reached the ears of Provisional Viscount Bran Cavin, and as a personal favor to him, the Inquisition is sending a couple of people to have a look.
And here's what you're looking at: a rocky, sandy stretch of land with a few dozen scraggly trees, each of them decorated with dolls in various styles, in various states of decay. All of them give off energy—some friendly, some malevolent, some despairing—and if you're very quiet, it's possible they whisper. Or maybe that's the wind through the masts of a nearby shipwreck. Either way, they're definitely home to bound spirits, and probably more than one spider.
There are more in the wooden hut at the island's center, which is also where the bones and tattered robes of the island's former occupant can be found. (There's no sign of blood magic or ill intent. Just a lot of dolls. Everyone needs a hobby.) Box them, burn them, have a funeral or don't. As long as someone can tell the Viscount that he doesn't have to add an island of possessed dolls to Kirkwall's list of tourist attractions/nightmare fuel, the mission will be a success.
IV. SEND A MESSAGE: Each member of the Inquisition (or rifter, or ally) is assigned a blue crystal, small enough to wear around the neck, that can transmit voice messages, as well as an enchanted book tied to that crystal that can be used to exchange written messages. They're secure enough to discuss the war, if you'd like to get down to business, but loosely controlled enough to ask a question or play a game with only a few rolled eyes from people who hate fun.
V. WILDCARD: From the Gallows' library to the pirate islands off the coast, from Hightown's high-priced market stalls to the frostbitten frontlines of the war, Thedas is yours to explore.
no subject
He could list all of the types of demons, if asked. He could give the names and ranks of hundreds, maybe thousands. Strangely enough, his personal feelings on demons never came up in his training. The answer he ends up with is... boring, and exactly the kind of reply he didn't want from others.
They're servants. Dangerous, but only if you lack the skill to command them properly.
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Why would a servant be dangerous? Oughtn't you fire a servant if they're a danger to you?
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There are better ways to say that. Ways that make it sound very mysterious and admirable instead of outright suicidal, but, well— magicians know what they're getting into. It is a bit suicidal, if you're not clever.
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Because it would be suicide. If you don't command a demon's power, it will use that power to destroy you on the spot. You can't reason with them. Although, I will assure you, the cause is worthwhile.
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What's the cause, then?
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To secure the power of the British Empire and, in so doing, guarantee the protection of its people.
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And you think its people want that?
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Security? Yes. Of course they do.
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Who even says that it would protect them? Your powerful British Empire. Governments tend to just want to protect themselves, not their people.
i keep trying to random icon but it always picks the crying one
So maybe not sole in the traditional definition of the word, then. What kinds of questions are these, though? It feels like he's at work.
I'm truly sorry if you feel that your government has not been accountable to you. Even so, that isn't cause to cast judgement on all others.
Famous soft boy John Mandrake
All right. Answer this question for me, if you will. How are your leaders chosen?
also just accidentally marked your tag as spam (method rp)
They're chosen for their strength and skill, of course. They must prove their ability to serve their country admirably.
They must also: avoid death at the hands of their peers. Lie and steal, apparently, or conduct immoral experiments for a leg up. But those thoughts are only there because he'd been having a rough day, back home. They're hardly representative.
It doesn't occur to him to say that they are chosen randomly. Sold into it. He still had to earn everything he's got.
ruDE?
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A noticeable pause. A few seconds later, you can almost hear the disappointed shoe drop.
You think democracy is preferable.
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Kitty takes a moment to internally congratulate herself for that clever turn of phrase.
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Ah, but you're willfully misunderstanding. What the people want and what's in their best interests are not always same thing.
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—because that's what they prefer, right? Not commoners. He's being very politically correct—
—are too far removed from the truth of things, for their own good. This allows them to live their lives in peace, uninterrupted. The government has the information necessary to make the correct choices, the proper choices, for the good of the people and the country.
A beat later, very slightly more hastily written:
Who is this?
Does he have a hunch? No. Is he going to sit here and let a stranger berate him with ignorant questions? Also no.
no subject
Alice Fitzpatrick.
If the way it's written is a little shaky, a bit unfamiliar to her hand, then, well - She can hardly be blamed for that. It's a good name, and she came up with it on the spot, and well done her. Especially well done her because if this isn't someone from her world then it's at least someone from a world that's a close enough twin to hers that she doesn't want to ever tell a truth to this person.
What's your name?
no subject
John Mandrake, Minister of Information for the British government.
Don't you feel embarrassed for going at him about his own government, Alice Fitzpatrick!!
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It's funny, isn't it, how you can expect something and still be completely stunned by it? How is it possible that out of all the worlds someone could be pulled from, the Rift pulled someone out from hers. And that - of all the people it could have pulled - it was him. Mandrake. One of the few people who would both know the death sentence that had been placed upon her and recognize her face. Not that he'd ever have the guts to try to carry it out - the cowardly, snivelling little fop - but - But -
Why him? Why the boy whose life she'd saved? Why the boy who - who she couldn't help but pity, back then? In spite of everything he'd done, in spite of his threats to her and to Jakob, she still...
Shit. Shit. It's been nearly a full minute and she hasn't written anything. What is there to write? She swallows, and manages -
Well, it's very nice to meet you, Mr Mandrake.
What else can she write? There's got to be something else she can write.
no subject
But there it is, finally, and it's... perfectly bland. And perfectly polite, which is more than can be said for the messages before it. Maybe he's being overly suspicious. Maybe she's just cowed, trying to step back in line.
Is it? I was under the impression it wouldn't be, given that I'm just another leader whom the people "don't want".
no subject
But also, why should she hide? He hasn't got any real power here. He can tell everyone about the things she's done, and that wouldn't be...ideal, but - It's not like he could kill her. It's not even like he could hurt her. Could he? She gnaws on the end of her pen, and then asks, abruptly:
So have you got access to your demon servants here? In this world?
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Not in the same way, no. But as I said before, I'm adaptable. It has not caused me any setbacks.
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