allthisshitisweird | 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 9:46, and there's a war raging in northern Orlais, where the Chantry, aided by the Inquisition, marshalling Orlais and the faithful of Southern Thedas into a new Exalted March against 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.

You're part of (or allied with, recently hired by, imprisoned by, etc.) a new organization that's an offshoot of the Inquisition, dubbed Riftwatch, that consists mainly of the otherworldly new arrivals, rebels and Wardens, and other people who want to prevent the apocalypse without necessarily marching under the Chantry's banner to do it. Their headquarters is an island fortress called the Gallows—formerly a Circle of Magi, more formerly a prison for slaves, but its new occupants have done a good job removing the more grotesque reminders of that past and making the place livable.

Maybe you're here because you want to help. Maybe you need the money (though there isn't much of it). Maybe you acquired an anchor and sticking around is the only way to prevent your hand from falling off. Maybe you've been sent by the Chantry or some other entity to keep an eye on everyone—they're rumored to be a lot of weirdos and troublemakers. Or maybe you're a new rifter and just going where the nice people with swords tell you that you need to go.

I. KIRKWALL: Even when enormous evil darkspawn are trying to take over the known world and you and your colleagues might be the only ones who can truly stop him, you can't work all the time. And when you aren't working, Kirkwall is there for you, with its dingy Lowtown taverns, its flashy Hightown establishments, its market stalls and street musicians and underground network of old mining tunnels inhabited by the disenfranchised and a few violent criminals. Or maybe you can work all the time, and you're in the city to do some official shopping, keep an eye on a suspicious character, or show a potential financial backer a good time. The city is grey, cold, and in places vaguely sinister—but it's home.

II. SUNDERMOUNT: North of Kirkwall lies the highest peak of the nearby mountain range. In more ancient days it was rumored to be the site of unspeakable horrors, but at present prowled by more speakable horrors, like possessed skeletons, shadow warriors, and the rare revenant or varterral. And you've been sent to prowl along with them, inside the winding caves that cut through the peak or over the snow currently coating the paths that wind around it. The reasons vary: maybe you're in search of medicinal herbs, maybe you're tracking a party of suspicious travelers lurking outside Kirkwall, or maybe you just took a wrong turn off the road trying to travel in or out of the city.

III. ORLAIS: Further south, Orlais is weathering the winter and the invasion of its northern territories in its usual style—which is why you're here, in a snow-blanketed manor just outside Val Royeaux, representing Riftwatch at the invitation of a gathering of masked nobility who have gathered to discuss ways to support the war effort while not starving their serfs and alienages. And to play parlor games. Maybe have an occasional chamber concert. Your role may be to actively participate in the planning, or it may be to be charming and noncommital while observing, or it may be to provide an example of a well-behaved rifter/elf/mage/Qunari/Fereldan. Regardless: your best behavior is expected, but that doesn't mean you can't sneak into the Duchess' very well-appointed library at night or slip away to try sliding down the length of a frozen reflecting pool in the gardens.

IV. SEND A MESSAGE: Each member of Riftwatch (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 bloody frontlines of the war, Thedas is yours to explore.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

SUNDERMOUNT

After all is said and done, and the massive, spider-like creature is reduced to severed parts and splatters of gore, Caleb takes a few listing steps backwards to brace himself against a tree before he spits blood onto the ground. There's a fine coating of grit all down his front from where the rock had slammed into him, but no bones appear to be broken. He'd been lucky.

(Lucky because he is here on his own, and neither Jester nor Caduceus are present to knit him together.)

"What are we expected to do with it now?" he asks, attempting practicality when all he really wants is to sit down. "I don't think we left much of it's head to bring back for proof."

Are they even getting paid for this? Caleb isn't entirely clear on what kind of reward is bestowed upon them for doing this. He isn't even certain he's getting anything out of this personally. This is hardly the kind of excursion he'd have been interested in under different circumstances, and he's second-guessing his instincts on agreeing to it now.

ORLAIS

Politely standing directly by the door is how Caleb has interpreted his own orders for the evening. There had been a lot of discussion about mingling and being charming, but as the few conversations he'd engaged in had ultimately circled around to the bit of green embedded in his palm, Caleb has extricated himself from the crowd and escaped along with his cat to the small hallway, then further onwards.

They'd passed this library earlier during the breezy tour provided by their hosts. Caleb had almost detached from their group at that moment, but is satisfied to find it unoccupied now. Frumpkin hits the ground and lounges in the doorway as Caleb strides to the shelves to be confronted with the same problem he's been facing again and again since he arrived: he doesn't recognize much, if anything, about the titles. The complete absence of familiarity is as unnerving now as it had been when he'd first been spat out of the sky.

Undeterred, he's lifted several volumes before a soft yowl prompts him to turn just in time to meet the individual coming through the doorway.

"Have they noticed my absence?"

He'd hoped not, but that doesn't mean the conversation piece (or security risk) wandering off hasn't been noted.

WILDCARD

[ quick and dirty character description: scruffy wizard with big world breaking aspirations, and a cat. do whatever, i'm here for a good time. ]

The crunch of a heavy tread grinding gravel into earth at Caleb’s back gives way to the towering shadow of Sylvester Dumas, who sheaths his sword and drags off his helmet as he lumbers past. His armor is heavy enough for it to have done more tearing into the mountain turf than the turf’s done tearing into him. He’s barreled wide in the middle and tall and thin everywhere else -- not entirely unlike a four-legged spider himself. But apart from being old and scruffed and sweaty, he appears to be completely fine.

A fist-sized glob of viscera glistens on a boulder ahead, encapsulating a lump of mandible -- still twitching.

“Here’s a bit.”

He scoops it up into his gauntlet, gives it a jiggle, and lobs it sidearm square at the center of Widogast’s breast.

A quick slash of Caleb's hand and a warm-gold flicker of energy springs up between himself and the incoming projectile. It splats wetly against the barrier, sluices downward against the translucent energy for a moment before the spell fades.

Gross.

"A head is usually the custom. Or an ear."

There's a pause as Caleb eyes the messy scattering of parts on the ground.

"Are they paying us?"

The crucial question. Caleb is in a division devoted to research but he hasn't done much of it so far, apart from getting a very good look at the creature's mouth and many, many eyes before blasting fire at it. If they aren't getting paid and they've killed it, then they might as well begin trudging back to the village. He can't really presume what Sylvester hopes to do, but Caleb would like to clean the dirt off himself and return to Kirkwall.

“Yeah,” heavily, after a pause taken to follow the gak-walking descent of the mandible against Caleb’s barrier: “they’re payin’ us with their good-fucking-will.”

A stiff snap at his wrist sees earth and gravel and lichen thrown loose of his helmet. Sylvester’s armor is guard-issue, unremarkable save for its size, and polished to standard apart from half the mountainside freshly ground into the plate.

“I could message ahead to the Gallows and have banners put out if you like.” They are finished here, if his direction of travel is any indication: back to the beaten path.

“A celebration of your victory over one fat spider.”

TEST DRIVE MEME!

caleb widogast | critical role | rifter

SUNDERMOUNT

frisbees a late tag to you

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