TEST DRIVE!

[faderifting]

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, 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. THE CROSSROADS: This month, Riftwatch members are spending most of their free time in the Crossroads, a pocket of magic-infused reality that connects a network of magic-mirror portals, called Eluvians, that are scattered across Thedas. The roads between them have mostly crumbled, but sometimes the magic can be manipulated or a series of interconnected eluvians can allow reaching one of the ruined buildings or bridges that now hang like floating islands in the distance. The portion being explored now is also densely populated by spirits trying to fulfill some ancient purpose—which apparently largely entails annoying or embarrassing everyone they come across.

II. THE WESTERN FRONT: Riftwatch is no longer part of the Inquisition or directly engaged in the war that it, the Chantry's faithful Exalted Marchers, and Orlais are fighting against an invading Tevinter and Ander force in northern Orlais. But frequently enough, Riftwatch's business—delivering helpful intelligence, spending quality time with prisoners of war that might have information, assisting soldiers with a rift they've found too close to their camps, or passing through on the way somewhere else—requires spending time in camps. After a year, with the weather turning cold and a dragon occasionally hurtling overhead to breathe a few bursts of chaos onto the army in its sleep, morale is middling at best. But there's space around the campfires if you need it.

III. 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 cellars hosting gamblers. Or maybe you can work all the time, and you're in the city to do some official shopping, try to spy on a suspicious character, or show a potential financial backer a good time.

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. BANTER: Sometimes the walk is long, the herb-cutting is dull, or the watchtower is quiet, and there's nothing to do but talk to the person next to you. So say something.

VI. 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.

Comments

jaskier - the witcher (netflix) with a little bit of the books/games to fill holes.

[lettenhove]

ᴄʀᴏssʀᴏᴀᴅs →

[ finding himself in strange places is not entirely new to jaskier. in fact, he's found himself in some pretty weird locations over the years and has even managed to get himself out of them mostly intact. from the clutches of elves to small villages, he's been around the continent quite a bit. not just because he's a bard of ( if he says so himself ) extraordinary talent, but because he's spent the last couple decades following a witcher. not just any witcher, but the white wolf, butcher of blaviken, geralt of rivia.

at least, he had been until a stark morning on a mountain top when geralt had claimed that jaskier was responsible for all the shit in his life. not something one tends to say to their best friend.

since that morning, jaskier has been wandering, trying to find a new form of inspiration or someone else who would accept him. he's not desperate, necessarily, but he is looking a bit worse for wear. his usual silk and brocade doublet has a few tears in it and his trousers have definitely seen better days. but he doesn't stop trudging along, even when the road opens up to a crossing of ways and he's suddenly bombarded by ghostly figures. ]

Oh, no. No, no, no, this isn't happening.

[ does he sound a little panicked? you bet. and he's currently using his encased lute to swipe at the wisps, hoping to bat them away somehow. ]

ᴡᴇsᴛᴇʀɴ ғʀᴏɴᴛ →

[ having made it to a location with other people, jaskier is able to finally catch his breath and relax a little. sure, they all appear to be soldiers and sure, they seem to be in the midst of some kind of war, but at least there's people who can protect him if things get out of hand. ( he hopes )

he's draw quickly to a nearby campfire where people are chatting, and he gives a bright grin in hopes of winning the strangers over. with any luck, he can grab himself a seat and some food. if not, he'll travel from fire to fire, lute in hand as he strums and sings along to a song of his own creation.

eventually, when he's worn out his voice, he pauses by a particularly promising tent where the sent of food rises pleasantly from within. he steps inside and grabs himself a bowl of stew before looking around. ]

Say, might there be some Est Est? No? Ale?

crossroads.

[murderbaby]

[Mhavos is not, it should be remarked, a combatant. He's not flashy, nor particularly strong, nor one who appreciates any level of attention. Unfortunately for him, he fails continually to be a coward, so when he hears the shriek of a human panic, he runs toward, not away from, the sound.]

[It's just wisps, but Mhavos hates the things as well, creepy little magic residue. He'd like to think he'd comport himself better than this fellow, but he can't really be sure, can he? Maybe they caught him off guard.]

[Mhavos picks up a (ageless, priceless, elven) vase and chucks it at the wisps.] Casse-toi!

[lettenhove]

[ the crash of a vase hitting the ground followed by a shout in some language he doesn't understand has jaskier freezing where he's standing before turning towards the noise. he's still batting at the wisps, but now he's got company and that could be a good thing. ]

Right! You, uh, you tell 'em!

[ he swings his lute case again, grunting as it does little more than make one of the wisps dissipate, and then turns to his new companion. ]

What are these things?

[murderbaby]

[Now in Trade, accent slight,] Harmless, for the most part. From what I know of magic, which is very litt- Merde!

[Mhavos twists himself out of the way as one of the wisps flutters too close to his nose, attempting to push the things away.]

[Grateful no one else is around, Mhavos has the sneaking suspicion they both look like idiots.]

[lettenhove]

[ looking like an idiot is the least of jaskier's worries. if the wisps are benign, he wants to continue on his way, hopefully find a tavern or inn, and potentially rest his weary feet. but the stranger mentions they're magic and that has jaskier on high alert. in his experience, magic is never truly harmless. ]

You don't sound so certain, my friend.

[ he pauses in his lute-case swinging to blow at a nearby wisp and then huffs in annoyance. ]

You wouldn't happen to know anyone who would be able to deal with these little bastards, do you?

[murderbaby]

[There's only so much a dark glare can be imposing when levelled by an elf barely five feet tall. He backs away from his wisp, who seems mostly to be circling him with annoying, but nonthreatening, curiosity.]

If you see a mage, I encourage you to call on their aid.

[He raises his arm to gesture at the hallway, and-- aside from the elf, the human and the wisps-- the dearth of people within it.]

[lettenhove]

[ yeah, when you're more used to glares from dangerous witchers, glares from short elves aren't quite as effective. he shrugs a bit, then sighs because at least there doesn't seem to be any danger at the present moment.

it's only then that he notices the ears on the young man, having been previously too preoccupied with the wisps. his brows raise and he clears his throat before slipping into elder speech. ]

Not too fond of mages, to be honest. You're pretty far from Dol Blathanna. Did Filavandrel decide to make his move?

[murderbaby]

[Mhavos squints.]

Are you speaking Elvhen?

[Less shocked, slightly offended, mostly aghast. The language certainly sounds ridiculous enough to be Elvhen, but for all Mhavos knows it could be Anders. It's just the only thing that would make sense, since it's certainly not Orlesian.]

[lettenhove]

[ flashing a bit of a smirk, he bows elegantly and then shoos away another wisp. ]

Elven, Elder speech, whatever you want to call it. Yes, I am. Though I must admit I'm a bit rusty.

[murderbaby]

[Mhavos has been trained better than to ever react with anger toward a human. It takes far more than a well meaning, if clearly mentally touched, human. Mhavos takes a long sigh, trying to clear the sharp annoyance he feels. The wisps swirl around him, as though excited by emotional repression.]

I do not speak Elvhen.

[lettenhove]

Oh.

[ woops. well, it's not the first time he's put his foot in his mouth in front of an elf. ]

My apologies. I'll admit, my few dealings with elves have been rather... difficult, to say the least. But I mean no disrespect.

western front.

[tender]

[ Sidling past several larger, armored gentleman, Derrica might have been intending to leave the tent entirely. But she's the one in position to hear the request, eyebrows raising briefly in confusion at the name of the former before nodding at the latter. ]

What's Est Est?

[ is the question posed, even as Derrica passes over her own tankard. Is the ale of particularly good quality? No, not really. But it's ale, and it'll have to do in these circumstances. ]

[lettenhove]

[ considering this is a battle front and there isn't much in the way of high-quality goods, he's not surprised by the question and takes the offered tankard and peers down into it before wrinkling his nose a little. it'll have to do. ]

A very good wine from Toussaint. Though given no one here has heard of the continent I'm from, I doubt you'd know where Toussaint is.

[tender]

It sounds Orlesian, [ Derrica says, though this isn't exactly helpful. Her eyes fall to his hands, before she tips her head to the tent flap. ] Walk with me?

[ At least to the fire pit, easier to have a conversation there. ]

[lettenhove]

Orlesian... [ he sounds the word out as if he's tasting it. ] Nope, never heard of it. But hey... [ he follows behind her because a pretty lady offered and he's not about to say no. ]

[tender]

Antiva supposedly has the best wines, [ Derrica tells him, as the tent flap falls behind them. ] But expensive.

[ Or expensive for Riftwatch. She looks to his hands now, reaching out but stopping short of taking hold of his wrist. ]

May I look?

[lettenhove]

Expensive is usually the best. [ he holds his hands still as she inspects them, though he frowns at the shards in his palms. inwardly, he's still thinking about how he's going to play his lute with the green... things in his hands. what's visible to her will likely be the calluses on his fingertips from steel strings and a wooden neck, but not much else. he's a dandy, at best, a cad at worst, and it shows in how little work his hands have done. ] I don't suppose these'll come out, will they?

[tender]

No, [ Derrica answers gently. ] Not unless you want to take off the entire hand.

[ Which she assumes he doesn't. He carries an instrument, has a musician's hands. No one cares to willingly loose a hand, but she imagines it would take him harder than most. ]

I'm Derrica. You're newly arrived?

[lettenhove]

[ when she mentions taking off the entire hand, jaskier visibly flinches. she's right in assuming that would be a hard no for a musician like him. ]

I... think I'll just see what's in store for me, rather than take such a drastic route. I'm rather fond of my hands.

[ he sighs, a bit put out by all this, but he tells himself he's been in worse scrapes. ]

Yes, yes I am. It's that obvious?

[tender]

A little.

[ Meant in the most diplomatic of senses. ]

I didn't think you were part of the Inquisition, [ comes almost like an explanation, as she relinquishes her grip on his hand. ] And I know most of the faces in Riftwatch. But you seem like you generally stick out in a crowd, yes?

[ A compliment?? ]

crossroads

[doppelgang]

Hsst.

[The hail echoes weirdly. If it can be placed, it might be determined to have originated from around a rough corner. Granted, all of the corners here are rough, all these crumbling ruins and walls half-fallen down. So the descriptor is neither necessary nor particularly remarkable.

To help give some direction, Donal peers around the corner and, after assessing the situation, quickly and furtively waves the wisp's victim over.

Or off, preferably, in the other direction. He would rather not be joined in this corner, where he's hiding from wisps and other dangers.

Urgent, quiet, tense, he hisses:] Stop that. Walk away. Slow.

[lettenhove]

[ at first, jaskier is too preoccupied to hear the hissing. but when words are audible enough over his shooing of the wisps, he turns in that direction. he just barely spots the other man, eyes wide as he nods and lowers his lute, backing away slowly.

then, he pauses. because, sure, he's panicking a little, but that has never stopped him from getting the story.

pitching his voice low, he hisses back: ]

What are they?

[doppelgang]

[The minute he sees that nod, Donal ducks back around the corner and leads his head back. He is holding his breath, counting the seconds. No spirit or wisp trails over to him: good. He can hear the slight crunching of footsteps, but they do not (please) seem to be coming his direction, directly: good. This is enough that he deigns to answer when normally, he might not.

Still in a whisper--]

Spirits. Wisps. Used to be demons, or could have been, but they never got a host. Now they're this.

[A little pause, before he adds:]

Your folk found some manner of wisp-repellant, that you never seen one?

[lettenhove]

[ okay, this guy's responses and actions are not helping jaskier feel much better or more confident in anything really. he swallows a bit, glancing around, before leaning closer. ]

Demons? No, ha-ha. Nope. No wisp-repellant. Wraiths, yes, and witchers to fight them. Wisps, no.

[doppelgang]

[Witch, er. Donal pushes the back of his skull against the rough rock wall. If he could melt into it and disappear, he would.]

Mmm. [Damn, is the subtext, with the further deeper subtext of, oh great now I gotta be responsible for this human.] We fight the demons, here. If it's just wisps we can w,

[and then a wisp zips around the corner, followed by another four--and then six--bumbling around, buffeting themselves into whatever soft fleshy targets they can find. Donal swears, no longer trying to keep an undertone. But still, in case his new friend is thinking of taking action--]

Don't hit them.