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

Adrasteia, a Grey Warden | oc

[kantikoy]

→ 1. within the crossroads

[ Armored and armed with a staff for focusing her magic, Adrasteia arrived at this particular excursion well-prepared for, at the very least, combat. Being a Grey Warden means expecting things to go wrong and sideways quite quickly, and so she brings up the rear, prepared to deal with whatever may tend to surprise the party from behind. ]

At least this isn't boring, [ she exclaims excitedly, after a good half hour of the group moving in complete silence.

It's a joke. Clearly. ]

→ 2. the frontline camps

[ Adrasteia has started up a drinking game. It goes like this: there's a book being passed around that is probably not good and definitely not safe for, say, conversations between peasants and Orleasian nobility. Everyone reads a few lines. Everyone else?

1. a drink every time you hear someone with a different accent than your own.
2. a drink every time someone starts an argument about where they're from, based on those accents.
3. a drink every time a sex act is described that you haven't done
4. a drink every time a sex act is described that you think is impossible
5. a drink every time you cringe

Everyone is having a great time over here. Surely someone should go see what all this reading and drinking is about.

( ooc: I haven't read that fic, I just picked it from a search. ) ]

→ 3. a message

Tell me what you think of Grey Wardens. I'm curious, I've been gone from this part of Thedas so long that I don't know what the jokes are about my people anymore.

→ 4. wildcard me

[ ( message me at spacewitchery#9221 for something specific or craft your own starter here! ) ]

11111111

[babewyn]

You want a piggyback ride?

[ Dirghe is seven feet tall before the horns start -- great, black scythes of bone swept back from his brow, one of the larger pair cracked and split off at the midway point. Seams of silver fill the fractures the break left behind, a few shades lighter than the metallic tarnish to his hide. He’s muscled like a bridge troll, heavy and raw; the scruffy dusting of his beard bristles black to white.

He’s a qunari marching a few paces ahead in Vint armor, all dark steel but for a few odd flecks of brass. Very dramatic.

The helmet’s missing. ]

I can bounce around a little, make it exciting.

[kantikoy]

[ Adrasteia makes quite the show of looking Dirghe up and down from her stance of five foot one on a good day, amused gleam in her eye before she gives a shrug and attached her staff to her back. ]

You wouldn't even have to bounce me, I've never been that high before. [ A smol giggle. ] Okay, that's a lie. But if you're serious about the offer, I'm serious about taking you up on it.

[babewyn]

[ A sniff, deep and dry. Considering. ]

Yeah, alright.

[ He drops heavy to a knee, and she’ll have to do any necessary embarking on her own. Fortunately the sweeping spines and layered plate the Venatori favor make for a number of hand and footholds, nevermind the horns themselves.

The massive axe strapped across his back might make for a painful obstacle if she slips.

No risk, no reward. ]

Better vantage point, if anyone asks.

[ He catches a look from someone further up the marching order, and clicks at them like he would a horse. Keep the line movin’, pal. ]

1. the correct energy here right off the bat.

[heorte]

[ A few paces ahead, mace swinging loosely from one hand, Ellis glances back at her over his shoulder. The tension in his back is mostly obscured by his armor.

While there's something specifically familiar about this, ranging a few paces ahead with a mage at his back, the mage being Adrasteia inspires the same tight anxiety Vance does. ]

Now that you've said it, something's going to jump out at us.

[ Some strained beat of humor in that. Is that not how it always goes? Deep Roads, Crossroads, the second anyone acknowledges the peace it's broken.

If Ellis would prefer a few spirits hissing at them than the possibility of further conversation, well. That's neither here nor there. ]

i love them already

[kantikoy]

Not this very second, [ she contends, perfectly happy to keep talking, apparently, despite knowing good and well that Ellis probably would rather do all of this in silence punctuated by the grunting force of swinging his mace, or whatever.

She knows that. She doesn't care, is the thing. She's going to be aggressively cheery at him until the day they both die, be it here or in the Deep Roads or fighting some archdemon Corypheus has managed to summon amongst them.

You know. Probably one of those. ]

Because I'm watching your backside, I should point out. [ She turns around, walks backwards for a bit. ] And there's nothing behind us. [ Turning forward again, just so she doesn't trip on a rock and bust her head open. ]

my immediate delight

[heorte]

[ Ah, the particular brand of awkward of partnering with an old co-worker. Adrasteia is not Vance, though the surreal strangeness of being so clearly known to them both is the same.

It'd be easier if she disliked him in the same, straightforward, visceral way as Vance did, and yet. ]

What about above us? [ he counters, pace slowing enough that the next faint smile he flashes her way is only from a few paces ahead and to her left. Still easy to step aside if she were to need to cast something ahead of them. ] Or below?

[ Thinking again of Vance's scribble in the book: One outside, ten in the walls. Thinking of the ruined Chantry they'd burned months ago, of darkspawn tunneling upward from the ground. ]

2, i read it

[truthtied]

[Diana's been in war camps before, but she has to admit, she's never been in one that's apparently managed to produce quite as much alcohol as if from thin air. She ambles over to see what the fuss is about, just in time to catch a bit of the tome's dialogue and the phrase "protien rich sperm." ]

Ah... [ Her nose scrunches as she makes a face. ] I think I have many questions.

aslkdfjasf I'm sorry

[kantikoy]

Come, come, sit, [ Adrasteia gestures with the bottle in her hand. Would you know she specifically traveled with several bottles of good alcohol just for this very venture? There's also bad alcohol being passed around if Diana is more interested in that kind of a thing. ] Tell us your questions, this is a place without judgement, yes?

[ That gets her a few snickers from around the fire, but mostly noises of agreement. ]

What's your name?

AS YOU SHOULD BE

[truthtied]

My name is Diana. And I'm not sure my questions are the sort that have answers. Many of them begin with why and don't go very further than that. [ And Diana will absolutely sample some of the good alcohol, thank you. It seems only fair, considering what she's blindly walked into. ]

Is that your book?
[ Years of diplomatic experience distill her tone to one of polite curiosity. ]

1

[fairforce]

[Bringing up the front, armed with a great big longsword for focusing the attention of monsters and enemy forces before cleaving their faces in twain, Lady Seeker Theophania Hart snorts quietly.]

I'd like boring. Just a little boring, every now and then, to break up all the not-boring that's always going on.

[Fully armored, she's not exactly a quiet companion. That's okay. Tiffany is better at direct attacks, and at being directly attacked. Anything else just feels like cheating.]

[kantikoy]

You don't mean it, do you? [ Adrasteia twirls her staff like it's a baton, tossing it into the air and just managing to catch it before it clatters to the ground. ] You could've stayed in Kirkwall for that, though I hear the war reaches even the Gallows from time to time.

[ People who want calm, cool, collected lives don't become Seekers of Truth, she imagines. They definitely don't become Grey Wardens. ]

[fairforce]

It does. [Tiffany's face darkens--but she's looking forward, and her tone stays even, so she's not caught out. She's thinking of the account that she'd read, the abomination tearing through a wall, the desperation of it all.] More than we might be willing to admit.

Still--I do mean it a little, in that I don't really want to be down here facing Maker-knows-what.

[Crunch crunch crunch, boots on loose stone. At first Tiffany can't place the soft sound emanating from behind her that makes a kind of countermelody to that steady rhythm--not until she glances over her shoulder and sees Adrasteia's staff being tossed from hand to hand. The little scuff of wood against palm then becomes familiar.

She's got a fond little smile on her face when she turns back to face forward.]

And then on the other hand, I'd be lying if I said I wanted to be in Kirkwall instead. If there's work to be done, I don't want to be found laying on a sofa eating chocolates.

4. https://i.pinimg.com/originals/09/a2/44/09a244e034a375051b8293e89f9cefe3.jpg

[sanctification]

A templar and a Grey Warden walk into a bar. Cue laugh track.

"Do you have the description from the Scoutmistress?" Solomon asks, in the wake of their sojourn through the crowd between the front door to bar to the small, cramped table in the back corner. One of the legs seems to be unreliable at best, so Solomon is still holding his tankard with the air of someone who's been unexpectedly handed the drink and expects to give it back momentarily.

/stamps with seal of approval

[kantikoy]

The bench is sticky, Adrasteia realizes as she sits down. Lovely. "Reddish hair, or what's left of it, green eyes, prominent scar on left cheek," Adrasteia announces, albeit quietly; there's no need to inform a quarter of the tavern who they're looking for. Her own tankard is held between two hands and she takes a deep sip while glancing this way and that.

"Oh! Not so much the gentleman who just pinched the barmaid, off to the left? The one cupping his face like he's got a toothache." She briefly considers setting her tankard down at her side, since draining the thing in one go is not the move. "I think that's him."

3

[venenifer]

Not a joke, perhaps, but as I understand it Grey Wardens are useful only when it comes time to prevent an apocalypse.

[kantikoy]

Perhaps? Sounds like at least a bit of a joke. Most useful in a crisis, but only until the crisis is over. Then we're either dead or scattered to the winds.

[ Or doing blood magic, apparently. ]

[venenifer]

So it is.

[A pause.]

Are you troubled by that impression?

1

[muckspout]

[Edgard is the only one to turn to look back at Adrasteia with the rest of the party continuing in silence. He raises his eyebrows, cocks his head towards the rest of the crew, and rolls his eyes at them hugely.]

Any ideas to make this a little more interesting?

[He hangs back a little to talk to her more closely. Edgard smells trouble and he likes it.]

[kantikoy]

Well, we could sing, but. No. [ Adrasteia shakes her head. ]

A game, maybe. Toss the foci, or, never have I ever. Low stakes, since there's no drinking. Unless someone has a flask, which, they probably won't be interested in sharing.

[ That's fine. Anyone bringing alcohol out here might not be the sharing type. ]

What do you think?

[muckspout]

And what do you have against singing? [It's very dry, but he might be teasing her. Maybe. He digs inside his filthy shirt and pulls out a flask. He places it in Adrasteia's hand. He puts a finger to his lips. Shhh.]

Sounds like someone is afraid.

2

[cobbled]

[ she's lingered nearby for the last several minutes, nursing a drink without care for the rules of the game. eventually, she picks her way closer to adrasteia, so she can drawl, not without amusement, ]

Making us listen to this should count for a war crime.

[kantikoy]

Oh but it's fun. Terrible, I won't claim otherwise for a moment. If you'd like, we can burn the book after.

[ She got it for change from a rubbish dealer, she doesn't care if its burned or not. ]

4 - lmk if u want changes, or just go ahead and make them and i'll roll w it ᕕ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )

[pittance]

"It's eggs." It's burned eggs, if we're being specific, but that's campfires for you. Vance is chiseling at the rest when he asks, "So, why now?"

Why Riftwatch? A gesture with the pan,

"Not that I'm complaining, mind. It's been a lot of us in and out."

/kisses this tag on it's perfect nose! also I am sorry for her, Vance

[kantikoy]

"Is it?" She's joking, clearly, from the raised eyebrows to the fact that she shovels some eggs into her mouth in the next instant. Chews, swallows, and lowers her eyebrows with a comical quickness. "It's nearly eggs, gone a bit past and in towards something not quite eggs anymore. Eggs adjacent?"

Whatever, she's eating them either way.

"Mhm, well. I'd been trying to get to the Anderfels and kept getting waylaid near Perendale, either by people needing help or people wanting me dead." Another mouthful of eggs adjacent, which she has the manners and grace to swallow before continuing. "So that was starting to feel a little fruitless, at this point. Plus I had a dream about it. Well. A dream about my dead husband, actually."