TEST DRIVE MEME!

[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 9:46, 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.

OOC: We post Test Drives fairly infrequently! But current players are strongly encouraged to track new top-level comments to the post so they don't miss new arrivals, and new folks should not be shy about commenting just because the post has been up for a while.

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. THE 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 passing near or through the frontline drawn through northern Orlais and now northern Nevarra, where it's possible to encounter enemy bands of dracolisk-mounted soldiers, fire-throwing mages, or particularly nasty darkspawn with red lyrium growing from their bodies.

V. 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.

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

margaery tyrell | game of thrones

[molineux]

II. SUNDERMOUNT

[ the wind that bites at her cheeks is sharp, but not unwelcome. anything, even freezing to death, is better than staying one more day in the Gallows, or wandering around in Lowtown where her senses are assaulted with memories of King’s Landing.

(someone may have mentioned that this could be dangerous, but Margaery isn’t exactly sure what that means to her anymore.)

clumsy, stiff fingers gently brush stray strands away from her face, with the palm of her hand wrapped so she won’t have to see the bright green of her anchor - as harmless as it appears to be, the color of it is a little too close and familiar for a heart still aching for impossible distance.

despite her more reserved nature, there’s a genuine thread of simple joy lighting up her expression every time she finds an elfroot, and it’s almost enough for her to forget that there are threats lurking in every corner. almost. ]

I’m most grateful you allowed me to come with you.

III. ORLAIS

[ not even the shock of death can shake her upbringing out of her bones, as Margaery finds herself slipping on her court persona easily even in strange company. while she can hold her own when it comes to charm and smiles, though there’s a distinct lack of knowledge on her part that makes her tread far more carefully, speak softly and rarely, and it isn’t long before she’s gracefully molding herself into a wallflower so she can make her great escape to the gardens.

it feels safer out here, even as she’s shivering under her simple finery, stubbornly ignoring the lure of warmth as she inspects every work of botanist art that somehow manages to survive this frigid temperature. she’s longingly glancing at the frozen reflecting pool when she realizes she’s not alone, and deftly replacing her vulnerable expression with something more subservient, almost expectant. ]

Forgive me. I hadn't thought to expect company out here when it's so cold.

[ her smile is gentle, small - whether because of the mask that rests on her face or out of respect for the quiet where they are, it’s unclear. ]

WILDCARD

( taking Margaery right from her death in S6E10 of Game of Thrones. pls feel free to pm to plot for something more specific as well. c: brackets & prose both welcome! )

III

[notathreat]

[Ellie is a poor choice when it comes to Orlesian parties. Someone has dressed her beautifully, in a leather surcoat and fitted breeches, high polished boots. Her hair is pinned back and neat, for once, though some softer strands have escaped to hang around her face, catching at the edges of her intricate but ultimately forgettable mask. She's wearing gloves, long sleeves. Utterly acceptable, but not meant to stand out.

The air fogs a bit as she lets her breath out -- Margaery's found her sitting on one of the stone benches near an urn of seasonal flowering plants.]

No problem. Loads easier to breathe out here, inside it felt like all the perfume was about to choke me out.

[molineux]

[ her breath curls out in kind as she gives a huff of amusement. ]

It's- understandable. I thought Lowtown was going to be the worst of it when it came to smells, but I clearly underestimated Orlesian flare.

[ there's a part of her that feels it'd be best to leave them both to their own company, but Margaery feels a sense of solidarity after hours of polite conversation - a desire for honesty that almost feels magnetic in its pull. she doesn't ask to sit. too restless. ]

Am I correct in assuming you're not very comfortable with these sorts of settings?

[notathreat]

It wouldn't be so bad if it was just one scent, but holy shit, every step-

[Ellie flashes a smile back, a tiny bit of humor entering her eyes. She's managed to avoid making a total fool of herself out here, but it's nice to speak with a person instead of a ball of manners and conventions. She leans forward, curling her hands over the side of the bench, though she doesn't get up quite yet.]

Am I that obvious?

[She is.]

[molineux]

[ it doesn't escape Margaery's notice that they're able to speak freely, even where soft sounds of the party, an occasional laugh, floats over to where they are. a small detail, but no less wondrous. here, they appear to be free from listening shadows at every corner. ]

Not at all.

[ - although if Ellie looks at her now, she'll find that Margaery's smile has grown, almost crooked in its playful quality. ]

What would you prefer to be doing at this hour, if you had the freedom to do whatever you want?

[notathreat]

[The courtyard isn't completely free of shadowy corners, but Ellie doesn't mind them so much anymore. The worst they can pin on her is a small amount of awkwardness. It's nice not to be important; she'll leave the diplomacy to the people trained for it.

She and Margaery catch each others' eye at the same moment, that playfulness mirrored, and Ellie snorts aloud with laughter, reaching up to push a lock of hair back from her face. Yep. She's been read.]

Right now? Hunting through the library in the Gallows for something I haven't read yet, maybe. Or seeing if Artichoke would be up for a midnight ride.

What about you?

[molineux]

[ Ellie's laugh brings out her own, and it's enough to make her feel warm again, even if only for a moment. ]

Both sound like fine ideas to me, especially a midnight ride. I miss having the freedom to take a horse from the stables and just let her roam without thought to where.

[ those days ended long before she ever came here though, and it shows in her face before Margaery smiles once more. ]

Artichoke is your horse?

[ whatever else this strange place might have (she'll need another month to get used to the sight of nuggalopes and dracolisks), at least they also have horses.

she decides to forgo her manners - not wanting to interrupt the smooth flow of their conversation by asking if she may sit - and moves to dust the bench off before joining Ellie on it. at least this way, they'll both have full view of the frozen pool while enjoying a modicum of privacy themselves. ]

[notathreat]

[That distant sadness for times gone is so heartbreakingly universal, it's a look Ellie knows well. Most everyone gets it when they're around long enough, but it's a staple for Rifters. Hell, at least they can still laugh. Ellie's expression sobers.]

If you go with someone, they'll probably let you do it. A little midnight right seems way less risky than an Orlesian dinner party.

[At her question, though, Ellie's expression goes from a reassuring smile to something almost wicked. She leans forward, turning her face to fully look at Margaery at her side, and lowers her voice.]

Artichoke's a griffon.

ii.

[poleaxed]

[Jone, a six-foot woman with a (wait for it) poleaxe, is a fucking sucker for rifters, the nobly mannered, and anyone with a face as sweet as this bird. It's a contrast, as she is herself coarse, poorly born, and a Thedosian native. Still, she's played bodyguard before-- this is nothing new, except...]

[Well, she isn't usually thanked. Then again, she doesn't usually do this sort of work for free.]

[She smiles despite herself, all teeth and grin crooked.]

Who was I to say no? Denying you the sight of walking bloody corpses and Dalish knives? I'd not dream of it, luv.

[molineux]

[ the only person Margaery saw who could hold a candle to Jone is - was - Brienne of Tarth, and she hadn't nearly been as warm and forthcoming. more grounded and serious, rooted by all she had undoubtedly endured in her life but still gentle, kind.

Margaery tries not to smile at the thought of men attempting to bully Jone as she stands, patting dirt off of her hands. ]

I only fear my presence might be a hindrance if we do meet danger. Although, [ a thoughtful wrinkle to her brow as she glances around to see if there are any other elfroot plants she missed ] I suppose there's no better time to learn what to do in battle?

[ a wry smile is beamed up at Jone. ]

Are the corpses particularly fast, my lady?

[poleaxed]

[Jone's eyes light with a new interest.] You looking for training? I work in the training yards. We can set something up after this bollocks.

[She continues to climb the hilly mountainside, extending a callused hand to aid Margaery where she may need it.] As for the dead-- they're more a trouble in groups.

[molineux]

[ Margaery's excitement at Jone's offer is palpable. ]

If you'd be so kind, I would love to train! I suppose you may hear this from rifters often, but women wielding weaponry is not considered normal practice where I'm from. There are few who rise above the norm, and the rest of us quietly envy their talents.

[ the help is much appreciated, as much as Margaery would love to pretend she's been climbing these sorts of terrains her entire life; every grip ends with a gentle squeeze of thanks. and for every time Margaery stumbles, Jone gets treated to the sight of her face scrunching up with renewed determination. ]

How do you kill them? Does fire help?

[poleaxed]

[Jone thinks of Petra, and wonders if this Margaery is from the same world. The idea only endears her to the woman more.] We'll start as soon as you're able. At least an hour a day, and you'll have naught to envy.

[She wonders what Margaery's slight frame and delicate form can manage, but many of the roguish sort make do with less. It might even be fun.]

Well... the dead are possessed by demons, that I know. What happens when the demon's defeated, I don't. But fire helps with just about everything. Me, I just ram the fuckers.

[She makes jabbing motion with her poleaxe.]

[molineux]

[ the at least doesn't escape her notice, but she's got way too much pride to voice any trepidation; if she's managed to land here without any burns, maybe she can hope for the best in terms of physical shape. then again, Jone makes the poleaxe look as light as a feather, so - probably not. it's a good thing they're gathering herbs for healing. maybe Margaery will keep some for herself. ]

How old were you when you began fighting, if you don't mind my asking? And was the poleaxe something you chose for your-?

[ she promptly stops speaking when she thinks she hears a noise behind her, not unlike the sound of a branch being stepped on - although that detail might be supplied by her sudden, overactive imagination - and immediately stops to turn around to see if she can find the source. ]

Jone. [ calm, but leveled. no my ladys here. ] Did you hear that?

[poleaxed]

[Jone turns immediately, putting herself between Margaery and what appears to be-- no, is-- a giant bloody spider.]

Uhh, m'lady, this part's gonna get ugly.

[Jone charges forward, using the spike at the end of her poleaxe to jab the creature in the eyes. Sanguine ichor bursts forth, coating Jone's weapon and the once-green grass beneath them. This, of course, only makes the spider angrier, but it's a blind anger, at least.]

Try'n stay still! Their hearing's shite.

orlais.

[ipseite]

Yes,

( not unkindly, holding in her hands a second cloak — it is a simpler thing than the fine velvet and fur that's wrapped around her now, matched to both the dress and the masque that she wears beneath and above (pale blue and gold, both), but perhaps recognizable as another of petrana's own cloaks worn on the road, more practical for wintry travel. )

I had thought so.

( margaery is about six inches taller than petrana, so either she's going to have to bend slightly or take the cloak herself, but it is certainly being held with a certain expectation that one or other is about to happen. when it has, she says, removing her masque: ) I understand the desire to put one's best foot forward, but I would bid you consider that frostbitten may be a difficult trend to set.

( maybe margaery needs some warmer clothes if she's going to gladhand in orlais in the dead of winter. )

[molineux]

[ there's sincere gratitude in Margaery's expression, certainly, as she leans down to accommodate Petra's reach, and perhaps a smile of acknowledgment when the other woman can't see. ]

Thank you, my lady.

[ to be carted into this world by wildfire, only to be frostbitten here, seems a fate perfectly cruel enough to be designed by the gods - or the Maker, as she's learned. but the added cloak immediately lends far more warmth, carrying a whiff of the pleasant smell Margaery's come to associate with Petra - a gentle, flowery perfume of some sort. just one more summer-child shiver, before it ceases entirely. ]

I always felt more at ease in my own court because of all the knowledge I managed to accumulate over a lifetime. [ stated agreeably, without a hint of self pity or self deprecation; an explanation for what she might be doing out here, rather than remaining indoors. ] But I know I will adjust, in time.

[ she knows Petra to be a busy woman, and seizes this opportunity to ask - ]

Do you remember what your first such gathering here was like?

[ipseite]

Madame, ( is a correction, but gently offered and briskly moved on from; she prefers not to play-act the courtesies of titles she has left behind, and in any case, would be entitled to greater genuflection than my lady if she were cleaving to them.

she is particular about the way she is addressed; likely margaery has heard her called petra or petrana in casual passing by one or other of the small handful with leave to do so (though either of her lovers are as like to refer to her formally in company), but without that particular leave she is invariably madame de cedoux, her habit by now to leave off her given name in introductions because of the over-intimate tendency of much of riftwatch to use it if they have it.

none of this, of course, is what is occupying her thoughts as she casts them back, brows furrowed, to think if she does remember what that gathering was. )

For me, ( she says, eventually, ) I had been preparing for some months in advance. I spent the first six as a member of Research, but the first — soft power engagements that I was party to, I attended as what was then an Inquisition outpost's Ambassador and division head for Diplomacy.

( about six months in, yes. )

I was quite educated on the subject of Thedas, and had had opportunity to ensure a, well, a work wardrobe of suitable effects. ( one gloved hand encompasses her present look: and so. marcus and julius are not to touch these gowns, she isn't making division head money any more and they can't afford to replace them. ) That was in Hightown, of course, in Kirkwall. I have had opportunity go further afield, since, but the connections I made in those early days have stood me in good stead.

[molineux]

[ madame. such a dear little word, but elegant all the same. rather fitting. Margaery's contemplation is punctuated by the way her breath wisps in the air at a slow, thoughtful exhale. ]

I would also like to have the same opportunities. While I appreciate the kindness of those who have gone to great lengths to take care of me and see fit to educate me, I find myself missing the mantle of responsibility a great deal.

[ it's strange - to have no one expect anything of her, to only look at her as if she may be the same as the rest of the strangers who arrive by green light and an escort of demons. does she miss being properly useful, or admired? ]

Not that this isn't a responsibility. [ Margaery smiles ruefully as she dips her head towards the gathering. ]

I have been observing you all evening as a way to ensure I do not commit any unspoken social sins. But if you have any advice for me, I will gladly take it, Madame.

ii

[tender]

I should be thanking you, [ Derrica says in return, head tipping towards the wicker basket. ] This goes much faster with two people, and Sister Sara will be pleased.

[ Which, in turn, will please the residents of Hightown whose gardens have been the subject of increasingly pointed pious scrutiny. ]

You're not tired of it?

[ Or tired, full stop. Derrica's attentive to the state of this newly arrived woman, who's complained of absolutely nothing, not even the cold or the steep climb. ]

[molineux]

[ there's polite goodwill in the Riftwatch, borne out of expectation, routine. it's what had greeted her the moment she landed in Thedas, too stunned to even realize her danger until she'd watched demons be slain. but there's kindness too, a thread that feels soft to the touch but holds strong even as the winds are restless enough to keep her hair dancing. ]

After weeks of quarantine, I think you'll find that you might actually have to force me to go back.

[ her laugh is soft, and genuine enough. it only holds a note of irony that can be found if someone's aware to look for it; Margaery's not very keen to repeat any more experiences that hit too close to home. ]

Does this mean you come on your own? And often?

[tender]

I've come here on my own before, but it's better with company.

[ Offered with a warm smile, Derrica's gaze slanting sideways to her as she deposits a few cuttings of elfroot into the basket between them. ]

But we try to make the journey regularly, when there's not too much else to do, [ Derrica tells her, a practical bent edging aside the quiet compliment. ] We get along, but it's always good to have as much of these herbs on hand as possible, in case something happens.

[ In the interest of not unsettling Margaery, Derrica leaves the many possible needs for healing herbs vague. They've almost always been safe in the Gallows; it tends to be when they all set out together that things go sideways. ]

[molineux]

[ danger is already in the forefront of Margaery's mind, if only because she's sat quietly and listened to too many conversations for her to remain ignorant of what's said to linger here; she means to ask Derrica how she chooses to defend herself if necessary, but such a topic feels like a needless addition to the dreary atmosphere they're already in. ]

Will you teach me how to apply them properly as well? I don't mean to be so terribly useless, [ her laughter is merry despite her self-deprecation ] but such talents are usually only taught to men, where I'm from, and I've always held an interest in learning.

[ she focuses for a moment on cutting the elfroot as effectively as Derrica does, with marginal improvement. ]

If I'm allowed to ask - what called you to a life of healing?

[tender]

You can ask, [ Derrica tells her, very sincere. ] I don't mind questions.

[ There is a particular quality with all Rifters, regardless of how battle-versed they might be or the talents they wield. They're all adrift here. It's a difficult thing to face. Derrica can hardly imagine being so completely unmoored, having nothing as opposed to just the ashes of a life behind them. ]

But it's not so interesting. I had natural talent, the Enchanters said. Some kinds of magic come more easily than others, and something like healing, well. I don't think it ever occurred to me not to pursue it, alongside everything else.

[ Gently, carefully, she reaches to touch Margaery's wrist as she deposits her herbs into the basket between them. ]

And I'll teach you too. The practical things I know, I mean.

[molineux]

[ some people seem as though they are meant for certain things - Derrica is one of them. and for a time, Margaery had thought the same of herself. but the more she stays with Riftwatch, the more she wonders what it would've been like if she had a quieter calling such as this: practical with no glamor to speak of, nothing to cater to but the natural talent already within. ]

I've met some ma- healers, who seemed to have the talent but not the right personality or temperament. But I don't sense the same for you.

[ the touch to her wrist makes her pause, and it takes another moment but the smile she casts Derrica's way is sincere. ]

Thank you.

[ it's after depositing a handful of her own that she speaks again. ]

Are the practical healing arts more or less set in stone? Or are there still discoveries being made? I imagine with magic at the helm, there's not always an urgency when it comes to expanding knowledge in this field?