allthisshitisweird | TEST DRIVE MEME!

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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.

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Beautiful. [Astarion agrees, drawing back the span of a gilded mask for the sake of letting himself breathe for a moment. Oh, he appreciates Orlais deeply for what it is: a pit of longing and loneliness and lies— all the things Astarion feeds on as surely as he'd once fed on blood alone— but work is ever work.

And these masks get so humid in the warmer summer months.] But not what we've been sent here to take care of, if memory serves.

I've certainly seen you chatting up our dear friends all evening, but I wonder— considering the sheer amount of ensuing drama between guests as they bicker over rumors— just how much you've managed to pull from them, rather than embed.

[ Loki's mask is vaguely lupine-shaped, as foxes are also tricksters, and adorned with outlines of the floral namesake at the ears as well. He's kept his on because he likes the style if nothing else, and smirks at Asterion just a little bit as he swirls the glass in his hand. ]

Ah yes, the task at hand: social propaganda, was it? Tell them stories of Riftwatch's successes on the front lines in order to assure ourselves of some of their discretionary funding, or somesuch.

[ He waves the hand with the glass in it, making the alcohol swirl. ]

By the time the evening is over we will have our funding, Madame Varela will know who her cousin is sleeping with, and I'll have spent the night not entirely wasting my talents here.

Unless word gets back to Madame Varela just where this all this information about her cousin’s come from.

[Then, Astarion imagines, Loki might be the one under siege, rather than the pretty little Orlesian nobles he’s been stringing along on his every word since well before sunset] Aren’t you the least bit worried that in a fit of passionate displeasure, one of them might point to that dashing emissary in the fox mask as the source of their tales?

Because if so, the supposed god of lies might just be in for a very tumultuous departure.

[He purses his lips slightly. Draws a few fingertips thoughtfully across the edge of his glass.]

Of course, if someone else were to heroically swoop in and ensure only the right gossip met the right ears in mingling conversation, well....I imagine such valor might warrant an owed favor or two.

[ Can you see, Asterion, the ellipses above Loki's head right now? He's not even sure where to start. Supposed god of lies might be a good point of contention, but. Well. He imagines he won't get very far arguing that specific detail when the only gods involved in Thedas have either turned their back on the world entirely or have been so inherently changed to the point of wreaking havoc upon the land when they return.

He takes a sip of his drink instead.

There's always a catch, isn't there? ]

What sort of favor?

[ He's not saying no. He just wants to know what he's in for. Something fun or something else? ]

Oh, [He says ever-so-delicately, as though the thought never really occurred to him. For someone even remotely perceptive, of course, this is all a lie.] I wouldn't know.

Nothing of consequence though, I'm sure.

[His lips curl, his red eyes gleam; he looks the very picture of the cat that ate every canary to ever exist.] Friends, after all, are always beholden to one another anyway.

Or so I've heard.

Ah.

[ Something fun, then, by his measure, but most of the fun is to be had in the anticipation of the main event. The ante is raised slightly by the fact that Asterion is lying, clearly. He has a plot in mind, and for that, Loki appreciates the man. ]

I've also heard that about friends.

[ Does this mean they're friends? Loki thinks being even just acquaintances with Asterion will be interesting. He raises his glass to the other man and then drains it, before throwing it to the ground with enough force to shatter before offering Asterion his hand.]

To friendships, and favors.

[Astarion nearly jumps out of his skin when that glass hits the floor, utterly bewildered by the gesture— yet not unpleasantly so. Chaos is, in perhaps more ways than one, utterly divine. Why, he'd be a devout little follower of Shar or Beshaba if the gods had ever dared to lift so much as a finger to help him in his hour of utmost need. Hours in fact. Two hundred years' worth of those. Then again, if they're at all anything like Loki, Astarion supposes he can see why they'd be less than all-powerful solutions. The man seems perfectly mortal at times.

He tilts his head, raising his own glass in a clear salute to suggestion, and then drinks as normal before fitting his hand in against Loki's own.

Later, he might be a little more adventurous.

For now, he wants to keep his cup. Refills are easier this way, after all.]

To collecting owed dues.

[Intentionally ominous as that sounds, Astarion keeps his word in regards to their agreement: fitting his mask back into place, slipping into the soirée proper, gone for the better part of an hour or two. When his work is done, he settles himself at the exact same spot they’d been occupying earlier, filigreed mask now fully set aside to rest untouched across polished balcony stone.

It’s good, sometimes, to be able to know when an evening’s finished.

And at the sound of footsteps, Astarion doesn’t bother to look away from the sky overhead, speaking as if to the air itself:]

You were right, by the way. They are remarkable. [Granted, Loki had only pointed out the general existence of those shooting stars, but Astarion imagines he understands how to fill in the unspoken gaps.] I'd never been able to see them so clearly in my own world.

Odd, isn't it? How much changes when you're pulled out of frame.

[ While Asterion did his part of their bargain, Loki returned to spinning tales and telling lies. The lies were small and inconsequential, however, and most things put Riftwatch and its many accomplishments in a better light than might otherwise happen in the retelling.

In other words, he finally did the job he was supposed to be doing in the first place. (It only took a little bit of shaming, after all.)

His footsteps pause and Loki looks up again, moving the mask from his face to the top of his hair. ]

Are we ever, truly, pulled out of frame? Or does the frame we'd taken for granted merely reoriented itself to a different viewpoint, based on unexpected circumstances?

[ They can't leave behind the people they were, not really, nor the circumstances that created those people. Too inexorably tied into the sense of self, and the perceptions one has as they interact with the world (or worlds) around them. ]

What are your people's stories of the stars? [ Everyone that has stars has stories of them, in Loki's experience. ]

[A rhetorical question. Or perhaps a deeply philosophical one. Food for thought, but Astarion's— lost in a moment of rare passivity— are left silent to drift freely through his own mind. Safe in their own unspoken existence. It is a lovely thing, to be in the company of a like-minded creature.

It is also a terrible risk, and Astarion isn't eager to make himself the manipulated fool.

He folds his fingers around the edges of his drinking glass, lifting it higher for one last sip— and then lets it fall to dash into pieces on the ground below. A more subdued reprise of Loki's own gesture earlier.]

I wouldn't know. [It's said with a mild shift in posture, a little half-turn to lean more against the balcony's edge.] My life was a simple one, all things considered. I didn't have much time for lofty excursions, or taking in fairy tales like so many hazy-eyed dreamers.

I assume they have something to do with the gods, most likely. [He blinks absently there, letting red eyes hood beneath dark lashes.]

Perhaps it's time I learned one.

[In other words: what about you?]

It's possible they do.

[ Loki smiles as the glass hits the stones beneath their feet, pleased with the callback to his own behavior, and leaning to match Asterion's posture against the balcony, gesturing with his hands as he speaks. ]

However. Each star is so far away that what we're actually looking at is a memory of it's brightness, from ages and ages ago. There's no promise that those stars even remain, in this moment, as they shine down on us.

The largest and brightest of them might not even be stars, but other worlds full of fantastical creatures and people and cultures. They may gaze upon the light put off by this world and draw constellations involving their own gods and their own dreams.

We'll probably never find out, if they do, but...

[ Loki gives a little shrug.

Gods are, in his experience, beings from other stars, other planets, where things are different. Stronger powers, and fewer people to make a mess of things. They're special, but, not as special as those who worship them would think. He doesn't share this thought; he still likes being considered a god, thank you very much. ]

And yet you're trapped down here, with us, whittling away eternity offering up a pittance of good deeds. [There isn't honeyed hopefulness in his words; he isn't urging goodness and light the way that someone else might. No, this— recognizably so— is a commentary given by a man who bears much by way of resemblance to the god he speaks to. Birds of a feather, as they say.

Or perhaps tricksters.]

Doesn't it wear on you?

It is not what I would have chosen for myself.

[ To say the absolute least.

Loki inclines his head a little. ]

Like any restraint, it chafes one from time to time.

[ Yet he would rather this than the direct alternative. Living through his myriad of poor decisions just to die at the end of his story to be fodder for a hero's growth, or merely ceasing to exist altogether. ]

But there are a few things that make it worth the discomfort. [ People, he means. ]

Oh, don't leave me hanging, darling. Go on.

[His posture draws forward, leaning across marbled stone by the barest difference of degrees in vivid interest; the same draw that sees a panther slithering through underbrush, its eyes dilated with the surety of sensed prey.]

Is there a heart in there? Can a god feel anything at all? I've always wondered.

[ Loki smirks a little bit. ]

Is it such a strange idea, for a god to feel?

[ There is a heart in his chest. It's made of stone and ice and beats, nonetheless. ]

There are pleasantries. Experiences I would not have had otherwise. People worth the chafe.

[ You'll have to try a little harder to get specific names, though. Sorry Asterion. ]

As has always been the case, I imagine, of any prison with a little bit of freedom within its walls.

[At that, Astarion’s expression pinches slightly. A little more unreadable— a little more sincere. Just a flicker of a thing, gone in a blink, though his smile seems a touch less real for it.

It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.]

I wouldn’t know.

I suppose our imaginations will have to suffice, until we learn the truth.

[He flicks a few fingers between them, looking ever more like his usual performative self, grin going lopsided for the trouble:]

I’d call it a daring new adventure, but those don’t often involve the minutiae of making sure a party goes smoothly.

[ Snorting a little at the mention of 'truth', Loki bows with a flourish. He caught that shift in expression, knows now that Asterion knows something of being captive in one way or another, and files it away as just another reason the man is interesting.

So very few people were interesting in just that way. ]

Truth, my friend, is just a story with power. [ He straightens up. Whatever happened to happen at the time. ]

Usually told by the doers and not the ones upon which things are done, but that is the nature of power and stories.

Our power is different here. The sway of a party instead of the sway of a people. Such things are avalanches; they start as a whistle and a pebble in the wind.

It may yet have some reach in the grander story.

[ This is something Loki likes to remind himself of when he hates being part of a mortal conflict in an apparently mortal shell. ]

I prefer my stories a little on the bolder side of things. A touch more daring— or at the very least, fun.

[He daren't say it outright, after all, that this party and its trivial guests were only ever thrilling to a point. Something about it always feels lackluster now, in the wake of more intrepid excursions. He finds himself relieved he hadn't opted to become a diplomat. Not a full time one, anyway.

Through it, he feels farther from Baldur's Gate than ever.]

Don't you agree, my darling?

...or has Riftwatch made you tame.

[ Loki makes a face at Asterion. ]

Would I much prefer slaying a dragon to chatting it up with various landed nobility about what they spend their gold on after they've taken it from others? Definitely. Our talents are practically wasted under Riftwatch's supervision.

[ But then he shrugs. ]

Riftwatch does not contain the capability of taming me. When the opportunity for a better quest presents itself, I imagine we shall be there.

[ This is a half-truth; he has no specific love for or sense of duty towards Riftwatch as an organization, as a movement. Hard to trust a movement he isn't spearheading, after all, and Stark is one of the division heads, so that makes Riftwatch even more difficult for him to get behind.

Neither has forgotten the slights of the other.

But Riftwatch's people; therein lies the ability to tame Loki Laufeyson, as much as he can be. ]

Then why linger at all, hmm? Why wait for an opportunity? What keeps you so beholden?

[Curiosity is a flame behind red eyes; he can't help but pry, right down to the limits of what his conversational partner affords— and then beyond.]

Unless of course those people you mentioned— the ones worth the chafe, as you say— have already thoroughly won you over.

[A pause, his focus narrowing to a razor edge:]

It is that, isn't it? They've snared your deceptive little heart already.

[ There's a flash of annoyance in Loki's expression at being caught out so neatly, but — and he must remind himself of this — Asterion is a similar creature. For him to also have remained thus far, means that he too has found someone worthy of his attentions.

Whatever that may mean. ]

Perhaps I've become more... transparent, since arriving in Thedas, [ he says with the air of someone who is making more of a threat than a passing comment. ] If I have found some source of interest in a mortal, well.

We are surrounded by them, after all.

Oh. Sweetheart.

[He clucks his tongue, lowers his expression in a show of overwhelming pity. That flicker of irritation scrawled across Loki’s expression is beautiful. He can’t help but seize on it.]

There are entire sagas dedicated to the concept. Why, there’s something utterly divine— pardon the wording— about the notion of a god or goddess falling to earth like one of those shooting stars. Losing themselves in the short-lived eyes of a terribly fragile mortal.

It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

[His fingertips fold across one another, body language subdued. Withdrawn. He makes no threats here beyond the poison of his own perpetual existence.

Fish swim, snakes bite. The nature of things as they are.]

And we’re on the same side: much as I might tease...I won’t bite. Promise.

Your momentary weakness is safe with me.

[ Loki rolls his eyes as he folds his arms across his chest. ]

I'm annoyed, Asterion, not ashamed. Get it right, please. [ Nothing about his feelings for Lexie is allowed to be shameful, in his mind. ] Besides which, I am very familiar with stories of gods and goddesses falling for mortals; it happened all the time back home.

[ He unfolds one arm in favor of fanning out his fingers between them. ] It is not a weakness, no matter how it might be seen by you or any others.

[There is conviction in that voice. Loki believes it. Or...at least he thinks he believes it. There is the possibility that a creature of deception might lie even to itself to nurse along its wounds.]

You might think yourself elysian, my dear, but when it comes to pain, oh— there is so much I know intimately that you couldn’t possibly begin to grasp.

[Astarion's smile widens, made wicked. His voice is low. He leans in like a serpent, hissing with all the malice that hungers in his cold, dead heart. How far can he push his companion? Does it sting? Does it gnaw? Is it nothing at all of consequence?] Sleep soundly at night. Tell yourself whatever you like. Revel in the luxury of it, if it sets your heart alight.

But when they fall— and they will, they’re mortal, after all— it’ll wound you deeper than any dagger ever could.

[And then, as quick as doused embers, Astarion's demeanor recedes into something more cheerful. More sweet. Amicable and jovial as the most sincere-hearted child:] That, of course, is your choice though, isn’t it?

Maybe it’ll be thrilling. Entertaining, even. I certainly can’t speak for you or...what gets your horses running, so to speak.

Myself, I wouldn’t dream of getting so attached.

[ While Asterion speaks, Loki remains very still, eyes narrowed, one arm still folded across his chest. His free hand moves to rest just beneath his chin, like he's calmly contemplating what Asterion is telling him.

He isn't. He's seething, a hair's breadth away from losing whatever ounce of cool he might have. Considering the fact that he's a frost giant one might even inaccurately presume he has plenty of cool.

Of course the blond's sentiments aren't exactly unfamiliar. Hadn't Loki himself said something similarly to Thor when he became besotted with Dr. Jane Foster?

He does not enjoy the ways in which this feels like having those words tossed back in his face. Karmically appropriate, perhaps, but displeasing nonetheless.

Loki's words come out precise. Calm. He will not strangle his new friend. He will do better than that, at least. ]

I'm well aware that mortals die.

I'm well aware that the loss will hurt.

[ Were this Midgard, Loki would find some way of offering Lexie a longer lifespan. Were his own magic not limited in strange and uncomfortable ways he might simply pursue the idea on his own, here in Thedas. ]

You know nothing of what I've suffered; nothing of what pain I've held. You presume a god to know nothing of death, of loss, and you are wrong.

It is worth it, to me. What I gain is greater than what I will lose.

Edited 2021-07-08 10:37 (UTC)

Oh. So you’re experienced with it, then.

My mistake, of course. If you’ve suffered it before then I imagine you’re perfectly equipped to endure it all over and over and— over again.

[He tips his chin cordially, bowing low. Deferential, though he knows exactly how cruel he’s being, no efforts made to mask it.]

My sincerest apologies.

I’m used to being one of a rare few immortal creatures in my world. It does tend to evoke a certain amount of presumption on my part.

TEST DRIVE MEME!

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