faderifting: (Default)
Fade Rift Mods ([personal profile] faderifting) wrote in [community profile] allthisshitisweird2021-10-02 11:29 pm
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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 9:47, and the war continues. An enemy force partially occupies Orlais and has decimated several Marcher Cities, while the Chantry, aided by the Inquisition, has marshaled 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. 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 newer organization that's an offshoot of the Inquisition, dubbed Riftwatch, that consists mainly of these 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. Their goal is to do what the Chantry can't or won't do, to go more directly after Corypheus and the dark magic he employs, and to keep the Veil from coming apart entirely.

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 killing you. 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 SIEGE OF STARKHAVEN: North of Kirkwall, Corypheus' forces have occupied Hasmal, laid waste to Tantervale, and has now besieging the city of Starkhaven. An army of Marchers led by Sebastian Vael has returned from the Exalted March to press against the Tevinter force, but Riftwatch's aid is still needed. With the assistance of Riftwatch's griffons, you might be doing aerial surveillance of the enemy force or swooping into the city to provide supplies and news to the people holding the walls, then bringing news and valuables back out to deliver to the Marcher force outside. Or you could be engaging directly by harassing enemy camps from the air or dealing with mages the Marchers are less equipped to face.

II. THE WAKING SEA: When Riftwatch isn't traveling by air (or magic mirror), it frequently travels by sea, courtesy of allied pirate ships. So welcome aboard. The sea is choppy and frequently violent—violent storms, violent enemy ships, or both at once—and the crew may not have much patience for incompetence, so either make yourself useful above or try not to get sick below.

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. 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.

incaenstrix: (confused)

[personal profile] incaenstrix 2022-08-31 07:30 pm (UTC)(link)
But Tertia is shaking her head. It feels too huge to even think about. Even just what she's doing here, it was so hard to get to - she's so tired, and everything has been so vast, and her feet hurt. And she's frightened. She's frightened, because it's her first time outside of Tevinter. The first time she'd bought food, her fingers had trembled and she'd fumbled the unfamiliar coins. So how - how - is she expected to, what, learn to paddle, learn to swim, find landmarks...

She finds that her feet have stopped. She finds that her breath is coming quickly. Her hands are wrapped tightly around her staff, and her pulse is fast and fluttering. So many words - so many ideas - and she just wants to sit down and cover her head with her hands and close her eyes -

"Um," she says, and swallows. When she blinks, her eyes are wet. "Yes, I - maybe." Her words are tremulous.
ghostaught: (09)

[personal profile] ghostaught 2022-08-31 10:51 pm (UTC)(link)
"No maybe."

It had taken Fivera a few solo steps to realize that she was walking alone. She is used to walking alone, so it had then taken one step more to realize that she was walking with a living flesh-and-blood person that was not Xio or Fabrizio. Now she is a few steps ahead, half-turned, her eyes very narrow. The corridor is not well-lit, and the only window is several feet ahead of them.

"You will find the way. You will be very happy." Firm. No space for an argument. "There is no question. Now you are making your own way. Forget all that came before. Hold out your hands. There are two of them. Yes? Count your fingers. Ten. Unless you are missing one? That is enough."
incaenstrix: (confused)

[personal profile] incaenstrix 2022-08-31 11:25 pm (UTC)(link)
"What?" But, as bidden, she holds out her hands, setting her staff into the crook of her elbow as she does. Ten fingers, yes. Though -

"What does that have to do with anything?" There's still a little tremble in her hands, but her confusion has distracted her from her panic.
ghostaught: (01)

[personal profile] ghostaught 2022-09-01 01:09 am (UTC)(link)
Her mouth pinches. Not annoyed. It is hard to make herself understood. She turns her ring around again with her thumb. One, two, three.

"It has to do with everything. You have these things, plus two feet. You can look at them, if you have forgotten. Touch your ears. You are one of the People. You could be dead but you aren't."
incaenstrix: (sad)

[personal profile] incaenstrix 2022-09-01 01:28 am (UTC)(link)
She can tell by the way that Fivera says it that it's not just people, the common word, but People. It's not a term she's heard before. But she understands it, understands it without even touching her ears.

"They've always said to us - " she says, softly. "That we're weaker. Rattus. Made to serve." And then she shakes her head, and says, "I don't believe what they say."

(But then - why does it ring so loudly in her ears?)

Then, finally, she asks, "Are you Dalish? One of the wild ones?"
ghostaught: (04)

[personal profile] ghostaught 2022-09-01 03:13 am (UTC)(link)
Fivera breathes out from her nose, short and sharp. She circles her ring back in the other direction. One, two, three. "You had better not believe it. Or you should just lay down and die."

She pulls her cloak tight around herself and folds her arms over her chest, hands tucked into her armpits. Underneath, she can feel the shapes of her belt, sash, jewelry, charms, armor.

"I am many things. Dalish by birth. Many other things since. I don't serve anyone. I use a knife and fork and napkin and wear socks when it is cold and shit in privies when there are privies to shit in. I am not wild."
cozen: (n044)

[personal profile] cozen 2022-09-01 04:10 am (UTC)(link)
He doesn't slow down this time. He doesn't look at her, either. But even looking ahead, the melting of his face into distraught, over-the-top injury is obvious.

"Antiva," he says, "is terrible."

Now he looks, and the not-quite-serious glint in his eye becomes obvious—or visible, at least. Obvious depends on how good she is at catching not-quite-serious glints.

"Val Royeaux is in Orlais. Which is also terrible," he concedes, "but it is the terrible I am used to. You know how that goes, ouais?"
incaenstrix: (droll)

[personal profile] incaenstrix 2022-09-01 04:01 pm (UTC)(link)
Her smile is quick, fleeting, and not fully genuine. Terrible, but the terrible she's used to. She supposes it's likely obvious where she's from to this worldly man, who can speak with authority on Antiva, on Denerim, on all these other places.

So instead of replying, she asks another question - "Is Orlais near Or-lah-is?" A guileless question, not joking, perfectly earnest - and a question that makes it clear that her knowledge of geography has come from atlases and maps, rather than firsthand knowledge.
incaenstrix: (confused)

[personal profile] incaenstrix 2022-09-02 03:20 pm (UTC)(link)
Is she angry? It's hard to tell. It's dark, and Fivera is...strange. Her manners are stiff and odd and her way of talking is chaotic and disconnected. That heavy sigh - could be offense, could be frustration, could be something else entirely. Tertia can't tell.

So. "I'm sorry," she says, because saying I'm sorry feels like the safest and most comfortable thing to say. It soothes her a little, as does bowing her head. "I didn't mean to offend you. I am sorry."
ghostaught: (11)

[personal profile] ghostaught 2022-09-02 09:05 pm (UTC)(link)
Shadows and torchlight cast Fivera's features into sharp relief, all planes and angles. She holds statue-still, but with her thumb, she circles her ring back again. One, two, three.

There are many things that she is thinking. She knows better than to offer them up aloud. Once you say something, you can't recall the words to your mouth, to your head. The words remain in the world, mewling, embarrassing. She thinks about the stone wall behind her. It is immobile. It can't say anything. This should be her.

"What is your name?"
sprent: (my ears can hear)

[personal profile] sprent 2022-09-04 08:36 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh, (gesturing, though it can’t be seen,) it’s unimportant. Somethin’ that gets people talkin’ regardless of whether you know them or not.
incaenstrix: (teasing)

[personal profile] incaenstrix 2022-09-04 08:45 pm (UTC)(link)
I don't know. That doesn't sound stupid. If anything, getting people talking is actually sort of clever - it's not always easy to do.
sprent: (under head)

[personal profile] sprent 2022-09-04 09:21 pm (UTC)(link)
I’m flattered you think so. You’ve done the same by askin’ what you did in the first place, you know.
incaenstrix: (warm)

[personal profile] incaenstrix 2022-09-04 09:24 pm (UTC)(link)
I guess I have. But I didn't necessarily want to get people talking to each other - Just wanted to find a few things out. So I don't think I should earn any praise for it.
sprent: (there is nowhere)

[personal profile] sprent 2022-09-04 09:42 pm (UTC)(link)
(Warmly,) It’s too late for that. Who am I speakin’ with?
incaenstrix: (droll)

[personal profile] incaenstrix 2022-09-05 01:38 am (UTC)(link)
Well.

I'm Tertia. You're...?
sprent: (my skin still feels)

[personal profile] sprent 2022-09-06 03:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Gela.

I've been here a couple months now. Overwhelmin' at first, isn't it.
incaenstrix: (warm)

[personal profile] incaenstrix 2022-09-06 04:06 pm (UTC)(link)
[ A little wryly - ]

A bit. Everyone's very - [ Hm. ] Friendly?
sprent: (♪ go row the boat)

[personal profile] sprent 2022-09-06 04:56 pm (UTC)(link)
Yes, most are! But some can be surly. I don't think I've met everybody yet.
portalling: ɪɴfɪɴɪᴛʏ ᴡᴀʀ. (pic#15643393)

doctor stephen strange | mcu | rifter

[personal profile] portalling 2022-09-07 09:25 pm (UTC)(link)
arrival (a variety of prompts).
It begins as an anxiety dream.

He’s experienced no end of nightmares about no end of trauma, but this time the stakes are banal: Doctor Strange is dressed sharply in a formal suit with a scarlet pocket square, giving a speech at a medical conference, standing at a podium staring at the hundreds of faces staring back at him, and finding that his iron-trap memory has suddenly failed and he’s forgotten his entire damned speech. It’s almost a relief when the enormous tentacled eyeball monster barges into the conference center, sending people screaming and scattering, and just as the Cloak of Levitation reappears around his shoulders, Strange finds himself —

somewhere else

What ensues is a disorienting battle on the outskirts of Orlais, with a rifter appearing in anachronistic formalwear and a red cloak gone inanimate, with a conference lanyard hanging around his neck and a little adhesive nametag (‘DR. STEPHEN STRANGE, MD, PHD, NEW YORK METRO-GENERAL HOSPITAL’ now rendered in Thedan script). And in the fight, Strange realises that almost none of his magic behaves as he expects it to. It’s not the first time he’s found himself unexpectedly dumped in another universe, but this is the first time his own capabilities have failed him. Even after the battle ends, wraiths banished and his dream-monster killed, he keeps trying to light a spark of fire between his hands and finding it more difficult than it ought to be. On the carriage ride back to Kirkwall, with both him and the Riftwatch agents covered in horrid black ichor and gore from the eyeball monster’s innards, at least Strange has the decency to look a little sheepish while the other agents scrutinise him.

“Done this sort of reception a lot?” he asks, lightly, while he keeps unconsciously kneading at his left palm. His hand aches. This is normal. What isn’t normal is the green shard embedded in it like some kind of ethereal splinter, and it makes the usual pain in his scarred hands even worse.

Afterwards, during his quarantine, he can be found in the library at all hours, surrounded by stacks of books, devouring them even late into the night – he’s an avaricious student, and wants to learn everything about his new circumstances. He breaks the polite silence when a glob of hot wax from a candle lands on his wrist, and he curses with a sudden sharp “Oh, what the fuck.”

Strange goes for long walks around the Gallows. You might literally run into him where he’s crouched in a hallway in the lower levels, examining the cleansing runes embedded in the floor which prevent the growth of red lyrium, puzzling over the clearly-magical symbols, feeling that faint hum of magic in the back of his teeth. “Do you happen to know what these do?”

the waking sea.
He grew up in landlocked Nebraska; his family wasn’t rich; he never actually learned how to sail.

So Strange is down belowdecks in the ship and feeling useless, losing his balance and tipping into the walls whenever he tries to walk, miserable and sea-sick and queasy.

“I’ve heard there are griffons. I’m going to need to learn how to ride a griffon,” he declares, gripping the edge of the galley table as the deck pitches. “Did you know, I had a Cloak of Levitation and used to fly everywhere? I think I miss it even more than my own bed.”

crystal.
[ Thank god for the crystals, because Doctor Strange’s handwriting is atrocious and unreadable. But his voice comes through the recording, crisp and clear and precise: ]

I only just got back to my own universe, and now I’ve been dropped into this one. I need a stiff drink.

So. I’m taking recommendations on the best places to grab a drink in Kirkwall once my quarantine is up — and, ideally, to not be pickpocketed while I’m at it.

wildcard.
feel free to toss me anything and i’ll roll with it, or hmu @ [plurk.com profile] quadrille to confab! i’ll match prose or brackets. also help i’m fresh meat, pls be gentle as i try to remember everything i’ve forgotten about dragon age
elegiaque: (006)

crystal.

[personal profile] elegiaque 2022-09-07 10:03 pm (UTC)(link)
( the accent sounds french, although it isn't; orlesian by way of it's aristocracy, a high quarter princess who's wandered very far from that storybook indeed— )

If you don't want to be pickpocketed, the best recommendations are "not alone" and "not looking like an obvious rifter".
propulsion: (#13471661)

library.

[personal profile] propulsion 2022-09-07 10:12 pm (UTC)(link)
A report crosses his desk. Newly closed rift, new rifter. He has been here for years, has been doing this gig in particular for long enough that Tony should not anymore feel some stab of apprehension as his eyes track to whatever name has been recorded by whatever agent did the intake. But he does anyway, never really knowing what he's hoping for, or—hoping not for.

In his spacious office, he barks out a laugh.

And it's later that he goes seeking him out. Nerds are predictable, so Tony tries the library, content to just kind of roam around the expansive fortress until he gets lucky, but turns out he does not have to, turning his head in the direction of a curse breaking studious silence.

"Kiss your mother with that mouth?" is as automatic as breathing, Tony coming to a stop just in sight. He is—to Strange—a younger version of himself, at least by a significant handful of years. Dressed in renfaire chic, rolled sleeves and jerkin and trousers all in earthy tones, scuffed boots of a more Robin Hood sensibility than, say, dress shoes or custom trainers.

The corner of his mouth pulls rueful. "Sup."
Edited 2022-09-07 22:12 (UTC)
notathreat: (67)

Carriage Ride

[personal profile] notathreat 2022-09-07 10:15 pm (UTC)(link)
"I mean it was business as usual up until the eyeball monster."

Ellie was one of the Riftwatch agents in the area of the V.A.N.E. that sounded the alarm, so she's who Stephen got.

Ellie's "about" twenty-three years old and looks all of sixteen, with freckled skin and more scars than most seasoned mercenaries, and two missing fingers on her left hand. She carries a bow and arrow and probably a half-dozen blades. She might've been easy to discount if she hadn't been there almost immediately, fighting alongside Stephen.

Each of her arrows carry a terrifying accuracy, and at one point she threw a molotov at the fucking thing. May have also called it a cunt.

... and she'd also gone invisible. More than once.

She has a good firm handshake. And a shard that matches his.

She's cleaning off one of her knives as Stephen talks, pulling a face at the sticky residue and trying to polish it on her cloak. It's not going so hot.

"Was that something from your nightmare, or do you fight those things on the regular where you're from?"
portalling: ᴛʜᴏʀ: ʀᴀɢɴᴀʀᴏᴋ. (pic#15613382)

[personal profile] portalling 2022-09-07 10:31 pm (UTC)(link)
( A huff of a laugh. ) How do I not look like what I so obviously am? Start wearing big gloves for the glowing green hand?
elegiaque: (073)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2022-09-07 10:33 pm (UTC)(link)
Not every anchor-shard is attached to a rifter.

( it could be drier, but if he's still in quarantine then it might well still be new information; she provides it as such. )

Mine is almost certainly bigger than yours.