Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faderifting) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
allthisshitisweird2021-10-02 11:29 pm
faderifting) wrote in allthisshitisweird2021-10-02 11:29 pm
Entry tags:
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.
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.
library.
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."
no subject
Still. At the sound of that voice, Strange looks up from the towering piles of books he’s surrounded himself with, and he blanches.
There’s the innate instinct to be just as blasé and nonchalant back, match the attitude tit-for-tat, except—
(except that the last time Stephen Strange’s life intersected with Tony Stark’s, he was at his funeral, the death that Stephen himself had tidily lined up for him, maneuvering the other man toward that sacrifice like a convenient rook on the chessboard—)
So Strange goes still, instead. Looks at him for a little too long, as if he’s seeing a ghost. When he marshals himself back together, he’s steadied out his voice, aims for that nonchalance and very nearly hits it. “This isn’t some kind of fever dream, right? Knocked on the head a bit too hard, fell under a hallucinatory spell, started imagining a medieval Tony Stark?” A beat. “This is you, right?”
no subject
The hand drops.
"Yeah it's me," Tony supplies, easy, flat affect as he wanders on closer, a slight realigning mid-step towards the stack of books at the edge of the table. He'd caught that long look, and he can do the arithmetic on it, and so becomes more interested in diverting his focus towards picking up the top most book with handsy familiarity, scanning the title, flipping it open.
So begins his vague inspection as to what Stephen Strange is reading voraciously and generally, plus he needs a prop. "Missed the welcome wagon, sorry about that. Coulda thrown a party."
no subject
“Alright. I believe you. Can’t think of anyone else who’d say that with a straight face, so this can’t be your otherworldly doppelganger.”
Although they hadn’t known each other long in the grand scale of things, they had near-immediately settled into a particular patter back in New York: so it’s comfortable and familiar to fall into it again, gently but amiably needling at each other. The book Tony’s picked up is one of the many volumes of The History of the Chantry; evidently the sorcerer’s been hacking his way through the local religious history.
“I’m not much for parties, but it is nice to see a familiar face. You look like a proper local and everything. How long have you been here?”
Compared to Tony's easy comfort in his uniform, Stephen still looks and feels like he’s in a Halloween costume (ironic, considering his usual attire). He has no idea how many years underpin the other man's ease, the weight of his time here.
kicks in door (again)
Which doesn't make it useless, just differently useful. "Three years, almost on the dot. It was 2012 when I did," closing the book, now, looking at him. "Then about nine months ago, I got like a dream download of the next decade and change. Skipped to the end."
Better to get that nonsense out of the way without making Strange play twenty-questions. He is watching him for a reaction to that, the three years. Maybe he'll be disappointed. Tony would be. And here is what Tony is not looking at Strange with, at all: hope.
"I still got some undersuit pyjamas laying around. I heard you came in with an eyeball monster?"
hands u starbucks
Strange still sounds blasé enough, but there’s a crack in the shell and Tony can practically see the gears turning as the man absorbs all that information. Three years makes him pause, because jesus christ, that’s a long time to be caught in Medieval Times. 2012 gets a long slow blink, realising it’s all the way back to the initial invasion of the Chitauri. And then the next decade makes him finally fold his hands together, leaning slightly forward, his attention sharpening even further.
Oh.
“So you know what happened with Thanos, and the Battle of Earth.” Beat, and a helplessly pedantic addition, “Which is what all our news outlets called it afterward, which is a little self-centered, considering it affected the entire universe. But.”
no subject