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 9:47, 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.

Comments

alina starkov | shadow & bone | rifter

[solmate]

i. gallows library

It didn't take long for Alina to discover the library, and it took even less time for Alina to decide it was going to be the place she spent most of her time. For someone who is supposed to be like the sun, she is hardly outgoing. Her natural inclination is to try and be unnoticed. It's an odd feeling for her, to be unrecognized. The only attention she gets is for doing something strange rather than who she is.

So Alina finds herself a frequent occupant of the library. As the night grows darker, her candle drips shorter, and Alina's eyelids grow heavier. A few more pages of this book and then she'll retire.

Anyway, she falls asleep, an awkward lump snoozing onto open pages, occasionally stirring but never fully getting up. Hopefully she's not drooling too much.

Leave her there and maybe she'll wake up nicely on her own. Or maybe try and wake her up and she'll jolt up with a start, wide-eyed like an animal that's stepped into a trap. Her hands will jerk together, almost like she's doing some strange choreography but she physically stops herself, folding her hands awkwardly over the books that made her pillow.

She clears her throat, "I didn't mean to fall asleep." As if anyone really means to fall asleep in strange public places.

ii. the sea

Being invisible proves easier than she thought. Not literally, of course, the finer points of manipulating light to the point where she could actually disappear eludes her, but blending into the crowd is something she has practice with.

The journey is... not comfortable. She distracts herself from the churning seas on deck, alternating between writing and drawing in a journal she'd swiped before they departed. Her nose is deep in her pages,

And then a poorly-timed swell sweeps up onto the deck, drenching her and her notebook. "Saints!" she says sputters exasperated, gasping first in shock from the cold sea and then the state of her poor journal. She uses the broad side of her hand to scrape off sheets of water in a panic, but her efforts are largely in vain.

Her face is a mix of sour disappointment. Even if she wanted to break out her powers to try and salvage the pages, she'd probably end up with burnt edges and an even bigger scene.

Teeth-chattering, she tucks the notebook close to her chest, drawing her cloak around her to conceal her hands. Subtly, she is trying to summon sparks between her palms to warm them. Despite the prevalence of mages, she's suspicious about letting others see what she's capable of too freely.

"You don't know how much it will be, do you?"

iii. wildcard

Dungeons? Communal baths? Something else? Hit me up via pm and we can figure something out.

the sea.

[rezni]

"Not long, if the wind holds," comes the answer, buoyant in spite of the weather.

Drenched to the skin, salt-heavy material of his coat puddling around his boots as he folds himself down beside her, Nikolai shakes his head.

"Ruined?" he questions, sympathetic.

It has been a miserable journey. The sea is cold, choppy beneath them. It can't be helped, but these aren't ideal conditions. It would be lucky, if they arrived at their destination within the hour. Nikolai may be content, occupied as he is with the business on deck, but not everyone has something to keep them busy other than trying to keep from sliding back and forth across the deck or toppling from a hammock below deck.

[solmate]

How is he so cheery? Maybe he's just accustomed to the sea and her moods. Not that she is complaining about a familiar face. There are worse options. Options that might have made more sense if it were the strings of fate that bind journeys, but Nikolai is among one of the people she would have chosen.

"Yes," she tells him, unenthused. She pulls it back out of her cloak, pinching the corner between two fingers. It drips comically and pathetically before she drops it between them with a wet plop.

"Give me your hands," a command without fanfare. She holds out her palm for him, her hands sporting a warm pink despite the rest of her frigid. She'd rather neither of them lose any fingers on this trip.

[rezni]

Beyond salvage, Nikolai doesn't say. Alina is miserable enough without confirmation of what she must already know.

But at her request, he does present his hands. One unblemished, the other stabbed through with gleaming green shard. It colors the space between them in soft luminescent light. Nikolai doesn't flinch from it, though its presence is still unsettling. It marks him as alien to this place, and while he is, the constant reminder is unwelcome.

"I'm going to get us gloves, once we're settled and past the two weeks of quarantine they expect of us. I've heard it's recommended we keep these new additions out of sight."

And for the moment, they could stand to follow that wisdom. At least until they have their bearings, understand what it is they've landed in and how they can best operate within it.

[solmate]

She hums in agreement. Gloves, those are a good idea. She tries not to focus so much on either of their anchors, although she supposes she benefits from the unique experience of embedding strange magical artifacts into her body or standing out as the one who doesn't belong.

After a quick glance around to make sure no one is paying attention to the two of them, she clasps his hands — one, then the other — between the two of hers. Just a little bit of sun to dry them off and keep them warm and nimble. The icy chill of the water has soaked through the rest of her, dulling her nerves.

"And then what?" Nikolai can be the planner, Alina will follow if it's sound or perhaps change her mind before her boot hits the ground. Hard to predict. "I humbly suggest someplace warm that we can get to by land."

[rezni]

What a thing it is, to see the Sun Summoner utilize her gifts for something so small.

Were they somewhere else, Nikolai imagines what they might make of it, how it might be a more public thing. See their Sankta Alina, so benevolent, bestowing her favor on the crown prince—

But this is not Ravka, and these people do not love Alina, do not exult her.

"And then we must consider our circumstances," is obviously what Alina wants, and what Nikolai intends to do. Warmth seems achievable, but they are heading to an island, to be kept for two weeks. (He recalls this, however hazily, however unsettlingly.) "If we can take rooms in the city, we will. Then we can test the length of our leash, and decide if we care to slip it."

They are strangers here, with little resources between them.

"I imagine we can achieve a hot bath, and some supper, before we have to start doing that."

library

[armd]

"I didn't mean to wake you up." But the unattended, dripping candle had sunk too close to the open book for Abby's liking, and she had reached out across the sleeping woman to try and retrieve it. They're lucky she didn't whack Abby's arm upon waking, and send the candle and hot wax everywhere; she sets it back down regardless, nudging it toward the corner of desk she's at.

A jerk of her chin toward the pillow, "D'you have anything that needs shelving?"

It seems she works here, in some capacity.

[solmate]

Alina's mind is moving slower than her overly reactionary body, so she stares at Abby for a solid few seconds trying to digest what she's said into something her half-asleep brain can actually understand and react to.

It seems like it comes all at once, Alina straightening her posture, her expression flitting over to oh!'s and um...'s as she shuffles her pile.

"These," she pulls out thick tomes from her pile, history books that were too dense for Alina to want to try and sort through on her own and not comfortable enough to justify keeping as a head rest.

"I'm still working on these," she gestures to an odd assortment of books. Natural history, maps and atlases. She pauses like she wants to ask a question but is debating it. Finally, "Do you have anything on religion?"

[armd]

Abby doesn't bat an eye; she takes the book, glancing at the spines before she stacks them up under one arm. The Gallows have had a nightmare problem plaguing the residents for months now. People come out of dreams in all sorts of creative ways.

"Yeah." She thinks she might understand what kind of questions Alina has for the books she's requesting. Abby was new once, too. "Give me a moment."

She'll go pull a few things, swap them for what she's already carrying. She comes back maybe five minutes later to give Alina an entirely new stack, dropping them onto the edge of her desk (opposite from where she put the candle).

One in particular she wiggles out from the collective to hand to her directly: a slender tomb, with a leather cover. "You'll wanna start here. Brother Genitivi's papers on the history of the Chantry."

[solmate]

Oh thank goodness that it's short. Alina turns the book over in her hands, running her finger up the spine delicately. Yes, this seems like it'll be a good starting point.

"Is that what most people observe here?"

library

[heirring]

"But now that you are, you'll have no issue with me borrowing this," says the young woman who is finishing slipping the open chartbook out from under Alina's elbow. Is it possible this is what woke her up in the first place? Possibly.

"I'll have it right back to you. And it seems as if you've plenty of other texts to work your way through. You'll hardly miss this one for the day or two I require it. I'll inform Serah Mobius once I've returned it, and I'm sure he will be happy to set it aside for you."

The chartbook is snapped shut and stuffed unceremoniously under the young woman's spare arm. —No. Not spare arm. A prosthetic arm, the gleaming filigreed metal of the hand bent round to support the bottom edge of the volume and the elbow pressed tight to pin it against her side.

[solmate]

It's unfair to pepper Alina with so many words when her brain has just been roused from sleep, her mind lagging to keep up with Wysteria's pilfering and the justification that lulls Alina into an agreeing nod. Yes, of course she doesn't need that one, yes of course she can have it in a few days unless it's...

"Which one is that?" Alina leans forward, trying to read the lettering on the spine, squinting to get a look past the glinting metal in the low light of the library. "If it's the one on nautical maps, I need that one. And the one on plant identification. Oh, and the essays on the Chantry too."

It doesn't look like the anthology of poems, but she can have that one. That one was more for fun anyway.

[heirring]

"There are all manner of nautical map books here, I'm certain. And if there are none, you might only confer with Vice Admiral Rivain or perhaps the Forces Commander. I'm certain they would be delighted to share with you. Meanwhile, this book has a very specific chart of a nearby inlet in it which I need to copy down for the purposes of— for purposes," she settles on, deciding all at once to be marginally more covert. This is, after all, a most secret project. Or at the very least is a matter which only a few people strictly Need To Know.

Anyway, this explanation is clearly sufficient. Hence why Wysteria is already moving to take a step backward with the telegraphed intent of scurrying hastily away. It is, maybe, just slightly possible that she occasionally is aware of the effect that talking very quickly all at once at a person has, and that she would like to make her escape before the concussed quality wears fully off her victim.

[solmate]

"Wait. No hey—,"

Alina stands up. Or at least she attempts to. The action is made more difficult by the fact that her leg is still partially asleep, pins and needles tingling across her thigh from her nap on the hard sitting surface of the library chair (really these places should be designed with unfortunate patrons who fall asleep here).

She stumbles towards Wysteria, making a grab for the book back, a fully mature move definitely not spurred on just because Alina had it first and is annoyed at the prospect of her (completely borrowed things) being temporarily used by someone else.

sea;

[haliaetus]

"No," Admitted, a second too late and wry for it - She's looking at the book. The Trade comes stilted. "I think perhaps longer, if we count."

[solmate]

"Great," Alina mumbles, doing her best to wipe the lingering sea water from her face (unsuccessfully, her clothes and air far too saturated to make room for any more).

"I don't suspect you know much about where we're going either..?"

library.

[portalling]

“Speaking as someone who has done the exact same thing and fallen asleep in libraries before,” the man says as he gathers up some of the loose books near her for reorganisation, his voice a little dry but mostly gentle, “I don’t recommend it. Horrible crick in the neck. Your back won’t thank you in the morning. Then again,”

an assessing look, quickly putting together the details he can tell at a glance: young, female, also a rifter, judging by that glimpse of an anchor shard as her hands flutter like a small bird,

“Maybe you’re young enough that you can get away with it. So, what the hell do I know.” He nods toward her stack of reading. “Looking for anything in particular?”

[solmate]

Like it was summoned, an ache makes its presence known down her spine. She plants her palms on her back, rolling her shoulders back enough to produce a satisfying crack. She may be young, but her body was no match for the pile of tomes that made up her bed.

"No, I grabbed a little bit of everything," an understatement, possibly. She had grabbed atlases on geography, a plant identification guide, religious texts, a brutally thick tome that was insultingly labeled with A brief history of..., and a novel that had turned out to be far too salacious to read in public. Alina tries to casually lay her arm on top of that one.

"I'm new," she says, stilted and awkward like she hasn't quite figured out the right way to phrase it. New seems to miss all sorts of the oddities of her circumstances, but she spots the green anchor on her new friend's hand and thinks he seems smart enough to fill in the blanks.

[portalling]

He can fill in the blanks, and spot those common threads: he’d been doing much the same for his first few weeks here, whiling out his quarantine mostly in the library. Buried in the stacks, devouring as much as he could about this new world, trying to learn its rules and mores and customs and history. So the half-smile which Strange offers the girl is that of shared commiseration, someone who’s suffered the same plight.

“Beyond the Veil: Spirits and Demons,” he says, abrupt and contextless at first. “By Enchanter Mirdromel. I found it was one of the more fascinating and useful pieces of context to read up on, since we are, technically, spirits.”

It’s evident by that near-withering disdain in his voice what he thinks of that particular theory and distinction, though. It’s a bit too existentially horrifying for him.

“I’m not a librarian here, but I’ve haunted the stacks long enough to know where most things are. I ploughed through a little bit of everything my first few weeks here, too.”

communal baths wildcard babyyy

[kirigan]

Strictly speaking, there are no Inferni in Thedas.

No quick and easy way to summon someone to warm his bath, and only a few scant hours in the evenings where the communal ones are kept hot for Riftwatch personnel, or sometimes harried servants carry pails up and down those terrible stairs for a private room. Kirigan — he’d called himself Kirigan here once more, falling back on a lie and a false name as easily as breathing — didn’t have the pull to ask the servants for that favour, and when he’d tried, they just levelled a blank stare at him. You can use the communal baths, ser, with the rest of them.

So. Public it is. Delicately levering himself into the hot baths, sinking into the water with a sigh, letting the heat settle into still-healing muscles and ugly scarring; the deep rents are everywhere across his bare skin, as if some great beast had torn into him like tissue-paper. (They had.) He sinks low enough into the water that at least he’s half-decent, pale arms slung over the edge of the pool, his head tipped back, unruly black hair slicked wet to his head.

Aleksander exhales, but he doesn’t close his eyes. He doesn’t like letting his guard down.

Which means he sees her as she enters, a towel wrapped around her body. He expects a lightning jolt at the sight of her, perhaps, some hook in his sternum, the tether yanking the connection between them taut —

but it’s gone, there’s nothing, whatever warped his magic in the rift also having changed the nature of their connection. His brow creases. The first expression on his face, when Alina Starkov sees the Darkling again, is not seething resentment, but this: sheer confusion.

this trope is my catnip

[solmate]

Perhaps she's going mad. Had whatever plague that ripped through the rifters leading to the institution of a quarantine caused hallucinations? Because whatever this is, it doesn't pull her. There's no tether snagging at her chest, no charge in the atoms between them, no tension weighing thick in the air.

There's... nothing, and that alone is enough cause for her to investigate, to see who this marked up stranger wearing a face that she recognizes is certainly not her Aleksander. And certainly fate would not drop him here, like a confusing dream. Maybe it's fitting that she's naked, her mind pulling random pieces and assembling them together into a facade of reality, and next something odd will happen, yes, like a dragon will emerge from the baths and in the morning all of the odd pieces will dissolve away like most dreams do.

Her mind focuses only on the sound of her wary footfalls around the corner of the bath, closing the distance. The ground is too solid for this to be anything but real, and still she holds on to hope that her test will fail.

There is no greeting quite like being nudged in the shoulder by a foot belonging to your beloved enemy.

"Dammit," she mumbles, finding him as solid as her.

[kirigan]

The trepidation grows in his expression as Alina draws nearer, his shoulders stiffening and his posture straightening, now looking more rigid rather than a languorous cat at rest. It has never made any sense that they could touch each other through the tether, but he knows and remembers well that they can: his hands on her neck, her nails digging into his skin.

But this very much does not feel like those times — he’s not a dark canker sitting in the corner of her subconscious, and she’s not a hot livid coal in his — and the sheer appalling lunacy of the moment strikes him when Alina, with a bare foot, just gently kicks him in the shoulder like she’s prodding something unpleasant.

“What,” Aleksander says, his voice crisp. He looks up at her, scrawny legs and arms all, and— he can’t really gather his hauteur back into place. He’s caught on the back foot, out of his element, stripped of his influence and army, so all he can muster is that knife-sharp and bitter: “Would you like me to pinch you? Because I could do that, little saint. This is no dream.”

[solmate]

"You're not supposed to be here," she hisses, petulant while twisting away from him, almost afraid that he might actually pinch her. The conversation feels more like she's warning off a bully before all the children get called back to the house for dinner.

"And this is my spot," because why not list all of her grievances. It has a perfect view of a high window, where she can watch the clouds or the moon depending on the time of day without craning her neck too much. She balances on one foot, her other dipping into the water to kick again, this time to splash him in the face.

[prelest]

"I wish I did," Nina replies ruefully, crouching before the Sun Summoner. She takes Alina's hand and traces her fingers up and down her arm, kindling the warmth in her body, raising her body temperature enough to stop those chattering teeth. Sankta Alina might be a saint, but she's still Grisha, still of the Little Palace and the Second Army - these sorts of little intimacies and kindnesses, Grisha do for each other all the time. When you're dealing with the otkazat'sya, you might ask permission to use your oh-so-horrible with powers to keep them from freezing to death, but for a fellow Grisha, you just share your skills without hesitation.

But: they are amongst otkazat'sya, aren't they? And nasty ones at that, fearful and paranoid. Nina had caught the way that Alina had hidden her hands, and it wasn't hard to guess what she was trying to do.

"Is there anyone you're afraid of? On this ship?" Nina asks Alina softly. It might be a little risky, perhaps, to, say, murder one of the sailors on this ship - but if anyone has so much as looked at the saint the wrong way, well, it's not like it'd be hard to commit a murder.

[solmate]

She flexes her hands, warmth and relief returning on account of Nina's efforts. She rather likes keeping all her fingers and toes intact, and a Heartrender will always do a better job of that than her attempts to hold light. Too little and it does nothing. Too much and you risk singing off your fingers rather than have them break off due to frostbite.

"Hm?" Alina looks up, brows furrowed not entirely following. She blames the lag on being doused with the icy swell. Oh!

"Oh no," she smiles wryly, happy to have a friend if nothing else. "Just being cautious."

A pause, "Why? Is there anyone that's been bothering you?"

Not that Alina thinks Nina can't handle herself but it's always good to be alert.