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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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"Your optimism for how they'll treat us is enviable," Alina's erring on the side of skepticism, envisioning a cold bucket of water and bowls of gruel. Those are her staples, anyway. The detour away from them was nice while it lasted.
"We should figure out what our story is too." She draws her knees to her chest, tense both from their predicament and the rocking of the boat. She can't pin down why but she'd rather not go around advertising that they're a Saint and a Prince.
no subject
The crew are hospitable enough. Familiar to him, who has dealt with his fair share of less than scrupulous vessels. But still, it isn't until he is certain they are all otherwise occupied at a sufficient distance before he tells her—
"I recall some of this place. The way you'd remember a dream."
A dream with great swaths of it absents, but enough to recall outlines, like touchstones by which the rest comes into clearer focus.
"We'll know quickly enough whether I'm losing my mind once we disembark and head to the stronghold here."
But even if he is recognized (he remembers sitting down opposite people at desks, ascending stairs to push open doors, writing his full name in sweeping script at the bottom of a page) he cannot see any reason that Alina would be. They might still conceal her, until they are certain of security.
no subject
Then again...
"I've got no place to talk about things from dreams showing up in reality," she shrugs softly. Of course there was already a sketch of the stag in her notebook, it's an old staple. She'd open her journal to show him if it wasn't waterlogged between them.
"I'm rooting for your sanity," for what that's worth.
no subject
Apart from their present predicament.
"We're not clapped in irons. That's a good start."
They've been mostly left to their own devices, more or less. Nikolai climbed into the rigging without any sign of objection from their hosts. And between them, the soft green glow of shard burning in his palm, mirrored in hers.
"We're of value to them, I think. Otherwise why bother with all of this?"
no subject
She shouldn't be so annoyed with Nikolai, but Alina has had her fill of living underneath the idea of her perceived utility and satisfying the will of men who decided it.
"You can be as helpful as you want. Maybe I'll go be a street artist," she's half joking. Half.
no subject
She's angry. Miserably cold. Frustrated with this circumstances. Nikolai is all of those things as well, but they are kept forcibly at arm's length. There is little time to indulge them, not when their position feels so tenuous.
"They're in the middle of a war here too," he tells her, voice lowering a fraction. "The circumstances of it are not without some similarity to ours."
Ravka, always at war. So much so that even her king, while displaced entirely, cannot fully escape that condition.
no subject
She stares, brows furrowed and eyes fixed carefully on him. It's hard, even now to get a read on him. Nikolai wears his masks well. Sometimes she wonders if he even prefers them. Does it make it easier for him to step into the roles Ravka has decided for him? Alina cannot help but be jealous of the ease he slips into them. Hers always feel wrong, like trying on someone else's boots that pinch in all the wrong places.
"I've gathered," but this is not their fight, even if her stomach churns for reasons not entirely related to the rocky seas. Mages are not Grisha, but she doesn't think that's a meaningful distinction to anyone here. Nor is it really one to her. The patterns are cyclical as they are sickening, but she's falling into the role of cynic now. More a forgotten orphan, a ghost on a ship, than a saint. "Are you suggesting I put on a show to warm hands as well as hearts to help their sentiment?"
Because she'd rather not risk that right now.