Test Drive Meme!

[faderifting]

New Year...

...Same Old Hinterlands

Maybe the Inquisition sent you, maybe you came seeking the Inquisition. Maybe you fell out of a rift into this world last week and are still just trying to find your feet. However it happened, the first days of the new year find you in the Hinterlands. Tucked between Ferelden's massive Lake Calenhad and the icy Frostback Mountains, the Hinterlands are a hilly region covered in patchy forests and small farms trying to eke out a living between the boulders. Though somewhat remote, the area is rich with game and minerals and home to Redcliffe, a bustling town on a busy trade route.

Lately the Hinterlands have also been full of mages and templars and rifts, all threatening to turn once-peaceful countryside into a dangerous warzone. The Inquisition has set up several camps and sent personnel to try to restore order to the region, unwilling to let it slip into chaos. There's a lot to be done, some of it straightforward killing bad things, some of it weird and nebulous morale-building.

STILL WITH ADDED SNOW.

1. SHOULD OLD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT

You have turned the wrong corner in the snow, forded the wrong stream in the snow, crested the wrong hill in the snow, entered the wrong cave in the snow. Maybe you are far from camp, in the snow. Maybe you are in camp, which is also snowy. Whatever has happened, wherever you are: you are being chased through the snow by bears. Did you throw a snowball at the bears? Are they huge and snow-dusted? Babies burrowing through the snow drifts and coming for your ankles? Fade-touched in addition to snow-touched? Controlled by cold mages who are hiding in the snow? Popping up out of the snow like a game of whack-a-mole? What are they chasing you away from in all of this snow? What are they chasing you into, other than more snow? What warm things do you plan to make out of their hide if you kill them in the snow? What do you think they'll craft out of your hide if they kill you in the snow? P.S. It's still snowy.

2. WE TWO HAVE RUN ABOUT THE SLOPES

Farmers have been forced to abandon their homes after a series of vicious attacks by wolves. Packs of them are roaming the foothills and stalking paddocks and even roads seemingly without the usual wariness of humans. Inquisition agents and local volunteers guard travelers through the affected region, hunt the wolves through snowy woods, and track them back to their cavernous lair in the edge of a canyon. Only eliminating the demons that lurk there will free the wolves from their influence and allow the area to return to normal.

3. AND PICKED THE DAISIES FINE

Winter snows freeze and bury the ground, but the need for healing herbs is as great as ever. Stockpiles are thin after the chaos of the last year, and Corporal Vale is desperate enough to send people out to search caves and hollows and cliffsides and beneath overhangs for any plants still clinging to life. The weather is brutal, the search tedious, the footing often treacherous, but that last patch of Crystal Grace could be a key find. Getting it requires clambering up a slippery hillside and stretching up to a ledge and hoping whatever creature lives in that foxhole beside the plant isn't at home, but it's worth it, right?

4. WE TWO HAVE PADDLED IN THE STREAM

With many roads through the hills and ravines blocked by deep snow, some crazy, desperate few have begun traveling by river. The ice is thick and jagged along the shores but in the center the water rushes, just deep enough for a shallow draft boat lightly laden. Supplies are carried down from the passes toward Redcliffe this way, a white-knuckle process that you, for some reason, have become involved in. Maybe you were hired to help fend off the bandits that haunt the calm shallows and try to demand tolls for passage, maybe you're paying your way downstream by helping port both boat and cargo around the steep falls, the mist so thick and cold it coats whatever it touches in a thin sheen of ice. Maybe riding a glorified canoe through rocky rapids and narrow gorges just sounded like a good time. Don't rock the boat!

5. WE'LL TAKE A CUP OF KINDNESS YET

It is still snowing, and the tavern in Redcliffe is still the closest and warmest place to duck into to wait it out, and not only is it packed to the gills but it seems that the First Day celebrations have continued within long past the dawn of the second day. The Gull & Lantern is so packed with thawing visitors that it's hard to walk from one side to the other, the owner has given up on telling these Fereldans they can't bring their dogs inside, every few minutes the group in the corner breaks into a traditional First Day song that will be stuck in your head for weeks, and that lady in the corner is almost definitely someone you've tried to kill before, or vice versa. But there's a fire going, and the bartender seems to think that giving everyone half-price drinks might prevent a brawl instead of causing one, and there aren't any demons indoors, so it could be a lot worse.

6. WILDCARD

Hunt game in the snow, kill demons in the snow, dig under the snow for herbs, track bandits through the snow, deal with someone charging extortionist coat prices now that it's snowing, fall off a deceptively tall rock into the snow, get lost circling the same hill ten times trying to find a way up to the weird glowing skull on a stick you can see is up there in the snow, climb trees or abandoned towers covered in snow, rummage around in empty homes to get out of the snow, run from a dragon in the snow, cry over how cute that fennec fox you just shot in the snow was, set up camp and chat around the fire because it's snowy and cold, knock yourself out (figuratively, or even literally if that's more your speed)-- the Hinterlands are your Frostback Mountain oyster, topped with snow.

Comments

leliana | idk some dumb game series

[fightingale]

( typically, leliana should never be away from skyhold. it blinded and bound her, left her unable to oversee the network of her ravens and spies. there were times, however, when exceptions had to be made. there were some occasions when so many of her eyes were in one place, that it benefitted her best to be closer to her agents, and have a better chance at netting more.

and if it so happened that such a thing coincided with a merchant who is known to sometimes carry nugs from orzammar coming through redcliffe, well. well, that can hardly be helped, can it?


1. the gull and lantern, or ballads and brawling, a life with leliana

( she remembers many years ago, when redcliffe was under siege. she remembers morrigan asking her when she might pen a song of it, might tell the tale of redcliffe with all the knowledge of one who had witnessed it, rather than simply retelling a tale that was warped by history and embellishment. it seemed so naive, in retrospect, how appalled she had been by the thought of glorifying the events of redcliffe, when now she was content to let tales of the conclave and what happened with the inquisitor and the divine escalate across thedas to add strength to their inquisition. leliana had been, in so many ways, still a child, and so much of the innocence that had somehow remained then has been whittled away over the years. even so, it is gratifying to see the town so rebuilt, so vibrant compared to what it had been in those days of animated corpses, even in such chaotic circumstances as these.

her reasons for being in redcliffe, rather than skyhold, are her own, as is the momentary indulgence of playing her fingers over the strings of her lute and granting tales voice and tune.

perhaps your character wants to make a request of a tune, or they recognise her from skyhold, or perhaps they are the person who leliana just saw cut a slit in another patron's purse to steal the coin from it, and who presently finds a knife to their throat, as she murmurs a quiet uh uh, a smile in her tone that is almost as alarming as the sudden appearance of her blade.

(or someone else in that scenario. or something else. idk idk.) )



2. a disaster in the snow, aka. what is this starter, even.

( behold, the spymaster of skyhold, the left hand of the divine, she who deals in shadows and secrets... atop a cart. a cart covered in straw, wooden cages, and nugs.

behold as she stands heroically atop said cart, in the snow, and shoots arrows at a dragon, because sir you will not have her nugs, that she literally rescued from a miscreant of a trader like half an hour ago, thank you.

do you need a ride? do you want to help her not get eaten by a dragon? ) Maker, guide me.

( another arrow, and it seems as if she had never moved her hand to grab it, with how fast she moves. ) Andraste, shield us.



3. or just wildcard me tbh

2

[ombranera]

When you said 'I have a little job for us Zevran, it'll be fun Zevran-'

[ He rolls out of the way of a swipe, cutting at the back joints of the dragon's foot. It has been some time since he's fought a dragon- but it is with Leliana at his back and annoyance in his heart- so it is close enough to old times that he remembers how not to be eaten. ]

I did not think you meant this!

1

[dwarfing]

No matter how much they were whittled down by Wilhelm, it was still a need to be fairly gentle when they went through doors. (Not that Shale often cared, do be honest.) There's still a scrape against the doorframe as the golem enters the tavern, creating a rather loud chaos among the other patrons.

Blatantly ignoring this, Shale wanders over to Leliana. "The sister is making noise again, I see."

hercules hansen | pacific rim au

[twelvelabours]

( ooc: i have a really rough draft of an app/au history here, but the basic deal is that he was a ferelden soldier, his wife was killed by darkspawn a bit before the fifth blight was a thing, became a grey warden and was a human disaster in general. if you play a warden or want to do magical assumed cr i am totally down for that :]b also he has a mabari, it drools a lot. )

1. mages and templars and BEARS. THERE ARE ALSO BEARS.

( never let it be said that grey wardens have an easy time of it. no, when you go from looking for an abandoned cache of supplies to suddenly firefight, it can be a bit rough. the self-righteous can be hazardous company, and these varieties come in bloody great armour with giant swords, and with the earth splintering underneath the snow. honestly, he’s not sure if he should be trying to stop them or just let them have at it and kill each other, but the fact o the matter is that so long as they keep going, other people are in danger. when others are in trouble, that’s just the kinda time he likes to start being reckless.

the textured front of his shield connects with the exposed back of a templar’s head (courtesy of pulling his helmet off earlier in their brawl), coming away bloody, and he’s twisting to counter another of the louts when lightning is licking over his skin, crackling over his armour and has his jaw clench with the spasm of muscles and his own pain. )

Andraste, ( and it sounds much more like profanity than an exclamation of faith, ) Leave off!

( but there’s the gratifying sound of the mage yelping, the spell stopping, and the growl of a mabari apprehending someone who attacked his master. so, that’s a few down, but there’s still more to go, and he still needs to find this damn cache before the pair of them freeze.

it’s not that he’s one to shy away from hard work, but the sound of max barking and a bear’s growl gives him pause. ) Right.



2. gull and lantern.

Ale.

( right now he doesn’t care, he just wants an ale. the barkeep looks at herc, to the slobbering mabari whose head is just above the counter as he looks for something for himself, and back to herc.

without looking, herc addresses the concern before it can be granted voice, entirely frank: ) He stays.

( but sorry, other bar patron, there may be a mabari trotting over to ask for some of your food. your food looks delicious. hi have i mentioned he’d like your food? hi. )



3. hercules “horribly timed injuries that lead to the death of those he loves” hansen, or just having to find herbs in the snow to make a poultice.
( this is not his most dignified hour, but in all honestly, hercules isn’t all that fussed with dignity. rank and honour, none of those things matter when it comes to flouncing about and putting on a show. it’s about yourself, how you want to conduct yourself, and there’s part of that which is centred in how others react to you, how they follow and what they learn, but at its core is the need to be someone good, someone to be relied on. maybe that’s where he went wrong with chuck; he was too internal, didn’t voice what all those things were meant to be.

it was a bit late to be thinking about that now, though, wasn’t it?

he’s left a trail of blood in the snow, dragging furrows in it as he struggles with the weight of his armour and the cold heaviness in his limbs, but he has part of what he needs for a poultice and just— just needs to get the last couple of things. he could swear that last time he was in the hinterlands he couldn’t move without smacking into elf root, but that was without it being under so much snow. on the plus side, max might come back with someone any minute now, but on the other, he might need to keep digging. )



4. rock me like a hurricane. in the snow. with a wildcard.

obviously.

[ungovernable]

( max does not return with elfroot.

--max returns with lady thevenet, the tight braids that her hair has been pinned up in for the past few days beginning to come loose at the edges, her close-fitting grey traveling clothes suffering encroaching damp from the snow and marks from their exertions. her expression suggests she is prepared to blame hercules for all of these small indignities, after she has got done scolding him for this greater one of getting himself injured; she comes armed with poultices and another cloak, which is promising.

he can't be so far from camp after all, then. )

Hercules Hansen--

Vasran Thelassin | Native OC

[unharrowed]

((OOC Basics: Relatively young mage [20], Circle-trained, was prevented from going through her Harrowing due to an unscheduled rebellion. Still kinda salty about it.))

1. Gull & Lantern

To the layperson's eye, she won't necessarily look like a mage. Her clothes are scavenged and ill-fitting, the only weapon visible on her person is a single dagger. She also looks as if she hasn't had a proper, decent meal in weeks, if not months.

Vasran worries the few remaining coins in her pocket as she arrives at the bar at last. She worries her bottom lip in between her teeth, and wonders what she'll do once the money is spent. Or — on the other hand — whether she'll have to spend it. It can't be all that hard to pick a pocket, can it? And this place is packed enough that getting close to others isn't unusual.

You will spot her eyeing you, a little too intently. Though as soon as she notices you noticing, she looks away again.

2. Demon-hunting

Demons. Actually fighting demons. Finally. Vasran was all too eager to volunteer for this assignment. It may not exactly be an encounter in the Fade, but at least she will be able to earn some sort of mage stripes.

So far, however, it's all been wolves. However necessary fending them off is, Vasran has been less enthusiastic about that part. The creatures make such pitiful sounds when they die — it grates on her nerves.

In the aftermath of the latest encounter, she pouts down at one of the fallen wolves. It was vicious only moments ago — now, it looks like any other dead thing.

"Sorry beasts." Her tone lies somewhere between a lament and a complaint.

1

[tactical_alert]

However, to a layperson's eye, Malcolm does look like a Seeker. He rarely takes off whatever garb or armor he wears to indicate as such off when he's in public unless he needs to be much less suspect, and there isn't any reason here and now for it. He's like any other person in this tavern: looking for some respite from travel and cold. There is no special treatment here; he will not allow for it.

He won't allow for someone to simply pick his pocket, either.

Malcolm gives her a moment after spotting her to see if she'll decide to make a move, and when she doesn't, he excuses himself through the crowd to her. What a mess she appears to be. It's no wonder she was looking to pick up some coin. "It's a fine time for wandering fingers to find their targets," he starts in a surprisingly amicable tone. "You might take more care in picking yours."

Ciri ( Witcher ) Rifter

[caerme]

( ooc - rifter, taken from end of Witcher 3 with her as a Witcher, world-hopping ability taken out, other abilities limited to only what's performed in Witcher 3 canon for TDM )

1. Hunting Demons in Canyons

[ It started with watching out for a group of travelers going down the road. All she had to do was guard them. Because sure enough, the wolves would come. And sure enough, the wolves did come.

Yet one battle took her a little ways from the camp. The next pack dragged her further. And by the third pack she realized she was being herded somewhere else.

Knowing the travelers still had guards left to them, Ciri didn't relent so long as the wolves herded her. In fact, she all but gave up fighting. ]

All right, beastie. I don't want to hurt you, and I'm hoping you don't want to hurt me. Just show me where to go. [ Surely the demon would want her for itself. Most the wolves seemed content to snap at her heels and chase her deeper to the demon. Some got a little too close. So close they didn't stop and met only the end of her blade.

She doesn't know if her plan will work or not, but she's hoping she can get a lead at the least. Anything that might help clear these roads once and for all. So she carefully follows the wolves, both her and the wolves watching each other. Waiting for chances to strike. ]

2. Gull & Lantern

[ It's not Lambert's homebrew (which is actually something to be thankful for), but Ciri's been well into the ale by now. It's hard not to join in in the festivities. She so rarely gets to enjoy moments like these that passing it up seems like a waste.

Despite how much she's had to drink, it seems like everyone here has had far more. She's in no rush to really catch up either. Just being in the crowd is intoxicating on it's own. To the point that she's hollering and cheering along with the guests, stumbling through words to a song she doesn't know.

The song eventually ends and she tumbles out of the crowd, laughing as someone pats her back lets her through. She takes a breather from the crowd, settling in a corner with the biggest grin on her face.

When she catches the eye of another, she can't help a shrug as she leans on the table. ] It's not all that elegant, but you can't deny the tne is catchy. [ She even hums another line or so to herself as she swings back and rests against the wall, watching the crowd again. ]

Great night for a party, isn't it?

3. any other

( open to any other scenarios! )

[gatheringstorm]

Pleasantly mellow thanks to having her own considerable share of ale, Korrin is slouching in her seat, feet propped up against that corner table. She'd sung along as well (thankfully in-tune), though doing so has made her thirsty and she signals for a refill. Glancing over to the unfamiliar but sociable woman, the Vashoth mage nods as she flashes a grin.

"That's Ferelden for you. Not big on elegance, but it has its charms. And it definitely is; after all the crap this past year has thrown at us, we've earned this First Day, that's for damn sure."

Guillermo Makara | Rifter OC

[maladgogo]

1. ALL THIS MOTHER FUCKING SNOW
So Guy was lost. That wasn't new. At least, not since he'd moved away from home for school. This was, however, the first time he'd ever been lost in the snow.

See, he'd been born on an island that had never seen snow in recorded human history. Then he'd moved to a state that so rarely saw snow that there was no such thing as a snowball fight outside of works of fiction. So now that he was wading through knee-deep snow in a pair of thick, fluffy pajama pants, a mismatched pair of socks, and literally nothing else? It was safe to assume that he had no idea what was happening anymore. The surroundings were entirely unfamiliar as well, and he had no pathfinding ability without some kind of familiar landmark to work from. All he could see was trees and wide open space and maybe a figure in the distance?

Hopefully someone would find him soon and wrap him up before he lost a few digits to frostbite.

5. GIMME THAT TEA.
Upon finding any buildings at all, Guy's first stop was the largest. That it was packed hadn't surprised him, but that barely anyone paid attention to an arrival shivering hard enough for his teeth to chatter while dressed down for the weather even less than the average Dalish elf seemed cause for concern. He'd edged his way through the crowd without speaking to anyone until he'd found a space in front of the fire to warm his fingers and toes.

Everyone here that was speaking, he could understand what they were saying, and thank the gods for that. This wasn't home, not Boston, not Portsmouth, and not the Cite Soleil. He heard the word 'Inquisition' at one point, but he wasn't sure he'd heard that right. Could eardrums freeze inside one's head? Maybe. That sounded painful though, and he was pretty sure he'd have noticed if that had happened.

A fur dropped over him after a while, smelly and a bit moth-eaten, but it was better than shaking himself out of his skin, and he murmured his thanks, glancing around for where it might have come from.

6. DO ME UP A WILDCARD
Introductions, or maybe plans for a boy that knows his way around a kitchen.

[dwarfing]

The large boulder Guy passed suddenly moves, turning to look at the man with glowing eyes set in a permanent frown. Shale had seen a lot of stupid people in their time, but they're pretty sure this is in the top five.

"It is going to freeze to death soon," the golem rumbles, sounding more curious than concerned. "Why is it trying to lose it's fingers in the snow? I thought you fleshy things preferred to keep them."

It was dry, sarcastic and slightly exasperated, because really. Shale was not about to babysit some idiot in the snow, but he looked really pathetic. Maybe it could be interesting to see how long it took for a person to freeze solid without ice magic.

Shale | DA: Origins

[dwarfing]

1.

Bears and snow. Neither of that was a problem, per say - snow didn't bother the golem other than blocking their sight a little when they tried to move along the path without getting completely lost, and bears... bears were squishy. Less squishy than the fleshy creatures they usually surrounded themselves with, but still went down fairly easy when you crushed their heads.

Shale was just done dealing with one of the bears after it was done breaking teeth on their stone body when they noticed a movement in the distance. It better not be another suicidal bear...

Wildcard

Birds. Dead birds. Who squished all the birds?

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin just stares around in disbelief, because...that's a lot of dead birds. Dead squished birds. The Vashoth mage isn't any stranger to seeing animals meet a violent end, though usually it's bears or wolves driven mad by the Breach, not...this.

"Andraste's tits...."

Malcolm Reed | Star Trek | native

[tactical_alert]

[Ferelden-born Seeker, avid loyalist to the Chantry and the Divine. Uptight, straightforward, stern, honourable. From a family line of templars of some mild renown. Brackets or prose hit me.]

4
Of course supplies still have to get where they need to, and people, of course, still must rely on trade for their own survival, but while arguing with one of said traders on the icy bank of a river, Malcolm is beginning to think these people have let the snow addle their minds.

"Ser, you cannot possibly think traversing these waters will net you anything but a loss of your life. If they must get where they are going, I suggest requesting the help of carts and horses from the Inquisition or even your fellow men."

The Inquisition, after all, as much wants to help the people in the area as it does want to focus on the bigger picture. The merchant is not having it. What a fool. And this has nothing to do with not wanting to get anywhere close to the edge where the ice finally melts off into swiftly running water in the centre. Of course not. Who has a problem with water? Not Malcolm, never. Why did he agree to go on this little mission again? Oh right because refusing would show weakness, silly him.

"Ser, I ask again for you to reconsider, but should you depart, I can grant that I will keep this side of the embankment clear of bandits and unsavoury lots." On horseback, he should be able to keep up, so long as the small vessel doesn't crash itself into icy shards and shred apart. Help.

6
He has more important things he could be doing than playing guard, but the day is quiet, he's out not far from the way to Skyhold, spending time honing a few of his skills. One can never practice too much; it's not practicing enough that gets one into trouble. Malcolm is still deeply troubled by the waves the formation of the Inquisition has made in a negative sense and hopes more of his brothers and sisters will come to their senses and heed the word of the late Divine.

It's almost a form of meditation, he's come to realize. Going through the motions of a punch, the follow-through of a knife's edge, or the pull and release of an arrow sets his mind at ease, body occupied with what it already knows so that he can worry internally at other matters.

But there are enough dissenters, and bears, and demon-possessed wolves, and bloodmages, and renegade templars around that keeping an eye out for potential troublemakers isn't going to hurt anyone. Should someone or something approach, whether it's a shadow in the trees, the crunch of a foot in snow, or a cloaked figure, he whirls to, arrow drawn, aim true. "Who goes?"

even wilder card
[feel free to bother him or flirt with him or flagrantly diss the chantry or spar or whatever with him]

6 (Hi, hi, it's Wizera!)

[demonicbeauty]

Ever since the Rift had dropped her in the middle of this mess of a land, Ariadne was quite frequently the shadow in the trees. Something about living among all the foreigners had forced her old, Alastrian instincts to take over. Ironic, considering the fact that she'd worked so hard to control them.

Ironic, considering the fact that she was no longer Alastrian.

She'd just jumped from the branch of one tree to the next when the Human caught her attention. The way he was skulking about made her leery and she fully intended to avoid any contact. But evidently, he'd heard her.

Which meant she needed to make it very clear, very quickly that she was a harmless little girl with no secrets whatsoever. A surprisingly easy game for Ariadne to play. She had an unassuming frame and a gentle, girlish voice.

"No one," she called, dropping down to a lower branch noisily and intentionally clumsy. "No one important."

Ser Charibert - Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward

[bestowsmercy]

Wildcard | Fire & Blood

[If the smell or charred flesh bothers you, then perhaps this isn't the place to be. Drunk upon his lust for destruction and motivated by sheer boredom if nothing else, Ser Charibert managed to ease his boredom by frying the corpses of two alleged bandits who dared to impede his path.

In this comely world of Thedas, it seems that elven kind often fall prey to the depravities of short-eared men. This is quite the opposite since the proud Elezen is used to having everyone groveling for forgiveness. After all, he's a loyal Knight of Ishgard and well-known Executioner for the Holy Orthodox Church. With that being said, Charibert cannot help but watch in glee as the last bandit is set ablaze by his red flames.

The howling screams are like music to his ears as he listens to the fiend's dying cries for mercy. A satisfied sigh escapes Charibert as he enjoys the show. Maybe a good execution was all that he needed to feel alive again after spending weeks within a jail cell. ]

Scream, scream, you worthless rat! Beg for your Maker to save your useless hide. Surely he's listening.

[This vile bastard of a knight isn't above taunting his prey even during their final moments. There's a maddening look of glee within Charibert as the flames devour the man whole. The air completely engulfed with blackened smoke and the snow beneath his feet is quickly melting. Charibert's penchant for fire is a skill of his.

As a thaumaturge, he's perhaps the most powerful of them all. This elf is the perfect embodiment of Halone's fury, a testament to the sheet madness that lurk within Ishgard.]

Tsk, tsk, tsk! Silent already, dear rat? I suppose the Maker came for him after all.

[With just the snap of his fingers, the crimson flames vanish just as quickly as they appeared. There's naught a thing left of the poor bandit except for a pile of scattered gray ashes.]

[wickedchase]

[Every time the debate of should mages be stowed away into Circles forever and ever arises, Twisted Fate has rolled his eyes at the very mention. Freedom is everything above all else, and he thinks it's stupid to lock up someone just for how they're born.

And then there are others like this one.

Granted they were bandits, and Fate is not above killing a few, but there's a pretty clear difference between torture and slaying someone in the heat of battle.

When Charibert is done, Twisted Fate sighs and gives a slow clap.]

Yes, yes. We're all horribly impressed with your powers.

Satisfied with yourself?

Lara Croft| Rise of the Tomb Raider

[make_my_mark]

2. In Soviet Russia, wolves are afraid of Lara Croft

It was becoming some sort of law in Lara's life that no sooner would she get answers, than more questions would present themselves. She'd followed, and furthered, her father's research to Kitezh, to the Divine Source. She'd held it in her hands, had denied it from Trinity by destroying it... and before she could even enjoy a night's sleep, here she was. Lost.

And glowing.

She might have thought she'd suddenly taken up sleepwalking, and had merely wandered away from the Remnant camp if not that for that bloody thing, casting a sickly green glow from her left palm. If not for the strange mountains, nothing like the great Russian peaks she'd spent the previous weeks traversing. If not for the thing she'd just seen staggering into the mouth of the cave she'd tracked the wolves too.

She'd been hoping to follow them to a recent kill, or to take a pelt or two of theirs if she absolutely had to, but she wasn't expecting that.

Eyes widening, mouth dropping slightly open, she gaped - and quickly ducked back behind the tree she was using for cover. Her mind turned rapidly, trying to place it, and coming up empty even when it placing it against the impossible things she'd seen in the past few years.

Peeking back around, she watched it, all long, pale limbs, like a stick-bug, but grown to a monstrous size. And with far more teeth and claws than usual.

"What are you?" she whispered, fingers flexing on the shaft of her arrow.

5. A flask half-full; I may need that

The stars were all wrong, but eventually Lara managed to stumble upon the village. It provided all the more questions - her therapist might have been a Trinity mouthpiece, but maybe he'd been onto something, if she was imagining herself in some Tolkien novel sprung to life - but she bemusedly went with it.

What else could she do, until she either woke or froze death somewhere in the Siberian mountains?

In the Gull and Lantern, the man with the ears had told her, someone would be able to help her with her hand. Someone with The Inquisition.

It was warm inside, at least, and the scents of food and ale were strangely comforting as she stood there, looking around, left hand curling gently, green light flashing softly.

5.

[fightingale]

( It is as her agents said; a new arrival, a rifter, wandering the Hinterlands. They spoke of her fighting wolves, of her prowess with bow and arrow, and Leliana had found herself curious. A rifter versed in archery was not enough to draw her from Skyhold, no, but other matters of business that required her hand rather than any other had brought her hence, and if she were here, what was the harm in investigating such a person?

No coincidence bought them both to the Gull and Lantern, that much she knows. Whether the Maker's hand guided her to Leliana or Leliana to her, though, is another matter for consideration. Faith has proven a double edged blade more than once, even as it gnaws away at her bonds it is likely to find ways to bite into her flesh. To be faithful and to survive could be a treacherous balance, and the Left Hand of the Divine knew what it was to move in shadows.

The sign of the Herald's mark glow in the young woman's hand, and Leliana watches over her wine, let's the crowded bar do its work for her, before she gestures to the traveller. ) There is an empty seat here, if you're in need.

( She can be more direct, yes. Sometimes it was nicer to attempt a lighter touch, however, and Leliana tilts her head towards the empty seats, lifting her lute off one of them and setting it to the side. )

Celinie Brookstone | Final Fantasy XIV (prose or brackets)

[forgottensavior]

Celinie is not wholly convinced this is not some elaborate dream from which she has yet to wake. Honestly, this is a far better dream than the ones she's suffered since Carteneau. The mark on her hand is certainly perplexing though. An explanation might be kind if anyone happens to catch her staring at her hand.


1. Wolves and Demons and Rifts, oh my!

There is a problem with holes in the sky that spew out violent creatures which in turn whip up the local wildlife into a frenzy. On a better day, a day a year ago, perhaps, Celinie would have responded as any Conjurer of Stillglade Fane would do: quell or pacify the wildlife and purge the source. However this young Elezen is no longer the wide-eyed innocent playing at adventurer to feed her distant family. She has seen too much. And now, all she can see are the Carteneau Plains, littered with bodies, air filled with screams of terror and agony as an elder primal bursts out of the falling moon. Falling debris of Dalamud crushing soldiers, both allies and Garleans alike. Fire and smoke and death and blood are still fresh in her nose. Once more she is in that moment and not in her present.

Her present has her standing before a pack of wolves driven to madness by the demons from the rift. One lone Elezen woman, frozen with fear and memory, unmoving and unaware of the doom headed for her. Hopefully those scouts are coming soon.

2. I'm a closet Botanist, really!

Hunting for healing herbs. This is something Celinie can do and surprisingly well. Before the war, she'd spent some of her days quietly learning the basics of botany from the Botanist's Guild. Master E-Sumi-Yan thought working with plants first hand, even if only enough to grow some flowers or lentils in a garden, would assist their fledgling conjurer develop a rapport with nature. What pleases her about this task is that it keeps her away from fighting, away from conflict. It is cold and hard labor searching for plants which she is unfamiliar, but it is soothing work nonetheless.

There are few finds, which is disappointing, but the potential to help bring succor to others drives her on. She spots a beautiful plant with purple and green leaves at the entry to a cave, certain that's one that's being sought after. However, there seems to be something skittering around inside. Uncertain if the creature is a threat or not, she turns and asks simply, "Should I put it to sleep, ere we collect the plant?"

3. Wildcard

Be careful if she starts holding her head. Someone's about to get a glimpse into your past whether either of you like it or not.

3.

[gatheringstorm]

[Anything in her app or that's happened in Fade Rift is fair game.]

They're on their way back to the Gull & Lantern after a long stretch of fighting rift-mad creatures, bandits and Ventaori. Despite any healing, Korrin's body aches with weariness and she's looking forward to not moving for a while. But Celinie holding her head has her pausing in concern as she holds out a steadying hand.

"Hey, we're not that far. Can you make it?"

And now ... revamped

[ferrushomimus]

1. Bears. Of course it was bears.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!"

See, this is what he got for thinking he could find drier firewood for his little portable camp up the hillside. This is what he got for thinking, Hey, I don't need bodyguards or that nonsense -- I'm gonna join the Inquisition and I don't want them to think I'm a pussywillow. Arrogance, Stark. Arrogance will get you every damned time.

Especially now that he is trying to outrun a goddamned bear. His hands are at his belt while he's running, throwing together an explosive trap as fast as he can as he stumbles on down a snow drift and into an open area. He finishes, tosses it behind him, and BOOM, the explosion rocks the small canyon he is, sending up a large flare of smoke and fire. He skids to a halt, looking behind him, hoping to see just bit of bear.

... and he does. Just, you know, bits of the fur missing from the even angrier bear.

"Maker's Balls." Tony mutters, as he prepares to take off running again, with another explosion already in hand.

4. It's TONY. Wildcard is his life.

1 why bears tho

[fleurdesel]

Go with the scouts, they said. Find anything new, they said. Mind the bears, they said. Of the three things she's faced with, Adelaide had only been warned for the one- the other two scouts too busy poking around the camp they'd found on the hill, Adelaide had been told to check the surrounding area.

Where she found a bomb, (unexpected) a bear (quite expected) and an idiot (not expected, but not remarkable). The beast is singed and roars and makes to swipe as bears often do- without a thought and without so much as a word of warning to the idiot- they'd be running away from the bear, no danger here, she snaps out her staff to raise a wall of ice and buy both her and the fool a little more time. "Run!"

As though he needed to be told twice, even fools know to run, but this fool seems a little more foolish for all he's a rogue with bombs on his belt.

Ceodore Harvey | Final Fantasy IV: The After Years

[lastoftheredwings]

1. There be bears! And snow!

[Snow falling from the sky. Snow almost up to his knees, making movement hard. And there's a bear come rushing out of the trees. It's not the first time Ceodore's gone and gotten himself into an impossible fight while all alone, and isn't likely to be the last in his lifetime either. But being a sensible 15-year old, he does what any overeager knightling would do: try to fight the bear alone.

Is he practically tripping over his own feet between the snow and his own naturally clumsiness? Well yeah. A bit. Ceodore's not entirely useless with a blade, but Protect and Blink will only go so far to stop him from being bear chow. He might need some adult intervention.]


2. Picking Daisies? Or pushing them?

[Poking around for plants isn't exactly the most glamorous, or even most suited, of tasks. However, Ceodore is so eager to please, he'll agree to just about anything if it gives him a chance to prove himself on his own merit.

So once someone spots a patch of Crystal Grace high up a cliff, just barely clinging to rock and dirt under an earthen overhand, the princeling sprints off to grab it for them. He's climbed a sheer cliff while escaping Mist into Damcyan. How hard could one rock climb be? In plate armor. With ice and snow. His foot slips on one loose rock on the way up and he just barely manages to grab hold of another rock to break an eminent fall.]


3. We don't serve kiddie drinks.

[The bartender might be offering drinks at half price, but that's not gonna help Ceodore out much. One look says while the kid's probably seen action, and possibly too much for so young a teenager, he's still too young for booze. There's a quiet snark about not serving milk before the man goes about his business. For his part, Ceodore shrugs and turns to find some warm spot in the room. He's used to the kid treatment by now. At least it didn't come with a heaping helping of praise for his parents this time.

All the dogs are great though! He'll be trying to coax one or more over for a petting, not realizing they could well take his hand off.]


4. Wildcard

3.

[gatheringstorm]

[Upon hearing the bartender, Korrin naturally disagrees. Anyone who's seen combat action deserves a damned drink, though her view might be colored by the fact that she's not met with a wildly warm reception either. Quietly ordering an ale and a 'refill', she makes her way over to the corner with the kid -whose hair reminds her of Kas- and quietly plops down an ale beside him. Oops, how did that get there?]

Hiccup Stoicson | Native AU

[dragondowner]

1. The literal worst Avvar
"This is fine, great even," Hiccup complained loudly, to himself, as he scrambled up a narrow ledge and flattened back against it. Were he any more stout than a filleted cod, he might not have fit on the impossibly thin outcropping of rock. Fortunately, (sort of) Hiccup was not a striking figure; he was rail thin, pale as winter snow, and appeared to be comprised almost entirely out of knees and elbows. It wasn't a look that endeared him to the ladies but, thankfully, it did enable him to scurry up near vertical surfaces with the agility of a mountain goat or giant spider.

And scurry up that sheer rock-face he had.

"You won't need a sword in the lowlands, they said, it's much less dangerous there, they said," he added, a thick affected accent drenching his words in sarcasm. Below him but not, frankly, "below" enough for his tastes, a great bear roared at the rockface. Its huge claws, each bigger around than any one of his limbs, scraped violently at the granite and Hiccup tried to flatten himself into the rock. The rock was not being particularly accommodating. Above him, by a ledge or two, a pair of rams stared at him, dead-eyed and unsympathetic.

One bleated, perhaps mocking his terrible predicament. The lowlands were great.

"At least the weather's nice," he added, his voice a touch manic. To his credit, he managed not to actually scream when the great bear tried jumping to reach him, but it was a near thing. Okay so he screamed a little--but only a little.

Okay it was a lot.

4. And now with the sinking--
Hiccup felt that he was a reasonable sort of person and even though they'd laughed when he offered to man one of the boats, he'd still agreed to do it. Sure, it was the fastest way to the lowlands and, sure, he really didn't want to walk, but that wasn't why he agreed. He wasn't the strongest or the most impressive looking person, and he'd probably seen Dalish elves who looked more like Avvar than he did, but he was still a highlander and, Korth's Wrath, he wasn't just going to let some Ferelden drown trying to take an icy highland river alone.

At least they looked Ferelden, but that assessment was worth about as much as him in a fistfight.

"So, the key here is trying not to die," Hiccup announced in a tone that was shooting for "firm" and ended up somewhere near "laughable" as his voice cracked in the middle. He swung his arms to compensate but the whole motion just made him look a lot like the paddle he was about to pick up. "Right, I'll take the front and you can...uh, take the back? Or whatever you want to do."

"The not dying is the important part."

5. You can't contain all of this--this--Raw Avvar Power
He was soaking wet.

This is what he got for rafting with Lowlanders. Really, it served him right, and even he couldn't find it in himself to complain...well...not more than a little bit. He'd kept it to angry muttering, at least, even as the snow and damp started freezing his furs to his skin. The tavern was a welcome sight and, once he'd spotted the little hanging animal sign that lowlanders liked to mark taverns with, he basically made a wyrmline for the hearth. Well, he tried. Unfortunately, getting from the door to the fire was proving to be a much more trying task than rafting down from the highlands in winter.

"Excuse me--yes, I need to--no, no--nice doggy--can I just--"

Hiccup was not good at confrontation. So, almost immediately, his wyrmline became a sort of terrified-nug-shuffle as he was jostled, bodily, back and forth across the room. His vague zig-zag course, though ridiculously inefficient, was actually making progress toward the fire. If he was shuffled around the room for another quarter-hour or so, well, he might be at the hearth.

So, that was something.

6. Wildcard! Have at.

1. Two teenagers and a vicious bear walk into the Hinterlands...

[lastoftheredwings]

Not too far away from where Hiccup is having a near-miss with the bear's claws, another teenager is likewise engaged in some dubious climbing activities. Just because Ceodore's managed to scale a cliff face without killing himself once (barely), doesn't quite mean he's now an expert at hauling himself up wet, cold rock to grab at plants. But he'll most certainly try. At least, until he hears the screaming.

That's worrisome and forgetting about the maybe herb sticking out of the rock several feet above himself, he slides down to the ground. Got some scraped hands for that rash movement too, but at least he's on his feet and now able to sprint the general direction of Hiccup's verbal distress.

Not considering that it's a bear taking a swipe at the other guy, Ceodore pulls out a sword and rushes the creature. He too is brutally pale, with floofy blond hair that refuses to lay down properly. But at least he's got plate armor and a blade, and not the focus of the bear's attention. He's got at least enough presence of mind to stab the furry one in the backside, hard, before it has a chance to swipe him in retaliation.

"Hey! You okay?!" Just because the knightling doesn't see blood doesn't mean the guy treed, err cliffed, isn't wounded.

Nathaniel Howe | Dragon Age

[pinprick]

2 - Demon-Wolf Hunting

While fighting the wolves, you might notice a tall, broad-shouldered man standing on higher ground, holding a longbow. He is quite unhurried, plucking an arrow from the ground as a wolf runs away at top speed. He aims, adjusts, and looses. The wolf tumbles to a halt and lies there dead. The longbowman heads down to retrieve his arrow, giving a casual wave as he passes. His clothing is a modest set of gambeson and leathers, with an archer's glove and a deep hood.

5 - Tavern

His telltale blue armor long since discarded, only another Warden could immediately tell Nathaniel is a Warden, so his hood is thrown back, showing a weathered face with black hair that has silvered a bit at the temples. Less suspicious for bounty hunters. And, in case anyone recognizes his face, he has grown an inch or two of beard. The only thing he can't hide is the taint.

He doesn't push toward the fire, nor does he hang conspicuously toward the back. He's one of the rabble in the middle. The heat from all the bodies is quite enough for his Fereldan sensibilities.

The sharp-eyed will catch the glint of gold on one finger. The light-fingered may wonder what more there is.

6 - Wildcard

Tavern/Wildcard

[forgottensavior]

Thank the Twelve the tavern is warm. It's a blessed relief after all that snow. In a way, it reminds her of her first days away from home, as a fledgling adventurer seeking work in the Carline Canopy. The low rumble of sound of patrons talking over their drinks, the smell of a fire in the hearth, fresh baked bread and stout ale passing by on their way to tables. Hmm yes, and the awkwardness of being an obvious outsider too. While Celinie is actually quite short for an Elezen, she's tall to those of Thedas, at least for an elf, standing on an equal height as some of the tallest of men in the room.

She has her soft brown eyes set on one of those conspicuous spots in the back, seeing it empty and feeling it will at least put her out of the way and limit the amount of commentary she'll elicit. However, the only way there is a very narrow path through the center of the room as the building is packed tight. As she passes by Nathaniel, she nods politely. But before she can shufflescoot further towards the back, someone far too deep into his cups throws his arms up, clonks her rightly on the temple with his mug in his drunken flailing, and sends her grabbing at a table to avoid falling smack into Nathaniel's lap.

Ow. This is hardly remaining inconspicuous.

Ron Weasley | Native AU

[secondhandwizard]

1.

"Bloody hell -"

Ron risks a look behind him, and immediately regrets it. The bear is far, far closer than he'd thought it would be, and he absolutely does not emit a high-pitched yelp as he half-stumbles on a rock in the path and the creature lunges at him. He looks forward again quickly, dodging a tree with a muttered curse.

His staff sparks in his hand, and he looks at it as if he'd forgotten it existed before aiming it back over his shoulder at the bear and waving it wildly. A fireball shoots from the staff, but rather than hitting the bear it skips over the ground and somehow manages to light a nearby tree on fire despite the branches being completely iced over. Ron winces, but the bear does stop in its tracks, and he stops too, looking back and nearly praying for it to lose its nerve and run the other way.

For a moment he thinks it might have actually worked, and his expression brightens. And then the bear rises up on is hind legs, lets out a roar that shakes the trees, causing a minor avalanche of snow, and crashes back to all fours to begin chasing him even faster.

A look of terror crosses the mage apprentice's face, and he takes off again, taking a sharp right turn in an effort to lose the bear.

5.

Sore, exhausted, and feeling as if he'll never be quite dry ever again, Ron slinks gratefully into the tavern and collapses into the first seat he can find. The girl sitting on the next stool looks over curiously, and he gives her a hopeful smile, but she merely gives him a look as if he's something scraped off the bottom of a darkspawn's boot and turns away again, flicking her hair over her shoulder and into his face.

He sighs, and turns to the bartender, who's waiting expectantly. He squints at the offerings on display. "Er...d'you have any...uh..." He digs in the small bag at his side, scraping the bottom hopefully, but when he pulls his hand out, there's nothing there but a bit of dry, crumbling elfroot and an empty lyrium bottle. His expression falls, and he sighs again, shaking his head as he shoves the bottle back into the back. "Never mind."

6.

Wildcard

HIT ME.

Gonna wildcard it up.

[fortheloveoffalondin]

Mages were fine.

Human mages were not.

Outside, in the middle of the forest, most knew to watch their backs, especially when the Dalish clans were brought along on assignments, but lo and behold, someone had taken their eyes off of Salem long enough for him to have gotten himself lost in the woods. Not well and truly lost, mind you, but he was out separated from the rest, doing a little bit of scouting and recon all on his own, high up in a tree that was, coincidentally, right above where Ronald was wandering.

A lone mage out here in the Hinterlands always spelled caution, after the uprising of the rebellious apostates, and most took it upon themselves to either track or outright kill what mages they found out here that didn't immediately explain themselves.

So here is one tiny ginger elf with a knife in his hand an an axe strapped to his back, dropping out of a tall elm tree right in front of one Ron Weasley, a small shower of leaves following his descent.

"I'll give you ten seconds to tell me what you're doing out here before I see what color your blood is," he warns, giving Ron a sour look. He wouldn't kill Ron, unless the guy opened fire on him first, but if he wasn't careful he would find himself bound and carried back to the nearest Inquisition camp for questioning.

Bethany Hawke || Grey Warden flavor

[sunshinethroughgrey]

2.

Beyond the trees, there was a splash of fire and a determined female, "Off with you! I don't need a wolf-skin cloak but you're making me reconsider that!"

When parting through the bushes, you'll see her, a young female mage dressed in a white shirt, and dark tight breaches, a red scarf at her throat. She swirls her staff around with ease, sending another bout of flames towards the howling creatures. Behind her, enshrined in a shield, are a young man and his sweetheart, out for a winter stroll. It was pure luck that the mage found them and to their great surprise, stepped right in for their defense.

Perhaps ... though, not to those who knew her.

Right now, she kept the wolves at bay with another fireball, before she half-turned to the couple, "When I say run, run! Don't stop, for Maker's sake!"

"But what about - " the young man protested, but Bethany shook her head.

"I'll be fine. I'm always fine. Now, go!"

5.

The pretty dark-haired woman pulled her cloak up further, instead of off, when she entered The Gull and Lantern, slipping through the crowd to find her way to the fire, and the table in the corner. She murmured her order, politely but quickly, and kept her gaze down.

Bread and wine were brought to her, along with a plate of fruit. One of the apples rolled off the plate as the barmaid delivered them, and the cloaked woman leaned over to pick it up. A flash of a red scarf at her throat, and a distinctive necklace with a drop of blackened blood within.

A Warden, assuredly, and one trying to keep a low profile.

2. Git dat pelt, gurl

[make_my_mark]

Until they left for Skyhold (a castle, apparently, not a city) there was still work the Inquisition wished to accomplish here, and Lara was willing to help wherever she could. They were, after all, offering to do the same for her, and she certainly couldn't deny that the wolves and their demon masters were dangerous.

She had the still healing wounds to prove it.

She was following a fresh set of tracks through the snow, her bow at the ready, when she heard the shouting. Forgoing her careful pursuit, she hurried ahead, reaching them just in time to see the couple sprinting away as the lone woman remained to fend off the pack.

She scanned the scene quickly - noting the scorch marks, one already badly signed wolf, the staff in the woman's hands (one of the mages she'd been told about) - and took a fast shot at another animal that was circling around, driving it back with a pained yelp.

Belinda Darrow | Dragon Age: Inquisition Multiplayer

[embracelight]

{ 2 }

Despite the knee deep snow blanketing the Hinterlands, nothing can damper Belinda's spirit. Her cheeks are windburned, her nose is running, but she still carries on, trudging through the snow. With these sort of conditions, it's impossible to catch the wolves they hunt off guard, so she doesn't mind talking to her hunting companions as they journey on.

"This sort of thing really gets the blood pumping, doesn't it?" The former Templar smiles cheerfully as if it isn't cold enough to freeze the snot in your nose. "We never had snow like this in Starkhaven." And then, distracted: "Oh! Look at that bird. What beautiful feathers. Anyway, I do hope we can find these wolves soon. I'm ready to do some good for the people here. They need some cheering up!"

[wontforgetyou]

"Aye, that's one way to put it."

Where she's cheerful, he's grumpy, and not just because he thinks he's starting to have icicles forming in his nose. Trudging through the snow isn't his idea of fun, and if he had his way he'd be happily back at camp with something warm to drink and the snow where it belonged, outside his tent. But he'd been told to go help her hunt the wolves, and here he was, freezing half to death and wondering how she managed to stay so happy.

Not to mention he hadn't seen any wolves, either, and he was half tempted to ask if they couldn't go back to camp and try again later on after a bite to eat. Well, and maybe talk her into some stories about Starkhaven, too, if he could manage it, because he was curious. First they had to get back there, though, and that...that was the tricky part.

"Look, are you sure that we're still going the right way? I know we had to give those bears a wide berth but surely we would've seen some sign of them by now. Maybe we should head back."

Yorda | ICO | Native AU

[shroudofgray]

"Why don't you understand? You can't survive outside the castle." Those had been her Mother's last words to her, echoed in one way or another across the short span of Yorda's life. Part of her had always thought she'd simply drop dead by the sheer act of leaving the Castle in the Mists. After all, her Mother was intrinsically tied to that decayed monolith, and it wasn't far-fetched that, by proxy, Yorda would be too.

But she hadn't died when Ico triumphed, the castle crumbled and she washed up on shore. She had little need of the basic amenities most were desperate for, after all. There had never been food or drink in the castle, and she'd never had anything between her and the elements but a gauzy white dress. She had no concept of 'cold' or 'hunger' - they were things that simply didn't register. But she also had no survival skills. And worse, no real social skills. What little interactions she had with people were done from under a cowl and bandages that kept her fully hidden from view and with whatever scraps of the common tongue she'd picked up in the last year.

The feeling of frustration hit her full-force as she picked her way up to the crest of a snowy hill. Strange men speaking in hushed tones had come this way a day before, and Yorda felt compelled to follow their trail. Something about this hill had interested them. They'd done ...something to hide their tracks, but Yorda wasn't looking for foot prints. Whatever they'd done, it had left a different kind of trail - a sort of thrumming in the air that she could feel more than see. Occasionally she'd raise her head like a dog sniffing the air, and then dart clumsily through the snow in whatever direction they'd gone.

She made it up the winding, snow-covered paths and the hill came to an abrupt and very vertical stop. Yorda waded through the drifts towards a pillar with a skull perched atop it, and under the cloth hiding her face, her brow furrowed. There were echoes of some dark rite lingering around the thing, whispers at the back of her mind she didn't dare answer back to. She inspected the skull and the lens attached to it before finally coming to a decision.

It shouldn't be here.

She took the skull and tried to tug it free of it's podium, but it had been secured fast to it. Still, she persisted until there was the sound of bone cracking and the skull came free. Yorda hung in the air for a moment, clutching her prize in a brief instant of triumph, before she lost her footing and toppled over the edge.

There was a WOOMPH as she hit the snowbank below.

Warden Kaisa Daesun | Native OC

[unbrokenoath]

[info: two-handed warrior warden. likes killing bad things, saving the day, being a hero, making people swoon, etc etc. she has a dog that is not a mabari, just a regular dog, its an idiot and she loves it. she joined the order a bit after awakening. feel free to assume cr.]

2. Let's kill some wolves. And demons. And maybe have a snowball fight.

She's supposed to be 'on the lam' as it were. But Kaisa managed through miraculous intervention, people's predisposition towards Wardens, and good old fashioned hitting a lot of things with swords, to make it to the Hinterlands without getting caught. She figures, as it stands, that she's far enough away that she can take some time out of her busy schedule of being a rogue Warden to save some people. Like a Warden. Just without the rogue part.

She wasn't the only one interested, at least, and she turns to the other who volunteered for this chilly mission, flashing them an enthusiastic grin. The mastiff standing at her side barked cheerfully, tail wagging with as much enthusiasm as his owner.

"Alright, so, I'm thinking here, if the demons are causing this, we're gonna have to kill the demons, yeah? Probably any wolves that are around, too. Protecting the demon, probably. So, I say, we go in, we kill all the wolves, and all the demons! Easy as pie." Let it never be said that Kaisa didn't go into situations without a plan, even if that plan was 'kill everything'.

5. Tavern

In Kaisa's opinion, taverns were the lifeblood of towns. You could tell what condition a town was in by the attitude in the tavern.

As far as she could tell, the current condition was 'really fucking cold'.

She shimmied around people, occasionally shoved around people, and in one instance of a particularly rude guy, tripped people and stepped over them. Her dog followed close at her heels, at risk of being swallowed in the crowd whenever he stopped to try sniffing at the other Fereldens that had broken the owner's will with their errant canines.

When a bar stool opens up, there's a blur of elbows, kicking, and swears, but she has heavy armor and a pointy elbow, and she manages to secure her place, her dog finally flopping on the ground under the stool.

"Well, ain't this some shit." She murmured, after procuring an ale. "All this honor and heroism and savin' people and they can't give you a damn bar stool."

6. Wildcard: Let's stay in the charred husk of an abandoned house. What could go wrong.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. And, in truth, it still seems like a better idea than trying to spelunk in a cave and hope no one else was using it, or worse, hang out in the snow and the cold. So she rolls out her sleeping bag, and starts a fire. It's a pretty easy affair, there's plenty of broken wood. Just have to pick out the pieces that haven't already been all burned up. It's a beacon in the cold night, but she just keeps her massive sword by one side, and her dog on the other.

Maybe it'll be helpful folks that show up. Maybe it'll be hostile folks. At this point she's cold, she's been separated from her fellow Wardens for too long, and she's damn lonely. Whatever happens, at least it'll be better than another night in the bitter cold and even more bitter darkness.

"beau" / native oc.

[furtif]

— four

[ while it is not to say that orlais never received its fair share of cold weather, beau is entirely of the opinion that just about everywhere else is far, far colder. there is something oddly endearing about an individual of her relatively small stature being swathed in what are undoubtedly avaar made furs, but she has never been one for style over practicality. it's very un-orlesian of her. whether it is because she has never been that way or through living in ferelden this long, she does not know, nor does she care. she only cares for the fact that receiving these furs as payment for her services was one of the very best moments of her life. they do a fine job, even if she still hasn't been able to feel her nose for days. there are limits to all good things.

the boat is unconvincing. she's seen children put together sturdier rafts from junk they found forgotten in denerim alleys than this dreadful little thing. she is not a pessimist, as such, but it's not optimism she feels towards this endeavour. not even close. ]

You are certain this journey is worth it? [ the orlesian accent is one she'll never shake, but it's honey soft, these days, mellowed by distance and time away. ] Inquisition forces cannot be more than a few days from here. They will have horses, carts... and we will not need to brave the lake.

[ lake calenhad is hardly the waking sea, but the boat creaks and groans as though the slightest movement will tear it apart. it is not a small thing, which is worth noting; it has quite a decently sized cabin and what have you. the supplies that beau and her travelling companion have been tasked to take to haven have been sent with compliments and good will from highever, except the journey is long and slow in the snow. the boat is unconvincing, yes, but beau would have to admit there is logic to the idea of crossing the lake rather than following its shores. they've still a long way to reach even redcliffe, while the road to haven is separated just by this stretch of water.

beau questions, but does not stop helping to load the crates from their dilapidated cart, loathe as she is to step on the vessel. ]

— six; bandits!! and snow

[ although "kind" and "merciful" are not words beau would choose to describe herself with, she does occasionally wonder if the years are making her just a little bit soft. she has been given a job, and she intends to do it; there is a very cold and very persistent apostate troubling travellers near the winterwatch tower, and it is her duty to... well, capture him, apparently, but frankly, beau has no idea how they expect someone of her size to apprehend and then bring in another human being — one with magical abilities, no less. she's going to kill him, if he is being as much a menace as the reports suggest, but the decision will have to be made on the spot.

there is a distraction on the way, and beau does not appreciate it, even if she doesn't resist its call, either.

in fairness, the individual that has been fallen upon by bandits has done a very fine job of dispatching most of the group, it would seem, from the many bloodstains on the snow and fresh collection of bodies, but there are a few that still intend to take whoever the poor person is for all they are worth. it must be galling to have all your fellow bandits taken down by a single person. beau presumes that not all of them were supposed to go after this one mark immediately, which seems to be their downfall. had they all gone at once, they could have overpowered this individual.

it seems a waste to let someone of apparent talent die in such a fashion. beau picks through the snow as quickly and quietly as she can, helpfully slitting the throat of a straggler still struggling on as she goes, but the distance between herself, the final two bandits and their victim seems too far for beau to make without potentially getting said victim killed. clicking her tongue, she reaches for her belt to take a smaller knife from her collection. nothing as big as a dagger, but just as sharp; she doesn't allow herself to rely on this technique too often these days, but it's worth a try.

the little knife sails through the air and hits the second bandit squarely in the back of the head, just as the set upon traveller (or whoever they are) finishes off the remaining first. beau barks with an incredulous laugh as her own target sinks down to his knees in the snow. ]

And to think, my mother always said these tricks of mine would never serve me as well as good, old-fashioned killing, but here I am! [ she grins, languidly. ] Saving and taking a life all at once.

( ooc: wassup i'm so late to this party terrible hasty written info can be found here )

tvallen "stone heart" jansdotten / native oc.

[mountainmade]

— three

[ she rather imagines the young man tasked with requesting her assistance in the collection of resources was quite terrified to do so. presumably, it is because she is very firmly placed with the category of "warrior", and perhaps he thought she would rail at such a lowly task, but tvallen accepted it with her usual, stony nod and not a word of complaint. being one thing does not inherently exclude you from being anything else, or from completing different tasks. the avvar have some history with regards to finding things of use when the cold and the snow kick in; she expects to be of good use to this herb-scavenging party.

for example, she is currently staring, quite thoughtfully, at the familiar blue petals of crystal grace sitting some way above her, peacefully settled between some rock formations, as if it hasn't the slightest care for the weather. tvallen can't quite think of a convenient way to reach it; the most accessible and safest of handholds are just out of even her lengthy reach, and the rest of the rock face is decidedly very flat and unhelpful to the concept of climbing. after another long pause, she turns her head to her companion and gestures for them to join her. ]

You aren't afraid of heights, I hope. [ a joke, of sorts; there are many high places in the hinterlands, at skyhold. it would be daft to be scared at this point. she tips her head up at the crystal grace. ] I can get you up there.

[ it does not sound as though there is room for discussion on the matter. ]

— six

[ cold? this isn't cold. not really. tvallen recalls a few occasions being trapped in tiny caves, sodden with melted ice, in the more remote parts of the frostbacks, while raging blizzards obscured all vision further than a half an arm's length from you. by virtue of being a most persistent, faithful enemy, the cold is something the avvar rarely allow to overcome them, be it through careful preparation or sheer force of will.

this isn't so bad, but tvallen keeps these thoughts to herself. no use in professing how delightful the weather is when many of your companions have not had to endure the same exposure to it as she. in fact, she is currently overseeing a delivery of new supplies she requested of her people; two carts laden with furs, thick winter clothing and blankets, and a third, heaving under the weight of firewood. as charming as the skyhold garden is, it doesn't lend itself to providing trees for chopping in great amounts. the wood will only last so long in a place this large, but she has already made arrangements for another shipment, as such. her clansmen owe her this much, at least. she will find other ways to repay them when the weights of their debt to her are more balanced. at the very least she has asked for one of the merchants to stay a little while at skyhold and pass on some knowledge of utilising fur and buffering clothing best against the cold to the craftsmen here.

tvallen has personally agreed to overseeing the sale of blankets and clothing to the people of skyhold, setting herself up with a little stall amongst the other merchants. she is of a very fair inclination; the prices are far from staggering, and can also be supplemented with exchange of services, if gold is in limited supply. what tvallen gets from this will go back to her clan, though they do not have that much need for gold. something to use on their occasional trips for orlais, though.

she is not quite so frightening, these days. her continued presence at skyhold has eased some of the concern for her height and her immense greatsword, which rarely leaves her side. but if the people here can get used to a qunari or two, then an avvar warrior shouldn't be too much of a challenge. she sits by the stall with the sword balanced in front of her, both hands atop the hilt. her eyes are closed, angled up to the sharp winter sun. she has just finished sorting her wares properly, and now she must await for someone to take interest, which she's sure they will. ]

( ooc: i still only have one icon i'm so sorry )

3

[dominations]

( at any given time greta's countenance can be one of "cautious and recently kicked but ever hopeful puppy" to that of a creature one might beg the maker to spare you of. she would sooner be the prior than the latter, although not all things are under her control, at all times. there are notches up the side of her staff, little circles carved in, and then there are times when they have been scratched and stricken out, only for a fresh, pristine set to begin above them.

she wonders if she has made a terrible decision, attempting to help the inquisition when she arguable cannot help even herself. ostensibly, however, even the likes of she cannot botch a quest for herbs.

greta pauses before replying, head canted and-- yes, it is essence of puppy, today, as she leans against her staff to look at the avaar. a comment on her height, or just a comment in general? she is not the most adept at social cues, never had been. cilla did little to assist, on that front. )

I'm not afraid of heights, ( she finally allows, cautiously, wetting her lips as she looks up to the grace. ) I'm not certain that you need to get me up there, however.

( her nevarran accent is persistent, thought perhaps not quite so much as that of seeker pentaghast, and she takes to the cold with perhaps just a few layers lacking for people not to spare her concerned glances, from time to time. )

Lena Meravas | Native OC / Valos-Kas merc, rogue, buttface

[fightingdirty]

{ 5 }

Snow is the fucking worst. Lena may not have ever set foot on Seheron, but she'll sure her body is conditioned for the weather there, because she's freezing her ass off in Ferelden. She doesn't even want to be down here this time of year, but this is where the company's latest job is, so here she is too.

She takes up a table off in the corner, legs stretched out and smirking at the people who give her a wide berth. At one point she winks at a timid looking man and he nearly wets himself before hurrying away. Straight out of the tavern. As if he thinks she's going to throw him over her shoulder and take him somewhere to have her way with him. The thought makes her laugh and that, in turn, earns her more looks. But she really doesn't care. If anyone starts trouble, she can take care of herself. And if by some chance she can't, the rest of the Valo-Kas company is nearby and will enter once they hear about a brawl. Not to rescue her, but because brawls are fun.

For now, she sits and waits for a friend to arrive. She should be in the area by now.

ILU

[gatheringstorm]

That the Valo-Kas is actually nearby instead of in some far-flung region of Thedas is surprise enough, and one that sends Korrin out of Skyhold as fast as her mount can carry her. Given the reluctance of the others to officially join the Inquisition, she's been expecting that most of her interaction with them would consist of infrequent messages and care packages of maraas-lok and horn balm. After the past few months without, memories and nostalgia come rushing back, and Korrin doesn't even try to hold back.

She leaves her mount with the stable people and rushes the rest of the way to the tavern. The snow doesn't faze her any, nor does she register the people she's weaving her way around, outside and within. For once, she's actually grateful that her kind are rare in the Hinterlands, as with the crowd it makes spotting Lena much easier. A broad grin forms as she approaches the table, raising her voice to set it apart from the noise around them. Though honestly, being heard has never been a problem for the mage. "Lena! Andraste's tits, it's good to see you again."

Mary Read | Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag (Rifter!)

[unmans]

[[ ooc; just a note - so this is a lady (who identifies as lady) dressed up as a dude, convincingly enough to fool a lot of pirates for a long time. so just letting you know, pronouns in this will all say her/she, but Mary should look and sound completely like a young man, around teens to early twenties /o/ ]]

that boat prompt ofc;

Come on man, ain't you ever tied a poxy line before?

[ it's a grumble raised from what appears to be a young man, fairly ill outfitted for this kind of weather, and trying his (or hers, more so) best not to shiver while watching the dock hand trying to secure the rope from the barge. Mary'd just rode in, after coming from up river as this carrier's bodyguard, albeit, she'd spent more of the time squinting at the ship's crew, as they went around with not even a quarter of the skill she'd expect from a sea-faring, proper pirate outfit. that, and, freezing her ass off. which is largely the reason so lets out a grunted huff and takes a long legged stride over the edge of the ship onto the dock, giving the worker a shove as she takes the rope from him. ] Off with you, lout. It's handled.

[ crouching down, the pirate's making quick work of tying the line, moving on to the next in half the time the dock hand had been managing it, muttering to herself as her teeth chatter. ]

Bloody Round Table dandies. Wouldn't know the right end of a ship if a damned galleon rammed your crocked backside with it.

[ too used to the west indies for this shit. too pirate. can't deal. ]

gull & lantern;

Now we are ready to sail for the Horn... Weigh hey, roll and go... [ a voice, low and half mumbled, emits from one of the tables snuggled close to the fire pit, singing something probably unfamiliar to most here, but a shanty Mary could voice in her sleep, these days. she'd be lying to say she doesn't miss home, and the open sea, and the sun baking at her cheeks and chapping her lips, salt water clinging to everything. thedas is an incredible adventure, and a wonder at every turn, but it's felt weird spending so many nights on a soft mattress that doesn't rock to and fro with waves lapping at a hull. ] Our boots and our clothes, boys, are all in the pawn... To be rollicking randy dandy-O...

[ not that mary plans on brooding all night, and she's perfectly capable of making her own buddies to fill the time she's snowed into the tavern. you may catch her later on in the evening, when mary's gotten a lot more tipsy, and made several more friends, she's much more noticeable, standing on a chair and leading a corner of the tavern in a more jaunty sailing tune, one that's only half sung back correctly with her, as she's just taught these men the song a few moments ago. ]

Windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys, when the wind blows, we're all together, boys! [ a wooden flagon is raised to clink against another man's (probably one of the sailors from the boat she'd taken a job on recently), sloshing ale over the rim, and none of them seem concerned about it as they continue belting along. ] Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow, Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes!

[ come hang, get shit faced, hear pirate stories, sing shanties, help mary stumble her way to her room. it's a good time. ]

wildcard;

[[ idk hit me with whatever, i'll do network things too if anyone would be looking for a pirate/sailor/really awesome rogue?? come at me. ]]

Tavern

[easternseaqueen]

[The sound of the chanty makes Isabela laugh, and she approaches.]

You sound almost like something out of those books Merrill likes. But you've got the look of the sea about you. Rare sight around here. Who are you working for?