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[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

[tactical_alert]

"I could escort you. Once this weather passes us over, I'm on my way to the Inquisition's hold. They welcome, as I am to understand it, anyone willing to do their part so long as one means no harm."

Those who do their part for the Chantry are not meant to care about coin or gaining more for themselves, but (at least before all of this nonsense splitting all parties up) the Chantry does take care of their own. He can spare some coin to order up food for them both. "I do not put you in my debt. All I ask is that you be fed and rested and be true in your desire to earn a better life, to do what is right."

2.

[colecomfort]

[There's no need for an agent of the Inquisition to die from something as simple as slipping on an ice patch. While in the Hinterlands, Cole has taken to trailing behind those who head off on their own to gather supplies.

Ceodore will find a hand wrapping around his wrist — the one that's caught on to one of the rocks. Solid, supporting.

Another young man is there next to him, hanging on to the rocks with apparently no trouble at all. The brim of his hat ruffles slightly in the breeze.]

[tactical_alert]

"I'll grant it's better to think here. It's calm." His gaze wanders up through the trees again, across the snow, seemingly admiring the area. Though he gives the impression that he hasn't necessarily stopped watching this little bird. "Seems more arrive at Skyhold near every day. At this rate, we might as well declare it a city in its own right. Trade tents for quick ramshackle houses to be better built when funds and materials allow."

[unharrowed]

She relaxes further, visibly. Picking pockets would have been a risky move, she knows — guaranteeing a confrontation, perhaps violence if she were discovered. This is preferable.

"I can promise that much." Because what else would she say in response? It does, however, happen to be sincere.

"My name is Vasran," she offers. There should be introductions, if he is to be her escort.

[demonicbeauty]

"That would be wise," Ariadne said. "Although you mustn't make them out of wood. Wood burns far too easily. One wrong cooking fire and you could lose everything you've worked for."

Sadly, she spoke from some experience there. Refugees were common enough back home.

And without meaning to, she felt the pulse of the shard in her hand. It was, of course, completely imagined. But it was hard to ignore. Especially when she started to think of home.

She shook her head. "What's your name, milord?"

[ferrushomimus]

He looks over his shoulder, before he speaks quietly, "Addy, I wasn't just kidnapped because Gaspard is a bastard. I was kidnapped because Gaspard was an impatient bastard. Because Obie - Obadiah - had been selling weapons to Gaspard for years. That he was the one that provided the weaponry that burned through the alienage in Hamshrial. SO yeah, unwittingly helped a massive prick war profiteer, who then turned around and sold me to Gaspard for a hefty sum."

He shook his head, "My hands are bloody from sheer stupidity."

[ferrushomimus]

[Tony is adjusting his device, so he doesn't immediately see Bruce's expression, nor can his own be seen as his hood is covering his face. Well, until he looks up with the device.]

Again, I am still not that kind of --

[He stares for a moment, before tilting his head to the side. Then tilting it even further.] ... Bruce?

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.

[pinprick]

The Warden is quickly on his feet and catching the lady in the middle of her fall. His reflexes are quick, though his build tends to indicate "swordsman" to most people. He sets Celinie back on her feet and makes eye contact.

"Maker, are you all right?"

[forgottensavior]

"Yes, thank you." A sheepish half-smile takes hold, for having disrupted the man and for having to be saved from a spill. "I am so sorry for- "

She gets no further with that apology. Celinie cannot explain it, maybe it's because he looked her in the eye, maybe the gods felt she needed to know. Her hands shoot up to hold her head as she winces in pain and lightheadedness. There is that familiar thunder booming in her ears as the Echo triggers, throwing her out of the present and into being eyes staring clearly into his past.

[tactical_alert]

"I think there is plenty of stone around, or plenty that the dwarves could gather, to make some basic homes, but it would be a long effort, yes. What there is will simply have to do for now."

It's a far cry from the shining palaces and villas of Orlais where he trained, different from the Ferelden villages and Templar training facilities where he spent some of his youth. But he has no complaints--none that he would say aloud. Too many live in even poorer state, after all.

At her question, he sets arrow back in quiver, bow slung over. Gives a short bow, originating around the shoulders, quick but respectful, even for her unknown or presumably lower status. He would never have been good at the Great Game. Orlesians...so strange. "No lord at all, but Seeker Malcolm Reed, at the Inquisition's service. And what of the lady?"

[tactical_alert]

"I am Malcolm." No sense in being fancy, throwing around titles or family names. That would be petty, especially to someone who clearly has next to nothing. "It could be that our meeting here was fate." His smile is small, fleeting. Suggesting he's not perhaps the biggest believer in fate. "Although this is a frequent stop for those heading to or from Skyhold. We may have company when we depart."

[forgottensavior]

"I... cannot explain it." No really, she can't. Practicalities aside that she doesn't know why she's been blessed with the Echo, she's been rather sworn to secrecy about it. Uncertain if it will be a problem here, having it is problem enough at home. Certain Garlean elements are wanting to eradicate anyone with such gifts as no better than the beast tribes. Uncontrollable gifts that manifest as they will. "I didn't mean to pry."

Her heart aches to hear that some were left behind to such a fate and it's that compassion that overrides her embarrassment over the situation. Still, her hands are shaking now. "I would go to aid those people. If they yet remain."

1.

[wickedchase]

Fire erupts from the ground, creating a wall between Tony and said furious bear. It doesn't stop the angry beast, of course, but it at least slows it down. Really, Twisted Fate was under the impression that wolves were more inclined to be influenced by demons, but he's starting to think that maybe the bears are just as bad.

"The Maker's genitals aren't going to do much in the way of saving you!" the elf points out helpfully. "C'mon, now. I'll, ah, attempt to keep it preoccupied, you show off those grenades of yours?"

[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?

[bestowsmercy]

Quite. [Sarcasm never misses a beat, especially when it comes down to Charibert.] I take enjoyment in purging out the filth.

[He allows his gaze to fall upon the newcomer after investigating the ashes. Not a thing can be salvaged from the bandit, not even a coin.]

To whom do I owe the honor of meeting?

[dragondowner]

The river was fast and only mostly frozen. To her credit, the woman at the back of the boat was really good at her job and, unlike the people he was used to, she didn't seem particularly inclined to take any suicidal risks in the pursuit of glory or a challenge. It was nice, not having to paddle against raging rapids or scramble to keep the boat from capsizing, and Hiccup's teen-aged scowling (pouting) wore off pretty quickly.

"Do a lot of river travel?" Hiccup asked, too winded to really sound as awkward as he was, and twisted halfway around to look at her. He kept an eye on their course, mostly through quick darting glances, so he could paddle to compensate for the pull of the river. He wasn't strong but he was quick, both in reflex and action, and he definitely had a talent for navigating complex paths. Between the two of them, it wasn't so much white water rafting as it was stressful, wintery drifting.

"That is, do you--do this," Hiccup paused as if he intended to gesture to the boat but found that mostly impossible to do while holding an oar. "Often?"

[dragondowner]

Hiccup, being a teenager who had, until quite recently, apprenticed at a forge immediately had to ask:

"Did it work?"

Not that he could do it, given his complete lack of magical skills, or that he would try anything as risky as throwing fire around in a workshop, but that wasn't the point. A moment after he asked, he reviewed the tale he'd been told (ostensibly one he should relate to, with a vaguely cautionary leaning) and decided the answer was probably: no.

Lighting half the workshop on fire wasn't usually counted as a success...even if it was the half with the bits that were supposed to be on fire.

"I try to do things to make life easier in the Hold, or I did, but the gods truly dislike me, really, it's almost impressive. So, in an effort to appease the Lady so, you know, I don't accidentally sink us into the sea and kill everyone, or something, I traveled to the lowlands. I get here and I'm so close I can practically touch the sky-scar--then? I nearly get drowned by a Ferelden who can't row a boat."

Hiccup was ranting, he realized this, but once you got into a rant it was hard to pull out of that spiral. By the end of it, he combed his fingers through his mop of wet hair and draped himself across the back of his chair, awash in resignation.

"And bears," Hiccup said abruptly and pulled himself upright in one motion. His expression was torn between horror and confusion. "How are there so many bears in the lowlands? How? And why do they want to eat me of all things? Do I look delicious? Is that why the dragons always find me? Why did the gods make me look delicious?"

[dragondowner]

As usual, the gods neither favored nor reviled him; their regard was tepid, at best.

"Yeeeaaaah," Hiccup answered slowly and huffed as he rounded the outcropping after Krem. "It's more that he doesn't have...time for things like...trade and...diplomacy."

Because he lived on an island constantly beset by dragons. Plural. So many dragons. Just...constant winter and cold and dragons. Hence: The Wyrmhold.

Hiccup cringed a bit as he scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Between his gangly limbs and the way he swayed in a half-shrug, the motion practically telegraphed how leery he was of Krem. Well, not Krem specifically, but Lowlanders in general. The Avvar, for a great many reasons, weren't terribly fond of the Andrastians, nor the Andrastians of them. As a people, they were quick enough to forget old quarrels, but some things just kept coming up and Andrastians weren't exactly known for letting things go or being open to new cultures.

...And, frankly, talking about his home island was something that Lowlanders wouldn't understand or, worse, they'd insist on investigating if they heard about it.

It was unfortunate that this guy had saved his life (and, as such, Hiccup owed both him and the gods for the act) and was also carrying enough meat to make a reasonable dinner (assuming they were carrying it off for dinner). Dinner which Hiccup had very little chance of catching on his own without attracting at least one more bear.

He couldn't do another bear today, so, stories it was. At least Krem didn't know the dragon jokes or the extensive 'there once was a someone from Wyrmhold/Ram-Rock' limericks.

"He's a good Thane," Hiccup defended absently; no Avvar would have contested it but it felt important to point out to a lowlander. "And those Orlesian boats sank because they were mostly on fire, already, and gold doesn't float very well; he didn't actually drive his axe through the hulls to cleave them out of his way...at least not through all of them.

"It was one. Just the one boat...and part of another one, but that one was caught on the rocks and there was a Stormrider approaching so he had to get through. He apologized for that one...sort of."

[dragondowner]

Hiccup had never been so glad to be hauled up by the neck of a garment before. The lowlander pulled him onto stable ground, ground that was a considerably safer distance from the bear, and Hiccup all but collapsed, boneless and pale onto the grass. Below them, the bear made its frustration known, roaring and clawing at the cliff. When the rock refused to suddenly yield the skinny Avvar, though, it growled lowly and stalked off.

"I have no idea--I would swear not to do it again, but I don't even--" Hiccup admitted as he rolled onto his back, gulping air and heart still pounding. He was simultaneously exhausted and elated, a state that looked shockingly close to panic, but for the smiling, and let out a tired, partially unhinged laugh. When he sucked in breath again, he sat upright like a shot. "You didn't leave!"

When one is coming down off an adrenaline/terror high, most emotions can sound pretty similar. At the moment, it was hard to tell if Hiccup's shout was accusatory or praising. There was no good word for a tone like that and the closest comparison, well... He sounded like he was a last minute stand in at the Orlesian Opera, that he had to sing some normal, mundane line of conversation but didn't know the bars, hadn't practiced, and couldn't really sing, so it came out just a little disjointed from the rest of the production...except the production in question here was reality.

"You didn't leave and you had rope!" Hiccup shouted in that same clunky, not quite tone, as he scrambled to his feet. The moment he was vaguely standing, he lunged for Garris and wrapped the lowlander in a crushing Avvar embrace. It was how men showed their appreciation for one another (and also how someone who was just rescued clung to their savior as they enjoyed not being eaten), so Hiccup thought nothing of it as his noodle-arms did a reasonable job of crushing the air out of the archer.

[unharrowed]

She twitches off a smile herself: likewise fleeting, because she doesn't know about fate herself, and she isn't certain just how sincere he's being, but she'd like to be polite.

"The Inquisition is the last hope for a lot of people." And she knows she isn't saying anything he probably doesn't already know, but she's still feeling her way around the conversation. This topic is... safe. She looks over her shoulder, scanning the crowd, looking for nothing in particular. "Those who have something to offer, anyway."

Re: 1.

[ferrushomimus]

And THEN there was fire.

Fire and an even angrier bear.

Why did everyone keep making the bear angry? Well, Tony started making the bear angry but this guy just made him angrier. "I dunno, if I tossed the Maker's genitals at him I might live longer!"

But his fingers are already moving, putting together components, then twisting the top of the rather large sphere. Then he tossed it over his shoulder, and grabbed the other man - elf? - man-elf! by the arm and dragged him with him, "Yeah okay! No preoccupation! RUN!"

Because behind him? The ground was exploding into FIRE, and ICE, and LIGHTENING and other ... things.

LOL! They so do.

[lastoftheredwings]

"No way!" Run away a fight? A challenging fight? Not a chance. If anything, knowing the bear is now gunning for him just spurs Ceodore on to try harder in fighting it. This is now his battle and he's going to win it, no matter the cost.

Enraged wounded bear is even more dangerous than hungry bear, as it turns out.

The bear swings with a heavy paw at the knightling on the ground. Ceodore only just dives beneath that swipe by diving the ground and rolling out of its trajectory. That leaves him scrambling to his feet and unable to check on the other kid to see if he's managed to get away yet. Just in case he's still there, he barks out, "Throw a rock or something at it." Anything to buy him enough time to cast Blink on the both of them.

[lastoftheredwings]

[Ah salvation from above. Again. Ceodore would know that jumping dragoon anywhere. There's a sulky part of him that is cranky that yet again Kain's having to rescue his sorry behind. But he's not surprised either, given that Korrin told him his friend and mentor was around. Still, it chafes to need backup. And frankly? Ceodore needs the backup right now.]

Hey. You're late.

[Teenage attitude. Gotta love it. But even so, Kain gets a quick cast of Blink, protecting the both of them from vicious bear swipes. It doesn't take much for the kid to find his fighting rhythm now and he follows the spell with a shield bash at the bear's head. Just enough to rattle the creature and give the dragoon an open window for more stabbing.]

[kremdelacreme]

As it had been pointed out by The Iron Bull on more than one occasion, 'Vints lacked proper senses of humor. So even if he had heard those jokes and limericks, he just didn't care to repeat them (he had heard them, but it was neither here nor there).

"Orlesians need to realize that boats laden with gold aren't the most seaworthy things," he said as he led the way around, on approach to a wide, flat camp that was occupied by a few of the other Chargers, mostly nondescript humans in an assortment of armor that was usually brought along with them whenever they signed up, or was bought whenever they hit somewhere with a competent smith. Several of them raised hands to the Lieutenant, asking him in joking voices if he found another stray to bring home. First the bear, then the mage, a hobbit, and now a single small Avvar boy. They cheered when he flopped the dead ram down into a heap far enough back from the tents that they could set upon it and strip it clean as efficiently as a pack of dragonlings.

"If it makes you feel any better, your Thane sounds like the Chief. 's why part of my job is that whole diplomacy thing." He wanted that to sound like a welcoming thing, but Bull would probably do the same thing as Stoick, just call Krem over to him and gesture to all of Hiccup with a loud question mark.