allthisshitisweird | Test Drive Meme!

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( where another might blanch, benevenuta sets her jaw, thinking. it sounds very reasonable, which means she is immediately suspicious of him, but - he does need to stop bleeding, for pity's sake. she is no healer, and no best judge of the right course of action, only ... indecision is a decision, so she might as well actually make one. )

Maker's breath, ( she murmurs. and then, sternly, ) If Lady LeBlanc disapproves, I shall tell her I acted only at your word.

( thedas will develop the automobile just so she can throw him under that bus, in other words. but for now - a little gingerly, cautious of the unfamiliar weight, she takes his sword.

maker's breath. )

Let's not be blasphemous, now. ( that wasn't even remotely blasphemous, he's just trying to be helpful and lighten the mood, and a way that is (more than likely) entirely unhelpful. honestly, herc probably had some terrible dad jokes to hand that only contributed to chuck's outbursts. defusing the situation is not his strong suit, never has been. )

Thanks for that. I'll be sure to remember you when my ghost is haunting Skyhold, in the aftermath.

( it's strange-- not uncomfortable seeing someone else wielding striker, but definitely strange to see it in the hands of someone so entirely not a warrior. dangerous, he's not doubting that... it just seems possible that the weight of the thing might make her topple over. quiet chuckles aren't really an option when you feel like you might pass out, however. and he really doesn't want her to miss and take off his head, by accident. ) Count of three?

( she's going to do it on the count of two or one, he suspects, that's the way people always try to "help" )

( it is how people try to do it. he's expecting that, she thinks; a warden of his age has been in the wars often enough to have dealt with some uncomfortable field medicine. probably, she thinks with renewed optimism, worse than this. he expects the count of one, or two, and so -

precisely on three, maybe just a moment after, she strikes. )

( nothing like having your own strength turned against you, and he's pretty sure there are plenty of tales about beautiful women and sharp blades. braced, ready, and his teeth still grit and muscles spasm with the charring of his skin, with flesh crackling and the sizzle of his blood along. there is worse pain, that he knows. doesn't mean his skin doesn't take on a new pallor and there isn't a dangerous moment where he might just pass out, even as his voice strains with a yell that he's making himself swallow.

max growls, whines at his would-be physician, and is about to drag a slobbery tongue over herc's face when he stops the beast's head with an armoured hand, gently pushing back. ) Don't you dare.

( herc's breath comes ragged, frankly he looks terrible, but at least he's not bleeding. he'd try and express a coherent word that comes out as more than a strained growl. the good lady just gets a nod, weary. )

( the blood has stopped and she hasn't done him any new injuries - it is as much as she might've hoped for. her expression is a little wry at max's displeasure, and she lowers the sword as gingerly as she'd lifted it, slow to avoid clumsiness.

she is not accustomed to wielding a sword. her staff is one thing. )

There,

( infusing a bit more certainty into her voice than she has rightly felt. )

The poultice, then, and back to camp.

( and he'll just be accepting the precious sword back, now. the grip of it, the weight, it's not something he can really wield effectively right now, but he can garner some strength from striker eureka. it was as much as part of him as a mage's magic was part of them. fingers curled about the grip, hercules nods, licks his lips, and ignores the parched feeling. the need for a water skin could wait a moment, until the poultice was seen to. )

You did all right.

( such high words of praise - the sentiment stronger than the phrasing might suggest. )

Maybe I should take up your staff, next time. ( with a slight grin, before he looks to the wound, violent pink and red and black, but at least not open. ) Keep things interesting in the field.

Absolutely not,

( a bit more serenely, now that she isn't holding his sword and feels a touch more on familiar ground. he is well enough to sass her while she tends him; this is a good sign, means she doesn't have to feel badly about scolding him while she does it.

binding the wound with the poultice is quick, brisk work. her hands aren't gentle, but she doesn't jostle him unnecessarily - when satisfied, she hands him a water skin herself and gives him the second cloak. )

( Serenity suits her better, and yet he isn't going to imagine he's off thin ice, yet.

In the meantime, he doesn't interrupt, just makes a face at Max who whines back, before barking happily as the poultice is completed, and pulls the top of the water skin so he can take a sip. He's learned not to drink too fast when he's feeling rough, over the years. It'd seem smart, if it weren't also an indicator of how many times he's been in a rough state. )

Thanks. ( The cloak is a relief, even if he still winces a little at the pain, and hauls himself up. She'd had to do enough, without literally dragging his sorry arse about. ) Allow me to escort you back to camp?

( just the barest hint of self-deprecation, mixed up in humour and fine manners. )

( the lofty arch of her brow suits her better, too-- )

It is the least you might do, Warden.

( for all that it'll be her staff protecting his sorry arse if it comes to that, probably - but they aren't far from the nearest inquisition camp, and she thinks - hopes - they'll make it there without further incident. it's a rarity enough that she should venture out of it in the hinterlands, unaccompanied; she's bold enough, but not a fool.

she is far from home, and far from what she knows best. dangerous, yes, but untested in the situations she dances through now. the council wrangling and library inventory is a touch more her speed, usually--

except you can't tell benevenuta she can't do something. she'll only die trying to prove you wrong. )

( a quiet laugh, more a low rumble than anything else. ) I'll give you that.

( likely if Hercules were to venture into council or inventories he would require saving, once again. that isn't really his pace, for all the miserable reality that he is amongst the senior wardens. that was a matter he preferred not to think on when he could avoid it (but imagine, if you will, Herc with a pair of spectacles, assisting Benevenuta meet a deadline, and then imagine her realising getting him to help with council matters was a bloody terrible idea. he is capable, he is diplomatic, but he is not quite the man Stacker Pentecost was, and never shall he be.)

still, let it be known that if a bear does come (BEARS) they do have Max, and he has Striker Eureka and Rebellion, and he'd sooner see his gut spilled than an ally harmed. he is inclined to a charming sort of bullheaded stupidity, on some matters. ) How have you found the Hinterlands? To your satisfaction?

( idle smalltalk post fiery sword wielding, as you do )

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