allthisshitisweird | Test Drive Meme!

Entry tags:

! test drive

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

He has grown up some since we last all traveled together, Leliana. There is slightly less blushing. [ Not much, but a little.

But that- oh. That is hard not to ignore. He peeks around the shoulder he is working on to stare at the former lay sister; somewhat surprised by the vehemence with which she speaks. ]

Is that judgement I hear in your voice, my dear? Whatever has Alistair done to earn such harsh treatment of you?

( An aggrieved sigh. It would be Zevran that catches the brief glimpse of temper. )

Alistair? Nothing. He is an honourable as he ever was.

( But it is Leliana who has become a warped thing. That is not easy to consider. What Wynne might make of them all now, and what she would make of Leliana. )

A slip of temper, Zevran. Best forgotten.

From a veritable ray of sunshine such as yourself? I find it odd. Speak to me, Leliana, and I promise I will not tease you for a week.

[ And he means it this time, in truth. As much as it is a jest, something to poke at their respective shared pasts- it is unlike her to be thus troubled.

Is it that she has become something of a Bard once more? He can understand her reservations, her concerns. ]

The Left Hand has no business in the sun, Zevran, as I do not doubt you know.

( I will not tease you, he says, and it earns a flat look. She has played this game before, Crow, and she knows exactly how it will end - with Zevran laughing, and her infuriated.

She pulls away from the dragon. Where her arms would have swung and loosened up in years past, now she holds them close, controlled. ) No, I am no ray of sunshine. To be such would extinguish all the benefits of shadows.

The Left Hand was once a Lay Sister with a vision and a song in her heart.

[ A terribly romantic picture- and he teased her about the vision endlessly- but a vision none the less. They'd both been younger, brighter- though of the two he cannot help but think he has found himself at the better end of bitterness; less resigned and dutiful and more viciously determined.

What Leliana has made herself- she has done out of faith. While he has no means of understanding such a drive- he has ever known her faith to guide her and guide her well. ]

And yet here a Shadow stands, basking in the work you have done. [ She knows what the Crows call him, now. What Antiva murmurs of in the blackest, bleakest corners. ] You do what you must. You always have- and there has never been shame in it, nor dishonor in acting out of faith.

And before that she was a bard, who took no small delight in sculpting the Game in compliance with Marjolaine's whims.

( Dorothea had saved her from Marjolaine, from herself. But what is she sculpting herself into in service of Justinia and then the Inquisition? Her mouth snags into a scowl, brow furrowed. )

What of my faith? ( She turns on him then, temper peaked. ) The Maker asks all of us. Our blood - our lives. Nothing would seem to sate him.

( Later she will despise herself for this outburst, those weakness, but better in the presence of a friend than that of a stranger. ) If there is no dishonour in acting out of faith, then what say you of the mages taken from their mothers as children and dragged to the Circle under order of the Chantry? What of those who justify drawing blood as an act in the Maker's name? Is that not dishonour?

( And these questions, these doubts, they insult the very memories of Justinia and of Wynne, of all those who shared her faith and rejoiced in it, just as she has - does? She knows not. )

[ Once in a rare, rare while- Zevran is capable of great solemnity. Of gravity and seriousness when it is required of him. Aside from the cultural requirements of any Antivan- Zevran has never spared much thought of faith. Life and death slip past too quickly for any assassin to meditate on such things-

But in truth when he was at his lowest point, when he lost all faith in all things- seeing Leliana have her own and act on it, live through it? Gave him hope in people in nothing else. Renewed his faith in those he cared to keep around him through choice or circumstance.

To see her struggle so cuts at him more than he thought possible. ]

There is faith- and there is fear. There is greed. There is justification and pontification used to smooth over crimes; you and I know this better than anyone in Thedas I should think. [ He circles around the downed dragon, dagger going into it's sheathe as he approaches her. ] I know little of faith as you well know. I care little for those that murder and cite the Maker as cause- if you wish someone dead? Kill them and hide it, or kill them and own it. But I do know this, Leliana. When you agonized over what path to choose and Jonas left you to it- you allowed your faith to guide you. You trusted in your own resolve. That more than anything else is what saw you through the bight and seen you thus far. Question the Chantry, for it is made by men. Question the Maker for his absence. But do not question yourself on your worth because of what you have done in the name of your faith and your resolve.

[ He reaches out, then, blood on his gloves as dark as the blood on her hands. He takes hers between his and looks up into her eyes, lips crooked in a smile. ]

For in this? I have never met your equal.

( Fear and greed are certainly traits she has encountered more often than she would care to. She sung for them, found her way into their beds and slit their throats, and that tended to be a quiet evening. She was Marjolaine's pretty thing, and even after all these years, the traces of Marjolaine linger. Much she is as peace with; other things are closer to hooks under her skin, just close enough to the surface that they might pierce should she move too fast, stretch to far. It is a melodramatic comparison, true, but a bard should have some talent in spinning drama into their tales.

She lingers, arms crossed, gaze trained forward and strictly away from Zevran until he rounds on her. She almost protests the comment about the Maker's absence, that very lack of belief in absence is what brought her to Jonas' side. It is not the real point, here, and so she stays her tongue. And perhaps because it is easier, and because she feels like she should attempt to listen on the rare occasions when Zevran links together so many words and so seriously. On any other day, she might suggest a toast, perhaps commissioning a painting. )

I do not know if it is my worth in question. ( slow, quiet. ) I wonder if it is my path. Marjolaine told me I was like her, many years ago. She said so repeatedly, in fact.

( and she was not deaf to the whispers and murmurs, to Morrigan's barbs, an ironic self-righteousness at finding the Sister was not so righteous as she seemed. ) Perhaps she was right. My faith and my resolve, they... have found different inspirations. I wonder if this has been a simple matter of delusion. Smoke and mirrors, the sort that both of us should have seen through long ago.

( Her hand remains in his, and she watches him; fond, careful. ) I know my worth. My purpose? That is another matter.

Edited 2016-01-12 10:40 (UTC)

Those that take people and shape them into things say that often. Your Marjolaine- my Taliesin. My masters. [ She had loved hers once- and he loved his- or thought he had when he did not know what it was to love. Without a point of comparison that drive for approval and affection can be easily mistaken for the real thing. ] Even after they are slain- their work lingers. The words are seeds they hope to grow into a vine that would strangle our desires to be anything more than what they meant for us.

[ He doesn't speak of his past seriously around Leliana as a rule but this- this he knows. This he has worked through in some way or another; this? Leliana herself helped him through without ever knowing. Perhaps he ought to tell her one day. ]

What is it you would say before battle? 'The righteous stand before the darkness and the Maker shall guide their hand.' That is your purpose, Leliana. To stand before the darkness. To cut through it. You and I have been drenched in the cruelties of the world and have cut back against the hands that shaped us in our own ways- of the two of us? I think your path will lead to a better world. [ His revenge is purely selfish. Leliana's? Will shape a brighter future. ] You bring the dawn, Usignolo, so those that hold false flames to abuse the hopes of others have nowhere left to hide.

( Your Marjolaine, yes. Hers, that she had loved so dearly, even as her knife mapped a path between Leliana's ribs. For some that was a metaphor, when love fell apart, but this was so very literal. Marjolaine had condemned her to a slow death as a plaything to a sadist. Marjolaine had been the puppet master, and Leliana her marionette, dancing as told until the moment the strings were cut. And then she was restrung, by Dorothea, by devotion to the Maker, and now? She could well be tugging the strings to make her own agents dance, if she thought carefully on it.

Her brow furrows, and perhaps - just perhaps - in that moment there is the confused surprise that might have belonged to the Chantry lay sister he journeyed with. Zevran had, and always would be, somewhat perplexing. She opens her mouth, and by her expression it would seem she plans to voice a protest, before slowly closing it again. The righteous stand before the darkness. Darkness they had then, and darkness they had now, and it is-- painful, how Zevran's words strike her. Not so similar to old injuries being cut open, that they might be fully cleansed and healed, rather than being left to grow sweet and foul and fester.

There is a long silence before she can muster words and trust her voice to deliver them, though her head is bowed. )

My dear friend, do not undermine your own heart. ( Because if it is she who will lead them to a better world, than who is he but the guide? ) What else have we to light the path?

What heart? [ The moment of seriousness has come, settled, made it's strike and gone as though it were never here. ] I cannot undermine that which I do not carry.

[ His smile, should she see it, is self depreciating and wry, faintly bitter in it's humor. Once he may have had a heart. He left it to bleed out on the cobblestones years ago.

Gently, he reaches up to touch her cheek and urge her to look at him clearly. ]

Bright smiles and hopeful song. Or a warm bed full of lovely women. [ Here, the teasing arch of his brow, the twist of humor to his voice. ] How can a world full of such beauty ever be so dark, mm?

( No, hang on. She isn't going to let him get away quite so easily as that. ) Oh? A heartless man would seek inspire another's faith and resolve?

( A slight quirk of her brow, head tilted just so. ) Are you so eager to counter your own efforts as that?

( It is-- confronting, in a strange way, but she complies. Or, rather, she does not back down. She lost that ability some time ago, for better or worse. ) It has been quite some time since my bed was full of lovely women, ( come her own slightly dry reply, ) But if I refamiliarise myself with the indulgence, you'll be the first to know.

( No, he really won't. )

A heartless man knows well what it is to lose his own and wishes to spare the heart of one he finds himself somewhat fond of a similar fate. [ Too clever by half, his Leliana. Too kind. ] You've heart enough for both of us. In fact- that is how I get away with having no heart and no conscience. You carry one for me, Alistair carries the other. And for the two of you? I carry...well. I do not know exactly what, but I am certain it will come to me.

[ He would say he carries their bitterness, their bloodied hands and hearts, their darker secrets the world has no need of knowing. He carries their revenge; not to say that either of them need him to take those lives on their behalf but- if a few extra bodies ended up among the masters he'd cut down it is not as though he needs to tell them. ]

I must reintroduce you and Isabela; while it is not a bed full of lovely women- she will certainly help you make the most of what room is available to you.

( A faint smile, unconvinced, concerned, but with enough comprehension that she cannot convince a man of his worth and his spirit as easily as she can see throats slit and secrets secured. Other ways must be sought, perhaps, for more than one thing. ) Perhaps you carry our hope, for when we lose our footing.

( because what is a heart or a conscience without hope? It is... an idealistic statement, but it is nice to find herself in company that inspires, even if just for this afternoon, this day, a trace of the idealist she once was.

and it was all going so well, until she tried to counter-sass him. Never let Cullen know that Leliana has a match, of sorts, in Zevran. He might attempt an alliance. All that said: record scratch sound effect button )

Isabela? ( squinting. squinting forever. ) Oh-- oh. The card cheat?

( no, no the squinting just intensified. ) I know we have a lot in common, but that might be taking it a little far, no? Friends can share too much.

A hopeful assassin. What would the Crows say?

[ He crackles a soft laugh, eyes crinkling. Well- yes. Aside from their vengeance he could carry their hope. It is not so heavy a burden to bear. They have seen through the ending of the world once before and come out with stories and songs- why can't they do it a second time? ]

Mmmmhmm. Isabela, Admiral Isabela. [ He smirks. ] Leliana if you wish to reserve your nights for those that I have not had in my bed as of yet- you are going to need to either step up your game or point out who you wish me to avoid as to not make things terribly awkward.

I do not care what the Crows say.

( She had respected their work, once. She values Zevran far more.

Leliana makes a quiet sound of disgust, pulling back, and it is an easy lapse back into their habits of before - except her ire is dramatised, and half heartedly so. She can barely hold her smile away for more than a few moments. )

I do not need your pity, or your recommendations, thank you.

But I have so many recommendations to make- when you formed the Inquisition, and do be honest, did you make being ridiculously good looking a requirement? Because it seems as though we are full to the brim of stupidly gorgeous women and handsome men.

[ He sighs- playing up the swoon for her sake; and this is much more like it. The teasing, the way her nose wrinkles just a bit that is wholly sincere and slightly girlish. ]

Well, I had to consider who might be suited to what roles. You never know when you might need a seduction carried out, and what skills might be required to complete the job... although if I had considered more carefully, I might made you our Seductionary Advisor, outright.

( she says it so seriously, so earnestly, but there is a telltale smile lurking at the corner of her mouth, even as she crosses her arms. )

Although if you are determined to exhaust yourself and all our assets, I may have to pursue a new tactic.

[ She and only she can get away with joking over such a thing- that he was used for seductions is one of the few truths he'd shared with her during the blight. Anyone else making such a joke would find themselves bleeding in short order. But Leliana? Earns another crinkling of his eyes, another smirk. ]

I am hardly exhausting myself- well. With all but the Qunari. I need a day or so of rest after them but they are worth it.

( And so would another making the comment bleed at her hand. They both of them were used when they were younger, but Zevran had been bought as a slave, and she had believed she did it for love and adventure. Perhaps she had an easier time of things than her friend, with such convictions, or perhaps there was some lingering naivety in her, still. Her smile gives way to a quiet scoff, and a shake of her head. )

I will take your word for it.

( for now, she is gathering up her collection of dragon teeth, nodding towards the cart. ) I can have agents work the rest of this. I think I would sooner see us on the road, than struggle with working the best bones from the carcass.

Truly, Leliana, you ought to take a night with one. They are marvelous in so many ways- Korrin especially I think you might like. [ She is even one he hasn't had a roll about with just yet! Not for lack of trying.

Bag filled and with the knowledge that someone will handle the rest, Zevran jogs back to the fearful nugs. Ugh. The noises they make. ]

Better to get these somewhere safe before the wolves hear them and grow hungry.

Ought I? Food for thought.

( So many jokes. She had not taken anyone to her bed since Marjolaine; oh, she is a master in seduction, but it is harder to hide the truth of what you are when your body is marred and twisted with scars, and some trickier targets would not deem such a body desirable at all. That bothers her not. More bothersome is that others must be sent to do such work, for all the jokes she makes to Zevran, and that is without her idealisations of romance and love. Love was redemption, it was... peace, of a sort. Not all people were meant for such things, she had come to understand, no matter how they might admire the strength for it in others.

This, the joking, it is easier, and she she leaning forward to murmur gentle words to the scared little dears before she looks to Zevran again. Her poor sad nugs. They will live a much happier life at Skyhold. )

If they get hungry then Zevran will get a nice new coat, won't he little nugs? Yes, we'll skin the wolves to keep you save. Yes, we will.

( stop baby talking to the nugs, spymaster jfc )

...It says something about me that I have missed this. I do not think anything good, but. Something.

[ Her coddling affection is familiar and warming enough that he does not do more than the token sighs of supposed irritation as he settles in among the cages. The nugs are soothed, slowly, by Leliana's cooing and baby talk and Zevran, well.

Crackles a soft laugh. ]

Yes, yes, if there are any bears or wolves that dare attack I shall make a fine coat of their fur.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Test Drive Meme!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject