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!

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.

[fightingale]

It'll keep us young, Zevran.

( or perhaps give them both a few grey hairs, yes. or charred ones, for that matter. it is incredible how good it fields to be in the field again, even for a few days; it stokes a fire in her, one that has been left to burn down to embers for too long, and there is a fierceness in her smile that belongs to the bard and not the spymaster.

another arrow is loosed, before she leaps from the cart and runs forward, yelling to pull the dragon's attention away from the nugs that are attempting to bury themselves in straw. )

[ombranera]

I do not need to be young, I need to be unsinged!

[ Still he is, after a fashion- laughing.

Crackling with the same heated energy, the same uncoiling knot in his gut that came not from a hunt well made and a kill earned- but a seemingly impossible battle that he knows they will see through. Two rogues are not an ideal team to tackle a dragon- but they are not just any two rogues. They are Zevran Arainai, the Ombra Nera, and Sister Nightingale, the Inquisition's Master of Spies and former Bard.

Part of him feels a little bad for the dragon, honestly.

He skitters to the side, venom on his daggers raking along the dragon's hide, acid splashing in their wake. ]

Seriously though, Nugs?

[fightingale]

( There is a twisted sort of nostalgia in this - the scent of living flesh burning with the rake of Zevran's knives, of dragon blood and foul, heated breath. Without doubt, the Blight they fought to quell so desperately had been a terrible thing, but in some ways... it had been time among brethren, had it not? An oddly cobbled together family, where tempers ran raw and heated, and yet for all the clashes of ideals between them, they fought desperately and viciously to keep one another alive. )

I'll write a song in your honour, if you catch alight.

( And only then, Zevran.
She twists, and it is an ice arrow now, that demands only a fraction of a second longer to aim, as the dragon raises its head to bellow at the pain Zvran has torn along its side. Leliana lets it fly, and it catches the beast in one eye, before it swings its tail around and then whips it back again, almost catching her with the sudden backlash.

Almost, of course, because Zevran is right. ) They are incredibly endearing.

( Only slightly breathless, after leaping out of range of the tail. ) And I plan to train them as messengers.

( But, mostly, they are very endearing. )

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.

[ombranera]

And I an Antivan Poem in yours, should the same happen to you.

[ There will be entire verses dedicated to her eyes and her hair, the lusciousness of her lips and the softness of her bosom- it will be artfully scripted and utterly filthy.

All the more reason for her not to find herself aflame.

Blinded and the old steps to this familiar dance ring true- hamstring and blind, cripple and disarm- his next cut done high and hard near the base of the beast's tail- better to take care of that ere either of them attempt the final mount.

Honestly he isn't certain if she can manage it with a bow- but she has surprised him before. ]

I cannot believe Jonas ever purchased you one. The noises they make-

[fightingale]

( More arrows, and then a sharp: ) You will not.

( Whether it's because she will not be subjected to his idea of poetry, or because she would never catch fire, well, that's up for debate. Leliana runs to a rocky crest - fast and light, despite slippery mess from the snow melting under the dragon's fire - and hurls herself towards the dragon. This sort of thing was always easier with Sten or Oghren around (they did seem particularly good at aggravating their foes), and there's a moment where she's almost gotten herself a clean landing on the thing's back. Almost, because it twists and she is just a shade out of practice, so she's got an arm wrapped about the base of its wing and is drawing a dagger from her belt as it violently tries to dislodge her. )

This is not the time!

( Is she talking to Zevran, or the dragon? Either way, there is some violent stabbing involved. Honestly, what kind of monster doesn't like underground bunnypigs? )

[ombranera]

Oh how her hair, bright as the sun at dawn, shimmered in the Dragon's Flame-

[ Harder not to crackle his laugh around it now, but that is the best place to start. From the head and work his way ever downwards to each tasty morsel of Leliana's lovely frame. Of course he wouldn't manage to get quite so far mid battle, darting out from under the beasts' claws and taking the diversion presented by her going for the throat, sliding for the wing- but not slipping free as that one unfortunate Warden had in Denerim.

No, Leliana held fast and that gives Zevran time and room enough to vault up the rock face and upon the beasts back, climbing it's neck with daggers slipping along scales and blood and bone.

Not their cleanest kill- but it has been years since they've done a dragon. ]

I think it to be the perfect time!

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--

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! )

[fightingale]

( She is not going to dignify that with a response. At least, not until after they've dealt with this business, and her lip is caught in something between a grin and a snarl as she hold on, keeps striking and watches Zevran deliver the final blow. The beast lurches, finally falls, and it's only in that last moment that Leliana leaps clear. She lands in a crouch, hands at her side, and wipes the bloodied blade in the snow before returning it to her belt. Her bow has not fared quite so well, but she can at least see it sticking out from underneath the dragon's wing, instead of some heavier and more difficult to move portion of it.

Leliana walks to it, nudging the wing aside with her foot, so she can grab the bow and study it for any damage. Without even looking at her fellow rogue, ) You think any time is the perfect time.

( Just slightly dry, slightly chastising, and a faint note of fondness somehow folded in there, as well, before she finally offers him a cursory glance, lest he need a poultice or five. ) If you object to nugs so, I imagine you'd sooner travel on foot.

( Rather than in her nice cart. Her very nice, very stolen cart. But it also has some other goods that the shady trader abandoned, so really she'd say it's a good cart to be in. )

im cry

[twelvelabours]

( ah.

he gives the dog a look, a look which says, "mate, couldn't you have bought some bears, instead?" before turning a smile towards benevenuta. to his credit, he doesn't flinch away from the sight of a displeased woman who could probably turn him into a cheeseboard, if she felt like it, though he does look a little more haggard than his usually-haggard-anyway self. )

Lady Thevenet, you look well. ( and, given the indications that he seems to have hauled his sorry arse in the right direction, he ventures a further, ) Would you like a hand carrying all that?

[ungovernable]

No, I would not.

( her full height is an unimpressive 5'6" but she draws herself up to it like a bristling cat and then-- )

Let me see.

( the injury. she is no healer, but she can clean a wound and apply a poultice with the best of them - at camp they will make a better job of it, but she has no desire for him to keel over on the walk back, or bleed more than he must.

she does usually have a slightly better bedside manner than this, of course. )

[ombranera]

[ With all the thrashing limbs and spattering of blood, Zevran cannot very well leave with any certainty that he'll be able to roll free. Much as he used to he braces himself for the rough landing, bones rattling when the beast finally falls. ]

Because my timing is perfect.

[ He shakes free from where he'd ridden the beast to the ground, wiping his blades clean and frowning at his leathers. Cleaning the blood from it will take him an hour solid- at least the ride back to Skyhold is a long one. He shakes himself free of the last of the scales and flesh, taking the long walk around to find Leliana whole. Just as planned. ]

We are no longer required to camp so close to them- so I have no issue with the nugs.

[twelvelabours]

Suit yourself. ( said with all the tired and infuriating good humour of someone who is used to formidable women. actually, make that "used to formidable situations in general," and who believes all things can be weathered, for better or worse. in this case, ill temper can easily be suffered for the better.

as it is, he glances towards the dark mess that was once the blue of his warden's uniform, pulling the now-ragged mail and material apart to reveal a grisly, bloody gash travelling from shoulder to abdomen. ) Fractured the collarbone, ( herc adds helpfully, in an entirely businesslike way because she needs to know how to help him, and not because it merits pity. it's impressive he was digging, but at least the injury is on his left side and not his right.

a bit more brightly, ) You should see the other bloke.

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.

[fightingale]

Always an answer. ( just a murmur, not really intended to be audible, though she makes no particular effort to conceal it. the benefit of having an assassin at your side meant there was an ally with sharp wits and ready blades. less fortunate was the ready tongue that seemed to accompany it. she had half a mind to unleash Zevran on the noble houses of Orlais to simply watch the ensuing sport, if she didn't want to risk the Inquisition and Josie's sanity being reduced to smoldering rubble.

Even with all that, she is glad to see him in one piece. ) Not required, although arrangements could be made.

( This is the truly sinister side of Sister Nightingale: making a man endure nugs in his sleeping quarters. There is the barest hint of a smile, before she turns a critical gaze to the dragon. ) What say you - worth salvaging any scales for Harritt?

[ombranera]

I share my room with Alistair, I do not need Alistair, his dreams and Schmooples the fifth.

[ He gets so little sleep as it is, though that is not always Alistair's fault.

Zevran takes a wide step around the beasts' mouth, gauging where they cut it and how much remained unmarred by the battle. After a moment, he nods. ]

I would say we ought to write Wade and Herren- but they are no longer answering my letters.

[fightingale]

( she should not smile. she should not smile, and so naturally Leliana is having to rein in a slight smirk, and attempts to cover the expression with a musing hum. ) Nugs do not snore, at least. And they are very clean creatures.

( or, if they do, it's so adorable that Leliana cannot bring herself to chastise them for it, or even shoot them a dark look.

Leliana, herself, is crouched down, pulling back the scales around its mouth and inspecting the fangs. A moment of inspect and she stands, steadies herself, and kicks down hard on the side of the brute's mouth, and again, until some of the teeth have been worked loose. She grins at Zevran between the vicious kicks, head canted slightly to the side. ) Is there anyone left who does answer your letters?

( and, crunch. another kick, and more teeth loosening. )

[ombranera]

No, but they are nocturnal and quite talkative for so small a creature.

[ While she works the fangs, Zevran busies himself with the claws. It is a grisly business, carving back the flesh to remove the talons- but it is something familiar, something that reminds him of their time with Jonas and Shale and Morrigan. He could almost smell Oghren rolling about doing something or another, hear the whine of the dog that they probably shouldn't be feeding scraps from the corpse.

They never did find out if it made the mabari stronger. Ah, well. ]

Alistair always did. You on occasion, when it suited you and when I remembered to write.

[ A twist and a grunt- off comes the first talon. His smirk goes a little soft, a little sad. ]

Wynne. Wynne always answered. Even if only to beg me to stop writing her.

[fightingale]

( Wryly: ) The same could be said of you. It sounds an ideal arrangement.

( Time to gather up some of these teeth, dropping the bloodied things into a leather pouch on her belt. A tilt of her head at the mention of her own letters, straightening up with a tooth in hand when the comment about Wynne comes.

She stops, then, and the sobering of his expression is echoed in her own. Even though it is more restrained, more controlled save for when she is truly caught off guard or slipping into darker territory, there is some sadness in her face. (When last they roamed together, she had been so much freer, but everything is weighted, now. Limited by all that she has seen, has lost. They are not the same as they once were, even if they have shared some brief glimpse of it, today.) )

You miss her. ( It barely needs to be said, yet leaving it unacknowledged feels-- cheap. Letting down both Zevran and Wynne, really. ) It... ( and Leliana pauses, weighing her words before dropping the tooth into the pouch with the others, ) does feel strange, to have so many of us reunited and her absent.

( Some things were too sharp, too raw, to address more directly. They cannot be granted words well, not even by a bard. Singing of the grief of others is one thing; addressing their own is different. )

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?

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."