faderifting: (Default)
Fade Rift Mods ([personal profile] faderifting) wrote in [community profile] allthisshitisweird2023-05-02 05:40 pm
Entry tags:

Test Drive!

TEST DRIVE MEME

While in some alternate, tidier timeline, the War against the Elder One ended years ago, you're not in that timeline. It's 9:49, and the war continues. An enemy force partially occupies Orlais and has decimated several Marcher Cities, while the Chantry, aided by the Inquisition, has marshaled Orlais and the faithful of Southern Thedas into a new Exalted March against the army of demon-bound Wardens, Red Templars, Venatori loyalists, and darkspawn Corypheus has amassed. Rifts are still scattered across the continent, periodically spitting out strangers from strange worlds with green-glowing anchors embedded in their hands. There's no Herald of Andraste to save Thedas. Someone else is going to have to do it.

You're part of (or allied with, recently hired by, imprisoned by, etc.) an organization, dubbed Riftwatch, that split off from the Inquisition several years ago. Riftwatch consists of these otherworldly new arrivals, rebels and Wardens, and other people who want to prevent the apocalypse without necessarily marching under the Chantry's banner to do it. Their headquarters is an island fortress called the Gallows—formerly a Circle of Magi, more formerly a prison for slaves, but its new occupants have done a good job removing the more grotesque reminders of that past and making the place livable. Their goal is to do what the Chantry can't or won't do, to go more directly after Corypheus and the dark magic he employs, and to keep the Veil from coming apart entirely.

Maybe you're here because you want to help. Maybe you need the money (though there isn't much of it). Maybe you acquired an anchor and sticking around is the only way to prevent your hand from killing you. Maybe you've been sent by the Chantry or some other entity to keep an eye on everyone—they're rumored to be a lot of weirdos and troublemakers. Or maybe you're a new rifter and just going where the nice people with swords tell you that you need to go.

NOTE: This is a static test drive! We post them once per year or so and continue to use them for a long time, so you're never late. Current players are encouraged to track new top-level comments.


I. THE FREE MARCHES: Hasmal, Tantervale, and most recently Starkhaven have all fallen to the Tevinter incursion, leaving Kirkwall the largest city-state in the Free Marches to remain unoccupied. For Riftwatch, that means the war is closer to home than ever, and traveling anywhere north of the mountains runs the risk of running into enemy scouting parties. Perhaps you've been sent out to find these scouts before they find the unwary, or perhaps you're just trying to pass through unnoticed to Antiva or Rivain when you run into trouble. Or maybe you're more in the thick of it: joining the Free Marches armies in harassing the occupying army as best they can from outside the city, or slipping your way into one of them to gather intelligence or meet with an ally.

II. THE WAKING SEA: When Riftwatch isn't traveling by griffon or magic mirror, it frequently travels by sea, courtesy of a small assortment of allied pirate ships. So welcome aboard. The sea is choppy and frequently violent—violent storms, violent enemy ships, or both at once—and the crew may not have much patience for incompetence, so either make yourself useful above or try not to get sick below.

III. KIRKWALL: Even when enormous evil darkspawn are trying to take over the known world and you and your colleagues might be the only ones who can truly stop him, you can't work all the time. And when you aren't working, Kirkwall is there for you with its dingy Lowtown taverns, its flashy Hightown establishments, its market stalls and street musicians and cellars hosting gamblers. (Or maybe you can work all the time, and you're in the city to do some official shopping, try to spy on a suspicious character, or show a potential financial backer a good time.)

IV. SEND A MESSAGE: Each member of Riftwatch is assigned a blue crystal, small enough to wear around the neck, that can transmit voice messages, as well as an enchanted book tied to that crystal that can be used to exchange written messages. They're secure enough to discuss the war, if you'd like to get down to business, but loosely controlled enough to ask a question or play a game with only a few rolled eyes from people who hate fun.

V. WILDCARD: From the Gallows' library to the pirate islands off the coast, from Hightown's high-priced market stalls to the bloody frontlines of the war, Thedas is yours to explore.

youwonscience: (They say it came out of a small thing)

[personal profile] youwonscience 2024-03-23 11:20 pm (UTC)(link)
We've got a few things in the rotation I think you'll be happy with. I'm sorry you missed Jude; he established pancake Sundays, which has stuck even though he's gone.

[She wonders if Jude would have been complicated for Ruby, considering, but she can't help but think his personality would have smoothed over any discomfort from his very different relationship to shapeshifting. She starts leading them to the newly established on-site tavern.]

We're high on creativity, so really the constraint is more often supplies. Low on olive oil right now, so probably not too much deep frying. And we've been low on tea for ages, it's probably been good for me to cut back but ugh, I'd love to not have to think about it.
eviscerates: (pic#9510827)

Valid and correct

[personal profile] eviscerates 2024-03-23 11:38 pm (UTC)(link)
There's something comforting about people who are blunt and crotchety. It reminds her of Granny. And Regina, actually. Cranky people who don't have time for waffling. (Both fans of waffles, though, ironically.)

"I could smell it. Even with the rain, the damp paper smell stood out." Once the location was figured out it just required pulling the panel hiding them.

"I'm a wolf. And a human, to be clear, but also a wolf. Not a mage," she continues, with the tone of someone who makes a point to be nice, but has had to deal with the same conversation many times over and doesn't enjoy it. "It's not ancient Dalish magic, it's not a skill I chose, it's part of me the way magic is part of mages."

Her gaze is sharp, willingness to meet any challenge evident in it. Ruby has been a capable and strategic companion for this mission, decisive when needed, and friendly throughout. This is the harshest she's been. Well, harshest she's been to Isaac. The adversary she'd silenced with an arrow to the throat likely found her a little harsher.
eviscerates: (pic#9510829)

[personal profile] eviscerates 2024-03-23 11:53 pm (UTC)(link)
If we're low on tea then I'm guessing coffee beans are a pipe dream?

( That was another thing they took for granted in Storybrooke. But if they're a few years into a war, random outposts were hardly going to be a place getting the priority rations. Something like that might go to soldiers in drawn out struggles for morale, or the leadership. Frankly, yeah, if she was as connected here as she was back home, she'd probably be battling the urge to help Granny hoarde coffee.

This is not the time to be thinking coffee. )


What's our independent crop situation like? I haven't even gotten my head around how big this place is, but are there like... greenhouses, gardens? Does Kirkwall have any agriculture or is it just...

( "Depressing?" She doesn't say it, but she feels it intensely. )

God, I'm sorry. We don't need to talk about supply lines, my wartime and diner experience just collided in the wildest way.
wythersake: (pic#14248495)

[personal profile] wythersake 2024-03-23 11:55 pm (UTC)(link)
This isn't, somehow, the most insane conversation he's had about the subject. I'm not a mage, insists Rifter upon Rifter -

It does them little good, in the end. The Chantry is disinterested in splitting hairs.

"It's interesting," A beat. He knows better than to argue solidarity, even so - "That you describe magic both as choice and as not. Another man might ask which you truly believe."

Of her own skills, before his own. He meets her eyes, brief, and turns back. The staff is little more than a burnt branch. He likes it in reach.

"But a wet wolf is still damp."
Edited 2024-03-23 23:56 (UTC)
elegiaque: (108)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2024-03-24 12:00 am (UTC)(link)
Gwenaëlle Baudin, ( and a beat: ) but if you remember me, it'll be as Lady Vauquelin.

( a stridently opinionated thing, in her fine gowns, fussed over by an assortment of muscular protectors as her mouth miraculously did not get her killed,

she doesn't even sound quite the same, now, the measured tone she takes. the better part of a decade will do that.
)
eviscerates: (pic#9510897)

[personal profile] eviscerates 2024-03-24 12:10 am (UTC)(link)
"Yeah. It's weird, right? And from what I recall, even if I was just human, Rifters are tied to the Fade, so that's why we get grouped in with mages, sometimes."

She pauses, nodding as she mulls it over. She gets the not-question and self-aware enough to grasp her baggage.

"Is there a reason you wouldn't? And... if I'm willing explain, do you actually care to know?"

Because, again, he reminds her of her grandmother and Regina, and she'll save her breath if earnest clarification would only be met with an eye roll.

She smiles, though, and tosses him one of the blankets while she hangs the other over the rope as a temporary modesty screen. "Leave the wolf logistics to me."
youwonscience: (Default)

[personal profile] youwonscience 2024-03-24 12:16 am (UTC)(link)
It's OK. We're a port built into cliffs, so not a lot of arable land right here. Fishing, some, and lumber outside the city proper, but we're pretty reliant on trade. Which, you know, war.

[She doesn't mind talking logistics, but she's also mindful it's a lot to take in at once.]

Coffee might normalize, though; it's mostly from Rivain, and that comes by ship and not overland. But. Right now it's problems but not emergencies. Though I've set one of the Research department members at investigating small batch paper making out of used stuff, the paper situation is close to dire for those of us whose whole day is notes.
eviscerates: (pic#10421432)

[personal profile] eviscerates 2024-03-24 12:22 am (UTC)(link)
I... feel like you having strong opinions on things and sometimes about Rifters is a thing I remember?

( Tentatively - years have passed, so "a hot minute" would be a vast understatement. This is someone she isn't even sure she spoke with directly, so she's not exactly able to speak to who she was let alone who she is now. She knows Adelaide had some connection, but Adelaide doesn't seem to be here. Given that Ruby disappeared from this world for years, it wouldn't be fair to go looking for her.

There's a few moments of pause, as she turns her thoughts over. Softly, )


Is it... okay to ask what prompted the name change?
eviscerates: (pic#10421554)

[personal profile] eviscerates 2024-03-24 12:31 am (UTC)(link)
I wonder if you could use potato peel. Kinda starchy, so maybe if you have something more fibrous to help give it some structure? Horse hair or something?

( Maybe she just really wants some fries. She'll deal. )

Let's grab that drink. I need to get my head around everything and something alcoholic feels like a good decision, right now.
youwonscience: (no lies)

[personal profile] youwonscience 2024-03-24 12:43 am (UTC)(link)
Understandable. Good news is, we don't have to go into town for that anymore. This way.

[The small tavern is a recent addition to the Gallows complex, but not an unwelcome one. It's relatively plain at present, with tables, chairs and a simple bar, and so new that there's no name on the sign yet. There are, however, taps and a little honor-system box for chipping in toward your beverages. As the box may suggest, there's no bartender, and Cosima moves to get herself something.]

We're still largely at beers and wines, but with that restriction, what can I get you?
eviscerates: (pic#9510867)

[personal profile] eviscerates 2024-03-24 02:04 am (UTC)(link)
( It’s a cute set up, with the honour system and all. She still feels a little pang as she takes it in, because it’s none of the places that are familiar to her. New isn’t always bad, but in those moments of turbulence it was nice to be able to find your footing.

Cosima being here in a new place was way better than if she was in any of the places she knew without a friend, though. )


I feel like beer might be the safer option?

( She grins, leaning her arms against the bar. ) No one tried making moonshine, yet? Or has the Inquis— has Riftwatch got a better handle on how resources are getting used outside of Skyhold?
grindset: (hour work is)

network;

[personal profile] grindset 2024-03-24 02:57 am (UTC)(link)
[Softly spoken, with an accent that may strike as Ravkan (though it isn't):]

In what sense?
allthatgleamsisgold: (bloodied)

Vlast | Guild Wars 2 | Rifter

[personal profile] allthatgleamsisgold 2024-03-24 04:49 pm (UTC)(link)
I. Arrival
A naked Qunari topples out of the rift, locked in fierce combat with a Terror.

Well, fierce is putting it mildly. The Qunari is, apparently, making every effort to savage and gore the demon with claws, teeth and horns.

He isn't doing a particularly great job of it - he keeps stumbling and staggering, unable to get (or at least keep his balance). It may have something to do with the oozing, half-healed gash on the side of his torso, surrounded by a thick webbing of burn scars (a god's blade cuts far, far deeper than flesh), or it may be another reason. Fortunately, the demon, freshly formed in its own physicality, is equally unbalanced.

Even so wounded, the Qunari's ferocity more than makes up for his lack of grace. The fight is already in his favour, his clawed hands and sharp horns stained with viscera from the demon.

That's about the last of the fight Vlast has in him though. As Riftwatch's timely arrival takes care of the rest of the horrors spilling out of the Fade, he finally topples, unconscious.



"-- had to tie him up once he woke," says the guard on duty. "When we tried to attend his wounds, he bit two Sisters, and kicked the healer in the balls. Hasn't said a word. If you're brave enough to visit, just mind those horns."

He unlocks the door to the room? Cell? (It's the Gallows, is there any difference?)

Vlast is in the corner, presently trying to chew through his binds. It's going about as well as one would imagine, of course, but he's got the moxy to try at any rate. The wound remains on his side, half stitched, and the tattered scraps of bandages and broken jars of poultices litter the floor, the remnants of his initial conflict with the healers. Still, someone managed to scrounge up a pair of trousers that would fit and put them on him before he came to.

When the deadbolt slides free and the door creaks open, his gaze shoots up; petulant and full of disdain. He makes no other noise than a low, gurgling growl at the back of his throat.


II. Acclimating
It's weeks before Vlast is allowed to leave his cell. There's a second incident of him snapping at a guard and no one is quite sure if he's just strange or some combination of mad, possessed and diseased.

Eventually, he gains the faculties of speech to at least clear up that he isn't the latter two and tentatively reassure others that he was not there to do harm. The former remain possibilities, but these are strange times and Riftwatch is not exactly without its own share of madmen.

He's offered no other name, save for what the bards in Tyria called him; Gleam.

His quarantine remains in effect, but he can at least leave his cell to wander the grounds, providing he doesn't bite anyone else.

It is good to at last feel the sun on his skin again, even if it's a pale, watery, pollution-choked shadow compared to the bright, clear, sapphire skies of Elona. He strolls tentatively through a courtyard with far too much architecture and far too little greenery for his tastes. Or perhaps he's just crabby because walking like this is not remotely intuitive to him; he feels like some pet, trained to parade around on its hind legs for the amusement of others. At least he hasn't gotten tangled in his own hair today.

(He'll take the little victories where he can.)

He shoots one of the statues a bitter look, as if it is its fault he's in this state.

It isn't, of course. Vlast has none to blame, save himself for his predicament. This was wrought from his own haste to challenge Balthazar. Or perhaps, in the long desired peace he found in death, his soul should not have roamed so deep into the Mists. He must have passed through the Rift to this world, his diminished state taking on this frail and puny body.

Strange that he was forced into a physical form at all. But other worlds must operate under other rules.

Staring into the stagnant waters of a fountain at his alien reflection, Vlast's lip curls into a snarl. He'll have to adapt, if he is to have any chance of crossing into the Mists again, and making his way back to Tyria.


Sending Crystal
This Fade - this realm of dreams and spirits and demons - it shares some similarity to a part of the Mists called Nayos, where the Kryptis dwell. Do these words mean aught to anyone here, native or rifter like myself?

If I live again, I must return to Tyria with haste. Knowing where this world connects within the All should make finding my way home easier.

quaestionespatris: (welp pt. 2 electric boogaloo)

arrival!!

[personal profile] quaestionespatris 2024-03-24 05:06 pm (UTC)(link)
There's an injured rifter prone to biting in the cells, apparently, and a dearth of available (or willing) healers to go down and deal with him. Octavius is the newest staff member added to the weekly rotation at the infirmary, which means whether he actually drew the short straw is immaterial. He's the newbie, and he's from Tevinter to boot. Hence, here he is, inching his way towards the bars to peek inside at the newcomer.

He balks almost immediately, blanching the colour of bleached bone. Was no one going to tell him that the latest resident looks like he could have easily waltzed ashore from the war in Seheron? Still, he's clearly injured, and those wounds (probably) won't treat themselves.

He clears his throat and tries to adopt a pleasant expression, which only grows slightly queasy at that threatening growl. "Uh, hello," he starts, but makes no move to cross the threshold into the cell just yet, particularly not when the guard on duty takes several steps backward and just abandons him there within potential striking distance of this strange not-Qunari. He swallows hard. "I'm, ah, here to take a look at your injuries. Would you allow me to do that?"
elegiaque: (010)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2024-03-24 09:43 pm (UTC)(link)
( a quiet breath out. strong opinions. rifters. ouais, fair— )

I don't know what you know about the elfblooded, ( she says, finally. ) But when my parentage was publicised, that my lady mother was not and our chatelaine was, I was stripped of my titles and disinherited by the throne. Legally, I suppose, I am still Gwenaëlle Vauquelin, but I've used my birth mother's name since.

( it's not lost on her that guenievre baudin was a widow. that it was her married name, probably,

but it was the name she had at the end of her life. the name both of her other daughters had. hopefully, if her late husband is anywhere he can hold an opinion on the matter, he might regard gwenaëlle's choice with some kindness.
)
allthatgleamsisgold: (disgruntled)

[personal profile] allthatgleamsisgold 2024-03-24 11:37 pm (UTC)(link)
The creature that looks like a Qunari watches the stranger warily.

Human, he thinks, and not one of Balthazar's Forged minions.

(The wretched, warmongering tyrant, partnered with that sadistt Joko, killed Vlast's Exalted attendants to study the magics that made them to bolster their own terrible forces. Had Sadizi survived the onslaught on Kesho...?)

None of them were souls bound to fiery armour, but that didn't necessarily mean they weren't loyal to the rogue god wreaking havoc across Elona. The Zaishen Order still had flesh-and-blood adherents after all and there had been humans in stupid hats in the cell before. He didn't know if the Zaishen Order had people who wore stupid hats, but it seemed like the sort of things people did in such situations. He couldn't take for granted that he was in safe hands.

But perhaps they were members of the Pact? ...If so, that meant his sister's champion would be nearby.

(...Would Aurene be here too...? He couldn't feel her, but death had diminished him in ways he couldn't begin to put to words. Perhaps that was just off the table.)

He glares at the young human, covering his wound by facing it towards the wall. He doesn't speak, because he's never had to before. His voice has always just manifested at the back of people's minds. Easier that way.

He waits for a reply, expectant, but the human makes no sign of acknowledgment that Vlast spoke to him.

He tries again, and there is nothing but resounding silence.

Vlast makes a sound of frustration. And then tries to speak.

It's a gurgle of vowels; he's not used to having vocal chords, and so he spends a moment sounding out the right noises that can give shape to the thoughts in his head.

"Who...?" he hisses, "Wha-at is --- this -"

He pauses. 'P' is a tricky one and he's never had lips before. "P... Place. What is this place...?"

Fumbling as his first spoken words may be, there is a demanding, expectant tone. He wants his answers and he wants them now.
quaestionespatris: (pleasantly surprised)

[personal profile] quaestionespatris 2024-03-24 11:52 pm (UTC)(link)
Seeing the strange Qunari withdraw back against the wall of the cell does not soothe Octavius's anxieties. He knows enough about cornered wolves to know how dangerous they can be, and so still makes no move to cross the threshold into the cell. But that wound looked vicious indeed--what little glimpse of it he'd managed to get before it was hidden from view.

The stumbling vocalizations take him a moment to parse through, and he frowns, until it becomes clear that he's being asked questions. Octavius raises his eyebrows and tries for as gentle, non-threatening a tone of voice as he can manage. Which isn't hard to do; he is, at his core, a gentle person. He just also happens to be an exceptionally frightened one.

"I'm Octavius," he says, gestures at himself, and tries to smile. It's a nervous, flickering little thing, but it's genuine. "I'm a spirit healer. You're in the Gallows, in a city called Kirkwall. Not a very nice name for a building, I know. I didn't choose it." Haha. A little joke! ...anyway.

He starts to step forward. "That wound looks very painful. Why don't you let me take a look at it, and you can ask me any other questions you like. I can't promise I'll know all the answers, but," and he shrugs a little, before trying to meet Vlast's eyes earnestly, "I do promise I'll try my best."
allthatgleamsisgold: (bloodied)

[personal profile] allthatgleamsisgold 2024-03-25 03:08 am (UTC)(link)
Gallows? He knows what those are. He's scattered and harried Joko's Awakened whenever he saw that withered lich's minions leading hapless Elonians to their deaths. Wretched, stinking undead, plaguing his home. Why didn't his mother let him nip that monster in the proverbial bud...?

(He had to wait. Prophecies, legacies, death, destiny and now it was all on his sister's shoulders...)

Was he to be healed, only to be executed? Death had been peaceful, he had no qualms about returning to that formless state, but he wasn't going to make it easy.

That's if they're enemies at all. He didn't know of any place called Kirkwall - not in Elona, Ascalon, Kryta or Cantha. Not in all of Tyria, and he had flown her skies many times, peered deep into the secret places, even visited the scrying pool in the Eye of the North, before Jormag woke, spreading their corruption.

He has questions. Many questions. And his voice alone can barely form words. He needs... something, anything to communicate.

His eyes fall to the sending crystal around Tavi's neck. The magics are... familiar. Similar, even. Weak as he is, it might work...

"Give." He inclines his head to the crystal. "To me. Neck. Ssstone. Give to me. Spee-ak."

His brow furrows. He has enough self-awareness to know his less-than-friendly demeanor may have given him a bit of a reputation. He should offer some reassurance if he's going to get what he wants.

"Will not hurt. You."

He doesn't add the for now. Not that he couldn't, he just has no reason to.
wythersake: (pic#14248495)

[personal profile] wythersake 2024-03-25 06:27 am (UTC)(link)
His hand snatches for the blanket -

Misses. Isaac stoops to bundle it up, considers: Why not ask?

"The question owns greater dimensions than most newcomers find reason for interest," Theology, biology, thaumaturgy; nests of politics and personal grievance. "I don't restrict that to the Rifted. There are enough mages who bury their heads."

A convenient position for the axe. Across the screen, he begins the fussy business of unfastening his vest, shirtsleeves, second knife,

"But if you've the stomach to answer, I've ears to listen."
Edited 2024-03-25 06:28 (UTC)
wythersake: (Default)

sending crystal;

[personal profile] wythersake 2024-03-25 07:27 am (UTC)(link)
You aren't going home. Under obscure and dreadfully-specific circumstances of fortune, you may fall asleep and hallucinate your own future -

[ isaac remains unconvinced of the veracity of canon updates ]

- But most of us call that dreaming. Hope this helps.

[ healer-biter. ]
succise: <user name="chiffonnier"> (16978215)

Kirkwall

[personal profile] succise 2024-03-25 09:51 am (UTC)(link)
(Here have this Kirkwall shenanigan: Vega, knocked back hard by the run-in, staggering and dropping the contents of her arms with a great, offended gasp. She is a slight woman, pale-faced and flushed with annoyance. In reaction she says,)

Beg pardon — (In a way that is definitely pissed off and not at all apologetic —none of this was her fault — and then she shrieks,) oh!

(Because there go her things, an assortment of paper bags twisted at their ends cascading out of her arms to hit the stones in front of them as she catches her balance. One of them falls into a great big puddle and is soaked through almost instantly.)
armd: (braids)

Kirkwall

[personal profile] armd 2024-03-25 10:03 am (UTC)(link)
Abby wears her hair braided neatly down her back; her and Inej have this in common but Abby steps loudly, takes up space and can be heard coming, going. Stealth is not her specialty but, in her defense, she can punch anything hard enough that it has never had to be. Because she is used to listening hard for anything left alive (or worse) in the middle of the zombie apocalypse that was once home, she pauses midway down a Kirkwall alleyway, because she thinks she might have heard something. Because she has been away from home for nearly three years now, she ultimately dismisses it and keeps walking—

Only to nearly jump out of her skin at the sudden raise of a voice behind her.

She turns around so fast she whips herself in the face with her own braid, hand in a fist at her side, ready.

She'll ask nice, first. "Give it back."
allthatgleamsisgold: (pout)

[personal profile] allthatgleamsisgold 2024-03-25 10:06 am (UTC)(link)
[A disgruntled exhale. He hasn't bitten anyone today, healers or otherwise.]

It is unlikely I will see much of the future here. Not now. Not anymore.

[He never much had his mother's knack for prophecy.]

Crossing through the barriers of realities, however, should not be much trouble. Are there not portals into the Mists already opening all over? Doors are doors.
armd: (sideways)

Wylan's room

[personal profile] armd 2024-03-25 10:07 am (UTC)(link)
"Uh," Abby says.

For a moment she's too busy looking at everything to give him a proper answer, not out of rudeness, but because she's really interested in this weird, flask-heavy set-up. It seems like something out of a book to her, maybe something like Narnia. After a pause she adds, "I don't know. I guess I don't have one, I just heard — you make all of these yourself?"

Tell her more.
daturameloxia: inkonic @ dreamwidth (y)

[personal profile] daturameloxia 2024-03-25 01:23 pm (UTC)(link)
"I, ehm, I have a bit of free time on my hands," Wylan passes from behind on table of flasks to stand closer to the door. "And I've never gotten access to some of these seaside ingredients before."

He bobs on his feet a moment before reaching out for one flask, looks at the label and holds it out to Abby.

"A weak lightning bomb," he explains. "Excellent for stunning enemies in the field."

He assumes by Abby's stature that she's in the forces division.

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