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.

elegiaque: (Default)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2024-03-29 10:00 am (UTC)(link)
“Gwenaëlle. I'll meet you by the water.”

La Souveraineté is a slightly terrifying behemoth that Captain Flint regards with a perpetually jaundiced eye, and it is the love of her life. In the moonlight it's mostly shadows and angles, and on its deck, near the stairs that lead into the house part of the houseboat, a young woman is sitting, wearing a man's shirt too large for her and stockings tied at the knee and a massive shawl for the chill in the air outside, but not much else. It's late, and her bed might or might not contain the owner of this shirt, and what do you want from her.

She's slight when she stands, seeing the shift in shadow of a person coming towards, and she greets Inej with a tilt of the hand holding a bottle of wine,

probably a reasonably good vintage, considering the wine-cellar aboard. It pays to still have an indulgent ducal grandfather, even after all of her disgraces.

Several stories high above the waterline, not only is there a rooftop— it is accessible from a balcony at the uppermost level, where her master suite is.
agile: (pic#16338956)

[personal profile] agile 2024-03-29 10:20 am (UTC)(link)
Rather than sneak through the shadows and insist on approaching from behind (it's one of her favourite ways to greet people—though that's usually with those she knows well enough), Inej approaches in a manner that allows Gwenaëlle to see her. It's polite, after all.

She wears tight pants and a vest tailored close to her body. A knife glints from her belt; the rest are hidden (two up her sleeves and a couple tucked into her long, neatly braided hair). Inej doesn't make a sound; she wears what appears to be black ballet flats.

Looking up at the house with a wide smile (she's never quite seen anything like it, although one of the Wraith's crew described a small island that housed similar houses like this), she doesn't glance down as she walks with practised steps like she's been here many times before. "You should have answered with this place." Even though it had nothing to do with her question, it's a real overnight on Gwenaëlle's behalf and a mistake Inej hopes she won't ever make again.

She likes this place. It's definitely not a cage.
elegiaque: (160)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2024-03-29 10:32 am (UTC)(link)
La Souveraineté,” she introduces her, with pride, moving back up the steps toward the door to show her in— it is darkened for the night, mostly, moon and stars filtering pale, thin light through windows and shutters to cast strange shadows on the immediately luxurious interiors. Wherever this thing came from and the idiosyncratic way it came to be, visibly having been built up over time from the outside (albeit with a fine new and much more consistent paint job), it has been thoroughly and expensively refurbished, fit for purpose and to her mistress's every specification.

(The portrait beside the staircase is difficult to make out in the dark— a beautiful elven woman, dressed not unlike Gwenaëlle, with her same locket and the same eyes. Well— the same as one of them. Up close, it's clear that only one of Gwenaëlle's is still an eye, the other blank, difficult to make out the colour or design of in the dark.)

“I won her in a game of cards,” she confides, “and you're nearly the first not to instantly loathe her.”

It is an obvious easy in, how much she warms to Inej only for that fact. This is—

very much not a cage. There's a reason she named her as she has.

“There's the gallery,” she says, with a gesture through an open door off the foyer that is mostly a full, cushioned conversation pit with a thin strip of ordinary floor around the edges of the room, with its huge windows and beautiful pieces of art, comfortable, where she most often entertains people who tolerate her insistence on doing so on a plush floor amongst loose cushions, “or,”

she doesn't like to be caged, she says,

“if we go quietly, which you look better at than I am, my private balcony.”
Edited 2024-03-29 10:35 (UTC)
daturameloxia: inkonic @ dreamwidth (w)

[personal profile] daturameloxia 2024-03-29 09:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Wylan most definitely is not taking it as a compliment, especially since he's brand new to the Riftwatch and he's trying not to attract too much attention in the process. No need to bring anyone from the van Eck estate knocking on his door.

"Not particularly," Wylan replies, turning in place to face his would-be robber, taking in her appearance.

Oh she is far stronger than him, built for speed, and he only has a few silver pieces from busking earlier.

"This is all I have," he digs into his pocket and tosses his coin purse toward her.
grindset: (15448571)

[personal profile] grindset 2024-03-30 04:13 am (UTC)(link)
Library staff might agree with you on that last point.

[After a contemplative pause,]

The replaceable element here is the shelf.
armd: (looming)

[personal profile] armd 2024-03-31 11:18 am (UTC)(link)
Without taking her eyes off of her, Abby slips her hand into her left pocket. Her fingers press against the edge of a coin, nail catching the thin grooves in the metal; it wasn't her purse that she was worried for, only this specific thing, which is still where she put it.

She doesn't relax.

"Then what are you announcing it for?"

She gives the would-be thief a good up-down. Abby is a tall person, broad-shouldered and hard in the jaw. It is all too easy for her to look extremely unfriendly whenever she wants to; right now, she does.
overharrowed: (the architecture is slowly peeling)

[personal profile] overharrowed 2024-03-31 11:28 pm (UTC)(link)
I do. It's important to remember, I think. To learn from what someone did well or poorly, perhaps. History is made by people, and knowing history is always an advantage.
brennvin: (pic#16945221)

[personal profile] brennvin 2024-04-06 07:05 pm (UTC)(link)
“They haven’t, no, which is like deeply fucking unhelpful of ’em,” Astrid laments, but buoyed by that advice she eventually manages to move from her dejected puddle and haul herself back up to a seated position. An arm still hooked around the mast, her legs now dangling over the edge. Her stomach still roils, but she looks where the other woman’s pointing, following the line of her arm, and stares off into the distance. The way the light glitters on the water. The way the sky unfurls forever, an open canvas above them. (They’ve got to be closer to the Lady of the Skies here, surely.)

There’s a noise in the back of her throat, a huh! as she takes it all in. “That is gorgeous,” she says, watching that distant steady unmoving horizon line in contemplative quiet as something to anchor herself by, and eventually something settles. Feeling a little less likely for her gorge to rise, she risks glancing up at Inej.

“I’m from the mountains,” she says. “So I kept thinking, what’s a bit of height. But the mountains had the nerve to stay put.”
yijian: (011.)

charles sun | the brothers sun | rifter

[personal profile] yijian 2024-04-16 03:28 pm (UTC)(link)
a. priorities -- kirkwall

[ The quarantine had taken what felt like forever, and through all that Charles had only felt more and more out of his depth. It's par for the course, he's sure-- he'd been told many times that others like him had gone through the same process-- but just because something is normal in this bizarre world doesn't make it easier to stomach. Hell, even if he'd listened intently to all the "lessons" given to him, the fact he couldn't read any of the written notes had only made everything more dissonant.

The first day out of quarantine, Charles takes stock of everything outside the Gallows. The second day, he tries to figure out what it is he can do around here. The third, the fourth, the fifth-- it's all adjustments, all memorisations, all realisations that he'd probably be best working with Forces if he decides to stay for good (and everything so far points to staying being the most practical thing to do).

The sixth day has him going out to market.

Truthfully, if asked what he wanted most, he'd say it was a cigarette and a long drink of whiskey. But his wants have never really mattered. His eyes sweep over bottles of alcohol and vices that presumably would affect his lung health, and stop only when he finds a stall with books written in that creepily indecipherable script.

How is it that he understands what these people are saying, somehow, but can't understand what they're reading? The stall owner tries to convince him the book he's holding is a "classic", "everyone who's anyone knows all these stories", but Charles can't know for certain. He glares at the cover like that might give him any answers, but luck isn't on his side with this one.

In the end, he tries to catch the attention of someone nearby: ]
Hey--

Is this book [ he shows the title cover, frowning ] really about legends?

[ The stall owner looks offended he'd ask for clarification, but he doesn't pay them any mind. ]

b. adaptation -- the gallows

You got time?

[ Sweating and fresh from a workout (it feels normal, at least, compared to everything else), Charles finds a pseudo-familiar face and sits by them. Maybe they've exchanged words once or twice, he doesn't recall, but he's seen them around the training area enough that it doesn't feel completely out of pocket to ask, ] What's this thing supposed to do?

[ He's turning his hand over to showcase the green mark of his anchor. Though the pain he'd felt from it when he first arrived wasn't particularly bad, not when he's felt worse back home, the unfamiliarity of it is discomforting nevertheless. Charles has been injured in enough ways to figure out why things hurt; this is unlike anything he's experienced before by virtue of the damn colour. ]

When I first got here, I saw people use it to "close the rift I came from". [ This is the perfect example of saying words to which you do not know the real meaning. ] That's... does it do that on its own? Or do you train it?

c. fieldwork -- whenever, wherever

[ He's doing whatever it is that hired muscle is meant to do: escorting, protecting, travelling with a group to do some heavy hitting, whatever. The reasons for which Charles is accompanying anyone isn't important in the moment, not when his hand's starting to ache. His gaze immediately drops to it, brows furrowed, and while he's received enough information through word of mouth to figure pain means trouble, that doesn't make him any better equipped in knowing what to do.

Not wanting to look the fool, he steels the "now what?" on his tongue. Instead, he turns his head looking for whatever's making his hand ache. He suspects something huge and hulking and foul, considering the word "demon" has been thrown about fairly often, but sees none of the sort. Instead, taking as many steps as he can without straying too far from his party, Charles follows... well, a feeling.

Then: ]
There. [ Hand lifted, the dull glow of his anchor seems matches what's forming in the space ahead. Without a real point of reference, Charles isn't sure if the rift is big or small (for the sake of a newbie's first mission, we'll probably assume it's the latter). He's only sure that the last time he'd been around one, there'd been all kinds of creatures that needed the shit beat out of them. ]

That's a rift, isn't it?

[ The potential of violence after weeks of trying to fit in peacefully with the Riftwatch sparks something bright in him. Charles, ever the master of denial, doesn't pay it any more mind than he has to. ]

d. downtime -- crystals

[ You get the sound of Charles' frustration, but it's not because of you. Honestly, it's just because it's humiliating to admit: ] Whoever wrote this message, I can't read it.

...sorry.

[ He sounds a little defeated. ]

e. wildcard

[ Charles' time is mostly spent training when he isn't busy trying to be helpful around the Gallows, and his general vibe is "looks intimidating and frowns too much, but isn't mean when he speaks to you and is actually surprisingly patient". He's really annoyed he lost the ability to read (or so he thinks), and is adjusting to the array of weapons, armour, and tools Riftwatch has at their disposal to better his skills with them.

With his general professionalism and efficiency, he gives off the impression of someone who's used to being part of a huge group of people working towards some goal or other. The easiest way to talk to him is to tell him you need him to do work! ]


===

[ for the canonblind, charles is a gangster-assassin for a taiwanese triad turned rifter! he's working with the forces division, and feels most comfortable when anyone needs his help killing anything. he's second most comfortable if you need his help hurting anything else in non-lethal ways. feel free to PM me if you have any questions! ]
daturameloxia: inkonic @ dreamwidth (e)

re: downtime — crystals

[personal profile] daturameloxia 2024-04-16 10:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[Oh. Well. The question isn’t exactly one Wylan can answer either. He stares down at the paper and the dancing lines on the page.

He sucks in a breath and shakes his head, jaw set for a moment.
]

I… [He can’t believe he’s about to say this out loud.] I can’t either.

[A pause.] What do the letters look like to you?
elegiaque: (160)

adaptation.

[personal profile] elegiaque 2024-04-17 01:47 am (UTC)(link)
( gwenaëlle glances up as he joins her - she's a not unfamiliar face in the training yard, often toting her unusual bow (does it have a string? when she isn't using it, it doesn't look like it does), a slight thing in close-fitting, piratical leathers. the eyes she looks up at him with don't match: one natural, dark amber, and the other blank gold and false, though there's no scarring about it to suggest an immediate reason why. presently, she's partially taken apart the fingerless gauntlet that she wears on the left, the hand of hers featuring the same dull green glow as his,

there are two lenses which slot in over the palm, where the anchor-shard embeds. one is in her hand, being cleaned. she doesn't actually pause what she's doing to answer, though she does take a moment to tch at the great shaggy shepherd dog next to her when he starts to rise. a clear: no, it's fine, he can sit if he likes to what's certainly a trained guard dog.
)

A bit of both, ( she says. the accent is orlesian, though he might not have picked them out so much yet as to say more than probably she wasn't born here. ) Hold it up to a rift and it'll do the work itself, but I recommend ...

Well, practise isn't quite the right word. But it helps to be prepared, it's- forceful.

Some do more than just close rifts. That comes unpredictably, but if it happens, you'll want to learn to control it.

( need to. a thing she had resisted, when it happened to her, but those days are long past now. )
extortionate: (pic#13310893)

c - fieldwork

[personal profile] extortionate 2024-04-17 02:23 am (UTC)(link)
Yep -

[ Lazar’s hand aches too, but that’s nothing doing; just two broke fingers been slow on the mend. Something wrong in the angle when he draws a blade. ]

Prophet's cunt, never seen 'em open. [ Doesn’t sound happy for it. Research told them that it would form somewhere, somewhen nearby - but it’s always one thing to get orders, another to figure if they're worth following. ] Get ahead, yeah?

[ That can’t be protocol. Sense would say: Put the big guy in front, to distract while the man who can do anything about it all does.

Still, the world’s full of rifters; more every year. Only got the one Lazar.
]
Edited 2024-04-17 02:23 (UTC)
lyorning: (Default)

Aerich | Dragaera books | rifter

[personal profile] lyorning 2024-04-22 12:12 am (UTC)(link)
I. ARRIVAL

The fact a very tall (though not as tall as he was) armed and well-dressed elven man who carries himself like high nobility has appeared might be a cause for notice in a rural area near Kirkwall. That is, were it not for the fact that rifts are more likely to disgorge demons and wraiths, so any sensible person would be leaving the area before seeing if anyone else was going to spawn from it.

Duke Temma of Arylle, known as Aerich to his friends, for his part, was reflecting that this dream felt more like one his dear friend, Tazendra, would have. Certainly it would be more pleasant for her to be fighting a group of strange ghostly apparitions that were using… something… to draw power. Not sorcery as he knew it; mentally reaching for the Orb turned up the empty feeling he had grown accustomed to in the Interregnum. Of more immediate concern was that, whatever powered it, it was clear it could hurt him which had cued him in that he had moved from dream to something else.

His sword and poniard were drawn, but his posture was defensive. This rifter lacks the sort of abilities that would damage that which is not solid. It’s also clear that he is hemmed in enough that retreat is difficult. Finally, he was still adapting to a reach that, while still larger than most opponents, was diminished.

Aerich does have the situational awareness to notice others approaching. At this point, a number of questions he has might be pertinent, but he asks the most immediate one. “Will you assist me?”

II. LIBRARY
After a rather unproductive (but polite) discussion with medical staff about the definition of human, elf and how it varies here as opposed to Aerich’s home planet, and that he was under quarantine for a month (30 days, not 17), Aerich has ensconced himself into the library. His education, while having been appropriate for high nobility of the House of the Lyorn, covers matters of history and of his own Empire, not these new, foreign lands. While normally he would assume that matters of honor were universal, his father had been a diplomat as well as a duke, and even relations with the islands off of the Empire’s coast — whose people were at least the same species as most of the Empire’s citizens — were complicated by matters of culture.

So, like many new arrivals, Aerich can be found in the library, trying to make up in days what an educated Thedasian might get in years. One can see him pause, taking notes in handwriting that shouldn’t be that neat for being so hastily done. Or you might find him searching for a book or two, perhaps the one you are reading. He clears his throat. “Your pardon?”

III. OUTSIDE
There were other things to do. Aerich had never left the Empire, so a basic task was simply growing used to the light of the Furnace without a layer of cloud between it and his eyes, and occasionally staring at the ocean-sea. But he can also be found in the training ring, running through sword forms and adapting to his new reach. At least he was used to opponents that were his same size.

He is unlikely to speak, or even show he notices other people until he stops for a break. This gets a polite nod.

IV. WILDCARD
I’m here from EMP. If you want a custom start, let me know. I’m mostly familiar with Dragon Age from osmosis. I’ll also be TDM-ing a D&D character.
dissolving: (pic#16989691)

library;

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-04-22 03:27 am (UTC)(link)
"Sh -" Halfway to something, before he recalls himself; tongue catching on some old, snapped knuckle. "- Sorry, y'startled me there."

Evidently. When he blinks up, still bleary from sleep, his face is lined with the edge of spine: A Revised Compendium of Proper Address Among Gentlefolk of the Southeast, Translated for the Benefit of Foreign-Born Traders, etcetera, etcetera.

(Decent reference. Better pillow.)

There's a delay, while he takes Aerich in - takes the ears in -

"Ah," Cedric is tired, or that’s the tallest elf he’s ever seen. Big Wells was, what, six even? Everyone's tall to a kid. "Can I help you, Messere?"
lyorning: (cool)

Re: library;

[personal profile] lyorning 2024-04-22 06:49 pm (UTC)(link)
"May I see that tome you have in front of you?" Aerich is perfectly polite, even if he is still getting used to being addressed as 'Messere'. Yes, logically, he's in a foreign country, and one where elfs have a status more like the Easterners in his home Empire -- that is, one of foreigners, non-citizens, peasants, or at least willing to consort with criminals. Emotionally, he's never left the Empire before and is still expecting the levels of courtesy he got there from a caste system where his status is obvious.

Also, he may be judging someone who is using the library for a nap rather than its intended purpose. He's not saying anything, but he has a look that indicates that he thinks Cedric should either be using the library or returning to his bed.
dissolving: (chit)

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-04-23 05:56 am (UTC)(link)
"‘Course," If he smears away a little drool before handing it over, that’s only courtesy - "Diplomacy’s got a list going, if you need a particular reference,"

It’s that list he’s trying to verify now: An inky sprawl of dukes and baronies, madames and dames, his and her graces. Names beside titles, the vowels running together soft. His own syllables slant harsher. Foreign.

"This’ll only do for Orlais." The Southeast, and Aerich as plain a stranger to it as Cedric. Apologetic, "I haven’t got ‘round to the others."

He reaches to grind the crust from his eyes, and thinks better of it. Something in Aerich’s folded expression reminds him better of a Chantry Brother than Rifter.

(Green light glimmers from the back of his own hand, faint in the late afternoon.)
lyorning: (Default)

[personal profile] lyorning 2024-04-23 03:48 pm (UTC)(link)
Aerich noticed the gleam. "Then you are also not from this world?" Because even reading books, besides those that rifters had annotated, had certain assumptions built in.
dissolving: (lol)

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-04-24 04:41 am (UTC)(link)
His laugh isn't unkind -

"S'pose not, if you asked them." Halfblood soldiers don't come court-standard. "I'm from Nevarra. Big country, bit east of here. But we're short on hands, so,"

A shrug. He blinks, curiousity finally washing past sleep: Given the whole of a world to learn, fancy titles are a choice to start on.

"Cedric," He offers, "What are you called back home, Messere?"
lyorning: (Default)

[personal profile] lyorning 2024-04-24 06:00 pm (UTC)(link)
"Duke Temma of Arylle. Of the Drageran Empire," he adds, realizing that he has to specify. He does sigh. "I wonder, if I should use an older identity of mine instead."

It was a tricky matter. His own code of honor required some response to insult, not because of his own pride, but because it was an insult to his House and his Empire. And he suspected he was going to receive insults. While he would remain a citizen of the Empire, that had fewer obligations of honor. But he hadn't used his old alias since he was a young man, attempting to prove that his father's disgrace was false, when he wasn't yet the Duke of Arylle. He still considered the name 'Aerich' his, and he did not consider a lie-by-omission offense, but he was not practiced in intrigue.

On the third hand, if theories were to be believed, there was a version of himself who had never left his world, and he, not Aerich, would have the right to the title. Certainly he would be the one who could fulfill the obligations.
dissolving: (look)

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-04-25 06:25 am (UTC)(link)
His expression doesn't shift, but something stretches between his eyes. Cedric leans back in his chair, taps a finger to the sheet.

"Your Grace," See? He knows that one. A smile (an icebreaker for the mad thing Aerich's just said). Because, "Reckon that'd be wise, going under something else."

What an odd thing it must have been, for Gwen to find herself dethroned. Stranger for it to come on you at once, as it must of spirits -

"Promise you wouldn't be the only one to shuck a title."

Ser means a deal less than Duke, even one of an imagined land; but they spend about as far around the Gallows.
lyorning: (Default)

[personal profile] lyorning 2024-04-26 12:31 am (UTC)(link)
He nodded, both in appreciation of Cedric using the proper address, and in acknowledgement that his guess was correct. "Then I will introduce myself again. Aerich, formerly of the Phoenix Guard."
dissolving: (think)

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-04-26 01:11 am (UTC)(link)
"'S a good name," He'd say that for anything short of Corypheus or Dick Dickerson - "And we'll be glad to have you."

Riftwatch will, at any rate. Can't swear Kirkwall will be thrilled about an elf who's taken on airs.

"Phoenix Guard?"
lyorning: (Default)

[personal profile] lyorning 2024-04-26 01:48 am (UTC)(link)
"It is the custom that the Imperial Guard changes its name to match the House of the ruling Emperor," Aerich explained.
dissolving: (Default)

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-04-27 12:38 am (UTC)(link)
"Sure," Something near steadier ground - "What's that mean for you?"

Duties, mission; respect or rank due.
lyorning: (Default)

[personal profile] lyorning 2024-04-27 01:14 am (UTC)(link)
"It was guarding the Imperial Palace, and the capital. Traditional for those who were noble by birth, had some skill with the blade, but few prospects beyond that or the army."

Aerich smiled. "I served with what would become my three closest friends as we happened to meet on the road, and were all considered unusual candidates when we presented ourselves to the Captain of the Guard."

Page 27 of 53