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

trainingexercise: (s)

whoops html messup on my part

[personal profile] trainingexercise 2024-10-23 11:05 pm (UTC)(link)
Mushrooms! [River tries to play along, a frown on his face.]

I specifically requested mushroom-less ale. Perhaps I should switch to whiskey.

[To which he signals the bartender for two whiskeys.]

Are you new to Kirkwall? Or have I been out of the city for too long?
talkstoomuch: ('til the end 'til the end)

[personal profile] talkstoomuch 2024-10-24 02:56 pm (UTC)(link)
I dunno, a raven can be shot down, a cat can eat it, a bigger and meaner bird can fuck with it, loads of possibilities for problems.

Exactly! A slinky dress or a low cut top, tight trousers, knee high boots...with the exception of the dress you can armor up using the other stuff easy and still stay nice and distracting!

Thanks, that would be great. I'm not made of coin and I'm trying to get the job done and get a little or a lot of money to go back to the Biggest Boyfriend. Now turned fiancé!
talkstoomuch: ('cause they asked for it)

no worries!

[personal profile] talkstoomuch 2024-10-24 03:07 pm (UTC)(link)
Yup. The big ones which grow in particularly moist areas of Darktown! [yet another reason to dislike having to operate in Darktown, though to be fair the place she grew up in wasn't much better]

Absolutely. In theory, you know what you're getting with whiskey, even the bad stuff. And even the bad stuff is still kinda good.

[she accepts hers with a gracious smile, holding it up so if he wants, they can toast]

No, I'm new. I travel wherever the coin is good and someone's in need for a little entertainment. My ex-wife gave me enough material for years. [and if she ran a few errands for the Riftwatch while she traveled, well, no harm in that] How about you? A newcomer or a veteran?
trainingexercise: (e)

[personal profile] trainingexercise 2024-10-24 03:10 pm (UTC)(link)
I doubt griffons would bother a raven.

Forgot being distracting is also in a bard’s job description. You’re very good at it.

We could always use distractions out in the field. I could teach you some spycraft. Loads more money there than singing in a tavern.
trainingexercise: (h)

[personal profile] trainingexercise 2024-10-24 03:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Can’t have that. No Darktown mushrooms for me, thanks.

[River also raises his glass when Ari does. He clinks his glass against hers before taking a sip.]

And sometimes you can’t tell the bad stuff from the good stuff. So you might as well get the cheap stuff every time.

[He thinks they have the good stuff though, and he smiles over at his companion.]

Sounds like you will be able to tell stories for quite some time. Ex-wife and a fiancé. New to the Riftwatch. Got poisoned so I’m supposed to keep close to the healer involved with my recovery. I’m usually out in Orlais or the Free Marches.
talkstoomuch: ((let me go))

[personal profile] talkstoomuch 2024-10-28 03:27 pm (UTC)(link)
Probably not. I bet they hang out when not on duty.

I appreciate you saying so. I do try, but it's the kind of thing which has to seem effortless.

Oooh, that sounds tempting! More than tempting, actually, but a girl's gotta play coy now and then. I will take you up on your offer!
talkstoomuch: (a ruckus in the Tampax aisle)

[personal profile] talkstoomuch 2024-10-28 03:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Mushroom-free ale. Got it. I don't necessarily like it, but it is cheap.

[Ari drinks about half of hers in one long pull. no wilting flowers here]

Exactly! Unless you're in a situation where people would judge you for it, but why would anyone wanna be around people like that anyway?

[she grins back happily]

That's putting it mildly. My ex was Orlesian, she found me on a tour of Orlesian pubs and fell hard. Then she fell hard for a big busted blonde at the University she taught at and that was that. Josh is a lot more stable. And has a stable! We're both Fereldans from Denerim.
thegentleone: (I was gifted)

Susan of Narnia (adult) | The Chronicles of Narnia

[personal profile] thegentleone 2024-10-29 06:46 pm (UTC)(link)
I. THE FREE MARCHES

Back home, her elder brother was the Magnificent, but a reputation for being gentle had its uses, such as no one expecting her to be able to shear the wings off of a fly with an arrow or sneak into enemy camps.

It was the latter that was Susan's business this evening. She'd dressed herself in men's trousers and a tunic, both in black, and a pair of soft-soled boots for ease in sneaking about. She was new to this world, 'tis true, but if this was to be her fate she would grasp it with both hands and hold it close.

Susan kept her wits sharp as she sought whom she needed to pass the intelligence on to. Her blue eyes cast from side to side carefully as she crept almost silently. Finding the one she was looking for, she murmured just loudly enough for them to hear, but no others. "I'd say we shall dispense with pleasantries and get on with business. What say you?"

II. THE WAKING SEA

At least this time Susan wasn't fleeing an ill-mannered suitor. That was the kindest thing she could say about the storm-tossed voyage. She struggled to be of use, but it seemed almost useless as sailors tottered about, blinded by the onslaught of rain.

This rate, the mast was sure to snap in half, then where would they be? She did her best to be heard over the roaring thunder as she shouted "We must secure the sail! There's not a moment to be wasted, we have to hurry!"

Her own sight wasn't ideal, but she could see that much and see a way to possibly help them all.

III. KIRKWALL

Never let it be said that Susan didn't have a flair for hospitality. The Orlesian wine flowed freely, the amuse bouche was well received, and at any moment she'd get the signal for the eight course meal to be served.

She'd had to pawn two of her rings to afford all of this, so she felt that she had better see results. The merchants she was courting for coin were a bit handsy, there was a limit to what her dignity and pride would allow them. Best perhaps to seat them at the other end of the table and make them feel that was the most prized space to be owned.

Susan turned to her ally and partner in the wooing and murmured "Honestly, they're both louts, but their coin is good and that's what the Riftwatch needs them for. Any ideas for keeping their minds on the cause and not on the cost?"

IV. SEND A MESSAGE

the.gentle

I must say that this is quite the change from what I was used to, though as a girl I frequented war camps and did my duty to my people. However, I am here, not there and I must find a way to blend in. So those who were nobility in their own realms or those with more experience, how does one become invisible?
boeric: (Default)

I

[personal profile] boeric 2024-10-31 12:24 am (UTC)(link)
Sennara laughs,

It's a good joke. That is what anyone who turns an eye will believe; the Northern elf has worn the brisk, efficient warmth of aunties world-over as she sweeps tents and sweats the fire. The soldiers — far from home, uneasy for the Southern winds — have drunk on the familiar. She is as any other servant (slave) in company. That those others do not know her,

Well. They know better than to raise the alarm. She's made certain promises, she's made clear that they are waiting. There is to be a contact, a rendezvous, reinforcements. Right on schedule:

"Come," A hand to shoulder. "We must empty the buckets."

Her fingers are very tight.
thegentleone: (I remember lookin' in the mirror knowing)

[personal profile] thegentleone 2024-10-31 03:19 pm (UTC)(link)
Being as she's both very new to this world and came from one where elves didn't exist, Susan has no preconceptions of what an elf's role would and wouldn't be. However, given Narnia's army she knew that the greatest threats could be found in seemingly weaker targets. No one expected a mouse to cut a man's hamstrings and render him incapable of standing.

And she was very prompt at the meeting site. She knew a great part of winning was simply showing up on time for what it was she had to do. Susan gave her compatriot an arch smile and reached for one of the buckets. "Please, allow me. I'll be more than happy to do my part. We must be swift if we're to succeed, no?"
overharrowed: (marble statutes and glass dividers)

III

[personal profile] overharrowed 2024-10-31 10:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Julius is not dressed as a mage this evening, though he doubts anyone present has forgotten he is one. Maybe Susan herself, depending on how her world feels about magic, but he doubts it. Even on a relatively brief acquaintance, she doesn't strike him as someone apt to miss much. Still, he's dressed on a par with the standard of the party, not attempting to outshine anyone but not drawing attention as out of place.

Susan's comment earns the smallest quirk of a smile at the edge of his mouth, gone before it can truly take hold. "Your instincts don't seem to be steering you wrong, generally. But I would say, with this lot ... there's often an impulse to be seen as generous that can outstrip the genuine altruism. My first impulse would be to play them against each other, or even against their peers. Suggest someone else might be getting the praise they feel they deserve." He looks at her guests, thoughtful beneath a pleasantly bland expression. "I don't know any of them well, but I've met the one in the green tunic before. Not terrible, but tends to insecurity." A trait that can sometimes be unpleasant, but not without its uses.
thegentleone: (I want to know some way might clear)

[personal profile] thegentleone 2024-11-01 03:13 pm (UTC)(link)
Susan hasn't forgotten, either. At first, she was taken a bit aback since the only magic user she'd encountered before was Jadis and a crueler and more wicked woman she doubted had ever existed. But given her new circumstances, she felt it behooved herself to keep an open mind while still making note of all of the new things she was exposed to. And Julius hadn't given her any reason to not trust him.

So partners they were. It was always better to have another pair of eyes and ears in circumstances like this, especially while the wine and conversation flowed. "They seldom do," she said with a little, impish smile. "That sounds perfect. An easily exploited ego is often a gift to others, let's make the most of theirs. However, I think we should work as a pair this time, really play up the notion of the one in green not getting what he believes he's due. I shall play the chatty but slightly dim socialite and who will you be?"
overharrowed: (I've had my time)

[personal profile] overharrowed 2024-11-01 06:35 pm (UTC)(link)
"He knows, or could know if he cares to remember, that I'm Riftwatch's seneschal. So I think the best play is probably in charge of purchasing decisions by wary of being taken in with regards to quality. Let him save me from the other cheats out there hoping to take advantage. Will that suit?" A genuine question, not perfunctory. If nothing else, he appreciates the importance of being on the same page as one's allies. (On the other hand, take too long talking about it, and the picture might shift from "chatting" to "plotting" for onlookers.)
thegentleone: (it's fooling us now)

[personal profile] thegentleone 2024-11-03 02:12 pm (UTC)(link)
"Perfect," Susan said with a grin. One not too wide or too conspiratorial, in an effort to conceal what she was really feeling about their guests. "Those with much always tend to be afraid that someone else will take it from them. It doesn't matter if it's money, power, or people," she said, recalling her ordeal at Calormene. (and she's well accustomed to making such conversations seem light and inconsequential. she could plot an assassination or confirm when someone was too deep in their cups to realize they were being fussed with.) "It's almost like being at home."
shiftsandshades: (Default)

kieran | dragon age

[personal profile] shiftsandshades 2024-11-03 10:54 pm (UTC)(link)
[ in the marches ]

The countryside is generally preferable to Kirkwall proper - which, however impressive it might look, frequently smells wretched - especially as they get further away from any of the Marcher strongholds. Kieran's got a good sense for the natural world; he's a fair hand at foraging and making camp in particular. It might mean coaxing companions off the main path to replenish their elfroot supplies, of course, but they'll get where they're going. And once they're sitting around a campfire for the night, he's the first to suggest storytelling.

He's also fairly well aware of the danger they face and holds his own in a fight. After, kneeling beside an injured companion - "Let me see that."

[ the waking sea ]

Kieran's not unused to travel, but most of his journeys have happened by foot, carriage, or magic mirror. Ships are a novelty he's never quite wrapped his head around; he's got no sea legs to speak of, and it's unlikely he'll ever truly feel at home on the water.

Which is to say, there's a tall, lean young man clinging to the rail near the starboard bow, spewing his lunch into the choppy sea below. Get a move on, one of the deckhands shouts, and he holds up a shaky hand as though to say give me a second. Judging by his chalky complexion, he might not actually be fit to stand on his own right now.

[ kirkwall ]

When he's not on assignment, Kieran has a few favourite haunts:

He often finds himself in trinket shops, especially those claimed to be run by antiquaries; he's less interested in purchasing items so much as sifting through what's there. Cheap amulets, well-made but ultimately pedestrian daggers, moldering books - beneath and behind the commonplace materials, he occasionally finds something really worthwhile. (And then he purchases it and sends it to his mother, naturally.) Other times, he might glance at an object and murmur, "Looks like a forgery."

He's not infrequently at one of a few pubs in Hightown, sipping from a tankard and people-watching. Lowtown, he generally has to be invited out to by someone else, since he's aware he doesn't blend in particularly well; even if he puts on a pair of worn trousers and an ill-fitting shirt, he ends up looking like a nobleman playing dress-up. But if someone should happen to invite him, he's likely to be eager company.

And of course, he can be found all over the Gallows, particularly its library and the training yard. Taking copious notes, setting a practice dummy on fire - all the usual activities of a young man in the prime of life.

[ wildcard. ]

[ Feel free to meet Kieran wherever you'd like! Check this post for an idea of my approach to the character.

Nota bene: I'm told that Kieran was previously an NPC in Fade Rift way back when he was a preteen. If your character was around then and would still remember him, please reach out to me before we get tagging; I'm not opposed to using his prior history in the game, but I'd like to know what it is / vet it before we get rolling. ]
elegiaque: (157)

wildcard. per discush.

[personal profile] elegiaque 2024-11-04 01:07 am (UTC)(link)
Gwenaëlle is the same age, now, that Morrigan had been when she’d clung to her skirts in Skyhold and filled them with her confidences. It’s given her a new appreciation for her friend (mentor, idol—); seeing herself echoed in the faces of young women now looking to her the same way she had, feeling like a veteran and like a child. And not having had one, either, to contend with the raising of,

she thinks of them often. Observations she wishes she could make to Morrigan other than in a letter, where she might have forgotten half of it by the time it comes to send, and Kieran for whom she’d felt so responsible, a lever ruthlessly applied by Coupe in a way that still stings in memory. More people than not here in Kirkwall would hardly recognise the young woman who had banned all Wardens from the Hightown mansion except Alistair. It doesn’t occur to anyone, probably, to send word to Captain Baudin in the field to expect Lady Vauquelin’s past charge, so she isn’t expecting it when she’s hauling off glove, gauntlet and cloak headed up the stairs to her office to see Kieran, grown, presumably coming down the stairs from the library.

Down an eye (its replacement gold and blank), nevermind what she is and isn’t recognisable as: she knows him immediately. Depth perception, nothing; Morrigan and Kieran are family.

“Oh, Maker, you’re taller than me now—”

Gwenaëlle hears the words even as they come out of her mouth, and pulls a face. Probably, with effort, she could have chosen something stupider to say.
curvy: (pic#17461344)

nina zenik — grishaverse.

[personal profile] curvy 2024-11-04 01:29 am (UTC)(link)
i. the waking sea.

She stands on the pebbled shoreline, shoes forgotten yards behind her as the ebbing tide laps at her toes and sea mist dampens her layered skirts. A distant and unfocused gaze on her face as she surveys the horizon for something — or rather someone — who will never come.

The ache within her chest worsens as if someone rended her heart from her chest and tossed it into the dark, silent depths. If she closes her eyes, the vivid feeling of the unbearably cold waters tossing her about, the salt water stinging her nose and eyes, her throat and lungs raw from being filled. Her body was struggling as she swam for the both of them, trying to save both their lives while the storm demanded them while she prayed to the Saints for him to wake.

Matthias.

Thoughts of him bring forth thoughts of the others. Inej, Kaz, Jasper, Wylan, and Kuwei. Did they make it? Did they finish the job? Did they make it back to Kerch?

The last thing she remembers was falling as they threw themselves into the blackmouth beneath the roots of the great ash tree — falling into the black, into the cold, into the throat of Djel, into nothing at all. She falls for what feels like an eternity before green overtakes her vision, and instead of water, she lands on the hard ground that knocks the air from her lungs with her hand searing in pain.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Nina shakes her head, pulling herself back to the present as she uses the long sleeves of her robes to wipe away the tears, sea spray, and rain that had collected on her cheeks before turning to offer the approaching party a bright, carefree smile. "This lovely weather almost reminds me of home."


ii. the library.

During her quarantine, Nina can be found in the library doing what she does best ( aside from her Corporalki abilities ), researching and submerging herself in the culture and language of the strange, new lands she finds herself in.

Back in Ravka, she was a talented Grisha and an equally talented spy, able to blend in and speak like a native.

She has to learn the cultures, languages, and accents of Thedas, but she's up for the challenge. It's a good distraction, something to focus on instead of thinking of home and the ones she left behind.


iii. the infimary.

"Sit still," she scolds, holding an injured arm in her left hand while her right hovers over the wound. "It only itches for a bit, and I need people to practice on."

Her hand passes over the wound, the skin knitting itself back together, leaving a faint pink scar behind that itches. Looking down at the scar, Nina smiles as she moves the arm this way and that, making sure the wound stays closed. "Maybe when I get used to how things work here, I can tailor the scar away."

Releasing the hand, she sits up straight. "If you know anyone else suffering from scrapes or bruises, send them my way."


iv. wildcard.

Toss me whatever; I'm happy to go with the flow and happy to write up another prompt for you! Feel free to toss me a DM here or hmu at [plurk.com profile] merigold. Bringing Nina from the end of chapter 37 of Six of Crows.

Edited 2024-11-04 01:30 (UTC)
shiftsandshades: (eye of newt? of course not.)

[personal profile] shiftsandshades 2024-11-04 01:40 am (UTC)(link)
He rather towers over her now. In so many other ways, though, he's the same boy who spent endless afternoons sliding down the banisters in her home. Weedy and well-dressed, curious and observant, with a face that lights up in a smile the moment he recognizes her. He's got a short stack of books cradled against his chest, but he maneuvers them under one arm.

"Madame Baudin," he says with a little bow. But that's a level of formality he's unwilling to keep up beyond greeting. He comes close enough to pull her into an embrace, adding, "You were so much taller in my memory."

She'd had two eyes as well - though it seems impolite to mention that here.
interroga: (007.)

free falling; also native au

[personal profile] interroga 2024-11-04 01:52 am (UTC)(link)
Sort of—

[ Beside River, his Scouting colleague is having a time of it, struggling to wrangle a large raven perched on his gloved wrist. Cassian Andor has a Tevene accent himself, although he’s been cagey about precisely where in the empire he might be from originally. He’s not fond of the Venatori or even the ruling powers before the Venatori; that much is clear. And what’s become readily apparent over their assignment together is that Cassian is fully a city spy, comfortable working in seedy Minrathous bars and criminal underbellies and cobblestoned streets. Less so this bleak perpetual Marcher rain, the muddy ground, setting up tents, drawing maps, hacking through the underbush.

And this damned raven likes to peck. Some of the fingertips of his cheap gloves have worn through after years of use, and he lets loose a small yelp of pain as it nips at him, having to smother the noise, hoping no Tevene scouts heard it. He talks to it in a low voice, pleading,
] I don’t have any food for you, sorry, it’s a message

[ He hadn’t ever expected needing bird handling on his resumé. Other people had always handled the messenger ravens, in his past life. He’s starting to realise his misstep. ]

Cartwright. Do you have any snacks? For the bird.
portalling: ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ. (pic#17349645)

infirmary variation;

[personal profile] portalling 2024-11-04 02:08 am (UTC)(link)
Behind and slightly to the side of her, the Head Healer has been watching Nina Zenik work.

It’s not a job interview, but it’s also not not a job interview. Strange has been trying not to hover like some anxious helicopter parent, but as soon as she explained what she could do — tailoring, what a euphemism — he’d swooped in to recruit her for the infirmary. It could come so very much in handy, for an organisation currently lacking in spirit healers.

So he looms like some incredibly fascinated bat-winged surgeon, desperate to see exactly how Nina does this and feel how the edge of the Fade responds as she works her magic, watching and marveling as the skin knits itself back together.

He watches as their patient leaves, the scout absently rubbing their new scar, now fully healed. He politely waits long enough for them to be gone, before he turns his steady blue-green gaze back on the young woman in front of him.

“I am,” the doctor starts, with a faint smile crinkling the edges of his eyes to note that he’s kidding (mostly) (sort of) (except not entirely), “intolerably jealous.”
dissolving: (chit)

infirmary;

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-11-04 04:29 am (UTC)(link)
It isn't the itch that's set his jaw a little grim —

But it is what sends the whole expression funny: Squiggling through mouth and brow, eyes watering in the abrupt effort not to sneeze. Cedric's sat board-stiff 'til now, so it's a fucking sight to watch him wrangle it. Like one of those comedy plays, where the lord gets pepper down his pants.

"Practice," He repeats. Wouldn't have troubled the Infirmary for this at all, place makes him nervy, only one moment he was looking for Gwen; and the next some Rifter's had him on a cot. "You... done this before?"

There's no good way to ask if your arm was just an experiment.
Edited 2024-11-04 04:39 (UTC)
extortionate: (pic#13310907)

marches, storytelling;

[personal profile] extortionate 2024-11-04 04:44 am (UTC)(link)
"Alright," Rumbled freely. Lazar's tongue always rolls loose, looser now for an hour at his flask. "You start, then."

The waggle of one fat, weathered finger —

"Gotta have guts or tits."

He's helping. It's tough to work off a blank slate.
shiftsandshades: (arbror blessing inspires)

this got a little gross. wounds, infections, etc.

[personal profile] shiftsandshades 2024-11-04 05:05 am (UTC)(link)
His brows lift, head tilting at the demand, and considers the options. There's not much in his repertoire in terms of stories with tits - not, at least, with the level of detail he suspects he's being asked for. Most of his stories of guts seem less than suitable for telling as well.

What he can come up with is a tale he encountered some years ago, an aside in a treatise on magical warfare.

"An Orlesian soldier once lived for a fortnight with his intestines outside his body," is what he offers, after a pause. "Their company's commander kept the entrails in a leather bag greased with rendered bear fat on the inside, in hopes that they wouldn't dry out before a healer could save him. He was bedridden, of course, with the sack lashed about his middle, and by the tenth day, he was delirious. When a healer finally reached their camp, she opened the bag to find that its contents had begun to turn green with decay."
extortionate: (pic#13310896)

[personal profile] extortionate 2024-11-04 05:14 am (UTC)(link)
"Hell," He snorts. "That ever happens to me, just get it over with."

Another pull off the drink. If the gore's given him any real pause — well, right clear it hasn't. A little funny, the past few days, how seldom his expression shades any real depth.

"You want us to bag yours up?"
elegiaque: (208)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2024-11-04 09:39 am (UTC)(link)
“Gwenaëlle,” she insists at once, where someone else might have been corrected with Captain but Maker forbid Kieran think she means him to actually call her that. After Kieran there had been her cousins at the banisters, or learning card-counting from pirates, or spending altogether too much time with their grandfather’s sultry-eyed Nevarran mage — they, too, all but grown.

She’d thought, once, that they’d have won the war by the time she saw Kieran again. She’s learned, since, to appreciate seeing someone she loves at all.

It is impossible not to think of Alistair, and difficult for a moment to talk around her heart in her throat, but she’s beaming like he’s the best thing she’s seen all day when she does say, “I’m taller in my memory, too. When did you get here? No, —walk with me, I’m going to my office, I just need to put a few things down. Hardie, you remember Kieran,”

if she’s smaller than he remembers, the Anderfels shepherd that haunts her heels is probably bigger, nosing forward from well-behaved sentinel to overly-familiar curious animal at her encouragement.

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