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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.

foramen: (Default)

🥰 ty ty

[personal profile] foramen 2024-11-22 11:01 pm (UTC)(link)
"Tertulla," Calpernia says, and makes the name her own. Tertulla, the diminiutive of Tertia, little third, beloved third. It is manipulation, and Calpernia knows it-- but manipulation can be done with kindness. Had they met in another context, Calpernia would have freed this girl, set her to work she found meaningful, for a cause greater than them both. Some part of her aches with the knowledge that she cannot do this now, for her, for them both. (She aches with the knowledge she no longer has access to such power.)

"I did teach myself, yes, but I was lucky; my master was a scholar. I had the opportunity." And you did not lies unspoken in the air.
foramen: (Default)

[personal profile] foramen 2024-11-22 11:03 pm (UTC)(link)
Yes, more humility for her, more embarrassment. She grinds her teeth, which will just open up more gaps, more holes. "I was one of his generals," she says, voice like ice.

"And what are you, Cedric?"

She has to take something back, for herself, for her dignity. She has to.
foramen: sickos-yes.jpg (fatue)

[personal profile] foramen 2024-11-22 11:06 pm (UTC)(link)
Her jaw works hard, the muscle throbbing as she tries to tamp down on her anger. If she had her magic- if she had her spells, she would-- Well. What would she do? This boy, she thinks, would make a very nice rug.

"I have told your superiors," she says. "Do not try to tell me you hold the leash, with your little tea set."
aberratic: (𝟐𝟎𝟐.)

well that went well!!

[personal profile] aberratic 2024-11-22 11:11 pm (UTC)(link)
If the comment offends, Ness doesn't show it. She regards Calpernia on the floor, corners of her lips downturned and brow crinkled in... remorse? Regret? Sympathy? One of the three, maybe, or an amalgam.

There's no way to make any of this better, no wringing of hands that won't make her look weak or build up any kind of trust, so she won't try. She just leaves the dungeon, and doesn't come back while Calpernia's still in it.
altusimperius: (why I oughta)

they were born to be best friends

[personal profile] altusimperius 2024-11-22 11:13 pm (UTC)(link)
A terse little smile. "Fine."

Straightening, he takes a sip from his mug-- something about her, something about encountering people from home always has him setting his shoulders a certain way, tipping his chin up, looking down his nose. It's a sort of armor that only being from a very old and wealthy family can supply, not that it's done him much good in recent years.

"What I make of you," Benedict says in a quiet drawl that threatens to seethe, "is that-- if you're who you say you are-- you've been hard at work poisoning my homeland, fucking up its politics and spreading the contagion every which way. And now you're here. For some reason. Maybe he got tired of you." He nods down at the cup.

"And it's coffee."
Edited 2024-11-22 23:14 (UTC)
foramen: (scutum)

clearly!

[personal profile] foramen 2024-11-22 11:22 pm (UTC)(link)
Coffee, how... Antivan. Calpernia is mollified by the fact that this boy's ancestors are probably rolling in their mausoleums.

"Yes, of course," she says, her voice droll. "When I freed my master's slaves, when I let them choose their work, I was polluting our heritage. I've heard it all before. You've nothing new to say to me."
dissolving: (pic#17253722)

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-11-22 11:22 pm (UTC)(link)
"Mediation officer."

It's a shitass thing to say, and the way his smile stretches, too broad and thin — he knows it. What is he?

Proud. Sure, proud enough to hate this; and not so stupid as to give up his only advantage alone with a Vint mage. Lyrium won't do nothing for blood magic, and surprise is all that means someone don't reach for that first. His hand tangles at last around the crystal, the other stays slung low. By the hilt.

"Docks, come armed," In brackish Nevarran, the syllables muddling thicker than money spends. "Bring leadership."

He lowers the cord from mouth. Wave laps. The boat rocks. At this point, it's all stalling for time: No one's landing until he squints another body across that water.

"What splits a general from her army?"
foramen: (scutum)

[personal profile] foramen 2024-11-22 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
She's going to have to tell this story anyway, but she has pride, too. She doesn't want to share her history-- every memory is, to her, a precious jewel. She bites her tongue, and the air briefly crackles with the scent of iron-- blood magic. The ferryman has suddenly gone hard of hearing; at his age, he won't notice for a few hours, and by then the spell will have worn off. It's one of the first spells she ever learned.

When she speaks, her mouth is red. "Now we won't be overheard. It will wear off; don't worry."

She sits primly, as though all of this is her design. "One of my spies uncovered a plot to bind me to his will. Corypheus intended to enslave me with magic."
altusimperius: (doubt)

[personal profile] altusimperius 2024-11-22 11:34 pm (UTC)(link)
"Let them choose their work in the Venatori, I assume?" he sneers, "freed them to serve a darkspawn who thinks he's a god?"

His voice shakes slightly, and he stills himself to drink from his coffee again: clearly this is a subject quite close to him, much as he tries and fails to play the stoic.
dissolving: (pic#17253718)

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-11-23 12:00 am (UTC)(link)
Spell coils.

So much for that. He can't help it, can't smother alarm, the shot of pupil. The draw of blade. For all his small frame, Cedric doesn't much look a mediator, and it's written now in his grip, the sun etched upon tang. Military, Chantry. Little different between nations.

"Yeah?" Her mouth drips. He ought to turn, check Jonah. Can't put his back to her. "Didn't s'pose he'd need to."

He is counting Nevarrans, he is counting who might be awake and present to hear. He no longer doubts her name. Come on. Come on, some fucking luck,

There's no one ashore. A breath out. Cedric sits — he doesn't sheathe the knife. It's his emotional support knife.

"Spy come with?"
foramen: sickos-yes.jpg (fatue)

[personal profile] foramen 2024-11-23 12:15 am (UTC)(link)
"That will just make you jittery," Calpernia drawls. "Be careful. You don't want to lose control. The south hates mages."
altusimperius: (ugh)

[personal profile] altusimperius 2024-11-23 12:20 am (UTC)(link)
"I know that," Benedict snaps, and in this moment, also knows that he has lost what little control of the conversation he had.

His mouth twitches, and he glares at her, the sullen dark-eyed gaze of someone who, once upon a time, was used to getting everything he wanted without question.

"That was my cell," he grumbles, nudging his head toward it with a scowl, "for a while."
foramen: (scutum)

[personal profile] foramen 2024-11-23 12:22 am (UTC)(link)
If she looks stricken, fine. Let him think she's struck. With rage, with anger, anything but grief. "Killed," she says, though she knows he won't believe him or care. "Their last act was to warn me. I won't let it go to waste."
dissolving: (pic#17253709)

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-11-23 12:41 am (UTC)(link)
"'S some loyalty," He says, instead of I'm sorry to hear that. He isn't. She's not some plains farmer, a pawn; a bit piece in this sprawling war. She's the war. "Between you both."

Good odds she follows them. Jonah steers behind, and a country away, Broward's arm twists; a break that never healed clean. Blood, and blood,

Killed, and maybe at her hands. No. He wouldn't be sorry of it. Some bustle at the tower's base. Distant still to spy anything but the rush of motion, the glint of sun on steel. She looks — something, mad maybe. Addled. He just needs a little time.

"They're gonna want a lot," She knows that. "Can't vouch how it goes."

Must know that, too. Leather wears between nail.
Edited 2024-11-23 00:42 (UTC)
foramen: sickos-yes.jpg (fatue)

[personal profile] foramen 2024-11-23 12:47 am (UTC)(link)
Her smile curves sharp, showing off the gap tooth, pulling open her only recently healed split lip. She associates bleeding with power, because that's what blood always is, for someone. Might as well be her.

"When they leashed you, did you bark?" The cruelty lights a warmth in her heart to paper over the cold of winter. She feels in control. "You're too scared to have been made tranquil."
foramen: sickos-yes.jpg (fatue)

[personal profile] foramen 2024-11-23 12:53 am (UTC)(link)
I freed them, she wants to say, I freed them and I was their mother and they were mine, but this foreigner won't understand. They always think she means ownership when she says mine, like there are no gradations of familiarity. A Tevinter can only own or be owned, they think. What simple people they must appear to be. But the world is very simple when one is a savage; she pities them, and in doing so remains superior.

"I faced worse than your people before I was nine." At least, she doesn't think they'll starve her, doesn't think they'll bleed her for an ancient god. "If they were capable of scaring me, the war would be over by now."
altusimperius: (YOU'RE NOT MY REAL DAD)

[personal profile] altusimperius 2024-11-23 01:02 am (UTC)(link)
His attention is drawn at once to the split lip, recognition flashing in his face before he can tamp the reaction down, avoid showing he's intimidated. He masks it by taking a measured sip of coffee again, but a quick glance to the stairwell, a shift of the free hand, suggests he knows what's at risk.

"I wasn't leashed," he insists, with a haughty curl of his lip, "they're fighting for freedom here. Actual freedom, the kind that doesn't require kissing the boots of an old dead magister."
Or being wealthy and privileged and born into the right family, but, "if that's what you really care about, maybe you could learn something from them."
foramen: (cruciarius)

[personal profile] foramen 2024-11-23 01:10 am (UTC)(link)
Her laugh is high and wild. "They have you trained! Is your master up the stairs, or do you think this little chat is your own idea?"
altusimperius: (what the shit)

I love her your honor

[personal profile] altusimperius 2024-11-23 01:16 am (UTC)(link)
The jibe hits home, a shot so clean Benedict actually shudders as if struck by an arrow-- he's done his time in the trenches, been the subject of all manner of mockery and scrutiny, and even he can't account for how suddenly angry Calpernia's comment makes him.

"I--" he begins to argue, stops himself with one last remaining shred of dignity, and stoops instead to swipe up the second coffee mug. Treat rescinded.
"--rot down here then," he concludes instead, with a furious toss of his head as he begins to make his departure.
foramen: (ructatrix)

thank u this thread is so fun.

[personal profile] foramen 2024-11-23 01:25 am (UTC)(link)
All she wants is to cause pain, to make the world hurt as badly as she does. She remembers all the death-- those loyal in her, who trusted her. She loved them. She wanted to be a mother to them. And they are dead, and she mourns as a mother must.

(She does not remember her mother.)

"And if I rot, will you kick yourself for it? Feel responsible for my death? Don't kid yourself, Altulus." Little Altus. "You don't have that much control over anything."

In the end, she doesn't know this man. She's just saying the things that would hurt her.
altusimperius: (can we not)

[personal profile] altusimperius 2024-11-23 01:52 am (UTC)(link)
“No,” he snaps, knowing and hating the weakness in it, and continues to the stairs.

“…and I’m not an Altus,” he grumbles, as much to himself as to her, as he takes his leave.
Edited (I love to hit post without changing the comment title or icon) 2024-11-23 01:52 (UTC)
shiftsandshades: (Default)

[personal profile] shiftsandshades 2024-11-23 04:48 am (UTC)(link)
"I'm called Kieran." Technically speaking, there are names he could attach past that point, things that were appended - for the sake of his concealment - in Orlais, but they're meaningless. He makes no effort to bring them up now, not least because that would require taking his attention away from staying upright. "This is my first assignment under Riftwatch's banner."

Which makes him sound rather less familiar with the organization than he actually is, but that's of little concern.
incaenstrix: (intrigued)

[personal profile] incaenstrix 2024-11-23 05:02 am (UTC)(link)
On cold nights, she knows that she'll remember Tertulla. It makes her eyes sting and her chest tighten. Tertulla. Spoken by Calpernia, it might as well be a lullaby.

"Mm." Tertia shakes her head when Calpernia speaks about opportunities. Not because she's denying it, but because she wants to dismiss the very idea that Calpernia needs to downplay her genius. Knowing that this woman is so sharp and so clever is a pleasure in and of itself; who cares whether Tertia is, too? She certainly doesn't.

"I wish I could hear everything about you, and about your life. But - Doctissima - why are you here?" She can't just stand around basking in the fact that she's speaking to the Calpernia. "They said you weren't captured in battle - They said you surrendered yourself."
dissolving: (pic#17253895)

ties a bow unless there's anything u want 2 do

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-11-23 07:08 am (UTC)(link)
"Here's hoping."

An end to this. Closer now: A bristle of staves and sword. If there are plainer faces, he trusts they're waiting out of sight; arrows nocked for a window. The welcoming committee.

Cedric steps back, nearer Jonah (clearance to aim). Presses a hand to his shoulder, tight. Ready to shove the man down, safe, else over the edge. She's said she only deafened him. That's hard to trust just now.

And with a waiting host, she arrives.
elegiaque: (140)

a.

[personal profile] elegiaque 2024-11-23 08:04 am (UTC)(link)
The woman who kneels down nearby flashes sickly green light through the focus lens on her gauntlet—

“Good,” succinctly, “I didn’t bring this out here to finger myself with.”

The accent is Orlesian — sounds like a High Quarter princess, but the close-fitting red and black leather was picked up from the Crossroads, there’s a blank gold false eye where her right one should be, and the oddly unstrung bow glittering ice magic down her back looks like Avvar make. She sweeps her braid over her shoulder, offering the waterskin in her hand over— water, mostly. The bitter scent that says it isn’t just that is herbal, not poisonous, like it’s been preemptively laced with some unpleasant but soothing alchemical concoction.

“You’ve scouted it already?” is an assumption and a prompt— expectant of some degree of competence, if she’s done as much and come away from it intact enough to warn someone else. “How big?”

Her anchor-shard can close some rifts singlehandedly; others, maybe she should call reinforcements. Specific ones, instead of just generally to keep from eating shit to demons before she can get it sealed.

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