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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.

coquettish_trees: (weep hug)

[personal profile] coquettish_trees 2023-11-07 02:15 am (UTC)(link)
[ It breaks her heart and makes it again, his voice. In a hundred years when any flesh that he had ever touched is gone, they will find those two words written on the bone nearest her heart.

In this, if in no other meeting since her return to Kirkwall, she is allowed her truth unvarnished. Ever since the silence they'd both carried in tense fists for more than a decade had broken over them, she had never been other than a storm. The halls of the Gallows had echoed with her passion: rage, sorrow, joy. Her fear. Her love. It would be stranger if she didn't draw a harsh breath full of promised tears and had her eyes fulfil that promise as she turned to him.

A year, a year, a year. Four seasons and one more. She had traced the path of his pen with her finger and imagined the grace of his hands. She had begged handkerchiefs scented with cologne and wine and smoke and taken them to bed to ease her fretful sleep. She had sat on the swing in the gardens and smiled, sometimes sat on the same swing and wept. And now she running, is stumbling on the hem of a skirt she's forgotten to lift, is crashing into his chest— real, solid, real— and finding the warmth there and choking out ]


Yes.
coquettish_trees: (thinking)

[personal profile] coquettish_trees 2023-11-07 03:01 am (UTC)(link)
[ It is lightness and giggles and glee, two grown women in wartime somehow innocent even after everything. A houseboat is much like a tree house that way, something that carries the scent of youthful adventure and freedom. Alexandrie exclaims over everything. The boat itself, the furnishings, the artwork. And when they are alone, finally alone and away from the world in a place she knows is safe, her shoulders lower for the first time in months.

She is quiet until the glass is in her hands and the wine is in the glass and her gaze is in the wine, and then in Orlesian as is their wont: ]


I almost like it better, knowing there is no safety anywhere. The numbness of the Game, the unrelieved falsehood of it... It is horrible, but in comparison to pretending true honesty? I think I prefer it.

[ When she looks up her jaw is set. ]

Papa is not ill. There is a blood mage working in the household at Val Fontaine.
altusimperius: (typical)

[personal profile] altusimperius 2023-11-07 03:01 am (UTC)(link)
No.

[Spoken succinctly but not unkindly, even if there's no further elaboration: if Byerly wanted everyone to know his business, he'd tell them himself.]

But he is still part of Riftwatch. [Is that reassurance? Something like it.]

And. ...yes. [he himself still lives in the Gallows.]
coquettish_trees: (mischief)

[personal profile] coquettish_trees 2023-11-07 03:31 am (UTC)(link)
"A visit," is the easy reply as she takes the offered hand with a flashed smile in appreciation for Julius's politesse and a little dart of a glance towards the ferryman in reprimand for the latter's lack thereof, "until the trade contracts I hope to make here are completed to my satisfaction. I have little enough idea when that will be, I suppose it depends upon how readily I can convince a cadre of merchants that truly beautiful cabinetry is still worth trading even during an increasingly threatening land invasion." A soft chuckle, a theatrical sigh.

"I am very charming, especially on the behalf of the prosperity of the people of Val Fontaine, but considering the circumstances I may have to be both very charming and very diligent. And even then I may have to instead write a letter home asking our artisans to consider making beautiful well-fitted siege weaponry instead."
elegiaque: (094)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2023-11-07 03:43 am (UTC)(link)
( gwenaëlle first blanches, then hardens: )

Not for long, ( surely. that is a danger to more than only alexandrie's family, after all, so a present threat worth riftwatch addressing, but it is alexandrie's family and so it goes without saying that she is unhesitatingly willing to get her own hands dirty right away. and her great love for her friend that prevents something like, and your sister can't find time between war crimes to do something about it herself

nevermind what the chevalier is doing or not. she will do something. they will. obviously, this is why she's returned, and the idea of her returning empty-handed doesn't enter gwenaëlle's head even a moment.

abby had asked once, after they were all thought dead, what happened next? and it is still this, having died, and woken, and forgotten to think of speaking about her eye because it is her back that wakes her frightened in the dark,

there is work yet to do, so they get up, and they do it.
)
axetrovert: (12)

[personal profile] axetrovert 2023-11-07 08:25 am (UTC)(link)
[By now, Karlach's narrowed it down. Causing trouble, she says. Confused about why Karlach would want to join up. That sudden about-face to follow her earlier.

Makes it fairly obvious that she's heard about the bounty, and is following her to keep an eye.

Karlach can't blame her in the least, but it's still damned depressing.

If she were a more devious mind, she'd pretend ignorance and see how much more she could find out, but Karlach just isn't built that way. Moreover, she has a feeling this woman isn't either.

Maybe they can both enjoy a little honesty today. So Karlach gives a deep sigh, her tone dropping to matter-of-fact and bitter as she bites out the words.]


When you're a runaway slave from Tevinter with a bounty on your head, options get a bit narrow.
axetrovert: (1)

[personal profile] axetrovert 2023-11-07 08:33 am (UTC)(link)
[Ohhhh, the prickly type. Karlach follows that awkward attempt with a real grin.]

Karlach Cliffgate. And assuming all goes well, also Forces.

Think you could introduce me? Get the feeling that if I pop in alone, I could catch an arrow or two before I have the breath to explain myself.
laruetheday: robins @ insanejournal (they pick on you? can you introduce me?)

[personal profile] laruetheday 2023-11-07 04:19 pm (UTC)(link)
Um, yeah, I think that's for the best. We all studied a woodcutting with your face on it. It was pretty accurate.

[ And it's not like Karlach is easily mistaken for just anyone on the street.

Hold on, before they get going, Clarisse has to collect her spear from wherever Karlach threw it off the trail. Once she grabs it, they can leave. ]
Edited 2023-11-07 16:19 (UTC)
axetrovert: (5)

[personal profile] axetrovert 2023-11-07 07:12 pm (UTC)(link)
[Karlach laughs again, loud and cathartic, and it sounds like a way to release pressure more than anything.]

If Zariel's gone to that much trouble, she's working herself up to a fit. Mummy Dearest never did like losing.

[Though Karlach eyes the spear appreciatively, a respectful nod. Her palm and shoulder are still smarting.]

Sheer beauty, right there. Does she have a name?
laruetheday: (i find the mystery genre disgusting.)

[personal profile] laruetheday 2023-11-07 09:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Maimer.

[ Clarisse gives it a little spin as she makes her way back to Karlach and slides the spear into place against her back. She'd normally take any opportunity to talk about her weapon of choice, but, uh. ]

Zariel is your mom? [ That's confusing. ]
axetrovert: (13)

[personal profile] axetrovert 2023-11-07 10:29 pm (UTC)(link)
Lovely.

[Karlach would also much rather talk about Clarisse's weapon, but uh-]

Eurgh, Maker, no. It's just the way she acts, as though we should be grateful for her care.

[Karlach practically spits out the last word. Her eyes glow, the lyrium flames whispering along her skin. Even at several paces back, she's hot as a bonfire.]
laruetheday: robins @ insanejournal (by night? i do whatever i want. no job.)

[personal profile] laruetheday 2023-11-07 11:03 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Clarisse feels that heat pressing up against her. It's like standing near an open flame, uncomfortable bordering on painful, and she's not even that close.

She wonders if it hurts, to have flames erupt from inside you. Figures the answer is probably yes. Then again, when her father had blessed her, she'd had flames and they hadn't exactly hurt. Not that she remembers, anyway. ]


Right. Got it. [ It's clearly a sore subject, so she isn't going to keep digging. ]

You can pretty much do whatever you want in Riftwatch, when you're not on duty. Go into the city or the mountains, if you feel like it. I do sometimes. [ This is so awkward. She feels so awkward. This is exactly the reason she used to shove kids' heads into toilets instead of give them the camp tour. ]
bouchonne: (hugging)

[personal profile] bouchonne 2023-11-07 11:14 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He wishes he were the sort of man who could pick her up and spin her in some grand gesture of manly but whimsical strength. Unfortunately, he has neither the musculature nor the strength of back for that. Instead, he just catches her and holds her tightly. ]

When?

[ He nearly whispers that. ]

You said nothing of this - Have you outpaced your letter? Or was it lost?
coquettish_trees: (hug 2)

[personal profile] coquettish_trees 2023-11-08 12:52 am (UTC)(link)
Last night. I was too late for the ferry.

I did not know how to find you.

[ Short, simple phrases. Soft and stunned and delivered into his chest. ]

I stayed with Gigi in her ridiculous boat.

[ She can hear his heartbeat, his breath moving. Remembers through this to take care of her own so she might steady herself enough that she can look up at him. The eyes she lifts are not hawk-sharp; when she whispers, they are filled with the dread of a creature that's pursued. ]

Someone is moving me, Byerly. Someone who knows how.
coquettish_trees: (sympathetic)

[personal profile] coquettish_trees 2023-11-08 12:59 am (UTC)(link)
[ Some relief, that she'd not raced to Kirkwall only to find herself as alone as she had been at Val Fontaine.

But if she's trapped out here in the city by an apparently unflinching curfew, then so is he. ]


...have you somewhere for tonight?
cozen: (n104)

[personal profile] cozen 2023-11-08 02:31 am (UTC)(link)
[ Bastien accepts the distance easily, smiles easily, and does not look any less at ease at at all when her message is received through the winter layers on his chest—save the twitch of his eyebrow, just a hint quizzical furrow. Even here?

Curiosity, not resistance. Even here, there was Fitcher. Up goes his guard against everyone, everything. Alexandrie included, for completion’s sake. ]


Of course.

[ Perhaps Byerly mentioned—he said that he wrote to her after their visit to Arlathan Forest, when a bastard of a spirit leeched the color from his vision down to sunset hues. Perhaps he also mentioned Bastien’s hearing was cleaved down the middle. Or perhaps not. Either way, there is a touch of care and deliberateness—of a sort that’s uncommon for him, the way he masks his poise behind leans and slouches and hair that is never perfectly neat, and of a sort that normal people would never notice—that hasn’t yet been fully smoothed out of the way he positions himself specifically to her left.

Once there, he offers his arm. A cheeky, affectionate pantomime of chivalrous manners between class-divided friends, and an opportunity for her to keep any future taps of her fingers hidden safe against his arm. ]


Wherever you are headed, I’ll walk with you. You have to tell me everything. How is your father?

[ Surely he’s alive. Word of a Comte’s death would have reached them long before Alexandrie herself, however she hurried. ]
coquettish_trees: (hat happy)

[personal profile] coquettish_trees 2023-11-08 04:46 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Whether or not Byerly had written of it, whoever had read those words had decided Alexandrie would not do the same. She knows some letters had been lost— or “lost”— now, had gone back and started looking through the record of her correspondence after the night she’d discovered what was truly ailing her father, but not which or how many.

Bastien’s arm is taken with exaggerated delicacy and demure delight—her half of the pantomime—and her fingers answer the question posed by his eyebrow on the way: Unknown. Being careful. At the question he’d posed aloud her countenance turns grave and a little sorrowful, a little resigned. ]


Living, and I thank Andraste for it, but unchanged. He took the winter very poorly, rallied enough in late spring to give us hope, but a few weeks before the early harvests… [ A wan smile, a shrug of her shoulder, ] again to bed. And still, we do not know what ails him.

[ If the movement of her fingers’ earlier answer had not been all that definitive, this one—

Blood magic. ]
coquettish_trees: (considering cloak)

[personal profile] coquettish_trees 2023-11-08 05:15 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Alexandrie releases her hold on the glass to reach for her friend’s hand and squeeze— a little pulse: thank you— and then lace their fingers again as if through this mooring she could keep the boat of her heart from escaping out into the storm again. ]

I do not think she knows I know, and so I hope whatever hand placed her does not either.

I need to find that hand before I— [ a long breath, another little squeeze. ] We. Before we can displace her.

And I need other eyes to look; whoever is doing this knows very well how to divert—

[ Eyes. Alexandrie is far enough out of herself now, here in the embrace of this absurd perfect construction of a boat, to register more about Gwenaëlle than “friend” and “safe”. The wine glass is abandoned entirely onto whatever surface is close enough to hold it so she can lift featherlight fingers to touch the cheek beneath that golden eye.

It is not pity or concern that softens Alexandrie’s face; never those things between lionesses. Reverence, perhaps. Love. The touch itself is a question: how? ]
altusimperius: (smoke)

[personal profile] altusimperius 2023-11-08 09:33 pm (UTC)(link)
[He shrugs a shoulder languidly. Could he stand up if he tried? Probably, but who wants to try?]

Don't worry about it.

[He avoids eye contact in the form of looking back out over the harbor, exhaling a cloud of smoke through his nose.]
cozen: (n100)

[personal profile] cozen 2023-11-09 03:40 am (UTC)(link)
[ This is the easiest acting there is. Concern on his face and in his chest—the former only much milder than the latter. He's never met Alexandrie's father and can only feel a distant, secondhand sort of fear for him—but if a blood mage has had access to her father, this past year, then they've had access to Alexandrie, too. ]

I'm sorry. My father was like that for years, [ is probably not a comforting thing for a man who's traditionally self-identified as "orphaned young" to say, so in that sense only, it's good that what ailed his father and what ails her are absolutely not the same thing. ] We never knew what it was.

Maybe you could speak with Monsieur Strange about the symptoms. He's our new head healer. I think you had gone before he arrived, but he's from the same world as your—your Loki.
elegiaque: (056)

[personal profile] elegiaque 2023-11-09 07:06 am (UTC)(link)
( gwenaëlle's eyes close under the touch and when they do, there could be two of them under there just as there used to be. there is no scar, with her lashes pressed to her cheeks; she looks just as she did with her head on lexie's pillow, sleeping the only place she had felt safe.

she breathes out. what a strange thing to have forgotten would be important.
)

Fucking elf bullshit, ( she murmurs, ) it asked for one life, and when we were prepared to give it, it said, oh: good, I'll have something else.

( she had tried to volunteer hers; loxley had stepped in. flint, with his coins in his pocket, making them guess which to choose. loxley, brave, and flint, hard to read as ever. lexie doesn't need to hear about that. )

It's fine— I'm used to it, now. I have others, you know, not just this one, I have one that matches the bracelet you gave me and all.

I can still shoot a bow. I can still do my job.
coquettish_trees: (considering cloak)

[personal profile] coquettish_trees 2023-11-09 05:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[ She knows what it looks like when people destroy themselves on purpose. Has seen it often enough in her husband, in her lover, in the mirror. Watches him quietly for a time, feels the gusts of autumn's newly-sharpened wind try to slip through the gaps in her cloak. ]

Perhaps I should be ashamed that we have been acquainted this many years and yet I do not know whether you prefer to be dragged kicking and screaming to what someone else believes is kindness or to be left to hurt yourself in peace.

[ Things that aren't really acceptable to say in either of their country's gilded halls for 2 gold, Alex. ]

Or, perhaps I should be ashamed of how many years I spent with my knife to her throat. [ A pause. Then, specified: ] Kindness.
coquettish_trees: (thinking)

[personal profile] coquettish_trees 2023-11-09 06:09 pm (UTC)(link)
My year was full of far more banal horrors. Land management, the winter season at court. Outfitting and training the local militia and praying that elf bullshit and corrupted lyrium and blood magic and the front lines of the war would stay away from my people.

[ Most of those prayers had landed. ]

Somehow I forgot, [ she says, moving her fingers from cheek to hair to separate out a curl and resettle it for no other reason than to touch, ] how fucking forsaken it is here on the front lines.
coquettish_trees: (considering cloak)

[personal profile] coquettish_trees 2023-11-09 06:45 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The next breath she takes in is longer, deeper; the words had landed somewhere soft in her. It is a simple thing to disguise in places and professions where one cannot show that gentle landing. Perhaps Alexandrie is losing her edge. Perhaps it is a mark of trust. ]

My Loki was from this world. [ It is gently said; neither reminder nor admonition, only a small truth. She had loved another one, the same and different, from another world but—

She thinks it often, when she looks upon that portrait she'd painted of her husband with his face turned to profile, lifted to the night breeze sweetened by the blossoms from the land he had loved. Not always in words, but always with a kind of softness that aches. I had my turn.

She had had her turn with the man who had come from the rifts too, the Loki who had come to the drought of her like rain from a clear sky from far beyond the place where Thedas dreams and dies.

It was not enough, but it never would have been. And so it is the same enough as a lifetime could have given. ]


I am sorry. About your father. Did it feel to you as if time had split as well? How the world walks on and some parts of you go with it, and some walk only in place?
bouchonne: (sweaty)

[personal profile] bouchonne 2023-11-09 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
What -

[ Their time apart has not strengthened his skills as a spy. His eyes flash in surprise and alarm, and he grasps her upper arms. Gently, but with fear. ]

How do you know?

[ Not who, though that's the first question that comes to his lips. If she knew who, she'd tell him. ]