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allthisshitisweird2023-05-02 05:40 pm
faderifting) wrote in 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.
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.
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Octavius doesn't even have that much time to respond to the odd wink, either, beyond giving Byerly a baffled glare over his shoulder, and then he's too preoccupied trying not to trip and land flat on his face as he's pushed and shoved and herded like--well, like the prisoner he is, apparently, towards the ferry terminal. Their progress through the market draws quite a number of curious glances and a few nosy hangers-on trail behind them, gossiping like fishwives; who's that? oh, a Vint (derogatory)? what a wretch! etc. Being on the receiving end of so many cold, baleful glares from complete strangers quiets Octavius' protests down, and the frustration in his scowl quickly gives way to something notably more wide-eyed and vulnerable, betraying his youth and inexperience. He's afraid, and it's that fear that makes him cast a desperate glance over his shoulder at Byerly just to be sure that his captor hasn't decided to abandon him.
The four of them have excellent timing, at least, as it appears the ferryman is about to depart for the Gallows. The grizzled old sailor glances up unmooring his grimy little dinghy to squint first at Octavius, then at the two labourers manhandling him, and then at last to Byerly. "Don't got room for four," he says matter-of-factly. "Two of you's got to wait 'til I come back."
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"You've done your work admirably, men," Byerly says, nodding to the two of them and pressing a pouch into the closer man's palm. "Share this between you, and with your comrades - " And then a cheeky wink - "If you're feeling generous. Seems to me you did most of the work, eh? Come on, lad," By says, and grips Octavius by the upper arm, and pulls him into the ferry.
The laborers don't seem too heartbroken to be spared the rocking voyage across the sound - especially since they've some high-quality tobacco to enjoy, and especially since they've been barred from the really satisfying work of cracking skulls - and let them go. By arranges Octavius in a seat, though he doesn't untie his hands; instead, he shifts into his own seat, stretched out across from the boy, long legs sticking into his personal space.
His manner now is considerably less theatrical. None of that prior outrage or righteousness. Instead, he's quite drolly amused, eyeing his captive with hooded eyes and a crooked smile.
"Do you know Benedict Artemaeus?" is his opening question.
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He sits forward in his seat immediately. "Benedict's alive?" he asks, all wide-eyed shock and, somewhere beneath the day old city grime that has left him looking more dirty than artfully scruffy, hopeful, too.
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But. No. He, alas, cannot, not in proper conscience. Sigh.
"More than alive," Byerly replies. "I'd say he's thriving." But this begs another question. Namely: "What are you doing here, then, my dear Northern brother, if not in search of our wayward Altus?" Attempting diplomacy? Defecting? Perhaps he's a Soporatus looking for some succor - though that argument with that little girl came across as rather more...clueless than the average Soporatus would be.
byerly deserves not only some small measure of joy, but also love. and jewelry
It will occur to Octavius, in a minute or two, that Byerly could be lying to him. It's the sort of ploy his mother would have expected him to prepare himself for, and indeed something he would have expected in another life, in another city full of asps. But Octavius is, regrettably, not enough like either of his parents to play every role that is expected of him, particularly not after the last six months. And so there is not a shred of artifice in the nearly incandescent smile that lights up his face at this news, brightening his eyes and infusing him with renewed joie de vivre, or something. This news has made his day.
Then the other shoe drops, because of course it does, and his smile withers, wilts, and then falls away. Anxiety twists his lips into a grimace, and the wary fear returns to his eyes. "That's none of--" he starts to snap back, before stopping himself. Really, at this point, what does he have to lose? He's already a prisoner, and his years spent in Nevarra clearly haven't rendered him capable of passing as Nevarran in public anyway.
He looks down at his fingers, which have been fidgeting without his permission. "I'm looking for my father," he admits. "He was a prisoner here, some years ago."
keep the love. share the jewelry.
Still, Byerly isn't completely sure that this is Vedici's son, and he doesn't want to ask directly (so as to maintain an air of omniscience), and he doesn't want to say outright he's not here (in case he's wrong about the lad's identity, which will, again, undermine his air of omniscience).
So instead, he says, "Ah," knowingly, and then asks, archly, "Seeking to join him? Fight at his side?"
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That makes Octavius look up abruptly, and a peculiar look steals across his face. Confusion, then something almost like nausea, and then at last old, festering resentment that has nothing to do with Byerly or his present circumstances; Atticus Vedici, fighting for a cause other than his own ambitions, even to protect his own family? His father? doubt.jpeg
"No," he almost spits, his cultured voice suddenly bitter as medicine. He slumps back in his seat and stares bleakly at the water's opaque surface again in moody silence.
Nothing follows, for a moment, other than the sound of the waves lapping against the dinghy's hull--and an awkward cough from the ferryman, who is still politely pretending not to eavesdrop. Octavius glowers at the old man's back, then gives his head a tight little shake. "It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have come here, it was a stupid idea anyway."
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"You shouldn't have," he agrees cheerily. "But, on the bright side, none of the rest of us should have, either. We're all a bunch of ineffectual idiots who are doing nothing but prolonging the inevitable disaster that will destroy Thedas and all good-hearted people within it."
The ferryman, who is the second ferryman to serve the Gallows in Byerly's tenure, his predecessor having been slain not so very long ago, spits in the water. The gesture seems to signal some sort of agreement.
Then Byerly takes in a breath, and stretches languidly, and says, "If I untie your hands, will you set me on fire?"
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Then: "If I untie your hands, will you set me on fire?"
Wait, what? Startled, Octavius eyes Byerly dubiously. "No?" A beat. Then, "...Aren't I under arrest, or something?"
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The ferryman grunts, and seems generally unimpressed with the villainy of the monster he's taking towards the Gallows.
Then Byerly looks back to the lad. "Would you like to be under arrest? Sometimes it makes this process all a great deal less complicated for the fellow involved." That's perhaps not a perfect characterization of what things had been like for Benedict, but Byerly fancies that it's not fully off, either.
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Oh. Oh, hang on. (Just picture the Thedas equivalent of a wee lightbulb flickering weakly over his head.)
Quietly, and looking more than a little bit chagrined, he offers out his bound wrists for Byerly to free him, with nary another word of protest. Two spots of colour have appeared high on his pale cheekbones, and when he risks another glance at Byerly's face, his expressive eyes radiate 'please let's just pretend that gullible and juvenile outburst never happened' energy.
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"Where are you from, anyway, lad?" By asks as he deftly works the knots. It's a matter of but a few seconds to undo the ties, even with the fiber being rough and wet from the spray of the harbor. (And also grimy and polluted from the spray of the harbor.) "You don't sound like a proper Minrathan."
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When the disgusting ropes fall free, he flexes his thin wrists and grimaces at the line of brown... something... left behind on his skin, then fishes a threadbare handkerchief that has seen better days out of his pocket to clean himself off. (If Byerly is well read on matters of Tevinter heraldry, he might notice that it is the Nautia family crest that is monogrammed onto one visible corner of the fabric, rather than the Vedici one. The maternal house of Atticus Vedici's wife, Ophelia.) "Qarinus," he replies, pauses, then gives his head a bit of a 'well, actually' sort of dip as he clarifies, "by way of Nevarra City, anyway. That's where we've been living since--"
He stops himself from going on, and some of the uncomfortable wariness returns to his eyes, though this time, it looks like the source of his wariness isn't Byerly, but the old ferryman. The old man doesn't look like he could be a spy from one of the Venatori-aligned Tevinter houses, but then again, isn't that exactly the kind of person you'd choose as a spy?
He uncomfortably considers the man's back, then looks trustingly towards Byerly again.
he's imprinted on you like a duckling, congratulations"It's a long story and not a very interesting one," he lies. Badly.no subject
"Well, perhaps I'll get bored some evening soon," he says, easily.
The dock is coming into view, now. They'll be arriving in just a few moments. And so Byerly draws himself up into a more proper sitting position and gives a bit more useful information. "This likely won't surprise you, but Tevinters often aren't trusted too deeply at Riftwatch - but you're going to be better off here than in Kirkwall proper. We can put you up and feed you for as long as you want to sniff around for clues, and when you're ready to go, we'll replace that coin-purse of yours. How's that sound?"
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"I don't blame them, really," he ends up distractedly agreeing with Byerly after his observation about the general disposition of, well, everyone towards anyone from the Tevinter Imperium. He's gingerly getting to his feet, like a yearling trying to wobble across an icy surface--it's been quite a while since he last had cause to travel anywhere by boat--when Byerly makes his unbelievably generous (to Octavius, anyway) offer. Then he has to catch himself against the side of the dinghy so he doesn't lose his balance and topple overboard.
"That's--that's very kind of you--" Abruptly his eyes widen, and he blurts out, "Kaffas, ser, I don't even know your name."
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"Byerly Rutyer," he answers easily. "A scoundrel and a lout, so don't worry about calling me ser. Unless you're doing so sarcastically, in which case, by all means, go ahead."
He has steadier sea legs than Octavius, and having done this trip many times, knows how to be helpful. As the boat bumps against the dock, he grabs the ropes and tosses them around the moorings. It saves the ferryman a bit of work.
"And you? What do you like to be called?" He has a guess for the name, but he's still not completely certain - and besides, there's often a difference between the name one is given and what one prefers to be called. Especially when one feels prickly towards one's forebears.
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He's stepping cautiously onto the dock when Byerly asks his question, and though he does hesitate, it's a very brief thing. "It's Tavi," he says. Then, much more quietly after a circumspect look at the ferryman (who still could not possibly give less of a shit about their conversation), he steps a bit nearer to Byerly and adds, "Tavi Vedici, actually. Maybe don't, you know." He cuts his gaze pointedly and not at all subtly towards the ferryman, then back to Byerly again. "Maybe don't tell anyone that last part."
(This is a young man of tremendous sincerity, extensive book learning, and absolutely no talent for espionage. Someone help him.)
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Because it is something of a dangerous name, isn't it? Byerly reflects on that as he climbs gracefully enough out of the boat and offers Tavi his hand. The lad's father had been a rather valuable prisoner, after all. And someone on their side might get it into their head that Octavius knows about the man's whereabouts. Or could be used to draw him out. (Someone named James Flint, or perhaps even Yseult.)
"You could be Tavi Rutyer, if you'd like," By offers once they're both ashore. This might seem a strange suggestion, given that Octavius would never pass for a Fereldan, except that - "A great-great uncle of mine married a Tevinter woman. I think the Northern Rutyers live in the Qarinus area, actually - though you wouldn't have heard of them, as from what I've heard, my uncle's mundane blood was enough to deprive the family of magic. Soporati, now."
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He takes the offered hand and steps ashore with only a bit of an unsteady wobble once the pier is underfoot, then takes a moment to somewhat fastidiously straighten his clothes, not that it helps much. And then, yet again, he looks at Byerly in both surprise and incredulity. His jaw works for a moment as he falls into step next to his captor-turned-rescuer.
"That could end badly for you, couldn't it?" he asks cautiously, glancing at Byerly's profile as they walk. "If someone found out the truth."
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"I've done worse," he says. Serving as a spy reporting back to Ferelden on the activities of the Inquisition, for example, or lightly drugging the Forces division head with truth serum...And he'd never even been spanked for it.
"Besides, if you only stay a few days, I doubt anyone will have an opportunity to find out."
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(The narrator: What a great plan you've got laid out there, Octavius. Would be a real shame if something happened to it.)
Still, as they amble along towards the doors, he can't help himself--
"It's not that I'm ungrateful--quite the opposite, I truly owe you everything right now, but.." He trails off, eyebrows bent into a bewildered furrow over his eyes. "Why are you helping me?"
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"You must keep this information confidential," he says. His voice is low; his manner seems earnest. "And tell no one of it."
Byerly, it must be noted, is quite a talented liar. He does seem convincing as he speaks.
"The reason," he continues, "is that Artemaeus is a friend of mine." Then, still with solemnity, he says, "Swear to me you'll keep that a secret. Most of all from Artemaeus himself."
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"Of course," he replies, all wide blue-eyed sincerity. "Of course, I swear it."
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And then, abruptly flipping to cheer, he asks, "Do you smoke?" And he offers a cigarette over to the lad.
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Tavi blinks and leans back a fraction when the cigarette is brandished his way. "No," he says, but he's already taking the cigarette anyway because it seems rude to decline. Then he adds, "Just a waterpipe occasionally back in Qarinus, when my cousins would--visit." His voice catches and quiets down because, as they reach the looming gates signifying the entrance to the Gallows itself, a cluster of people come meandering out towards the docks. Conscious of his accent, Tavi lowers his voice and takes an interest in his boots, only to frown in genuine resignation at the state of them.
"So, am I pretending to be your cousin, then?" He glances around once more just to be sure no one is close enough to overhear them. "Just while I'm here, that is."
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surprise!!
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