Test Drive!

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

ennaris "ness" tavane | d&d oc

[aberratic]

i. magical outbursts in the baths

[ the baths in the mage tower are unattended and cold, so not many people use them. that suits ness' purposes just fine; solitude is her friend these days.

tonight, ness had taken the extra precaution to come to the baths after dark, to be absolutely sure no one else would be joining her. she brought her own water, and heated it with her own magic—control of that, at least, comes more easily than some other spells. it's almost convenient enough she doesn't mind the problems all the other magic can cause. the bath was quiet, uneventful, calming: everything a good bath should be.

the bath passed without incident. getting back to her room, unfortunately, does not.

the first time it happened ness was in hysterics by the time the feeling stopped, certain she was about to undergo ceremorphosis. it starts with a squirming feeling under her skin, a sensation like her insides have begun writhing around inside of her. the sensation builds and builds, taking anywhere from seconds to minutes to culminate—there's never a pattern, and no way of telling how long it will last. tonight, the squirming comes upon her as she pulls her dress over her head, and ness stops with her head still covered by fabric, eyes wide and terrified. ]

Oh, [ she breathes, ] oh no.

ii. library fun

[ it's not candlekeep, but it'll do.

ness has spent most of her time since arriving in thedas in the library, learning as much as she can about the world she finds herself in, its history and mythology and politics. some of it is familiar, but quite a lot isn't, and it's only her upbringing which has kept her from making shocked and appalled noises at some of the things she's read.

today, ness has three books spread out in front of her, plus her own blank notebook and a quill and ink pot. she's moved on to more recent history, having gotten a basic understanding of thedas' far-flung past. her quill scratches against the paper of her notebook as she reads, switching between the three books seemingly at random, until— ]

That's ridiculous!

[ the outburst springs from her without her conscious will; as soon as ness realizes what she's done, she slaps a hand over her mouth with a mortified expression, darting her eyes around guiltily toward anyone else in the library. ]

iii. wildcard

[ ooc: hit me, i'm easy! ness will mostly be spending her time in her room or the library at first, but i'm cool with setting things at a nebulous time in the future when she has control of her magic, too! ]

baths;

[dissolving]

Ah sh — [ stepping out of his own blind alcove, and near into her ] — Sorry.

[ the reflexive thrust of a hand, steadying, before cedric steps back; head turned aside and eyes shut quick. not much room for shyness around here, but anyone out this time of night is hunting privacy. or playing sheet ghost with their gowns. ]

— Y'alright?

[aberratic]

[ binder's knots, of course this is the day someone else shows up in the baths—not any of her previous trips, which had all gone off without a hitch, no, tonight, of all nights, when ness is moments from—from—

well. nothing good, at any rate.

she hurriedly pulls her dress down, giving herself at least a modicum of dignity and a little less to panic about. there's barely a glance spared at her new companion before ness averts her eyes, looking for as quick an exit as she can possibly make. ]

I'm fine, thank you, sorry, I'm just—just trying to—oh, hells—

[ ness curls over her hand for a moment before catching herself, forcing herself upright. the squirming is getting more insistent. this is how it goes, it builds and builds, writhing under her skin so intensely she's certain there must be some physical evidence of it, a distortion or distention of her skin. she's never been able to see anything, and she's checked, over and over and over, but the fear's never abated.

she clutches her anchor-marked hand to her chest, fist shut tight in futile hope she can stop it. ]

I'm, sorry, I shouldn't be here. Sorry. Where's the, the exit?

[dissolving]

[ i’m just panicking, and flames if he could say why. don't matter much just now. cedric's glance drops past his own shirtsleeves to find her fist, the anchor. a decision made: ]

Easy, [ calm. palms spread low and empty, shimmering in green answer. ] Let’s go find it, yeah? 'S down this way.

[ if that’s the long route, well. he’d sooner she didn't pass out on the stairs. he shifts, ready to balance or brace; eyes on how she moves. wet tile's a bad place to fall. ]

[aberratic]

[ oh, ness's eyes fall to his hands, he's kind. what a terrible moment to choose to be kind. ]

I can go on my own, [ though the weakness of the reply must just reinforce his idea that she's some normal sort of freaking out. the right thing to do would probably be to get rid of him by whatever means necessary—to scream and hurl insults and get nasty, if need be, if only to make sure he's out of the way of the inevitable. the mere thought of it though—deliberate unpleasantness, malicious behaviour—it sets ness' stomach squirming to rival the other thing, and she's helpless to stop herself walking meekly along, as far from her companion as he'll let her be. her steps, at least, are steady, if halting—she's not liable to trip or fall, but there's some effort to the way she moves, a rigidness to her spine and tension in her limbs that makes her gait strange.

she hasn't dropped her fist from her chest. ]

I'll be alright. You don't have to spend time on me, really.

[dissolving]

You're doing me a favour, roommate snores.

[ vanya doesn't. but as an excuse to kill time, can't figure he'd mind. not so far from the truth, anyway —

anyone out this time of night is hunting privacy. for quiet: the kind you don't dredge from tents slung in a yard and the wheezy sound of sleeping breath. if he shuts his eyes tight enough out here he can pretend silence. what passes for it, the space where that old hum smears into blank, white words. ]

Cedric, [ he offers, a bid for distraction. she's moving fine; she's moving stiff. scared. his steps slow, pace steady. (lunging distance) ] Don't reckon we've met.

[aberratic]

[ despairing, ] Ennaris. Ness, if that's a mouthful. I'm new.

[ to kirkwall, and rift watch, and thedas in general, yes. another rifter taking up resources and attention and bothering the locals. more than bothering, if they knew— ]

Oh, [ she inhales sharply, stopped abruptly in her tracks. her eyes have gone wide and wild, whites visible in the dark. ] Please step back.

[ that's all she has time to say before she cries out and her arm wrenches away from her chest, no longer under her own control, and flailing dark tendrils whip out of her anchor shard, slapping against anything within reach. ness stayed far enough away that they can't reach cedric but they seem to want to, snapping and reaching in his direction with a strange sort of awareness. ]

[dissolving]

Ness,

[ he begins, and then she's startling, arm arcing strange; and it's instinct that doesn't stop or stray but reaches toward it —

(the coils. that hum. some other place,)

it all happens more or less at once: a jolt forward, hand cut across air. light flares silver-sharp, and the veil drops hard, severing spell from fade. banished, however temporarily. ]

Alright, [ is it? a hard breath out. cedric straightens, doesn't back away. ] You should sit down.

[aberratic]

[ it doesn't hurt. if there's any saving grace to it, it's that; as soon as the tendrils have found their way out it stops feeling like anything at all. there's an optical illusion to them, a sense that they're drawing in all the shadows in the room and getting darker and darker and more malevolent—

and then they aren't, anymore, at all, and ness' arm drops limply to her side. she gasps in a breath, then snaps her mouth shut and breathes deliberately through her nose. she avoids cedric's eyes, and makes no more sound. when he speaks, she doesn't startle, but she follows his command with a swiftness, and folds her hands in her lap.

they're trembling.

she doesn't say a word. ]

[dissolving]

[ cedric shakes out his hand, the other one, its anchor throbbing dull. always acts up for lyrium, and maker if this isn't the moment to ponder that distraction —

a moment passes. long enough to check that it's taken, that her skin isn't about to worm into some new tangle; then he eases down beside her. the way his arms prop over his knees could pass for casual, if they weren't both here and now.

(if it wasn't the quickest way to find his feet, his knife) ]

'S alright, [ repeated. quieter than before: ] How long's that been happening?

[ can't be the first, she knew it was coming. can't be forever, or she wouldn't be this broken up. ]

library;

[grindset]

[Nearby, a scrawny figure of sloping posture and understated dress is just emerging from one of the enclosed study rooms, crutch under one lean arm and book in one pale hand. There's an air of acceptance, rather than dismissal, in the way he waves off her guilty look.]

We've had worse outbursts in here, believe me.

[Mildly spoken as he moves toward the nearby return cart, a quiet metallic tap with every other stride.]

[aberratic]

[ the acceptance, while appreciated, does not do much to assuage ness' guilt—the rules of candlekeep are a bit too deeply engrained for that, and so she remains a bit wide-eyed and distraught at her lack of self-control. ]

Even still, I do apologize. I know better than to exclaim in a library.

[ her voice is soft and quiet—not exaggeratedly so, but it seems someone truly takes the concept of an "inside voice" very seriously. she eyes the study room the man just exited, considering. ]

Are those rooms open to anyone? Perhaps if I can't rely on self-control I should make sure my outbursts will disturb as few people as possible.

[grindset]

Most are... though you'll want to knock before opening any closed door. The library has become popular for overnights since our housing was destroyed.

[The book finds its home among others waiting to be returned. The man, meanwhile, tilts his head to read the spine of another, then pulls it free to peruse the table of contents. His voice is likewise gentle, but not for her benefit, nor for that of the space; it's simply how he talks.]

But you needn't further sequester yourself. Quarantine is bad enough as it is.

[And she is definitely new.]

[aberratic]

Over—

[ overnights in the library. ness is shocked, she is appalled, she is snapping her mouth shut and staring at her books in a huff. after a moment, she sighs, and reaches out one hand to straighten her notebook on the desk. ]

Well, I suppose if there's nowhere else for them to sleep. Even better I should be somewhere private, then, so as not to disturb their rest.

[ that last, though—ness leans forward in her chair, looking more directly at him. ]

You went through the quarantine too?

[grindset]

Nearly two years ago, now.

[He can say that impassively now—not that it doesn't still tear at him. Not that he doesn't feel any pain to think of home. But he can say it like that's true.

He can also provide some relatable evidence if he sets down the book, and so: left hand raises, opens to a dull green scar among the creases of his palm. Her scrutiny may push him over the threshold from thin to gaunt, from pale to pallid; may highlight the straps and shanks encasing his right leg; may note the flippy thing his hair is doing as he turns his head to face her.]

Back then, before the towers came down, we still had proper living quarters. During the first week, I hardly left mine at all... then came here, just as you have.

[aberratic]

Two years, hm.

[ ness may sound more heartened by that than your average rifter ripped from their home unexpectedly, but she doesn't say anything else, just smiles to herself and adjusts her notebook again. when she looks back to her new companion, there's no hint of assessment in her gaze, nor do her eyes linger anywhere but his face. it's not a concerted effort on her part to be conscientious, just nothing she sees deserves lingering on.

cute hair, though. ]

Did the towers come down recently? Or is rebuilding living quarters not a priority for some other reason?

[grindset]

[The smile does strike him as vaguely odd, but then, he can't know what circumstances she'd left behind—perhaps longevity was a concern. That's something in common between them, if so. As for the towers,]

Somewhat recently—three months or so. Needless to say, the logistics of rebuilding in stone on an island have proven challenging.

[He's since lowered his hand; the book lies open and unattended.]

Kirkwall was hit badly, too, so most local resources are spoken for. It's difficult to say when it might be safe to enter what's left of the second tower.

[Before winter, hopefully; tents and outbuildings are drafty even in decent weather, never mind sea rime.]

[aberratic]

[ it's not as though she expected the answer to be "we're bad at our jobs and have been twiddling our thumbs since the attack", but, you know. logistics and hierarchies of need is rather a good excuse not to have more permanent and appropriate lodgings set up here just yet.

alright, riftwatch, you're forgiven for people sleeping in the library. ness sighs again, in acceptance this time, and slumps back in her chair. ]

This is all so... daunting. I'm trying my best to catch up, but deciding what's most important to focus on seems impossible, it's all important.

[ her lips twist, gazing unfocused into the distance as she thinks. after a moment, she breathes in, eyes focusing first on the book, instinctively checking the title and subject matter, and then on—hang on, who even is this guy? ]

Sorry, I should have—I'm Ennaris. Ness, if that's a mouthful.

library

[portalling]

What is?

[ asks a voice from the stacks, amiably curious. The man who emerges is dressed much like a local mage would be, and he has a dusty book of herbology tucked under one arm; its cover threadbare and pages a little ripped, a rescue from the tower collapse now finding its way back to the shelves amongst its fellows. It’s been a while since Doctor Strange camped out in the library like he used to, but there’s still something achingly familiar to the girl’s setup here: the glow of the anchor-shard in her hand, the stacks of introductory books, the cross-referencing and inhalation of knowledge, catching up on centuries’ worth of missing context.

He’s been there before. ]

I mean, a lot of the details are ridiculous, granted, [ he adds, voice still loose and casual as if they were already mid-conversation, ] but you’ll have to narrow the field a bit.

runs into magic daddy's arms!!!

[aberratic]

[ the flinch that comes at his voice is—well, to be perfectly honest, it's a little dramatic. it's not as though ness expects to be flogged in the middle of the stacks and thrown out of the library in humiliation, or anything, even for candlekeep that would be a hell of a leap for a first offense. she doesn't like to be caught out doing something wrong, though, and would have preferred to be ignored rather than had her momentary break with etiquette acknowledged.

ah, well. at least she can make up lost ground by being extremely well-behaved now. ]

Pardon my outburst, goodsir, I usually have more sense than to raise my voice in a library. [ which you can tell by how soft her voice is now—not ridiculously, exaggeratedly so, but girl takes "inside voices" seriously. ] The histories don't match.

[ she splays a hand across the pages of one of the books in front of her—a tevinter history book, flanked by orlesian and fereldan volumes of similar periods. ]

I'm used to parsing for differences in viewpoint and perspective, but some details are entirely changed from nation to nation, even dates. [ dry as the western approach, which she has learned is the desert to mention here, ] It vexed me.

just barely spared a half-naked awk first meeting

[portalling]

[ Goodsir makes him wince, the same vaguely pained look he’d given the first time he was ever hit with with a messere or serah, the antiquated honorifics sitting uncomfortable on his shoulders.

But Strange still steps closer and peers over the table to see what she’s been reading, and his mouth forms the shape of a knowing ah, before he glances over at her. ]

It’s a pain, isn’t it? Of course anytime anyone’s at war with each other, their retellings will differ, but without an objective third party to report on what actually happened, you have to sort of— read between the lines.

And even if they do agree, the terminology doesn’t: I had a hell of a time translating between the Chantry calendar and the Imperial calendar when I first got here. Different month names, even. Had to make myself a little cheatsheet for the reading, to remind myself that Wintermarch is Verimensis which is probably January, where I come from.

[ There’s something almost professorial to his chatty cadence, the sound of someone who very much likes the sound of his own voice. But then it settles back into targeted curiosity, his attention sharpening as it lands on the other rifter: ] So you’re a scholar?

she might not have survived it tbh

[aberratic]

[ immediately, ness decides she likes this man—she nods enthusiastically along with everything he's saying, and at the mention of cheat sheets, just barely resists picking up her own notebook and pointing out where she's done the same thing (save for "hammer" where he might have put january). his professorial tone is familiar in a way that lowers her guard, somewhat, so that a bit of her apprentice's enthusiasm shines through her careful propriety. ]

It's one thing to know that every group will have their own version of events, but to not even agree on the basic facts—it's irresponsible!

[ how will posterity know what lessons to take from history if all it is is a bunch of myth and propaganda dressed up as fact?! this is an outrage! someone needs to introduce the concept of journalistic integrity to thedas!!! ]

Ah—[ a bit deflated now, but proud, too, ] No, not a scholar. I grew up in—well, it's a library, but it's really more than that. Anyway, it's the biggest and most complete collection of the written word in my whole world. My father was one of the Avowed scribes there, and I lived with him, so I learned from him and the rest of the monks, but I'm not any kind of scholar myself, no. I'm just me.

[ a beat while she remembers her manners. ]

Me being Ennaris. That's my name. Hello! Ness is also fine, if Ennaris is a mouthful!

[portalling]

Strange, [ is his cryptic initial reply, letting the beat dangle just long enough that it seems like it might be a verdict of some sort or a comment on her, before a rueful ghost of humour returns and he settles himself on the chair beside her without asking. ] Doctor Stephen Strange, that is. I’m the Head Healer here.

[ And he can’t help it: he hears library and monks and he accordingly thinks Kamar-Taj, and so there’s an instinctive flicker of recognition, a wistfulness for a place he’s never been. Ness’ description sounds like hyperbole, but if it isn’t an exaggeration… ]

The biggest and most complete collection of the written word in the whole world? What I wouldn’t give to see a place like that. I originally learned magic at a monastery staffed by monks, they had a very impressive arcane library, but the preservation of knowledge wasn’t their main remit. And Riftwatch has assembled an esoteric collection, for the benefit of regular members and rifters and alike, but we’re still not, y’know, a university. There are gaps.

[aberratic]

[ look, her name is perfectly normal where she comes from, and it's really rude to comment on another person's name like that—

oh.

as soon as he settles next to her, ness begins to make space for him, closing up her books and stacking them and pulling them out of his way. ]

Pleasure to meet you, goodsir Doctor, [ as she caps her inkwell and sets it neatly next to her notebook. desk tidied, she looks to stephen with genuine interest, and the sort of giddiness that comes of unexpected familiarity. ] It seems we have similar backgrounds, then. Candlekeep isn't a monastery itself, but there are temples there—it's devoted primarily to Oghma, our god of knowledge, you'd be hard-pressed to find any Avowed who doesn't at least light a candle for him. The library is... amazing, truly. Not just the important things, arcane scrolls or great histories, but recipes, journals of the common folk, elementary primers. I could live there my whole life and not even scratch the surface of what it contains.

[ the wistful yearning for home aches in her, but it's an ache she's already resigned herself to—she left candlekeep before she ever made it to thedas, after all. ness allows herself only one moment to sigh and feel sorry for herself before she refocuses, turning herself back to stephen. ]

You are a wizard?

[portalling]

[ continued! ]