Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faderifting) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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.
i agree, he should resign
For one, her brother is dead.
Ignoring the hammering of her heart, Wanda lifts her head and smiles at him. It's an easy script to follow: lift her head, smile prettily, ensure the camera gets her best angle. Perhaps Reddit would consider this the moment that Wanda Maximoff starts her redemption arc… or someone may claim she's acting out of character.
"Hi." In one word, she hides behind her American accent. She could play dumb—does she know him? Does she recognise him? But her hair is bright red and not as dark as it was when she was in Scotland. Wanda knows he knows the colours of her hair; Stephen's nothing if not meticulous in his research.
"I'm not surprised you're here." With a glance around, she lifts her hand (fingers plain, no black in sight, although she hides it with soft tendrils of thin red vines snaking around her fingers in an attempt to mask any magic he may sense) to gesture at the library, and speaks in an attempt to maintain control. "You are a nerd."
She doesn't close the book in her lap, keeping it as her shield if she so much as needs a slip of armour to hide behind. She's naked in this strange world; he's here, he fits in the space like it has gotten used to his presence, and he's here.
Is she glad he didn't end up freezing to death outside Wundagore?
no subject
There’s always the chance, too, that their experiences don’t dovetail. Perhaps she’s another Wanda from another timeline, a universe where they never crossed paths to begin with. (Would she better or worse off if that were the case? He truly can’t tell.) His expression is guarded, body language tight and closed-off, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop: searching for that recognition in her face, looking for what that recognition means when it does land. If she came from earlier on their road, maybe it’s not—
There’s no use speculating. He might as well just ask.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Stephen asks. It is, perhaps, blunt and indelicate; but he doesn’t like to waste time when there’s an unknown variable to unravel. The last time they took the indulgent time to amble and meander companionably along, she’d trapped him in an illusion.
So this time he’ll be direct.
no subject
Of course, she knows why he's asking.
"My orchard," she says. It's honest; it's not her fault he doesn't ask specifics. When she had finally dreamed a dream that didn't include her boys roughhousing in the front yard, she dreams of her orchard in Sokovia with the sheep bleating in the distance and the warm breeze.
It is the last thing she remembers. Before that, she remembers nothing but darkness and dust, and a red glow before— Well, before she perhaps escaped from Wundagore. Sometimes, Wanda's unsure of whether that happened at all. The building's collapse had been so hurried…
Without needing to read his mind, she knows what he last remembers. He holds himself stiffly. He's not the warmest man, but he's proud and enjoys bleeding that arrogance. Now that there's no need to chase after him, she can see the differences in his posture compared to how he approached her in her orchard. All that stress, all that worry… Does he truly think she'd hurt him in a library? She has respect for books.
Tilting her head to the side, she keeps her expression open, her smile pleasant. It doesn't matter that she came to her senses at the last minute—let him be the unpleasant one. Wanda hates it when they treat her like she's the villain.
"What about you, Stephen?"
no subject
He doesn’t exactly expect them to start slinging spells at each other in the middle of a public space, but he’s hopelessly paranoid even under normal circumstances, and so he’s on his guard. Wanda’s winsome mile is convincing. (He’s always been convinced by her. He’d bought it, whole-sale. Perhaps that’s part of what stings.)
If they’re from divergent worlds, like two trains running along on separate but parallel tracks, he realises his behaviour must be baffling. But Stephen can’t shake the feeling that she’s a cat playing with its food and he’s the mouse. She’s more powerful than him back home and he knows it; there was a reason all he could do was run.
“I was asleep in my room at the Sanctum Sanctorum. I’d recently come back from Kamar-Taj, which they’re still repairing after you attacked it.”
He doesn’t exactly intend to sound so prickly — he wishes he weren’t — he wishes it wasn’t like this, and he’ll likely regret his guardedness later — but he’s been caught wrongfooted today, surprised, offguard, not expecting this ghost with all his attendant baggage about it and her.
(He had, after all, failed her.)
no subject
But Wanda doesn't wish to do that. It's not out of any desire to loosen the puppet strings of those around her. She suspects he anticipates it, so she doesn't wish to play into his hand. She likes it when she improvises and goes off-script. It means those who are too tied to what they've rehearsed stumble. Someone like him who would know how to protect his mind will show himself through the twitches of his expression, the curl of his fingers, and the shape of his voice. Magic can only show so much.
If she feels guilt for the damage she caused to such an ancient building, she doesn't show it. Her gut twists uncomfortably, but she hides it. All those lives didn't need to be lost if…
It doesn't matter. Wundagore swallowed her whole. Kamar-Taj will rebuild; Wanda Maximoff will not.
She could play dumb and look away from him or…
She looks him straight in the eye, her expression lacking any smugness. "Maybe they will rethink their wards if I could attack it so easily."
She sighs loudly, looking around the floor, before resting her head against the shelves. "I didn't choose to come here, Stephen," she says, her voice darkening with her Slavic accent briefly. Glancing around, she tilts her head toward her shoulder as she amends, "I chose to come to the library, but I didn't choose to come to Thedas. I would've chosen differently." She'd have found an Earth where Vision or Pietro was, far from her children, deep within the Multiverse where no one, not even the ex-Sorcerer Supreme, could find her.
But she's here instead with him. He may have approved her final decision, seeing her for who she was—a human being with grief pouring from every single pore of her body and anger to boot with her darkened hands—but Wanda knows someone like Strange would never forget what led them along that broken path and to that inevitable dead end. She wouldn't want him to.
no subject
He might have recused himself and ask someone else to do this intake interview with her, but he needed to come here. Needed to see her with his own eyes, test the waters, see what they were going to be working with. Is it better or worse that Tony isn’t here anymore, either?
He’d like to think that this, at least, is the smallest silver lining of Tony’s absence. Stephen’s a disaster, but at least it just means one match on the gasoline rather than two.
“None of us chose to come here,” he says. Rifters. Those with these anchors buried in their hands. Dreams made flesh. Which might not always have been a given; what with America Chavez ripping her way through universes, theoretically there’s the chance that he had come here differently, walking in through the stage door rather than the front.
He breathes out. He’s still clutching a stack of papers, his own lifeline and shield where she’s still holding the book; the two of them are such echoes of each other sometimes, reflections seen through a mirror darkly.
“I thought you were dead on Mount Wundagore,” he says. “And truly, Wanda, I’m glad that that’s not the case.”
There’s complications, a Gordian knot to still be unraveled here, that churning sickening guilt and grief in his chest whenever he looks at her, but he can at least say that part honestly. He had wanted her to stop, but he hadn’t ever wanted her to die. He had tried to reach out — Wanda, you are justifiably angry. You had to make terrible sacrifices — but it was too little, too late at the time. And he’s been kicking himself for it ever since.
no subject
"I believe you."
And she hates that she does.
She'd prefer to hate him. She'd prefer it if he hated her. What would happen if she poured all her anger inside him again? What would happen if she summoned his to the surface and shook him until he burst? It was easier when he used his self-righteousness to make himself a target. She was a bull who only saw red, and he happily waved his cape for her to charge at.
Wanda keeps her feelings about her apparent survival to herself. He's not her friend—not that she'd tell her friends any of her feelings. She liked being easy to deal with. She was always enough of a problem.
With a deep sigh, she makes herself look up at him, her expression intentionally neutral and pleasant. There's no anger there. "How long have you known I was here?"
no subject