TEST DRIVE MEME!

[faderifting]

What if there is no tomorrow?

Only more Hinterlands

Maybe the Inquisition sent you, maybe you came seeking the Inquisition. Maybe you fell out of a rift into this world last week and are still just trying to find your feet. However it happened, the first days of the new year find you in the Hinterlands. Tucked between Ferelden's massive Lake Calenhad and the icy Frostback Mountains, the Hinterlands are a hilly region covered in patchy forests and small farms trying to eke out a living between the boulders. Though somewhat remote, the area is rich with game and minerals and home to Redcliffe, a bustling town on a busy trade route.

Lately the Hinterlands have also been full of mages and templars and rifts, all threatening to turn once-peaceful countryside into a dangerous warzone. The Inquisition has set up several camps and sent personnel to try to restore order to the region, unwilling to let it slip into chaos. There's a lot to be done, some of it straightforward killing bad things, some of it weird and nebulous morale-building.

STILL WITH ADDED SNOW AND NOW ALSO ADDED KINDNESS TO ANIMALS (MOSTLY).

1. IF I GET SCARED, YOU'RE ALWAYS AROUND

You have turned the wrong corner in the snow, forded the wrong stream in the snow, crested the wrong hill in the snow, entered the wrong cave in the snow. Maybe you are far from camp, in the snow. Maybe you are in camp, which is also snowy. Whatever has happened, wherever you are: you are being chased through the snow by bears. Did you throw a snowball at the bears? Are they huge and snow-dusted? Babies burrowing through the snow drifts and coming for your ankles? Fade-touched in addition to snow-touched? Controlled by cold mages who are hiding in the snow? Popping up out of the snow like a game of whack-a-mole? What are they chasing you away from in all of this snow? What are they chasing you into, other than more snow? What warm things do you plan to make out of their hide if you kill them in the snow? What do you think they'll craft out of your hide if they kill you in the snow? P.S. It's still snowy.

2. THEY SAY WE'RE YOUNG AND WE DON'T KNOW

The Inquisition has, possibly, been a little too good at dealing with the Hinterlands' bear problem, and a group of concerned citizens--including young burgeoning naturalists, farmers concerned about the effect an unchecked population of rams may have on their crops come spring, and at least one woman who claims to be directly descended from bears--has taken issue. Maybe they're blocking your character's attempt to enter a bear-infested area. Maybe they've doused your character in bear blood. Maybe the bears they have been working so hard to save have cornered them in the wilderness and they're changing their tunes.

3. WITH YOU I CAN'T GO WRONG

The Inquisition's (cough Leliana's) habit of communicating by raven works out fine, usually, but this particular raven has gone a little rogue. It's not the raven's fault! She's young, she's trying. But she has very important information tied to her leg, and instead of delivering it, she's joined a flock of identical wild ravens to hunt for food in the snow. Recover her, somehow, without hurting her and making any spymistresses angry.

4. BEFORE IT'S EARNED, OUR MONEY'S ALL BEEN SPENT

The tavern at Redcliffe remains as busy as ever, filled with locals, travelers, and Inquisition members. But this month in addition to the usual free-flowing ale and rowdy conversation there is also a contest going on. Bakers have come from across the Hinterlands bearing their very best in an effort to win a coveted ribbon and the title of Best Cake. They pack the tavern and spill out into the surrounding courtyard when the weather allows, cakes sold off tables, out of packs, small chunks given away to whoever is passing and not paying enough attention to refuse. The votes are carefully guarded by several serious looking fellows in the back corner of the tavern. In addition to traffic issues, the cake madness has also caused an infestation of large local rodents, who have appeared out of their holes to devour the many crumbs. Legend has it that if they can be humanely eradicated from the tavern before the final vote is cast, spring will come early. No one in living memory has succeeded, but you are strongly encouraged to try anyway.

5. AIN'T NO HILL OR MOUNTAIN WE CAN'T CLIMB

Hunt game so you can rescue it before other hunters get there, kill demons or maybe just try to hug it out?, dig under the snow for herbs or plant some of your own to replace what others have taken, track bandits through the snow and see if they need a hand, deal with someone charging extortionist coat prices now that it's snowing and convince them to do the right thing, fall off a deceptively tall rock into the snow and admit it was your own fault, get lost circling the same hill ten times trying to find a way up to the weird glowing skull on a stick you can see is up there in the snow so that you can give it a decent burial, climb trees or abandoned towers covered in snow and be careful not to knock them down, rummage around in empty homes to get out of the snow but leave a nice apology note, run from a dragon in the snow and promise not to trespass on its territory again, definitely don't kill any fennec foxes, set up camp and chat around the fire about your feelings because it's snowy and cold, give yourself a pat on the back (figuratively, or even literally if that's more your speed)-- the Hinterlands are your playground.

Comments

red | ruby lucas ( once upon a time. ) prose or brackets are cool :]b

[eviscerates]

It's so much easier to figure out what way you want to be going when you have a direction in mind. And when you have some idea where you are. Then again, Red isn't exactly a newbie when it comes to desperately running, figure it out as you go, courtesy of a long while of banditry with Snow. Running from the Queen, running from herself - all in all she's pretty good at running.

This time she's taking it at more of a stroll, albeit a determined one. She's softly humming as she goes, the bright red of her cloak stark against the snow and the dark greens and browns of the fir trees. Occasionally there are actual words, and what she's singing doesn't seem quite in keeping with the general music to be heard in Ferelden.

I made it through the wilderness, somehow I made it through-oo-oo - the lyrics are soft, but she is diligently working through the entire Immaculate Collection. After that she's thinking maybe Thriller, or Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. She may not love everything about being Ruby Lucas as well as Red, might feel disconnected and out of place, but she can say that her land-with-no-magic alter ego had a pretty killer record collection.

Snow is clinging to her cloak, she hasn't got a bow, nor any arrows, but she does have a handy dagger and an excess of red leather, so at least her extremities are fine. This is just like old times, except for how she's all alone, which... actually is pretty normal, these days.


( 1. )
There's a fallen free, just freshly broken, scorch marks about the crack. Lightning, maybe, or maybe a mage wielding lightning spells. Honestly Ruby doesn't much care; her head is a little foggy, and she's groaning a little as she tries to figure out -- "what the Hell?"

A flash of red in the snow, and though Red herself isn't visible, the struggle of someone trying to push a tree off themselves is pretty audible. "I made it through the wilderness," she pants, eyeing the branches of others trees sprawling across the sky, very flatly and with just a hint of accusation. "Somehow I made it through."

Werewolf strength? A plus, yeah. Still not going to help get a giant tree off her. She may need some help, bruh.


( 2. )
Can't a girl catch a break?
A poor attempt to diffuse an escalating confrontation, some harsh words and references to things she didn't understand, something about an Inquisition, and now she's got blood running down her face, and her bodice, and just. Everywhere. "Nobody expects the Fairytale Inquisition," Red murmurs, and she's just relieved that the blood smells decidedly not

human. And it's not warm, either, but the fact is that it's blood, cold, congealing blood, and it's on her. Freezing onto her, actually. The wolf in her prickles, and it would be so easy to just let that monster out, but she never does. It's not the right way, not who she is.

That doesn't mean that she doesn't look deeply deeply pissed, as she drags her hand over her cheek to wipe it away, before glancing to the person who was, a few moments ago, being yelled at. "You okay?"

( 4. )
Please, God. She is standing there, but she can smell rodents and cake and frankly it's a disturbing combination, so she hasn't even made it inside. She's just... looking. And concerned. She's cold and she's hungry, but is she that cold and hungry?

Yeah, probably.


( 5. idk I need to figure out how her powers work here, actually :|a )
Your character (or perhaps some random npcs, who knows) are under attack. Snow, rifts, good times for all.

There's a woman in a red cloak, running. Running towards some demons, rather than away from them. The first thing that might be weird is that the cloak - a deep red with a beautiful brocade - is being thrown aside as she runs. The next is that she leaps, and as she leaps the young woman with flowing brown hair and green eyes changes, body twisting, so that what strikes the demon is not a woman but a wolf. It is a large wolf, fur shaggy grey and black, and it tears into the demons with a brutal ferocity.


( wildcard me. )

1

[embracelight]

Belinda is trying to put the local farmers at ease by checking the nearby woods for bears. She's sure they're all hibernating this time of year, but on the off chance that one is up and about, she'll have to put it down to protect the farmers and their livestock. Or perhaps make note of its location, head back, get backup, and then return to put it down. She would feel bad for the poor, hungry thing, so that is why she hopes she doesn't find one out roaming around. Farmers tend to get jumpy about these sorts of things. The cold winter's wind blowing through branches could sound just like a bear's roar to them.

And so she trudges through snow, her shield on her back and a sword at her side. When she hears the sound of someone struggling, she knows it's certainly not a bear, and she rushes forward to see what's the matter. The contrast of red against the bright white snow makes Belinda think of blood, but once she's close, she sees it's fabric. And now she sees dark hair and hears the struggling of a woman. A woman with a tree on her.

"Maker's breath!" she exclaims, kneeling beside the tree and pushing her shoulder into it. It doesn't move. "Don't worry; I'll get you out!" she says, Starkhaven accent an oddity in the Hinterlands. "Let me take a running start."

1.

[metaari]

It isn't hard to hear the struggle. Metaari is just passing through the area on his way to literally anywhere but the Hinterlands when he hears the voice through the silence of the snow. He turns toward it, hesitating for only a moment, before he finally picks his way through the brush to the source of the sound.

He stops to rest his bow and quiver against a nearby tree before he moves toward the pinned girl, trying to gauge where he could best get a grip. "You alright?" he finally asks as he steps forward, bracing himself as he gets his hands under the tree. "If you've got any sort of grip and can push, we'll get this off you in no time." He could probably lift it enough to get her out from under it, but a little extra assistance never hurt anyone.

Fiona | Dragon Age

[rebelenchanter]

Though it saddened her greatly that not all of the mages had found their way to the Inquisition, a good many of them seduced by Corypheus and all that he claimed he could offer, Fiona was still grateful to count herself and a good portion of her people among those that found their way to Skyhold. It was not often easy, there was plenty of tension between Templars and Mages, even within such a neutral zone that invited anyone and everyone who could to help fight in this threat. In a sense she was vaguely reminded her of the Grey Wardens, plenty of diversity without they heinous Joining ritual.

For the sake of her people the, one time, Grand Enchanter and a leader in the mage rebellion, did her best to bear as much of the tension as possible. Infighting would solve nothing and neither would the continued war between mages and Templar. Fiona's thoughts on a resolution were complicated, while she did not wish for things to return to the way they were, she also wanted to be sure her people were safe, she wanted the world to see that mages were, like anyone else, filled with light and darkness. She wasn't entirely against the Circle, but nothing like those that came before.

While mages needed a safe place to call home, they did not deserve to spend their entire lives deprived of the greater world and all of its wonders. While she believed in the policing of mages to prevent magical abuses, she did not believe they should have their privacy invaded, have their rights denied them, nor did she believe it should be solely the Templar's responsible for doing so...quite frankly she believed mages should play their own part in being responsible for the transgressions of their own. It would seem less like persecution this way.

And a part of her felt for the Templar as well, however grudgingly, they did have deprived lives and for what purpose? Everyone deserved their own happiness, but the Circle as she had known it deprived people of happiness from every background. They could not have families, aside from the ones they formed themselves, and children of mages who possessed no magical gifts of their own were not permitted...babies born were often taken before the parents had a chance to bond. It was all of this Fiona wished to see abolished.

Although she did not mind taking responsibility for the actions of her people, there were times that, she had to confess to herself, leaving Skyhold and taking on missions, no matter how mundane, offered a sense of relief. Of course this was not the only reason she opted to spend as much time away as she could manage without feeling negligent...but that reason was her secret alone. For now she was happy, or at least content, to be out in the open air in the Hinterlands applying her skills to completing tasks for the inquisition.

4. Buckets of Bear Blood

As keen as Fiona was to help the Inquisition and as gracious as she tried to be at the best of times, especially given her age, even she could only take so much before enough was decidedly enough. Was it because she was a mage? Was it because she was an elf? Was it because she was Orlesian? She had the cards stacked against her in this case, but she couldn't be entirely certain which they found more offensive. She certainly had not come to kill more bears and honestly she could sympathize with the great beasts given that they had every right to these wilds. Her purpose in coming had been to simply help broker a solution.

Instead she received a dousing in blood. Bear blood, ironically. How did they get a hold of bear blood unless a bear had been killed in the process? The creatures they wanted to protect they were using as weapons...people were often fickle in their convictions.

Unfortunately that left her wet, sticky, and it would not be easy trying to get this off of her robes, not to mention the smell, the coppery smell of blood and...the longer it sat the worse it got. She'd endured enough of that smell as a Grey Warden. So, it was back to camp she trudged, robes weighing her down, looking particularly rough and muttering to herself which she rarely ever did...but this was an exceptional occasion, "...you do not wish for my help...then you will not have me help..."

3. As the Raven Flies

Granted, though Fiona could appreciate the much needed exercise, even she could not help but to shake her head intermittently as she tracked the spymistress's young raven...though not a tracker by any means it was difficult to miss a raven among a flock of ravens with a note attached to it's foot. How one could attach something important to an amateur, in spite of how it tried, was inconceivable to her. Still, her's was to do, not to question why, and at least she was not entirely alone, there was a tracking party spread out strategically.

The problem was finding the raven and capturing it without injuring it, magic would be of no use in this situation, but seed and bread crumbs? Certainly, given the scarce food resources for birds in this cold, and with such tactics it did not taker her long to find the flock that she was looking for. Perhaps they heard the seed or got wind of the bread, but they they were, perched in the trees, watching her intently as bread and seed were spread about...perhaps if she could get them to come down here it would be easier to cast a barrier and simply claim the raven she wanted.

A fine idea to be certain, but as soon as the food was laid, the whole flock came swooping down on her at once, as if they were launching an attack. Unexpected, and there was little Fiona could do to defend herself other than dodge before she too was speared like a piece of bread, how completely undignified and unpolished, "bite the hand that feeds you if you will, so much for table manners."

BYOB - Wildcard Round

Engage Fiona as you wills~


[As an aside I fall into the camp of those who believe Fiona is Alistair's mother, it can be worked around if this is not icly the case for Alistair...I know timelines among other things throw this issue into some doubt for some people. I'm a hopeless believer however, because...it's just so messed up.]

Buckets of Bear Blood (YAY, FIONA <3)

[gatheringstorm]

Fiona's not the only one muttering. Nearby, a Vashoth woman with a staff strapped to her back stalks toward camp as well with a thunderous expression on her face. "Fucking idiots...." They were blocking her from saving them from rift-addled bears?!? Did they forget so quickly how the beasts have been nothing but a menace since the Breach? Evidently, and though Korrin has no intention of fighting them, having to find an alternate path yet again is making her irritable. Perhaps she should return to camp and refill her potions anyway, since they're running low.

There's little that can distract her from her annoyed train of thought, but the sight of the elven mage covered in blood has her quickening her pace. The natives hadn't dared toss blood at the tall, horned woman so her mind is more on battle than idiots being idiots. "Andraste's ass--tell me none of that's yours! Do you need potions?"

teren von skraedder | dragon age OC

[doneisdone]

3
Bloody birds, she's always known they're tenuous messengers at best, precisely for this reason. Dressed in her traveling leathers, Teren sits in the snow, careful not to make any sudden movements, and watches the birds-- The Bird-- from a short distance, her lips pursed angrily as it pecks cheerfully along with the others.

Taking care to make as little sound as possible, Teren withdraws from her pocket a small bag of crumbs, and begins to dourly toss them toward the ravens. Come on. Come on you fool bird. You're wasting everyone's time.


5
"It's how much?!"
Teren's coat has been gnawed to pieces by the rodents in the inn, and now she is at the Crossroads, freezing cold and haggling with what may literally be a highway robber for a new one. If she had some treated leather at her disposal, this wouldn't be an issue, but here she is.
"You've got another thing coming if you think anyone's going to shell out six gold for that rotten scrap of hide," she snaps, "start talking sense or I'll ensure you never sell wares in this village or anywhere near."

3!

[maladgogo]

The birds are, for the most part, ignoring her. There are one or two pecking their way through the crumbs that she leaves, but none of the closest ones have the message attached to them. They're clustered particularly tightly in one area, obscuring what they were perched on and croaking contently. A hand emerges briefly, clad in a leather glove, and several of the birds immediately descend upon it, accompanied by low-pitched chuckling. When a few of them back off to investigate the new source of crumbs, several of the birds fluttered off to show the man hidden underneath.

"Wassup!" he says cheerfully upon spotting the rather tired-looking woman trying to coax the birds toward her. He grins, holding up his hand full of crumbled confection. "Here, you wanna feed 'em? Got one here's real tame. Had a thing attached, like a motherfuckin' carrier pigeon." He strokes his fingertip under the target raven's beak and over its neck.

Terra Branford | Final Fantasy VI (DA AU)

[iknowlove]

((ooc; BASIC NOTES: she's a mage, yes, but more importantly, she's a spirit medium. Possessed by a spirit? Have one harassing you? Come on down to the party! She promises not to tell anyone your secret. Also, her hair isn't actually green but I'm too lazy to find a bunch of blonde!Terra pictures to icon SO... Also also prose or brackets are a-okay, I will match you!))

1. She doesn't know what she did to make it angry, but man is that bear angry.

Terra finds herself making her way through the snow as quickly as she possibly can, which is a lot harder to do than she had thought it would be. If she could just run on top of it or maybe melt her way through that would be great, but alas, that kind of luck just isn't in her cards. Occasionally she glances back over her shoulder, glad to see that at the very least the bear isn't gaining any ground. It is doggedly persistent, however, no matter how much she runs.

But then she trips, falls, tumbles through the snow a few times, and the bear gains on her. She cowers slightly, eyes squeezed shut, and lets out a loud "Leave me alone!" that gets accompanied by a blast of spirit energy. When she looks up she finds the bear knocked back a few yards and staggering and she takes the opportunity to get up and resume running, looking for either shelter or, better yet, someone with a sword to stab the thing. Or at least scare it away.


4. Not only is the tavern warm (a more than welcome change from the cold outside) but it smells amazing to boot. Terra has sampled more sweet things in this one day than she has her entire life, and the weight of it all is starting to settle heavily on her stomach. Glancing around, trying to find somewhere a little quieter to slip away to to maybe rest some of the snacks off.

Luckily she finds herself a nice corner to nestle in to and she wraps her cloak tighter around herself, tattered and worn from her travels, and she settles in to maybe catch a quick nap. Here's hoping that the seat wasn't being held for someone, or that she doesn't accidentally kick someone in her sleep.


5. Do you know what's exhausting? Snow. Do you know what's even worse? Climbing hills that are covered with snow. The worst part is that, with everything being just so white everywhere, it's hard to tell where a path ends. Which is how Terra manages to find herself tumbling over the edge of a low cliff to land in the snow bank below, unharmed but now soaked through to the bone and--hopefully--she managed to avoid anyone who happened to be passing by.


Or Whatever. DO A THING. I'LL RESPOND TO IT.

1.

[gatheringstorm]

"HEY! OVER HERE!"

Is Korrin talking to the girl or the bear? Well, both. As the girl runs towards her, the Vashoth mage casts a Barrier spell to encompass them both. Narrowing her eyes at the large, clawed menace, she blurs forward on waves of magic, slicing at it with her spirit blade. Despite some local idiots complaining about the Inquisition doing their job when it comes to rift-addled wildlife, she's not going to just let one pass and ruin someone else's day. This thing is going down.

[whathumansdo]

4.

This isn't the first time Jane has had to do some sort of menial task to make things run smoothly for someone else. Honestly, she isn't even trying to collect the rodents to bring spring early - no matter how tired she is of the snow. She's mostly doing it to give the cakes a chance to survive long enough to be judged.

When they had said 'large rats' she was half expecting the kind of massive rodents you might encounter in the Deep Roads. Those probably would have cleared out the tavern must faster though, cake or no cake.

These ones were big, but not so big that you had to take them down with swords. Instead, she had a large sack she was placing the little blighters in after they were safely trapped.

"You're kind of cute, aren't you?" she said to the newest one. It was indeed far cuter than any other the others she had found. Most of them had been a dark gray or brown color and had fur that was filthy and gross. This one seemed more delicate, with a small tuft of white hair above it's eye. "Someone could also put you in a cage and take you home."

The animal made a panicked noise and tried to bite her to get free. She twisted her arm just in time to avoid that. Rather than be offended, she seemed more amused by the effort. "That's right, little guy. You fight until you don't have any fight left." She almost didn't want to put this one in the bag, but there was free cake waiting.

"Next time, go for the eyes," she added before delicately plopping him into the sack.

(alternatively, wildcard! you pick the set up!)

Rats, Shepard?

[middle_of_calibrating]

Rats don't bother him a whole lot, but he's far from being fond of them, so having to catch them alive and then tossing them into a bag is not his idea of fun. He doesn't even think getting cake is worth it, yet somehow here he was catching rats for free cake.

And the reason why he was doing it was standing a few feet away practically cooing at a rodent.

"Shepard... are you really giving advice to a rat?" he asks from where he's standing, hand on his hip, the other one grasping the end of his bag to make sure the rats in it don't get out.

Obi-Wan Kenobi | Star Wars: Clone Wars

[obi_wanmanshow]

(1 | Don't look a Rift horse in the mouth)

Obi-Wan had no idea what he was getting into, this morning. It had been a nice, hot cup of tea, a little bit of paperwork and then-- then he'd been falling. And now, he found himself rather more in the center of a circle of... creatures? He might have called them people, but for the attire. People tended to have some, for example. In any case, they were very much trying to kill him.

For the innocent eyes watching, it must have seemed something of a turnaround, one man alone, unarmed, dressed in nothing more protective than a traveling cloak, and then...

"Very well, if you insist," The lightsaber ignited with a distinctive snap-fizz, startlingly bright and very blue against the right-green glow and the demonic screeches as Obi-Wan moves, rolling to his feet with the same motion that drew his weapon to hand, "Come on!"

(2 | Xfox Live)

Witness the humble Jedi master, and his little game-hen on a stick. He's got a very small little camp set up, a fire off on his own, and-- is that a Fennec? It is!

Carefully, the fox edges its way closer, closer yet... Cloooser. Obi-Wan snorts a chuckle, and throws a scrap of offal to it, which is quickly snapped up and carried away. It'll be back.

Come say hello. It's a lovely day.

(3 | Wildcard Three: Return Of The Random Scenario)

Re: Obi-Wan Kenobi | Star Wars: Clone Wars

[sunshinethroughgrey]

Demons. Why was it always demons? Honestly, Bethany would be delighted to deal with bears. She saw the Rift opening and sprinted towards it, calling out to the others where she was going.

Bursting through the underbrush, she gasped as she saw the lone man stand there, demons closing in on him. She lifted her staff and -- suddenly there was a lightblade swinging through the air. The spell stuttered off her lips as she stared.

Almost as startled as the demons, she would wager.

Matt Murdock | Daredevil (DA AU)

[avocats]

1. Suddenly Bears

[ Snow is the worst on his senses, blanketing everything in a thick layer of cold and wet and bright, shiny white (or so he's told.) The point is it makes stealthing rather hard. His steps crunch in the ice no matter how light, and it makes sensing his surroundings a bit harder too. So while Matt is out in the Hinterlands delivering a message or tracking some renegade mage, he comes across, what else, but a large amount of bears. Sleeping, fortunately, but by the time the wind shifts and he picks up the smell, well, he's rather close. And you know how it is with bears. All it takes is one broken branch, one snapped twig-- maybe it wasn't even his fault. Maybe it was yours. ]

Ah, merde.

[ Time to start fighting. Or running. Probably running. ]

3. Free Bird!

[ You think finding a raven in the snow amid a group of ravens is hard, try being blind. Actually, on the contrary, Matt has an incredibly easy time of finding Leliana's raven (no other bird carries quite the same amount of Orlesian perfumes, that's for sure,) but given that his proficiency in the task is, well... less than likely, he's been assigned to the task with someone else. You, perhaps.

Of course, just because he can sniff it out doesn't mean they're going to have much luck in grabbing the escaped bird. He's a bard after all, he's armed himself with a lute just as well as a few daggers. He starts to play a tune-- to somewhat varied success. Too bad he doesn't know any songs that make birds dance or anything like that... because he really has no interest in getting covered in bird shit. ]

4. Cake Boss

[ Rather unfortunately for Matt, his sense of taste is just as acute as his hearing. What this means is that when he expressed disinterest at one of the baker's use of goose eggs versus hens in their cake, he found himself suddenly playing test-tester to about a million different pies, tarts, and all manner of sweet, delicious (and not so delicious) baked goods. For a blind guy who values secrecy, this is a nightmare. For an Orlesian bard, this is a setback of the most embarrassing kind. He has a job to do, but they'll hear nothing of it, just keep shoving cakes in his direction. ]

Help. [ He reaches out, grabbing the arm of the nearest person with an almost alarming precision. ] Please help me.

5. Wilcard

[ Aaaanything else, I am totally down for it! Feel free to check out Matt's app for his backstory and we can hash something out. ]

3 >)

[amygdalae]

[Retrieving an escaped bird isn't exactly on the top of strangest things that Bruce had to do, but it is by far perhaps not something that seemed as easy as it seemed. Leliana's ravens were notoriously tricky and refused to listen to anybody except for their supposed owner, and Bruce can't help but wonder if this was some sort of revenge for him asking Leliana to lighten up Harding's workload.

But regardless here he was, standing under a tree and staring up at the bird as his companion played a tune from his lute. Not that it was doing anything, since the raven was still up in the tree and cawing rather loudly.]

I don't think its going to come down like this. [Bruce remarks wryly as he glances towards Matthieu.]

2

[tamassran]

She had nothing to do with this bear hunting. All she had wanted was to exchange the last of her money for bread in order to feed the children hanging around her - two toddlers, one older boy and two infants in her arms. A whole tamassran cell of imekari.

Maybe they thought she was wearing bear fur, even though it was druffalo. Maybe it was because she was qunari. Maybe it was just a mistake, if the look in one of the human women's face was anything to go by.

It was cold and clumped, stinking of iron and staining her white hair. There was blood all over her clothes, blood all over the imekari, blood all over the fresh stitches in her lips. She's somewhere between horrified and enraged, the children wailing in a chorus.

Trying to keep a cool face in front of the little ones, fire still spark from her fingers, unfettered and undisciplined as she wipes the crimson stains from her eyes. Her voice is garbled behind the stitches, but she's pissed. Very pissed.

Pissed enough to set people on fire. Sorry about that.

Re: 2

[aforethought]

Oh sacred bleeding fuck.

Melys drops the bundle in her arms, moving swiftly from a slouch to a run. If she had any least bit of sense, it'd be in the other direction — the folks here been acting crazier than a sack of cats lately, without the addition of some random vashoth mage setting the grass alight on accident.

But there's kids there. Goat-looking grey kids, and already half a head higher than they ought to be, but kids all the same. Poor little fuckers didn't ask for this.

And more importantly, if this shitheap burns down, Melys knows exactly who'll be roped into rebuilding it. Nope. Not today.

"Hey! They been looking for you at the sawbones," She points at one of the women, in a flinty imitation of authority, and back again towards town. "Best go with, make sure she gets there safe."

Melys slings a hand onto her hips, shoulders lifting instinctively into old army posture, before swinging around to face Tamakari. It's a decent impression of someone who knows what the hell they're doing — and it puts her fingers a little closer to a knife, if need be. Her eyes stay narrowed and wary; not the look of a leader, but a scavenger.

"All of us oughta make sure of that."

Hermione Granger | Harry Potter

[bookish_lioness]

She was in the woods, and she was running. So if she was running, something was likely chasing her, since that was how she'd spent most of the previous year. But now the war was over, which left her wondering what was chasing her, and as she went to grab her wand out of her beaded handbag as a precautionary measure (another anomaly, as she wouldn't have kept her wand in her bag and really, what would she need a bag with a seemingly limitless Extension Charm for anyway, now that the war was over?), she glanced behind her.

Death Eaters in the distance. Lots and lots of Death Eaters.

Well. That certainly explained the bright flashes of green that seemed to be exploding everywhere. Now all that was left was for Hermione not to get herself struck by a Killing Curse so late in the game.

But wait. This was a dream. It had to be. And she couldn't die in a dream.

... but then, she also shouldn't feel cold damp snow soaking through her shoes and her jeans. Especially since it hadn't been snowing a moment ago.

And that was when she realized that she was "dreaming" about a completely unfamiliar spot of woodland, and somehow, it didn't feel as though she was dreaming anymore.

1.

Hermione had never seen bears up close before.

Oh, she'd certainly seen them in zoos, and they had seemed very nice - if a bit sad - when they were locked away from the general public. But she was fairly certain that brown bears were extinct in the U.K., and she'd been in no hurry to go out and find any other kinds of bears in the wild. She was, after all, the smart one of her group.

Granted, the smart one also happened to be an animal lover, and seeing what looked like a family of bears appear out of nowhere and traipsing about the woods was just a little distracting. Especially when one of the younger ones made eye contact with her before surprising her by approaching closer.

Bears weren't like cats. With cats, you stuck your hand out and let them sniff at it and at worst they might ignore you. With bears, sticking your hand out was an open invitation for them to try and take a bite. Hermione learned that the hard way. She also learned that Mama and Papa Bear don't much like it when witches shout, "Stupefy!" at their cub in self-defense. She also learned that the bright red Stupefying Charm apparently doesn't work on larger bears.

Hermione was learning many things today, and she was also doing a lot more running than she'd done since the war ended. She just never imagined it would be because of bears.

3.

She didn't know where she was, and she knew that the easiest way to fix that would be to ask a local. But there didn't seem to be many of those out in the wilderness. There were just wild animals (she'd learned to avoid the bears, thank you), which couldn't very well tell her how to get back to Hogwarts.

Or could they?

Hermione noticed the small group of ravens scrounging for food, pecking away at the snow. If not for all her time in the wizarding world, she would have missed the small letter attached to one of their legs. Well! It might not be an owl, but at least she could be fairly confident that there were other witches and wizards about!

She didn't want to intercept someone else's mail, but maybe if she could attract the attention of one of the other ravens, she could get a message off to the Headmistress or someone at the Burrow. Digging into her bag, she got out a package of trail mix, which should serve ravens much better than owls.

... perhaps it served a little too well, really, considering that she'd only been attempting to get one raven over to her, but it seemed that none among the flock of them had been having much luck finding food. So when the curly-haired girl stuck out a hand filled with seeds and raisins and berries, they all flooded the scene en masse, driving her back a few steps as she tried (with no success) to avoid beaks and claws.

"Ow! There's enough for all of you, just.... Wait your turn!"

5. - (Feel free to interact with her as you'd like!)

For some strange reason, Hermione Granger wasn't as much of an animal lover as she had once been. She was still picking raven feathers out of her hair and trying not to rub at a myriad of scratches, even if she'd managed to take care of the worst of her injuries with her wand. There had to be civilization somewhere, but she was either going around in circles or she was just tired and hungry after having thrown her trail mix at the conspiracy of ravens (what an appropriate collective noun) to keep them at bay.

At least she found a jar in her bag inside which she could cast a Bluebell Flame, keeping her warm for long stretches at a time. If anyone came by and saw a grumpy-looking witch sitting by a small blue fire, she would at least be less grumpy at the sight of sentient life and be willing to share the warmth as she fished for information.

1

[qunari]

Bears. It was always bears, wasn't it?

Luckily for Hermione, Bull happened to be exploring the ruins of a nearby hut, eyes scanning over a bit of correspondence left behind. Generally it was just a matter of skirting around the bears if one didn't want to pick a fight or got in a hurry, but apparently no one had bothered to tell the nice young lady currently running for her life.

With a sigh, the letter was tucked into his pocket, axe hefted onto his shoulder as he made his way out of the remains of the splintered framing. Alright. Time to see if he could catch up before they decided to make a snack out of the poor girl.

Velanna | Dragon Age (brackets or prose are fine)

[failedfirst]

2 - There Will Be Blood

It can't exactly be said that Velanna's love for humans has grown much in her years since traveling with the Warden-Commander. She certainly tries, as is expected of a Grey Warden to help regardless of race. One can only hear "knife-ear" so many times without threatening to put a knife to someone's ear and redefine the term, of course.

That's neither here nor there, and mostly unrelated to the current circumstance. She needed access to the woods for her own purposes, and meddlesome humans got in her way. The resulting altercation has one small but furious elf drenched in bear blood, seething through her teeth as her hands clench, using every ounce of her self-restraint to keep from calling up roots from the earth to rip the "well-meaning" farmers limb from bloody limb.

"You ignorant shem fools!" she growls, shaking blood from her arms as she whips her hands out at her sides. It's probably just a coincidence that the blood is smoking where it hits the ground. Random heat vent from deep in the earth. Certainly it's not because she's so angry the blood is heating up in reaction to her attempting to avoid fireballing everyone in front of her into oblivion. "I am here to help and you think it's wise to cover me in blood? Please, explain to me how this is a logical course of action in your small mind!" She glares at the humans before her, smoking and seething, covered in blood and ready for a fight.

5 - Low Key Option

Velanna prefers to travel alone, when given the option. It's easier, to keep her distance and be some vaguely mystical being in the eyes of most other Wardens. In the winter, though, she rethinks that strategy. It's freezing, and she has to spend time each night after finding shelter setting up her defenses.

The caves outside of the Crossroads provide some small protection at least, and she builds a large fire to ward off the chill, as she walks a large circle around the mouth of the cave, casting magical traps as well as setting a few more standard ones learned from growing up among the Dalish. Anyone who comes upon her little camp might catch her singing to herself as she works, always keeping the songs of her people fresh in her mind.

2

[dominations]

Oh, no. That's-- that's not good. She was caught in the spray as well, and her first instinct is to walk away, especially because there's blood involved. Reaching up to wipe the warm splatter off her cheek has adrenaline starting to pick up in her gut. Blood just makes her tense up, nervous. Makes her think about all the things she used to be, used to do. She's half way to taking a step away, but she's run away from a lot of things, and if she wants to even think about trying to get help from the Inquisition, maybe it's time to stop running.

"It isn't logical," she agrees, very softly, moving to the woman's side, while keeping a respectful distance. Her Nevarran accent affects her words, makes them sound a little more disappointed, somehow. For all that she's tall, she more an awkwardly looming presence than an intimidating one, or even remotely threatening. She's already wondering, actually, just how smart or helpful this might be, before unwrapping the scarf from her neck, slowly tugging it away to hold out in offering for the woman to wipe away some of the blood. Her other hand clasps a black staff, and she looks to the offending villagers, frown twisting her mouth.

"I would say the more logical path would be for you all to leave." At least she can sound more confident than she feels. Maybe. Hopefully.

greta dalqvist | (dragon age) original

[dominations]

( 1. )

She's pretty sure she's lost. Everything starts to look the same in the show, and honestly? She can't stand the snow. It's not the cold. She actually loves the cold, it's more the sneak attack sunburn that's killing her. Greta makes for a tall, willowy figure, forging a path through the snow, hood up, and if anyone gets close enough to see, then her usually pale skin is red and sore, across her nose and her cheeks. For a moment, Greta stops to catch her breath after topping the hill, leaning against the tall black staff that looks like a warped, twisted branch, with a series of notches cut into the side. Some have been scratched out.

A huff of breath, and she's-- hang on. There's a growl behind her, and suddenly she's moving over the hill a lot faster than she was before. Bears. Bears! Stupid Ferelden and stupid bears! In fact, she's pretty sure the entire trip through the Frostbacks is going to be a beast, and she's twisting on her heels, spinning the staff so ice starts to cloud about the end, ice crawling over her skin.

"Okay," she breathes, Nevarran accent thick and strong, facing down the bear with a certainty on her face that she doesn't really feel. "If we must."

( 5. )

One camp fire, crackling and glowing a bright orange. She's using it for light, more than for warmth, leaning over a leather-bound parchment book and slowly taking down notes. A pause, to shake out her hand, but before she can resume writing she hears a crack of wood decidedly not from the fire, and looks up sharply.

"Who goes there?" Her voice sounds strong-- almost. Something shakes in it and betrays her, even if she's standing and holding her staff.

( wildcard me, bruh. )

1

[stabsbooks]

The bear lunges forward - but it's not the only one. Something crashes through the trees, and suddenly Greta is not fighting alone. Cassandra puts herself between the mage and the bear, raising her shield and swinging her sword at the animal in a gesture that makes it both stumble back and roar in dismay.

"Assist me!" she calls back over her shoulder, in a very familiar accent. She dodges as the bear takes a swipe at her with one massive paw, bringing her shield up and moving deftly out of the mage's line of fire. "Freeze it, if you can!"

Mary Read | Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag (Rifter!)

[unmans]

[[ ooc; just a note - so this is a lady (who identifies as lady) dressed up as a dude, convincingly enough to fool a lot of pirates for a long time. so just letting you know, pronouns in this will all say her/she, but Mary should look and sound completely like a young man, around teens to early twenties /o/ ]]

bears, bears everywhere;

[ mary does not make a habit of fighting bears. she generally doesn't make a habit of fighting any animals that aren't already set in wanting to take a chunk out of her, but then there's these people, who seem to think the pirate had been one of those dwindling the bear population. particularly, the weird one running around in furs, chasing rams, and claiming he's descended from the damn things, standing in the middle of the path mary'd been trying to take towards the river, so she might be able to board a ship and, hopefully, find her way to the port. apparently, this man isn't taking that story to be true, insisting she's on her way to slay more of his kinsmen. uuugggghhhh. it's fucking cold and she is not equipped for this weather or this landscape or this bullshit. ]

Look, shanker, it ain't my concern if your grandson to a bear or a bilge rat, but if your pox ridden arse ain't moving from my path very shortly, I'll be usin' your balls for fishing lures. [ it trails into a low growl, a bladed mechanism hidden under a sleeve springing forth, at about crotch level, for emphasis. ] Got it, mate?

[aaaand, that's about when a lower, much lower growl sounds from behind her. carefully, slowly, mary tilts to look back over her shoulder, spotting one of the innocent bears looking ready to chow down not 20 feet away. aaaaaw hell. ]

Piss. Chat up the in-laws, why don't you? [ she's muttering, to the man claiming relation to the bears in this area, but when she hears scrapping ice and retreating footfalls, she knows he's already running, before even turning to look after him, snow kicked up in his wake. ] Bloody pillock.

Right then. [ if the bear isn't killed or otherwise dissuaded in the next couple seconds, the assassin will be making a quick dash for the closest tree, scampering her way up nearly as fast as she runs, like she's part monkey. ]

gull & lantern; (mostly the tavern prompt from last tdm ahhh fite me)

Now we are ready to sail for the Horn... Weigh hey, roll and go... [ a voice, low and half mumbled, emits from one of the tables snuggled close to the fire pit, singing something probably unfamiliar to most here, but a shanty Mary could voice in her sleep, these days. the cakes have a nice smell to them, and mary had sampled one here or there, but bake sales aren't really her there. more so, she'd rather be drinking. feels more... normal. she'd be lying to say she doesn't miss home, and the open sea, and the sun baking at her cheeks and chapping her lips, salt water clinging to everything. thedas is an incredible adventure, and a wonder at every turn, but it's felt weird spending so many nights on a soft mattress that doesn't rock to and fro with waves lapping at a hull. ] Our boots and our clothes, boys, are all in the pawn... To be rollicking randy dandy-O...

[ not that mary plans on brooding all night, and she's perfectly capable of making her own buddies to fill the time she's snowed into the tavern. you may catch her later on in the evening, when mary's gotten a lot more tipsy, and made several more friends, she's much more noticeable, standing on a chair and leading a corner of the tavern in a more jaunty sailing tune, one that's only half sung back correctly with her, as she's just taught these men the song a few moments ago. ]

Windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys, when the wind blows, we're all together, boys! [ a wooden flagon is raised to clink against another man's (probably one of the sailors from the boat she'd taken a job on recently), sloshing ale over the rim, and none of them seem concerned about it as they continue belting along. ] Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow, Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes!

[ come hang, get shit faced, hear pirate stories, sing shanties, help mary stumble her way to her room. it's a good time. ]

wildcard;

[[ idk hit me with whatever, i'll do network things too if anyone would be looking for a pirate/sailor/really awesome rogue?? come at me. also, prose or action spam is fine for any of these, i'm easy. ]]

Gull & Lantern

[thelastking]

[ A muted chuckle escapes the strider who lingers nearby. There's nothing like a good song to get the drunkards going, he notes from the bar. With his gaze hidden beneath the thick hood of his cloak, Aragorn watches in amusement as the sailors get up and sing. All this merrymaking puts the ranger at ease but barely.

Aragorn knows better than to put his guard down around this many drunks and cutthroats.]

A mug of ale.

[ He orders quietly as he allows his gaze to drift a little. The ranger focuses his eyes upon the lively chap with the red bandana who've gotten half the tavern in an uproar. Remembering the forgotten days of his youth as a man of the wilds, Aragorn sees a little bit of himself in this cheery lad. While it wasn't often that Aragorn would visit taverns, he used to partake in silliness such as this amongst his fellow rangers.

The little ditty they sing is a catchy one. Catchy enough to lull the strider into song once the barkeep fetches his mug. While he's certainly not a sailor, Aragorn can appreciate the appeal of the sea. ]

bellamy blake || the 100 DA AU

[nonsibi]

[ ii. bears. ]

No, you don't understand-- I'm going that way!

[Travel-stained and tired and at the end of his rope, Bellamy shoves at one of the villagers blocking the path. There's a whole band of them, determined villagers determined to keep Bellamy from getting where he wants to go. From the bears, ostentatiously, and no matter how many times he's told them that he doesn't care about the bears, they still won't shift out of his way. This one, the one giving him the most trouble--a man taller than him, and broader by about a man and a half, shoves back. Bellamy stumbles--doesn't fall, which means he's just got ample room to round back on the villager with a glare. And his hand on his sword.

His armor looks like it's seen some action: mostly cobbled together, leather where he apparently couldn't afford (or find) steel, and what steel there is has been left dented, without attention from a smith to get it beaten out straight again. There's particular dents on the shield he's got strapped to his back. Otherwise nondescript; the cloak is a plain black one; some corpse somewhere is wearing his Templar cloak, and the otherwise tell-tale insignia marking his gauntlets are hidden under his sleeves. Mud-spattered, tattered, tired of putting up with shit to get where he's going, and now he draws his sword with a rasp of steel.]

Get out of my way.

[--Of course, now that his sword is drawn, it's not like he's going to skewer the bear fanatics with it. Or maybe he will. One of them is wearing a hood with ears. All of them are in his way, and all of them have paled considerably. To their credit, they're standing their ground.

And then there's a growl, as a very real bear ambles into the scene. A little to the left of the scene. It's almost comical, except that it's not, because now Bellamy's got to fight a bear.]


[ iv. tavern. ]

[The best thing to do after fighting a bear and getting caught in a snowstorm is go to a tavern and ask everyone if they've seen a girl.

That's what Bellamy's doing, anyways. Drinking, yes; favoring his left side, yes, and clamping down his jaw when someone elbows him by accident. There's a nasty cut over his eye hastily bandaged in the field and he should really probably sit down, but he accosts another table to ask them:]

Sorry. Excuse me, sorry. There's-- a girl, that I'm looking for. Blonde, about this tall. She'd be traveling alone. Got a staff. She was on the road a month ago, this road, right outside--a month ago, maybe two, and if you've seen anything, heard an--

[But he cuts off, frustrated, as his latest interrogation ends when the man pulls free of his grip and turns away. Piss off.]

Yeah, thanks. Real helpful-- [A loud parting shot that falls on deaf ears. Bellamy grabs his tankard and stalks back over to the bar to slam it down again.]

Another.

[Dejected, angry. He glares hopelessly out at the patrons as he waits, his elbow leaning on the bartop. The snow outside keeps him indoors, even if he keeps eyeing up the window, ready to head back out on the road the moment it clears.]

[ v. WILDCARD. ]

[what it says GIVE ME SOMETHING i'll answer it. have you seen clarke?? he might start hanging up posters.]

kicks down door; also, ii.

[levered]

[ Prior to the bear's entry, the plan had been to walk away. The activists further ahead on the road are harmless against Bellamy's sword—except the one with the ears, that one looks dangerous for sure—and a good diversion in the meantime, so should have been easy for Clarke to tuck any incriminating escaping curls back into her hood and leave unnoticed, without ever even being close enough to see his face.

The sight of the bear stops her backward step away before her heel has touched the ground.

She feels something very close to relieved, then feels nothing (or as little as possible), striding forward to join the small crowd and push her way through it to stand beside him. She looks up and sideways at him, a little nod, yes and hello and I know.

To the crowd, she says, ] You should go.

Aragorn | Tolkien | OTA

[thelastking]

4.

Redcliffe feels oddly familiar to the strider who lingers towards the rear of the tavern. With the hood of his gray cloak obscuring his face and only the dim light of his pipe gleaming from the shadows, Aragorn watches with muted humor as the townsfolk fuss about their prized cakes. Despite not being too fond of the ale served in this quaint little tavern, the ranger can't help but find some odd similarities between that of Redcliffe and Bree.

Bree is a small township in his realm not too far from the Shire. More often than not, Aragorn would haunt the Prancing Pony for the sake of food, ale and information. While he could gather all three here at leisure in Redcliffe now, Aragorn can't help but miss his regular haunt. The people of Thedas are a queer bunch, hostile and unusually cruel most of the time. While Redcliffe is blessedly better than some of the other regions he visited, Aragorn can't help but miss Arda.

A sigh leaves him as the fire in his pipe grows dim. Tempted to smoke another bag of this delightful pipeweed that holds a hint of cinnamon to its dried leaves, Aragorn refrains in favor of attempting to drown this mug of ale again. Oh, how he wished he ordered the mead instead. The barkeep claimed this was the best ale in the house but clearly the old man lied.

Content playing the role of the voyeur, Aragorn sits back and watches the fesitives unfold. Of course a rat or two scurries past him once a few crumbs fall to the wooden floors. Apparently this little contest has provoked the hunger of every rat south of Denerim. The ranger makes no attempt to shoo them away unless they come too close.

5.

While the snowy hills of the Hinterlands are known for their blatant dangers in the forms of fae-touched bears, Aragorn could tell the worth of this land lies within its soil. Since arriving to Thedas, the ranger made himself useful in adding the Inquisition. He's taken up a few small jobs here and there that plunged him into the wilderness in search of odds and ends. Today's search lies within the Inquisition's need for provisions in the form of herbs. While the herbology of this land differs greatly from Middle-Earth, the ranger can spot the always coveted elfroots well enough.

Trudging through the snow is a bit of a bother but the cold doesn't deter Aragorn in his quest. He makes his way carefully through this land making certain to avoid the fiends that lurk nearby. While the bears certainly gave the ranger some trouble earlier, he manages to keep a healthy enough distance from them while collecting herbs.

Now crossing near the banks of a river, Aragorn crouches beside a few shrubs once he spots another cluster of elfroot nearby. He's dressed plainly in his dark brown long coat and a plain greenish brown jerkin underneath, the usual dark leggings and heavily weathered boots. He forsook the green cloak he received at Lothlórien since he knew he wouldn't be wandering out here for long. With the cold constantly nipping at his heels, he doesn't dare linger.

While Strider doesn't look particularly menacing towards anyone passing by, the ranger is most certainly armed with a long bow upon his back and a sword at his hip. His face is mostly obscured by his shaggy hair but hints of blue peek out as he eyes his surroundings. This man doesn't hardly look like the prophecized King of Men but the silver pendant that hangs down his chest looks quite odd for a ranger to wear.

Aleron Darton | Dragon Age (OC) | Prose or Brackets A-OK

[lifeofendurance]

The world has gone mad. Truly it has. Aleron's horse plods through the snows of the Hinterlands at an even pace. The rider travels with purpose, looking for answers, but he finds them en route as much as he believes he will when he arrives at his destination. Signs of the mages and templars slaughtering each other still mar the landscape which should have been beautiful, if cold, this time of year. Not for the first time, he wonders how things could have come to this. Not for the first time, he blames himself for not having seen the signs when he was in Kirkwall ten years ago.

He travels, not in his Seeker's armor, but in a new set. It still gleams with polish without the nicks and scuffs one would expect of a more seasoned set. A gift from his mother while he escorted her back to her family's home in Orlais. Aleron should have refused it on principle alone. Acceptance would only fuel her ambitions which have no place in his life now. Yet there was good reason to travel more incognito. Riding through the countryside marked as a Seeker felt an invitation to ambush or unrest given the very uncertain times. For now, he is but a well-armed soldier riding a quality war horse across the Hinterlands.

2.
Honestly? What in the Maker's name are people thinking?

Aleron cannot continue on his way because there is a rabble of shabby locals barring his path. At the first, all he can make out of everyone talking over each other is something regarding bears. Not that he has any desire to tangle with a bear if at all possible, but this is the only way to where he's headed without taking an overly lengthy detour. ...and then he hears the real reason.

These lunatics are trying to protect the bears. There's angry complaints about too many bears being killed and some nonsense about how rams are going to run rampant through fields in the spring. His only visible response to this is to continue staring at them all, and one slight quirk of an eyebrow. If he wants to sigh at their stupidity, he's not letting on, nor doing it.

4.
The tavern is lively and cake is all around, but there's one patron who seems oblivious to it all. He's not; Aleron just doesn't care. He's seated, alone, at one of the tables with a single ale being slowly nursed. When asked if he'd like to sample some cake, he refuses, calmly. Not even a hint of annoyance upon being asked for the seventeenth time in an hour. Instead, he's holding a letter in his hand, its sealing wax unbroken. He's holding the letter but not actually looking at it. After some time, he stands, walks to the fire, throws the letter in, and returns to his seat without so much as a frown or a glance at the contents within.

5.
That is a skull on a stick. A glowing skull on a stick, to be precise.

The Seeker isn't sure what its purpose is, but he distrusts it on principle alone. The exposed skull is trouble enough without unknown light coming from it. Some magic with which he is unfamiliar. That alone demands an answer. If he could only bloody get to it. He's as stoic as ever, but the way he paces back and forth bespeaks his level of growing frustration. There must be a way up. Bones do not just amble up hillsides on their own.

[dominations]

Guess what Nevarran mages love: skulls.
At least, that is what Greta understands that she is meant to love, to have some enthusiasm for. It is what she was meant to become, and the symbol makes her gut twist unhappily as she spies it through the hills, as if it were beckoning to her. There is little to mark her any more distinctively than than the man she spokes looking at the skull, and his presence sparks equal parts fear (run) and curiosity.

And so it is that a hooded figure that was about to pull away from the skull kneels down over the jagged edge of rock, pulling back her hood to reveal a waves of dark hair, skin that had caught too much sun from its reflection off the snow, and a careful, curious gaze.

"You have not seen one of these before?" She asks, and her accent marks her as Nevarran, just as the black staff at her back marks her for a mage. "There is a path to get up here, but... it is not nearby."

Shaene | Native OC | Prose and brackets both good!

[sunbrand]

Perhaps a rifter might look at the mark - different to their own, but with its own magic and cost - and think little of it. Folk with marked faces are hardly anything new. But to most natives that brand, that sunburst brand, will tell them all they need to know.

2) The thing about being asked to keep people away from bears is that, on the surface, it makes perfect sense. And so Shaene has dutifully joined in-

"You ought to stay clear of the bears. Bears will probably eat you."

-she's trying. Probably.

"Would you like some bear blood?"

4) They say that tranquil don't say no, and usually they mean it in an unpleasant - and entirely incorrect - way. Tranquil are perfectly capable of saying no. Certainly they're entirely capable of saying no to things they don't see any benefit in doing. What they have trouble saying no to are things that are entirely logical. For example, it is always logical to want more cake than one already has.

That is to say, Shaene has amassed herself a small mountain of tiny squares of cake. She has sat herself at an empty table and it is covered in samples of cakes. She is eating her way through them steadily but this is still entirely too much cake. Would you like to share?

5) (If you actually want to go serious, feel free!)

blackwall | (prose or bracket)

[lonewarden]

2.

Bear Blood. That's a new one.

Somewhere down the line, in another year or two, when Blackwall has time and space to distance himself from this, he's going to come back to it and find it fucking hilarious. Right now, he's more pissed than anything. Would it have killed them to have asked him first before throwing their Maker-cursed blood on him? He's got enough damn blood on him as it is; he could stand a little time without blood.

"Maker's breath," he swears, glaring at the nearest person. "Fine. Keep your damn bears. And you better pray they don't decide to come down here and slaughter all of you."

Sometimes he really does a good job trying to be a better person and work towards... well something redemption-like.

Today? Today is so not that day.

idk 1 + 5.

So today back at the Hinterlands, there is a very well-armored warrior with a sword and shield running through the snow. He might have gotten lost. There was a camp back there, somewhere. Once there was. He could swear there was.

"Maker's balls!" he yells as he runs. Come on, Maker. Give a man a break, would ya?

Seriously, camp or someone who can help him deal with this would be great because there is a bear chasing him. A little help would be great. Don't make him run through the snow any further.

Camp is in the other direction.

WILDCARD! Choose your own :)

1 + 5

[gatheringstorm]

That shout and -more accurately the roars from the bear- don't go unnoticed. Korrin, already working on the bear problem despite those idiot protesters, perks up as she hears them from around a hill. Blurring forward with Fade Step, the Vashoth mage finally catches sight of them and narrows her eyes at the trouble-making beast. She has to dart forward to get within range, but manages one of her favorite spells for the bear in question: Static Cage.

Brienne of Tarth // ASOIAF (Dragon Age AU)

[upheld]

1. the bear and the maiden fair!

There are no fair maidens in this tale. But there is a bear, touched by something that makes it roar angrily and give chase after the woman with a Templar shield. Brienne of Tarth is a great beast of a woman herself, but she does not have claws or teeth. Just a shield and rusted blade in each hand.

Was it possessed? Could a demon truly possess an animal with no will of it or was it influenced by the hole in the sky that has been?

Little has made sense of late, since war broke out, since the breach appeared. By that point the mages had already revolted and the Templars had left - including her own fellows. She'd yet to become fully fledged in the order. Now there was none.

A war with no winner, and endless cold. So much fighting - and now the innocent lives that were caught in the middle. This was how far they had fallen.

And now... bears. The woman stops, bright blue eyes meeting the glowing green of the bear. Brienne raises her blade, slashing out as it lunges at her. Her feet scramble over branches hidden by snow as a hairy paw swipes at her.

2. what's a little bear blood?

She had been trying to help - and for her efforts, Brienne winds up covered with it. Bear blood. Swallowing past her disgust, the embarrassment, and the cruel words (only wind, words are wind), the young woman steels herself.

"I wish to help you and this is how you repay me?" A hand reaches up to brush blood out of her face, ignoring the slight waver in her voice. "If this is what you wish, then fine."

5. you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave

Brienne has taken for granted just how large the Hinterlands is. It seems as if she has been here for so long that she should be able to find the road. But between bears, angry villagers, the snow - all of it works against her. She hefts the bag of gear and her weapons as she trudges through snow that goes up to her ankles.

There's a smell in the air. An inhuman noise has her turning - and facing a fiery red creature. Fear demon. While her training is less than finished, she calls upon her abilities to cast a smite on it.

wildcard me

[ meet Brienne elsewhere? ]

2

[eviscerates]

"Hey!"

The smell of blood is rich and heavy and just a little rancid, and Red wishes for the hundredth or so time that she did not have the sharp senses of a wolf as she pushes towards the scene. A woman, tall (so tall? like really tall, wow) covered in blood, and something in Red smarts at the injustice of it, the cruelty and the rudeness. It reminds her of Violet and the girls in school and their pettiness, and things she hasn't thought of in a very long time.

"What is wrong with you? I think you should go," she tells the villagers, forceful and angry, staring them down until they back away. On the plus side, no fire, no pitchforks, no desire to kill you for being what you are? On the down side: still sucks, and none of those things can be said to the woman with blood on her face.

Finally Red turns to her, drawing a handkerchief out of the pouch on her belt. Her dress seems fitting enough for Ferelden, as does the red cloak that hangs from her shoulders, but she is no Thedosian, and she is glad of the red leather gloves on her hand that conceal the glowing green mark she found there earlier.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and it feels like a stupid question, as she holds out the cloth in offering. "We might need some more handkerchiefs, I think." The joke feels silly, and it is, but-- getting blood thrown on you has to suck. Trying to get someone to smile in bad circumstances if kind of her thing.

Rose Quartz ( Steven Universe | Dragon Age AU )

[giant_woman]

The Hinterlands it might interminably be, but there's more than just bears on these hills. There are also flowers. And Qunari-- well, Tal-Vashoth.

One of them, at least. She's tall and broad and strolling along quite as if she weren't at all aware of the common threat of bears, demons, demon-bears, or anything else. Then again, it's hard to be inconspicuous when you're the size of your average Qunari, and Rose is a little larger even than that.

Anyways there's no point in trying for stealth once you've dyed your hair pink, is there?

Still, she's on her way to Skyhold when she encounters-- is that a Rift? A Bear? Or just a future fiend not yet made friendlies. Regardless of your plight, my dear, let's just see about all this Inquisition nonsense, shall we?

[gatheringstorm]

A familiar figure -and set of horns- can be found at some point in the Hinterlands, as Korrin stands over a freshly-defeated bear. Her expression is more annoyed than anything else, tired of their rift-addled nonsense but such is the way of things in this corner of Thedas. At least she was able to avoid the bear protesters and do her job.

She turns away after a moment to mark the spot on her map for other agents to make use of later, intending to trudge through the snow and hopefully reach the tavern before her face freezes. At least, that's the plan...but the sight of a woman even taller than her and with that familiar shade of hair definitely gets her attention. It couldn't be...and yet, Korrin isn't in the habit of hallucinating.

"...Rose?!?"

It's Sorrel!

[writteninblood]

It is a well-known fact that the Dalish do not wear shoes.

This fact is not strictly true; the Dalish do wear shoes. Calluses won't save you from frostbite, after all, and the Dalish are, above all, beholden to certain practical concerns. Sorrel was, of course, not wearing shoes at the moment. First of all, he was a mage, and secondly, his footwraps had worn out somewhere around the fifth mile of this damn bear chasing him.

You see, you have to sit down if you want to re-wrap your feet. And sitting meant that the bear, the patient, menacing, possibly intelligent bear would catch up to him. He reminded himself of this as he stepped on yet another sharp stone in the endless field of small, inconveniently placed, sharp rocks that was the Hinterlands.

"Go the fuck away!" Sorrel muttered at its ever-present lumbering shadow, walking along behind him with all the patience of death itself. He was beginning to think that getting off the ship at Denerim had been a poor decision, seasickness or no, "I am going to die, and be eaten by a bear, before I find any of these damn Inquisition camps. And no one will ever know I was here, or bury me, because I will have become bearshit."

He kept walking. The bear kept following. Such is life.

Sorrel! Meet Bethany!

[sunshinethroughgrey]

Bethany had been searching the Hinterlands for, of all things, Grey Warden artifacts. There were quite a few of them, left behind by old expeditions. She'd start off from the camp by Lake Luthas, and was currently heading towards Callenhad's tower, when she heard, 'Go the Fuck Away!' She frowned, moving away from there, into the small valley slightly upwards, to see a Dalish elf being harrassed by - sigh. A bear.

Bethany moved up the hill quickly, careful to flash the silver griffon on her cloak. Dalish tended to be less hostile when they knew she was a Warden. She lifted up her staff, calling out to the Dalish man, "Over here!"

Then she lifted her hand, to toss a Winter's Grasp at the bear, once the other man was clear. She shifted her staff to the other hand, "We won't have long until he unfreezes -- but it will be at least long enough to get away. Do you need some healing magic as soon as we're clear?"

thranduil oropherion || the tolkiens

[rowancrowned]

1. It was disconcerting, to feel the cold at a greater degree than he ever had before. His cloak was warm enough to protect him, the white fox fur of his collar shielding his cheeks from the worst of the winds. His hair, secured under the hood, did not whip about in the wind. The circlet of his office, silver and set with some white, shining gem, was cold against his forehead.

Was this what a mortal felt, then? Was this why they could not hear the song of the earth, nor educate themselves, or think beyond their own needs? It was certainly an excellent theory as to why Men were as they were.

Even his lips were chilled. He wanted the warmth of some hot drink—he wanted a chance to step inside, but the armored Man had told him to stay here, and he had full intention to pull an explanation out of someone as to where he was, for this was like no Mannish city he had ever seen.

A sharp, elegant, utterly careless gesture—well practiced, one might summarize—called the attention of one person walking by. “Hail. Might you tell me where there is mulled wine to be found?”


3. [ she is shy, and the weight on her leg confusing, stymieing her flight. worse yet, she does not speak the language of her sisters in arda, and thranduil has no other avenue than trying out words, slow and careful, until she does understand.

but she is clever, of course, she is a raven, and his praises as to the color of her plumage and the curve of her beak were not untrue.

thranduil stands below her, arm out in the traditional falconcer's stance, forearm offered as a new perch, a better perch. she caws, once or twice, shifts- and he thinks he has her, only for the door to the barn to slam shut, and she to flee to a higher rafter in fright.

thranduil turns on his heel, sharp and quick, addressing the intruder with little sympathy in his tone, and less measure of patience. ]

Your carelessness has cost me the work of half an hour.

[ never mind that he's had-- literally hundreds of thousands of those, and an uncountable number remaining. ]


wildcard.

make ur own or pm for a specific prompt.

1

[laurenande]

Redcliffe was, in the way of many human settlements, strangely named. It boasted a large but unimpressive looking fortress, off in the distance, but was neither red nor had any cliffs that she could see. The town was little more than an array of little buildings; each was tidily kept and well built, but made of terrible wood sheltered beneath questionable thatch. To walk through Redcliffe was to trudge through mud and watch as the architecture soaked up the snow and damp. The buildings would crumble within two decades; it was nearly enough to make Galadriel frown.

Fortunately, the fate of Redcliffe's simple cottages was driven from her mind fairly quickly. She stepped into the yard between the buildings she caught sight of Thranduil, his arm half extended in gesture. Before him stood a human, arrested in place, staring at him in the most peculiar way. His expression was some combination of offense and shock, as if one had tried to wipe the other away and both had gotten tangled together in the process.

It was a look Galadriel had received on more than one occasion and, ultimately, one that she felt exemplified how it was to be Eldar in Thedas.

"I would suggest speaking with elves whenever possible," Galadriel said as she strode toward them. The human's eyes darted between them, still caught in between both expressions, and he shifted away. Snow had already begun to pile atop his shoulders and head. A glimmer of panic danced in his gaze, as if he expected they would attack him, and Galadriel turned her attention to Thranduil instead.

"I have found the men of Thedas are rarely very helpful."

legolas, tolkien

[parkourprince]

( 1. ) in the tree, take 1.
Most people would be quite concerned at finding themselves in this kind of a situation, where they would be stuck on a tall yet thin, snowy tree while beneath it a roaring bear paced this way and that. Legolas, on the other hand, was, for one, wholly unconcerned, and for second, quite amused. He sat perched on a branch well out of the way, and stared down at the bear, murmuring words to calm it down and send it away. It would be too easy to nock an arrow to his bow and send it flying to lodge in the beast's skull, but it was rightfully grouchy with him, so he didn't particularly think this solution to be fair. It was hungry, he trespassed, now he needed to apologise and be forgiven.

His breath misted before his face with every exhale, cheeks flushed from the chilling air, he watched the bear raise on its back paws to rest the front on the tree trunk and shove. The entire tree trembled from the force, his branch shook, bunches of snow falling off of it, but Legolas did not lose his balance. "There is easier game in this forest, you and I both know it," his native tongue still flew freely from his lips, Middle-earth or no, though he wasn't so sure the bear understood it, but it should understand the tone at least: gentle, if mirthful. "Your hunger will only grow worse if you insist on the unachievable."

A couple moments later, the bear turned and wandered away with tired, disappointed noises. Next, Legolas leapt down onto the soft snow with practised grace in a flurry of falling snow and flowing coat.

( 4. ) is that even safe to eat?
The crowd was surely eye catching, though Legolas stayed at the very outskirts of it, well away from the mass of bodies brushing and squeezing together. His curiosity was great, sure enough, but not quite great enough to have him attempt to see what exactly was so popular with the Men.

A couple paces later, something large skittered across his foot and Legolas looked just in time to see a rat disappearing among the crowd. Apparently, this competition invoked the same desire in both Men and rats. He grimaced, then a little farther away, hid his discontent behind a mask of diplomatic neutrality when a piece of one of those competition cakes had been offered to him. He accepted, politely and graciously even, until he was out of the ear- and eye-shot, which was when he rid himself of the burden without a single bite taken. If caught... well, at the very least he was honest, "One cannot say if the rats have not taken part in the making of it, and I would not risk any undue surprises."

( 5. ) in the tree, take 2.
There were many things wrong in his current situation, many things very frustrating and disconcerting, worrying. But at least the forest was beautiful, and a much better place to spend time in than the city, if colder than the taverns, but smelling much, much better. Of crispy cold, fresh air, and sleeping nature. It gave him the time to calm down the racing thoughts, even if it couldn't offer a solution when the manner of his coming here was as incomprehensible as it was, at least as far as he was concerned.

How could the Valar allow this? Who, or what, was so powerful to bring him to such a foreign place; it wasn't only that it was not Middle-earth or Valinor, but it was not Arda at all. And though the prospect of exploring a whole another world should, and normally would, be exciting, it wasn't quite so when it happened so suddenly, unexpectedly, and without his agreement to it.

option a.
A noise, or simply a presence, down below caught his attention, Legolas didn't look but he did issue a helpful warning.

"I would not head there, the bears are still out and prowling and the territory of one grouchy fellow begins at your next step," it was, indeed, the exact same tree where he hid from a bear, as it offered a nice view of the surrounding area, and in his white and grey garb, he was well hidden on the branch up here. "So be aware as you take it."

option b.
His distraction was a song, beautiful and soft, that seemed to flow along with the surrounding nature. Foreign for most here, for it was in Sindarin, the language of the elves of Arda.

( ooc: I have not decided on a canon point yet, either pre- or post-canon, rifter, also feel free to wildcard anything. )

iv

[rowancrowned]

Mice—and worse, rats-- happened when one stored food. There were solutions: cats, traps—though his Silvans were more likely to eat than release—or simply storing food correctly. Men, of course, heeded none of the above.

“They will bring a plague down on the whole castle.” Spoken in Sindarin, of course. Legolas wouldn’t sicken, but the thought of what might be in the cake had, wisely, encouraged him to throw away the sweet. Thranduil merely raised a hand to refuse, apparently unconcerned with what impression that would give.

A raised brow, and he turned to address Legolas properly rather than speak into the middle distance. “We ought to provide our own food, seeing—this.”

2. (Loki | MCU)

[felsendesalters]

If he were to be perfectly honest, something as rare as a cold day in Valhalla, Loki did not join the Inquisition for purely altruistic purposes. Far from it actually.

There was an organization with poor leadership. There was a hold that could almost rival the Asgardian palace...almost. It lacked a certain splendor. There was, in addition to all of these things, a throne.

How could he not be tempted by that?

So why was it now that he was so compliant, even helpful, given his own ambitious nature and self involved personality? It wasn't that he could not cooperate when he wanted to, he could be completely charming if the situation demanded it.

The long game.

Here he was in a world he knew not where, unable to pass from one dimension to another, with this glowing oddity on his hand...and even with his vast knowledge of the arcane he had no explanation.

It was intriguing at best, annoying at worst.

So he needed the Inquisition for now, just until he could learn more about what had happened to him, how all of his plans had been foiled. What this strange glow was, why he had lost access to certain of his own gifts, and how he could bend this world to his own advantage.

Perhaps this Maker he'd heard so much about needed to be usurped and not by pretenders either.

For all of that he could do his bit for the Inquisition...unfortunately his charm only carried him so far. Particularly when faced with an angry mortal mob armed with bear blood, perfectly mundane and not at all unexpected. Precisely the reason such creatures needed a proper ruler.

A blood bath was easily deflected, but of course that did raise alarms...apparently magic was this frightening thing that should be treated with caution, contained. Such nonsense.

Of course Loki did little to dispel this by blowing up the nearest structure as indemnification for the insult. What? There was nobody inside, and think of the good it will do, if that ruckus attracts bears these witch hunters will have plenty of fire to ward them off.

Silver lining. One must be shown the negative in order to see the positive, let them fend for themselves if that was how they really wanted it. Armed with no regrets and perhaps the tiniest smile touching the corners of his lips he returned from whence he came.

(Feel free to wild card at him.)