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

[failedfirst]

"I've been underground," she replies, following after him without objection, even if she has to walk more quickly to keep up. "That being said, I did hear. I'd wondered what happened to you." She'd been worried was possibly more accurate, but she'd never say that out loud to him.

"Detlef? By the Creators you couldn't come up with anything better?"

[bookish_lioness]

The look on her face shows exactly what Hermione thinks of having to "put someone down" for the sake of the rest of a clan. She's lucky in that she's never had to make a decision like that despite all of the danger she's faced over the years, but that doesn't make it any easier to imagine the effect such a thing might have on a person.

By the time he stops talking, she almost feels like she might cry or start yelling again. It's hard to tell at this point, especially considering the existing stressors of having been dropped in a strange world and almost eaten by bears.

"But-... but how can they learn to use their magic if they just get thrown aside like that? Doesn't that just make it easier for them to get possessed if they're left on their own? It not only puts them in danger, but anyone who happens across them! Why not just have a place where they can go and learn about magic and how to control it and... and someone can counsel them if things start getting hard? You can't just act like someone you love has never existed because you've reached your quota of mages!"

She pauses, sniffling a bit before adding, "Does this Tevinter place at least have enough foresight to teach their children how to properly use their magic rather than just run them out?"

[justice_is_blond]

"One day, one of the Wardens I introduce myself to will have been to Weisshaupt. And they'll act like it's the most ordinary name they've ever heard." He shakes his head, though his voice doesn't show any particular level of upset. "It's a common name in the Anderfels. I look like I'm from the Anderfels, for good reason. It fit."

Except nobody other than him seems to think it does. Then again, he has yet to speak to anyone Anders in Skyhold.

"And as far as what's happened to me, I'm with the Inquisition now." And braced for more comments about coming up with anything better. They're headed up a hill, but as soon as they're at the top the stream he'd mentioned will be in view.

[samahl]

"They're spirits," Cyril replied, a little confused by the question. "They're their own entities. Similar to how elves and humans are different." He still wasn't an expert though, so he wasn't sure how better to explain it to her. "Do you not have spirits in England? What of demons?"

[bookish_lioness]

Clearly, Hermione would have to be careful about her wording here, since it seems like some things have different meanings. "Well, when people die-... we don't really know what happens, exactly, but sometimes, our souls linger around the Earth, and they're called ghosts, or sometimes spirits. You don't... have those here? Souls or ghosts or anything like that? Spirits are just separate beings?"

Tilting her head a bit curiously, she added, "We have a class of magical creatures known as demons. Grindylows, Kelpies... are they a problem here?"

[samahl]

Cyril raises his brow a bit at that. "Demons here are based on emotions. Rage, Fear, Lust, that sort of thing. And yes, They've become a huge problem. Let's just say that nice men and women such as yourself aren't the only things falling from the Rifts."

[gatheringstorm]

Yeah, that blood isn't coming out. Korrin's tempted to go dump blood on those people and see how they like it, but...she's here on behalf of the Inquisition and therefore ought to be a good example. Sigh. They ask so much of her, sometimes.

Starting to lead the way, Korrin perks up at mention of the Grey Wardens. "It's good to see more of the Wardens around here. For a while, it'd seemed like they'd all vanished from the area, but there's a fair number of them in Skyhold now." Oh, right, introductions. "I'm Korrin Ataash, of the Valo-Kas company. And before I forget to mention it again, I'm also a member of the Inquisition's Council of Magi. I'm there for the non-Dalish apostates, more or less. The Dalish have their own for that."

[qunari]

"You kidding me? Mage bloodlines are like gold, up there. Whole families exist just to keep the magic strong. Of course, you gotta be born to the right family to get anywhere. And you got to be willing to do just about anything to stay there. Otherwise you're pretty much a stepping stool for everyone else."

He'd seen more than his share of the Imperium, and his regard for the place was clear.

"If you're not a mage? Forget about having any real station in Tevinter society. You're lucky if you make it without having to sell yourself into slavery. And trust me, you don't even want to know what they do to elves."

[bookish_lioness]

Hermione looks positively perplexed by that notion. "Based on emotions? What do you mean? There are some that incite fear and others rage?" She pauses for a moment before realizing, "So the place that I came out of. This... rift. There are demons there?"

[bookish_lioness]

Hermione sniffs a little again, though this time it's more of a derisive sound. "It sounds like some of the pureblood wizarding families. Doesn't that result in a lot of inbreeding?" If she sounds just a touch judgmental, that's because she is. More than a touch, perhaps.

Though she knows she's going to regret asking and feels just a little sick at the prospect, she raises her eyes to meet Bull's and quietly asks, "What do they do to the elves?"

[qunari]

"Wouldn't doubt it. Would explain some of them, that's for damn sure."

Finally Bull cracks something like a smile, though it fades quickly as she presses on. She had to ask, didn't she? He's quiet a long time, jaw working silently as he wonders how to explain.

"...well, most of them are slaves, for a start. Here, they get mistreated, sure. Shoved into alienage slums and treated like second-class citizens, but in Tevinter? They're property. A magister might decide he needs the upper hand on a rival and kill a half-dozen for a ritual, without a second thought. Or he might decide he needs company."

The way that word is stressed is purposeful, as is the look that follows. He's not elaborating there. She doesn't want to hear it, even if she asks.

"Took out one of the Vint bastards once on a raid back in Seheron. Elf he brought with him to keep him occupied? Eight years old. And no one blinks an eye. His property, his right."

[judgemewhole]

Well, she wasn't that old, or that young, but he really didn't want to see a girl her age already having children. Not when she was still at school. For magical ... lessons.

"Quite honestly there are quite few things that would be better than ripping a hole in time and space." He paused, then looked at her seriously. "Dying is easy, my Lady Hermione. Living is harder."

He thought about that - what was worse, knowing about magic and being terrified by it, or not knowing about the threat that was just beyond your reach? Either one posed advantages -- and horrible costs. "Hmmm. I think I would prefer to live in my world then -- no offense to your government, but I would prefer to know what I am dealing with. Even if they are better organized."

He glanced over at her, and his gaze softened again. "We will find a way to get you all back home. I am not sure the when, but I know it will happen."

[bookish_lioness]

In all fairness, she'd been born in the year before most other students in her original class, and she'd been forced to take a year off of school. Most young women her age had already made decent headway in their careers and in scouting out prospective mates, if that was what they wanted.

While Hermione agreed with his solemn sentiment, she still offered him a small smile. "And having your life or your death mean something greater than yourself is even more difficult. And it's also not for everyone. My friends and I had our chance to try and become martyrs; those of us who've survived are going to attempt the mundane for a while and see how that suits us."

Or, at least, she'd been trying to go for the mundane, before a fade rift apparently ate her.

Hesitating for a moment, she asked, "Are you afraid of mages? I can't speak for them, of course, but I mean you no harm. You probably knew that when you saw me under attack by messenger birds."

Though pretending that this was all just another trip down the rabbit hole and not at all a potentially scarring and life-threatening venture, she sighed and looked to the road head. "I appreciate your assurances. In the mean time, I suppose all I can do is try and make myself useful, at least insofar as research."

[bookish_lioness]

In her defense, he could have replied with a simple, You don't want to know, and that would have been the end of it. All right, maybe not the end, since she'd never liked not knowing something, but at the very least, it could have spared her the immediate trauma.

She almost thinks he's going to do just that, but then he finally speaks up. The slavery bit... that's hard enough to swallow, but at least it isn't unfamiliar, given that that's the fate of most house-elves, no matter how hard their wizarding families try to pretty it up. She doesn't know the term "alienage," but it certainly doesn't sound pleasant, especially not paired off with the rest of that sentence.

But then he goes on about ritual sacrifice and-... and company. And.... "Eight years old?" She doesn't realize she's breathing the word out, just as much as she doesn't realize that she staggers back a few steps, the news like a harsh blow. It doesn't make sense, not with the image of elves Hermione has in her mind - who would want to do that with a-...? But the who or the what or the why doesn't matter. However the cards fall, it's still so revolting that she has to literally force herself not to get sick all over the snow.

Bull's form begins to waver, and she turns away from him when she realizes that the tears are winning out. Crying in front of her friends is one thing, but doing it in front of a stranger....

"Why is it that whenever things finally get put right, we stumble across something else that's so wrong?" She doesn't believe in fate, but there comes a point where coincidence and luck join forces just long enough to make something like that seem tangible. Maybe there's a reason she's found herself here.

"People need to start blinking. Blinking and talking and yelling and doing. No world should have to go on like this."

[qunari]

He lets her vent, lets it roil off of her, the disgust and the horror of it. That's what Thedas is, at its core. Things happen here that shouldn't, that turn the stomach, and there's a great deal more and worse than she knows.

But her response is a cry for battle, taking on the bulk of those wrongs head-on. Bull doesn't much believe in fate, but he believes in purpose. Absolutely. And some people's purpose could very well be helping to shape the world in this state of flux it's currently in.

Finally he makes his way over, and one hand rests on the back of her shoulder. "The Inquisition's working to right some of those wrongs," he adds, voice a good deal gentler. "Not everyone wants to see the world this way. Might be they could use another voice doing some yelling."

[judgemewhole]

Which would make her a year older, and probably in a place to start thinking about her future, but at least for now she was still young in Norrington's eyes. Yet her experience colored her as a much older, much more mature person. Her explanation as such made him a great deal more aware of that fact. Whatever this girl had gone through, it had changed her. Gereatly.

"I am afraid you will not find much of the mundane around here either." He said, with all due sympathy, before he blinked at her question. "Me? No ... I am a templar, however, and in this world means I am both a guard of mages, and also someone who those call on to take down dangerous mages who are abusing their power."

[obi_wanmanshow]

"Having experienced a bit of that myself, I can't reccomend it. Ah, Demons notwithstanding," Obi-Wan isn't sure what he feels about demons, really. They were... very intense. Very singular. It warranted further study, "I assure you, I'm quite human."

Anakin would have told him just to kill the demons and be done, of course. He missed Anakin, at times like these; adventures in an alternate dimension would have been just his style, somehow.

"I'm very impressed with these mages, really. Before arriving here, I'd never seen anything like it."

[bookish_lioness]

Hermione had always seemed older than her age. He should have seen her when she'd bee twelve and acted like a middle-aged woman. In her own way, though, she'd loosened up a bit throughout the years, learning to enjoy life and not worry so much about getting top marks and excelling at everything she did. After all, there was no guarantee you'd make it to your next exam without getting sucked away into another world. Or worse.

His response surprised her, leading her to look at him curiously. "So you're... something like an Auror? That is, a police-... no, you wouldn't have those here, either. You protect mages who do what's right and punish those who don't. Does that more or less sum it up?"

[bookish_lioness]

She hadn't even wanted to get on the front lines of her own war, when it had come to it. She'd stayed back, researching and hiding and doing all she could to avoid the actual fighting. But she hadn't been able to do that forever, and while she can't say that she'd particularly enjoyed being betrayed and captured and tortured - sometimes all within the span of a few hours - it had at least helped ready her to join the fight upon knowing that her cause had been just.

This wasn't her fight. And it wasn't her cause.

But it is now.

Glancing back at Bull and really seeing him for the first time, she takes in his scars, the patch over his eye, and all the other signs that he's seen and done too much in a world that deserves more than what it has. There's too much wrong here, too many things that just aren't fitting together the way they should, too many people being hurt. She can put off her exams for just a little bit more.

"I'm good at yelling. But then, I think you've guessed at that."

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. ]

[qunari]

He sees it in her eyes, that resolve as it settles into place. She's got a will of steel, and Rifter or not, the Inquisition is sorely in need of people like that.

"Worse places to start."

That scarred face twists with a small smirk as he steps back, lets her have her space again to compose herself. "Me? I'm good at hitting things. Turns out there's a lot of people needing to get hit. We all do what we can."

And, because it seems like she could use a silver lining...

"He's alright, you know. That elf kid. All grown up, and doing just fine."

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.

1

[madame_de_fer]

[So much for a brief trip out to the Crossroads for a chat with Enchanter Ellandra. Vivienne's not so coldhearted that she could walk away from the sounds of someone clearly in trouble. She follows the sounds until she finds Red pushing at the tree pinning her down.]

Stay still, my dear, and I'll see what I can do to help.

[How is one woman in silk going to move a tree by herself?]

ahhhh so sorry for my slowness

[eviscerates]

( ooc: :Db thanks for the heads up )

A voice - it's reassuring, at least. If someone is willing to talk, then it's a step close to them not just walking on past, and Red raises a gloved hand to push some of the prickly green of the fir tree apart to try and get a look at just who it is that's addressing her.

Pirates, huh? She wonders, for a moment, if he's with Hook and the crew from the Jolly Roger, but it isn't really the most pressing question that's come to mind. No, instead his comment on the wilderness gets a quiet, strained huff of laugher from Red, who lets her head drop back against the snow. "Yeah, well. The wilderness is kind of an ass."

And then that's... that's a good question, and Red goes quiet a moment. "I definitely hit my head," she acknowledges, slow and cautious, "but I'm pretty sure everything else is intact. Sore, but, uh--"

She can't well say but I can't smell any blood, can she? "Sore but if anything's broken, I don't know about it, yet." And that seems like a good enough indication that it is unbroken. Mind, her ribs could turn out to be a problem, or it could just be all this lying here with a tree on her that's making her breathing a bit laboured and painful. Who's to say?

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.