allthisshitisweird | TEST DRIVE MEME!

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TEST DRIVE MEME!

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.

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It was probably because he was so used to Tevinter culture that the idea of calling a powerful and respected mage by their given name made him a little uncomfortable, but he would respect her request to be called by it. He offered her a smile in return of her warm expression. He seemed nervous.

"I feel much better," he admitted. There were many issues, starting with the False Calling, but he wasn't dying immediately any more. That was something.

"And you had your own concerns. How have you been settling in? Has the Inquisition been treating you well?"

So long as he'll be able to gently point out if she ever oversteps her bounds, they should get along fine. So long as they didn't delve too deeply into the mage/templar dispute.

A little puzzled by his response, Hermione asked, "Magical jailers? That's an exaggeration, though, isn't it? Unless you mean in it in regards to the mages that have done something wrong."

He called her madam. What a strange human. But Beleth doesn't comment on that, and instead just shrugs apologetically. She'd counted on him not being able to get up here, and was glad she'd been correct. Now to try to figure out if he was a threat, a help, or neutral. From a safe distance.

His questions make her glance over to the skull in question, the strange ringing noise even louder when she's this close to it. She wishes that she could just take the skull and chuck it off the ledge. But that seems a bit...callous. And no guarantee it'd shut up. "I don't know much, I'm afraid. There's an official name for them, but, um. Most of us just call them those creepy skulls." She rubs the back of her neck sheepishly.

"As for what they do..." She looked a little perturbed as she thought on it. Not because she didn't know, but because she did. "You...look through the eye sockets. They reveal shards that would be hidden otherwise. The Inquisition isn't sure what the shards do, but we've been collecting them. Just in case." At the very least, if they had the shards, their enemies didn't.

'Madam' doesn't get her attention as such, because it's rare that anyone addresses one of her kind thusly. Usually, it's 'ox' or something just as condescending, if not more so. But his footsteps behind her snag her attention and she turns to look, raising an eyebrow as she notes his armor, all polish and no wear. Perhaps humans would be impressed, but the normal wear and tear that comes with the life of an experienced soldier would impress her more.

Pausing, she turns around and folds her arms, a quick glance to ensure that the protestors aren't following them. Good. "Yes?"

He's got no desire to step over boundaries, embarrass her by pointing out social faux pas, and of course going too far into the mage and templar debates.

He looks over at her, before he sighs quietly. "Well, it is all defunct now, but mages used to live in places called Circles. Because mages are publicly known in our world -- they are in greater danger of being hurt by ... misguided people who are afraid of them. Or, in some cases, mages who could not control their abilities and turned into demons. That is not to say that every Circle was a haven - but for those of us who truly served our Maker's will, that is what it was meant to be."

He sighed again. "I apologize -- it is something we Templars and the mages have been at war at for some two years now. I am hoping we all love to more peaceful actions in the future, for both sides."

"Your letter is burning."

Regardless of how little the man seems to care about the action of burning the letter, most people likely wouldn't have said anything - the moment is a little too personal, too intimate, for a stranger to comfortably involve themselves in. Shaene has not been 'most people' in two decades.

"If you meant to read it, you ought not have put it there." She says helpfully.

"Creepy skulls it is." He can look into the official name later, as that means there's people who are aware enough of them to have given them a formal label. For now, her casual reference works. It does rather raise the question, however: who is her 'us' He presumes it to be the Dalish and that they've a clan somewhere nearby; the facial tattoos give that much away. Patiently listening to her reveals a different answer.

The Inquisition. It's as if one can't travel five steps without stumbling over one of their agents. He's still undecided on the legitimacy of the group? Movement? He knows the Chantry has denounced it, that Lord Seeker Lucius openly denounced it as well. Aleron intends to verify the claim that this was the Divine's directive before she died. If she did? Then his duty lays here to see the work done. If not? That's a bridge to cross on arrival. Matters for rumination later.

The Seeker's perpetual stoicism breaks with a look of disgust as she explains how the creepy skulls are used. Not just because as a good Andrastian he still feels that bodies should be burned. It seems disrespectful to the dead to use parts of their remains thus. The process strikes him as utterly wrong. And these shards? Unknown magical artifacts, perhaps?

"Did you say the Inquisition is using them?"

She laughs a bit at that. "Could you imagine?" she asks. She really can't picture how her life would have been like that. "I like a man with a little more edge to him. Someone with a practiced hand and better aim. A mercenary, perhaps."

It's the most obvious she's been with her flirting, but then she tries to pretend she's not by adding, "That or I'd rather be with a woman."

"It really depends on the season," Shepard replied. "Lately, though, you're more likely to get a demon caught in your net rather than dinner."

She really needs to understand that story. "Did you just say one of your friends is named Snow?"

Shepard frowns bit at her description. "It seems like the only people who really cared about doing right by the world have been killed by the Breach." The Divine had seemed decent enough and from what she knows the Herald had given it her all.

"Do you think anything will make them come around?"

That contemplative frown found its way to her lips again, and she considered all of that information carefully. "So, when you mentioned corruption, you were referring to templars who... want to hurt mages? Because they're afraid of them?"

That was the very reason the International Statute of Secrecy was in place, though Hermione had always hoped to one say see it eradicated, with the magical and the Muggle world living peacefully side by side. If another war would likely break out because of it, though....

"What do you mean, mages turned into demons?" That sounded like a particularly nasty sort of dark magic, and Hermione didn't much like the idea that it was so readily accessible here.

She might find herself more impressed with his Seeker's armor with almost two decades of wear on it. He'd felt it best not to wear it with so much in the world in question. At least, not until he'd arrived at the headquarters of the Inquisition to get some answers. There are enough tensions between mages and templars without painting a target on his back as he travels.

He can tell she's assessing him and possibly passing judgement on the armor. He certainly would. But it works for the time being and obscures his identity well enough. Unless this woman is well enough versed in Orlesian heraldry to recognize the silver falcon on a field of blue on the shield he carries with him. His mother's to blame for that. He himself takes the time to inspect her staff. It's seen action, Aleron's certain of it.

"Forgive me the eavesdropping. Did I hear you say you are with the Inquisition?"

He's not actually sorry for overhearing that, but it's the polite thing to say.

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!)

That certainly grabs Garris' attention and for a moment the mercenary stops, brows raising up as he watches Shepard walk past. He lets that float in his head for a moment, but before he could consider commenting on it, Jane is saying she would rather be with a woman.

Giving a sigh, Garris hefts up his bag and starts marching again, one side of his nose wrinkled up as he tries to wrap his head around things. As soon as he thinks he's got her figured, Shepard always went another direction.

"Just... a woman? No specifics?"

For a man who looks all the world like he's checked out and not paying attention, Aleron's all too aware when someone approaches his table. He just stoically continues to drink his ale without reaction, at least until the person hovering speaks. His eyes turn to the female voice and what he sees actually prompts a response. She is Tranquil.

Compassion isn't an emotion he often indulges in. This woman, however, pulls it from him. He has a great respect for anyone willing to accept Tranquility rather than live as a risk to their fellow man.

"There was nothing in the letter I needed to read."

Knowing his sister, it was probably a healthy litany of the dresses she'd ordered, the jewels she'd brought, the men she'd flirted with at the last seven parties, the state of Lady So-and-So's spreading backside. Nonsense. Once in a blue moon, Ravonild's letters would include relevant news: how her children were faring, their mother's continued good health, the wedded bliss of their younger sisters. But tonight, Aleron is feeling peevish and not of a mood to read of everyone else's lives and happiness.

"Well, have you seen women?" Jane suggested, raising her brow a bit. "We're pretty wonderful."

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 :)

Teren watched the girl measuredly. She understood, in a way, that a foreigner might not quite comprehend why they did the things they did here in Thedas-- and now that she considered it, there was no gentle way to explain.
"I don't presume to know the ways of mage and templar," she said, "but I expect it's to do with demons, and their ease of possessing the unwitting."

"Britain," Ruby repeats, and then she's grinding to a halt, which works pretty well considering Hermione is telling her to sit, and she's inclined to agree. Her thought process is fairly visible, given that it is basically wait. wait wait. wait. what. wait. on a loop for about half a minute before she looks to Hermione. "Britain as in... England and Scotland and..."

She hardly can get that out, before she's cutting herself off. "But that's in the world world without magic." And no matter what else has happened, Red is very certain that is not where they are, now. "What about, um. Misthaven? Nottingham? The Enchanted Forest? Do those names mean anything to you?"

Because it looks like this just got a whole lot more complicated. She's pulling off her cloak as she speaks, and has to unlace her bodice and slowly loosen it a little so she can ease her shirt up and off her shoulders. "I did not miss how inconvenient this thing is," Red mutters as she tries to expose her back to make this easier, without just taking everything off. It is still cold, after all.

"They're probably trying to fight the transformation. You have to, um." God, it's so weird to hear about werewolves from someone who isn't one. "You have to embrace it. The moment you try to reject the wolf is the moment it takes over."

Neverran solidarity. Cassandra makes a small noise that can only be described as a scoff. Doubtful. She notes the way the mage fiddles with her gloves, but makes nothing of it - it cannot be easy, handling a staff. She would not know; she has never tried.

The woman does not look familiar, but then, it has been a long time since Nevarra, and Cassandra has done her best to forget as much of it as she can. "Perhaps that is for the best," she says dryly, and sheathes her sword before stepping forward. "- Cassandra."

At the last moment, she chooses not to give her last name. It is no less than Greta had done, after all, and she knows, and does not relish, the reaction that the name Pentghast is likely to garner. Better to delay it as long as possible.

She settles into a crouch, still peering down at him like an inquisitive squirrel. He doesn't look very pleased when she tells him what they're supposed to be used for, but that's hardly her fault. She's not exactly a fan of peering around through the eyes of a creepy screeching skull, but she's less of a fan of ignoring orders.

Besides, getting to the shards is usually pretty fun. They were always in the strangest, hardest to reach places.

"Yes. We didn't make them, we're not really sure...how they got here. But the scouts have been tasked with locating them all and collecting the shards that they reveal." Beleth explains, with a shrug to show that it wasn't her idea. She debates offering to show him, but...she doesn't know who he's working for. He's a warrior, certainly, but there are still plenty of rogue Templars wandering about, and he could be one of the red Templars, just...not quite as advanced as what she's seen. It'd be pretty embarrassing if she offered to show him, then he killed her and took the shards.

"Do you have any other questions, ser? If you let me know what knowledge you're looking for, I can try to help. Or at least direct you to my superiors."

[ The cloak- oh, she could have grabbed that. Something to apologize for later, assuming Merrill remembers. They don't go quite as far as she expects, though the ruins are noted -- as is the camping spot. It does look decent to Merrill as well, and she takes a moment before sliding off the wolf's back just to make sure that it doesn't feel like the Veil is about to rip open at any moment.

But there's nothing, and the wolf is changing back to woman and introducing herself. ]

Oh- hello! I'm Merrill. [ A brief pause, and then she offers a hand to help Red out of the snow. ] You're not hurt, are you?

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.

The Vashoth woman nods, assessing him anew at that question. It's not an uncommon one, but the Inquisition is hardly as beloved or influential as it needs to be, even now based in Skyhold. Anyone interested has her curiosity.

"You did. I'm an agent, have been since the Conclave. Are you looking to join, or do you need the Inquisition's assistance? Or both?"

Merrill. It's nice to meet you, ( Red says very brightly, accepting the hand to haul her up with a grateful smile. She's taller than Merrill, and her hair falls in curls that bounce as she moves. She is literally a fairy tale character, and thus is a little bit ridiculous.

Smoothing her hands over her skirts to brush off the snow, Red takes a moment to think, rolling her shoulders and her neck slowly, refamiliarising with being Red rather than the Wolf. )

I'm okay, I think. ( Although her brow furrows. Maybe not totally okay. ) Although-- you were using magic, right? Against those demons? I might... need to ask you about something. But um, are you okay? You looked like you took a hard fall, back there.

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TEST DRIVE MEME!

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Shaene | Native OC | Prose and brackets both good!

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blackwall | (prose or bracket)

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sorry for my slow, post moving chaos may never actually end

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be sure to take notes

1 + 5

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i will write them in pawrse code :3