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

[dominations]

For a moment - just a moment - Greta is convinced that the burst and clatter through the trees is a second bear, and she has the sinking feeling that she might have to use her blood magic to survive. One bear she could manage, she hopes, without such a thing. But two?

And then, instead, there is a woman. Strong, fearsome and sounding of home, and there's a strange mix of fear and nostalgia that twists in her gut as Greta automatically falls back to allow her room. That she would assist the stranger was no question, though whether she will need to run after... that is another matter.

Ice bolts from her staff, and she twists fast, cutting through the air and her hood falling back as she sends other spell. The frost magic leaves ice crawling over the bear, freezing it in place, as cold air circles it and an icicle hangs from its jaw.

"I do not know how long it will last," she warns, her own accent strong. With her hood back, two things are obvious, though not important: she is very pale, and very sunburned. Snow is a bastard, sometimes. "Do we run or fight?"

[stabsbooks]

Cassandra turns her head sharply at the sound of the woman's voice, peering at her with interest. It is rare to hear another Nevarran accent this far south - but there is no time to dwell on that now.

"We fight," she says, as if it is obvious. "If we run, it is only a matter of time before it attacks again - us, or someone less able to defend themselves." They have a duty, after all, to keep the people of the Hinterlands safe. At least, Cassandra does, and whether the mage is a member of the Inquisition or not, her skill with a staff is enough to make her responsible to do what she can, in Cassandra's eyes.

She turns back to the bear, considering it. The ice encapsulating it makes it impossible to attack, at the moment, but already it is starting to melt, and she readies her sword.

[dominations]

Duty, honour. Warriors seemed to carry that more often than mages, or perhaps it is simply that she has seen the worst side of a powerful mages too often and too personally to easily forgive the rest of her kind, to consider them as innocent and deserving of freedom as they proclaim. She has had to skirt her fair share of bandits and rebel templars, but in the moment that is easier to forget.

"Fight it is," Greta agrees, exhaling slowly as she raises her staff, holding it in both hands. It is worth saying, "I'll hit it with lightning, twice." No one wants to be struck by lightning, after alll, and a slight smile might be at her mouth. "My aim is excellent, I promise."

No friendly fire here, today. "Andraste, guide me," she murmurs, before lightning dances through the air, once, twice, the first shattering the remains of ice and the second a quick and harsher follow up to crackle and burn over the beast's skin.

[stabsbooks]

She has only the mage's word on that front, but it will have to do. Cassandra nods, shifting her stance to allow Greta a clear shot as she positions herself for battle.

But her aim is as good as her word. The lightning strikes true, melting the ice and then burning the beast, and Cassandra is ready, following the spell with swift blows while the bear is still stunned. It roars in pain and rage, stumbling blindly as its fur burns to ash, and Cassandra dodges it with deft feet, raising her shield up to protect herself.

"Once more!" she calls over her shoulder. "Once more and we will have it!" Or at least, once more and it should be confused and weakened enough that Cassandra can deliver the killing blow.

[dominations]

It is always impressive, to see an expert practicing their craft. Oh, there is no smile and no comment, just Greta baring her teeth as she focuses her energy, driving her staff down into the ground as lightning snaps, casts blinding light, and finally strikes the beast again, bouncing off a nearby tree and re-striking it.

"Now," she calls out, and she thinks it may well be unnecessary but hitting a target being struck with such a spell could bode ill for the warrior that came to her aid.

She is preparing another spell, a follow up for the warrior's next strike, lest the beast try to fight on, and the electricity sparks and crackles over her fingers.

[stabsbooks]

She waits until the lightning has flared and gone, until the bear stumbles reeling and half-burnt, before she strikes. Efficient, powerful blows, their measured precision contributing as much to their effectiveness as the force behind them does. Cassandra does not have the bulk to waste on wild swings that may glance off their targets, or miss entirely. She puts everything she has into every action, and it has always served her well.

As it does now. The bear goes down, Greta's readiness to cast her spell again rendered unnecessary, and Cassandra steps back, considering the beast with grim satisfaction for a moment before turning to the mage.

"Excellent work," she says, with a small, amused upward quirk of her lips. "It seems we make a good team."

[dominations]

The magic dissipates into the air, and Greta takes a moment to glance down at her gloves - fingerless black leather that reaches past her wrists and are carried on my cloth wrapped and bound around her arms, up and past the elbow. She flexes her right hand, tugs the glove on the left a little, and looks to Cassandra with her own shadow of amusement.

"It must be Nevarran solidarity, I think." Although, one can never know. If this woman attended court, she may have known Cilla. She may even recognise Greta, though it has been so long since she was there, and she does not plan on introducing herself as Margareta Dalqvist. Beyond mages, perhaps that would be no point of interest - she was only a girl apprenticed to a Necromancer, no noble, no one worth esteem.

She pauses sets her staff at her back, and inclines her head in a respectful nod. She can't decide if she is pleased or terrified at having met one of her countrymen. "I'm Greta. I don't, uh."
Beyond the field of battle, well, she begins to carry herself a little more awkwardly, holding herself tall and stiff, the way a shy person who has been forced beyond that tends to do. "I don't meet many Nevarrans in Ferelden."

[stabsbooks]

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.