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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

By this point, Hermione had tossed the bag of snacks onto the ground, even if the birds still seemed all too eager to harass her. She tried kicking at the bag and stepping away to get some distance between herself and what they wanted, but there were still quite a few that were either tangled in her hair or simply didn't want to leave her be just yet.

And then there came a man with an honest-to-goodness sword, and Hermione wondered why she was at all surprised.

Deciding that it was better safe than sorry, she put her hands up, one of them still glowing with the green that had followed her from her dream. "Even if I were a spy, don't you think I'd deny it if it would get these things off me?" She might even admit to being a spy, if that was what it'd take to get him to help. But she knew better than to let her snappishness last, especially since she didn't want to end up on the wrong side of that sword.

"I'm sorry, no, I'm not a spy. I don't even know what I'd be spying on. I was just trying to - ow! - trying to see if I could send a message to someon- will you stop that?" That last bit was directed towards one particularly vicious bird - the Baron, most likely - who seemed to think her ears were just as tasty as any trail mix she could have offered.

The green shard shimmering from her hand gave him a good idea precisely what he was dealing with. Another Rifter - young and probably with no idea of what was going on. Of course, she denied the claim of spy readily enough, but it was clear that all she was was frazzled, and just a little frightened.

He sheathed the sword, before he clapped his hands together, drawing the birds attention to himself. Then he swept through their ranks in the most threatening manner possible, easily done even without the blade naked in his hands, and they scattered to the sky, cawing as they took flight. All but the Baron, whom Norrington held out his arm as he stated to the bird, "Your mother requires her notice, Baron."

Baron cawed at him, before hopping on his arm and offering his leg. Norrington nodded, then looked back to the girl. "I'm afraid, since you wear that shard ... you are not going to find a way to get a message to anyone you know, my Lady."

She was paying more attention to the birds than she was the man, so of course all Hermione noticed was that they suddenly diminished in number, all save for that last pesky one that seemed intent on relieving her of her ear. But even he was soon gone, and Hermione quickly brought a hand up to her face, assessing the damage. From what she could tell, she had a few scratches and was bleeding just a bit, but the worst of it was that itchy feeling of far too many feathers and talons and beaks having just surrounded her.

At length, once she was sure that her body parts were at least in the right place, she returned her attention to the man who luckily no longer saw her as some sort of threat. Still breathing hard from her recent scare, she tried not to huff as she replied, "Then maybe you could answer a few questions. Where am I, and why use ravens for messengers when they're so fickle, and why is my hand glowing, and do you know how to get to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

Wincing a little, she reached up and squeezed at her earlobe that Baron had been attacking moments ago, feeling quite a bit of blood. She won't be able to put in earrings until that healed up. "And do you happen to have a bandage I could use?"

Norrington took the letter from Baron Plucky's leg, and after the bird gave him a swipe, he let the infernal beast go upon his way. He turned towards the girl, frowning faintly at the scratches on her face and ear.

He reached into his belt, as he answered her questions. "You are in Thedas, more specifically an area they call the Hinterlands. The ravens were not any one in the Inquisition's idea except for our spymaster. Your hand is glowing because you have a piece of the Fade in it."

A longer pause ... "There is no such place here, and I have something better." He handed over the healing potion. "Take this."

Nothing this man said was answering any of her questions, at least not on any sort of satisfactory level. She'd never heard of Thedas nor the Hinterlands, and if using ravens was just a quirk of this "spymaster" then she almost wouldn't be surprised if her surname was Snape, and she had no way of knowing what "a piece of the Fade" was even supposed to mean.

And there was no Hogwarts here. Or, at least, this man wasn't a wizard, in which case he wouldn't have ever heard of Hogwarts to begin with. So long as she clung to that hope, she'd be all right.

Eyeing the vial he handed her suspiciously, she gingerly accepted it despite the dubious look she gave him. "Is this a potion of some kind?" If it was, well, that blew a hole in the idea that he wasn't a wizard, even if he certainly wasn't dressed the part to begin with.

He took in her suspicious, and in fact confused look, and then decided it was probably time to expand. "Do you remember falling through some sort of green light? That is what we call a fade rift here - and for us the Fade is where the spirits and the demons are cut off from the rest of Thedas. Thedas is ... well, it's a completely different world than the one you came from."

He paused, then smiled wryly, "I am hardly going to poison someone I braved Baron Plucky for. That's a healing potion, made by a herblist we have with us in camp. I can take you there, if you like. We can get you patched up the rest of the way and get you a warm cloak as well."

Though the suspicion gradually faded away, the confusion remained, especially when he started going on about spirits and demons and her being in a completely different world. If not for the fact that she'd seen her fair share of weirdness over the past few years, she would have wondered if he was touched in the head.

"You're saying I somehow sleepwalked through a portal into a different world, and a bit of the portal's magic has embedded itself in my hand?" She could have sounded more incredulous, but as much as she'd learned about magic over the years, she knew that there were all sorts of anomalies that magical theorists had never been able to account for.

At any rate, this man had saved her from a flock of ornery birds and he was offering her help, so she could take this one step at a time. "Thank you," she told him before reluctantly drinking down the potion. She'd had Xenophilius Lovegood's horrid tea, so she wouldn't exactly complain about anything that wouldn't outright kill her or cause her harm. "My name is Hermione Granger. I don't suppose there's a quick and easy way to just send me back to where I belong, is there?"

If there were, he likely wouldn't be offering to help patch her up and get her warm.

He could see that she was wanting to argue with him, or at least call him insane. He wished he could tell her that yes, he was just joking. That all of this would end soon enough and she could wake up and go home.

"... In short, yes. I apologize, my understanding of the magical logistics is just that, logistics. The rifts seem to be pulling people in from different areas, different times." He explained, as he started to lead the way back to the Inquisition camp.

He looked over at her, before smiling deeply. "You are quite welcome. You should start feeling better in a moment." A pause, then a sympathetic look. "I am James Norrington, Knight Commander, and ... I am afraid not."

Though she frowned as she followed after him, Hermione didn't seem as though she was necessarily frowning at him. After all, unless something came to light, it wasn't as though any of this was his fault.

"That should be impossible," she murmured. "Time magic is rare and difficult enough; plucking people out of their place and time and setting them down here... did someone break time?" If this had anything to do with the way she'd abused her Time-Turner five years ago....

She didn't that she'd stopped bleeding, or that the stinging had faded away to a mild tingling and itch as it all healed up. Absently scratching at her ear, she looked up at him and tried to return his smile, even if it was understandable preoccupied at the moment. "It's nice to meet you, sir. For what it's worth, I'll even accept a long and drawn-out way to get sent out, so long as it isn't too long. I have an exam tomorrow, and I wouldn't want to miss both the exam and the make-up period."

She was joking, of course. Mostly. At least she'd gotten better about putting her well-being before her grades over the past few years.

He glanced sideways, seeing her frown, and knew it wasn't directed at him. She had the thoughtful frown of someone trying to piece everything together and not being quite sure what she had to do.

"... Actually, yes. Someone greatly abused time magic, in Redcliffe. That is a village not far from here. I had not thought that those experiments might have caused this particular issue - but it does make sense." It made a lot of damned sense, actually.

At her dry statement, he gave her a faint smirk. "We shall try to get you back for your exams, then. Hogwarts school of magic? So you are ... some sort of mage in your world?"

[OOC- There were so many typos up there I'm so sorry I was exhausted last night.]

Leave it to Hermione to think up a potential explanation to a much bigger problem without even understanding the problem at hand. "Time magic can be incredibly dangerous. That's why even Dark wizards don't abuse it. Granted, it's also very difficult, especially since the few Time-Turners in existence had been destroyed a few years ago...." She might have had something to do with that, possibly. But it had been an accident, and clearly didn't need to be brought up here.

"A witch," she told him, having identified as such for so long that she no longer stopped to think of any negative associations people might have with the word. "Though I suppose it might be the same as a mage, more or less. It just means that I can use magic; women are witches, men are wizards. I didn't know I was a witch until I got an acceptance letter from Hogwarts; my parents and I didn't even believe in magic before then, so it was a bit of a shock. All things considered, it's probably the least strangest thing to happen to me in recent memory."

It will become clear enough as everyone gets to know her - that Hermione is going to be a 'problem solver' of problems they didn't even realize they had. Cleverest witch in her generation, without a doubt. "Dark wizards ... well, we had a dark wizard - we call them mages here, or in this one's case, a maelficar, who was trying to save his son. He basically tore a hole into time itself - using magic that was only theoretical to begin with."

A witch. He blinked at her, before he gave her a second glance. Well ... all right. She seemed rather well organized for a witch, so perhaps witches were different where she came from. "Ah! I see ... and they invited you to learn how to do magic, and you agreed? Ah, what happens to those who don't want to become witches? How do they control their magic?"

Hermione's face went grave as when he explained the case of the maleficar in question. "At least he was doing it for what many would consider to be a noble reason," she brought up softly, imagining a doting, desperate father searching for any means necessary to save a young boy from succumbing to illness or injury. "Not the right reason, no, but... someone who still has the capacity to love can't be all bad." Mrs. Malfoy sprung to mind, but that just made a flurry of unpleasant memories rear up, so she opted to drop that trail of thought right away.

He posed a very good question, and that little thoughtful frown made another appearance. "Well, it's not a matter of becoming a witch. You either are or you aren't. Getting accepted into Hogwarts - or a similar school dependent on one's particular region - is an exciting time for any young witch or wizard because that's when they get to learn the really interesting magic, so I've never heard of anyone turning down an acceptance. I suppose if someone with magical parents didn't or couldn't go to school, they'd learn from their family. But I'm a Muggle-born - that is, I don't come from a magical family. They couldn't have forced me to go, I don't think, but I'd been strongly encouraged, especially since magic can go a little awry when it goes unlearned." She paused for a moment, thinking it over. "I suppose, if I couldn't have been convinced, they might have left me to my own devices and made it known that I was subject to standard wizarding laws, and they'd keep an eye on me to make sure I didn't use my magic improperly. The Ministry of Magic is very careful about making sure all witches and wizards abide by their laws."

Norrington was quiet at that, before he stated quietly, "To destroy the whole world, to give away everything that you are, for your child. It cannot be an easy decision. But if your child is already going to die - and there is no cure outside of becoming a Grey Warden ... why would you not simply take that path instead? I cannot know the mind of a madman, simply that he risked the entire world, and that I canot forgive."

Now that was intriguing - something the mages had talked about and yet had yet to fully organize to. He gave her a thoughtful frown of his own, "So you have an entire government set up, around magic? And you have laws to keep people in line?"

"I doubt he asked for forgiveness; madmen rarely do," Hermione pointed out. "I have no children, so I can't begin to imagine what the fear of losing one might be like. Would becoming a Grey Warden have been a bad thing? I've never heard of it before."

His question surprised her, and she looked at him with a polite, albeit vaguely bemused, smile. "Of course. Who better to supervise the magical community than witches and wizards themselves? Our Minister will, of course, make the occasional visit to the Muggle Prime Minister - that is, the representative of the non-magical government - if a situation calls for it, since it's only fair that the Prime Minister is kept abreast of anything that might have an impact on his own government, but otherwise, most of us live secretly among Muggles while following our own laws that were designed to keep everyone safe and happy. It's not perfect, but it's worked well enough for hundreds of years."

"That is altogether too true." He glanced over at her, "Well of course you wouldn't - you're far too young for that." He paused, "Becoming a Grey Warden is a sacrifice that the bravest make. They are dedicated in stopping what we call Blights here, wars with creatures called Darkspawn. They sacrifice their lives to survive."

He looked at her with surprise, before he blinked off at in the distance. "So your mages don't live out in the public. They keep themselves hidden, and they answer to the laws of ... more senior mages, who in fact trust and work with non-mages."

He snorted softly as he moved some brush away from the path. "When you get back home, may I come with you?"

For a moment, Hermione wondered if she was too young to have heard of Grey Wardens... only to realize he was referring to children. Well, that wasn't strictly true, since many witches her age have graduated and opted to start families, but then, he wouldn't know that. Cultural norms vary by culture, after all.

"Oh... that does sound like it would have been preferable to ripping a hole in time and space," she noted. "I don't so much mind dying, or even dying young, just so long as my death means something." Which it almost had, if she'd made too many false moves in the war just a few months before.

His reaction to the workings of the Ministry surprises her, and she offers him a small, polite smile. "Most Muggles - or, um, non-mages - know nothing about us. They might consider us a threat, or else expect us to use magic to solve all of their problems, or else simply avoid us because we're different. But if they don't know we're different, we're not treated as such, and everyone gets to be much happier. Besides, in the end, we're really not all that different from one another."

Carefully following step besides him, she remarked, "Thank you, though. For saying 'when' I get home, and not 'if.' That's not always a guarantee when you get caught up in an adventure." That much was spoken like someone who's had far too much adventure for such a relatively small number of years.

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."

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."

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."

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?"

Well, that was something she would find that she and Norrington had in common. Norrington had been an adult from the time he was 10, and began his upward climb through Templar training. Yet he didn't have his formative change, began to loosen up, until he was sent to Ostwick.

Life was uncontrollable. The only thing you could control was yourself.

He gave her a puzzled look at both of those terms, but nodded at the final answer, "Yes, that more or less sums it up. There are of course, the corrupt ones in our ranks, but for the most part we are meant to protect them."

Assuming he didn't loosen up to the point where he'd lost all sense of propriety, they're apt to get along quite well. But then, what might be proper in her place and time might vary greatly from here... wherever and whenever "here" might be.

"I'm sure they're happy to have people like you watching out for them," she replied conversationally. "Especially if there's corruption around. The magical community back home has to look out for its own. Understandably so, of course, since we're mostly a secret."

That would take a miracle beyond reasoning, Hermione. Norrington's sense of propriety is iron-clad. He's learning about new ways from different rifters - so he'll help her along as best he can.

He looked over at her, before his mouth twisted a little. Still, he couldn't say she was completely wrong. "There are those who see us as a necessity, and those who see us as magical jailers. The truth is somewhere in the middle, I've found."

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."

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