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allthisshitisweird2016-02-02 01:07 am
faderifting) wrote in allthisshitisweird2016-02-02 01:07 am
Entry tags:
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.
no subject
He swings down from his horse, lashing the reins around a tree in quick and efficient order then attempts to follow the woman. "Madam? A word, if you please?"
It's phrased as a request, but rest assured he means to speak her her. It's a statement of fact.
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Pausing, she turns around and folds her arms, a quick glance to ensure that the protestors aren't following them. Good. "Yes?"
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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.
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"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?"
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Realizing that's likely just asking for more questions, many of which he's no interest in answering or justifying, Aleron shakes his head by way of mute apology for being cryptic. He knows he often is. It's second nature to him to hold everything close to his chest.
"I'm traveling there looking for some answers. Is Seeker Pentaghast still present?" It's a shot in the dark that one of their might know her, but he assumes that the Right Hand of the Divine is a large enough figure that even field agents would know of her and if she was still affiliated with the group.
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"Cassandra? She's in Skyhold, working with the other advisors. Are you one of her people, then?" Not family, no, that much is apparent. But perhaps another Seeker? They've vanished almost as effectively as the Grey Wardens, with a couple of exceptions. This could be interesting.
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His answer isn't immediate in coming, a twitch in his jaw being one of the few hints he's actually looking for one to give, that and a distant gaze, which allows him to watch the woman with peripheral vision. Alas, Aleron trusts so very few people and not knowing her or the validity of the Inquisition makes her something of a risk. She hasn't attacked him out of hand, however, so there is that. Rebel mages he's met on the road would, and have done, so clearly she's not one of those. Something's up with her, if she's on a first name basis with Cassandra.
"I've known her for years." Not hard to guess they're of an age cohort by appearance alone. "As for being one of her people, that would depend entirely on if she still considers the Seekers her brethren or not."
It's a calculated risk making that much of an admission but one he's weighed and found acceptable.
no subject
Upon realizing this individual is a Seeker, Korrin eyes him anew. No wonder the armor doesn't seem to suit him. There's a flicker of caution as there is about anyone unfamiliar connected to the Chantry, but not the full-blown contempt she'd show Templars. Seekers are in their own class, and she's still trying to decide how she feels about them in general.
"She does, as far as I'm aware, not that there are many of said people in Skyhold. I think there might be...one other? But I don't know his name. You'd have to speak with her to get more information, but I'd say it's a fair guess that she would be highly interested in meeting with you. And you are...?"
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Back to the matter at hand, he inclines his head just enough to be polite without conveying deference. "Seeker Darton."
He'd supply more of a name but he'd just as soon not confirm his identity until he knows more. Mother might not be in the Free Marches anymore, but his younger sisters and their families are. Ravonild too, though hang her. If trouble shows on her doorstep in relation to him, perhaps it's damned well time. Not that he expects a Qunari mage in the Hinterlands to recognize the name and draw connections, but as he knows entirely too well, people do talk and Endridge wool is a sought-after commodity.
"And yourself, madam?"
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"I know that name. My company must have run a job or two for a family of that name, back in the Free Marches. That must have been a while ago, but I don't remember you among them. Any relation?"
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"Most likely. At last count, I've three uncles, two aunts, two great-aunts, 26 cousins, and three sisters spread across the Free Marches. Take four steps, you're likely to find one." And that's not including the children born to his generation. Oddly enough, while he still knows the size of the family, he's not seen most of them in well over twenty five years.
Was that a trace of sarcasm or bitterness in his voice? Well, maybe. Probably not if the bland, matter-of-fact expression on his face is the indicator. He'd never be so rude as to snark about the family to a stranger. His problems are his alone to shoulder.
A beat. "Did you say Mage Council?" What sort of heresy is this brewing under this Inquisition's banner? He won't jump to conclusions without facts, but a mercenary Qunari mage sounds more like an apostate than not. A group of apostates banding together smells even more suspicious.
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At that question, she straightens and nods, a glint of pride in her eyes. Politics annoy the hell of her, but she can still be proud at what the council has accomplished so far. And if it annoys the more pious Chantry folk, all the better. "I did; we govern ourselves now. With the support of the Inquisition, it includes all mages, Circle-trained and otherwise. I represent the latter, of the non-Dalish variety."
It's not like her being an apostate is a dread secret, especially now. No more Circles, no more care. Besides, what Circle ever held a Vashoth?
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"And your Templars? Are they continuing to fulfill their duties to your Council?" Because there is a duty there and he'll be just as displeased to find them not executing it as he's heard is the case.
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