allthisshitisweird | TEST DRIVE MEME

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TEST DRIVE MEME

A kingdom of isolation, and it looks like

it's the 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. WILL IT EVER BE WARM AGAIN WE JUST DON'T KNOW

1. AND THE BEARS THAT ONCE CONTROLLED ME CAN'T GET TO ME AT ALL

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. In case you hadn't guessed, it's still snowy.

2. LET IT GO

At first it sounds like a folktale, passed around tavern hearths and campfires after a few too many tankards. An evil witch with a heart of ice atop a frigid mountain fortress, casting endless winter upon the land, turning those who oppose her into snowmen. But it turns out it's true-- or at least partly. Maybe. Sort of. If you can weed through the stories, the common threads are these: several locals and travelers claim to have been accosted on the back roads through the hills by a female mage who used ice magic to trap them and steal their belongings, sometimes freezing solid those who tried to fight back. Some said she claimed to own the land, others that she was collecting a toll, and several that she cackled wildly about ranted about endless winter. Whichever version you choose to believe, there seems to be an apostate who needs dealing with. Perhaps you'd like to wander the roads in the guise of a wealthy traveler and lure her into an ambush? Scout the caves in the hills and try to track her to her lair? Make a friendly visit and recruit her to the Inquisition?

3. LET IT GO

The Hinterlands are dotted with lakes and ponds and streams, nearly all of which are frozen solid. The locals sometimes travel this way, pushing goods across on sledges, or strapping blades to the bottoms of their boots to skate, carrying messages and supplies or just racing when the weather is clear. Some enterprising souls have even attached sails to their sleds or runners to their rowboats and skitter across the ice hoping not to tip over or stray off-course into rocks. There are other hazards, too: in some places the ice is deceptively thin, and you may come across a stranger unlucky enough to have lost a boot or gotten a leg stuck or fallen through altogether. Maybe you're the unlucky one, treading icy water and calling for help.

4. I AM ONE WITH THE BLAH BLAH BLAAAAAH

The tavern at Redcliffe is rid of both cakes and rats, but is still filled to the brim with rowdy drunks. Tonight they are both rowdier and drunker than usual, and something sets someone off. Maybe it's you, maybe it's the guy next to you, maybe it's someone all the way across the room and you don't even see it happen, but suddenly the entire place is engulfed in a knock-down drag-out glass-smashing chair-swinging bar fight. Dive right in, pick a side, pick no side, get caught off-guard, hide under a table, try to sneak out, it's up to you but you'd better decide quickly.

5. THE COLD NEVER BOTHERED ME ANYWAY

Hunt game, or kill demons, dig under the snow for herbs, track bandits, open a streetside scarf stand in Redcliffe, fall off a deceptively tall rock into the snow, 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, climb trees or abandoned towers covered in snow, rummage around in empty homes to get out of the snow, run from a dragon, definitely don't kill any fennec foxes, set up camp and chat around the fire, sing a rousing solo about your love of the weather, do whatever the hell you want-- the Hinterlands are your endless frozen playground.

Threaded | Flat

ᴘᴏsᴛ ғʟᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʙᴇᴀʀs

( gwenaëlle had not been thrilled about having to come to the hinterlands, but - there were rifts still to be closed, and they needed at least three shard-bearers to do it, and no one else was available, and it wasn't as dangerous as some places. all she would have to do would be hold up her hand, they said. the fighters would do the rest.

it had gone well. she'd almost managed an expression that wasn't frightened or resentful.

and then the bear. the demons, fine somehow! the bear: a problem! bears, she decides as they slow to a stop and listen to it meander angrily after easier prey, may be the real threat. alternately, a group of people exhausted by demons and a rift were not prepared to be subsequently set upon by a bear, but probably it's that bears are worse than demons.

her hand presses to her side, where she can feel blood pooling in the bandage, seeping through fabric, staining her fingers. )

My stitches - they are undone.

( her jaw sets. it is cold. everything is terrible. she wants to go home. )

I'm not bleeding all the way back to the camp, with bears. You will hold the wound and I will sew it.

ᴡɪʟᴅ ᴄᴀʀᴅ

( surprise me! )

ᴀʟsᴏ

( her app, for reference. )

Edited 2016-03-03 08:28 (UTC)

4. Do NOT touch the hair!
Hair was important to the elves, it was a sign of beauty and to allow another to touch it was a sign of trust and liking, an intimacy of a sort. So Legolas was not going to have it when at the tavern, which he visited out of curiosity and curiosity alone, a drunk saw it fit to approach him and stroke along the length of the golden strands with sweaty fingers stained with ale. He grabbed the man's wrist after a split second, and held it firmly in his grasp.

One slender eyebrow arched, Legolas looked displeased and most unimpressed.

option a.
At the tip of his tongue was a snide remark that would certainly set off in motion events not exactly pleasant to most, and worst for the owner of the tavern. But perhaps a kind soul would step in, and spare a proud elf the experience of being spat on and the inevitable fight that would break out.

option b.
"If you would spare me the fate of smelling of ale and your sweat, I would greatly appreciate that," level toned, with a small smile, but the look that accompanied the words said a lot more. In the drunken stupor it took the man a couple moments to notice the pointed ears and realise that this, this was an elf. A little different looking, but an elf all the same. And this elf now was talking back at him!

Thus, a swing that Legolas ducked easily. He let the man tumble forward into another patron and once the people around were distracted, he quietly, discreetly made his way out.

Catch him and bring him to justice? (No.)

5. F$%^*& DRAGONS!!
Middle-earth, for a large majority of Legolas's life, was hardly a peaceful and safe place. In his home, orc raids and giant spider infestation was a constant, a sleeping dragon lived in a near-by mountain, and then he joined the Fellowship and trouble followed in their step. The War of the Ring was not a pleasant matter either. But none of it could have prepared him to stand eye to eye with a dragon that could rival Smaug.

He fled without thinking much of it, hiding among trees and lightly stepping on the fleshly fallen snow without sinking at all. Swift, he tried using the most dense of the routes beneath the canopies.

option a.
Luck had it that, looking over his shoulder to see if the creature was following in his wake, he missed someone struggling through the deep snow right in his path. And while elves - those of Arda anyway - could walk on top of snow, when falling they were prone to follow the same rules of gravity as everyone else. The snow collapsed beneath Legolas's weight and he sank with a plop.

Overhead, thankfully, the dragon flew on.

option b.
He found shelter, sliding into it in a hurry and with some degree of nervous panic showing on his features. Shelter apparently occupied by someone else - and not a bear - so... hello?

WILD CARD!
Anything at all! \o/ Random run-ins on the streets of camps, or whatever cities there are or in the forests... catch him singing, or hunting, or simply walking around and talking to trees.

4. LET'S DANCE CRAZY

[It's difficult to say what is the cause, but Thane suspects that it was going to be inevitable. Poor decision making is often made while one is intoxicated, Thane is the odd man out in the corner of the tavern, preferring to let his hot tea steep. He sits, patient, his face difficult to read due to the serpent stone mask he's wearing.

The fight quickly crawls his way.

When one unfortunate thug comes his way, ready to pick a fight, Thane barely looks at him, kicking the man's feet out from under himself.

Sadly, that's not the only man. It's almost bothersome; Thane would much rather just be left alone right now and enjoy his cup before it gets cold. He snaps a hand up to stop someone's club from coming down, using the momentum to toss him aside into someone else.

And before he knows it, Thane finds himself in the middle of a tavern-wide brawl while trying to keep his tea from spilling.]

WILD CARD BABY!
[Throw something at me!]

( ONE: BEARS )
She had not meant to slight a bear. Some could rightly call her callous, which was true; Delyth cared little for what wasn't hers. But she was not stupid. Just because she dared a stranger to throw a snowball at the bear out of boredom (the camp nearest to the rift fanatics always grated on her nerves, at best) was not her business, until it had become her business when the fool had gone ahead and done just that.

Camp destroyed and little to hand but her daggers in the snowy landscape, Delyth runs and doesn't plan to stop. If you're tagging along with her, great. Try to keep up. If you cause her to trip and fall and cause the bear to catch up, she might kill you first before she kills it. But that's a chance you're welcome to take.

( FOUR: TAVERN )
She blinked, and she missed it, which was disappointing. What was more apparent was that the fight had started and it wasn't her fault. Surely Atisha or one of her superiors would be proud of her for that.

They would be less proud of what happened next, as Delyth downed the remains of her drink, drew a forearm across her face staining her sleeve, and then turned to the nearest brute that was currently wrestling another smaller brute atop a table. She lifted the man as if he were made of glass and not muscle and without another word, threw him several metres across the room, where he landed with a thud against the bar, dazed but not out.

That gets her the crowds attention. "Can't you guys keep it the fuck down?" she snarls, dusting off her hands. If it's a fight they want, bring it. She'll kick everyone's ass here. Without daggers, because the mess afterwards isn't worth it.

Unless you look like you might need a bit of help, then she might save you instead.

( FIVE: FENNECS )

Delyth would kill a fennec. She has, in fact, just killed a fennec, humming as she kneels down and utters - something? A prayer? Disgust? - making to toss the sorry cargo over her shoulder and make her way back to camp.

You probably have something to say about this.

( WILDCARD ME! her history is in progress but think bitter angry kirkwall city elf who hates everyone (mostly) and u got it. )

Edited 2016-03-03 19:04 (UTC)

( THREE, SORTA )
Ferelden was freezing and she really was going to die.

Well, no, it be worse if she were on the underside of the ice, as it would be for the sled and its occupants that dallied behind her, waiting for her signal that it was safe to cross. If she did fall through, would any of them come to pull her out? Questionable. But Ashley was hard pressed to ignore a family in need, and she wasn't about to start now, even if it were far, far, far colder than what she was used to and instead of using her common sense and settling into the tavern for the evening, she just had to have a bleeding heart and was stuck out here atop a frozen lake instead.

Far as she could tell, the ice seemed thick, and safe enough to keep going. If it could survive under the bulk of her armour, emblazoned with the eye of the seekers, and the sword strapped to her back that was almost her height, a sled full of inconsequential goods wouldn't be a problem for it. Right?

( FOUR, BRAWLIN' )
She had, up until a moment ago, been quietly enjoying her drink at the bar. The drunks would keep to themselves.

Or so she had thought. The fight erupts, quickly, spreading like magefire and it's not like before the tankard clunks to the floor, contents spilling, as Ashley raises a hand to block an incoming blow. What a waste. Her fingers press around the fist as she frowns, turning towards them. Really, they thought she was involved? Well, she is now.

( WILDCARD ME! )

II: March of the witchhunters

"No good pissheaded arse-breathed tit-"

Whatever Sera was going to gripe out next was swallowed by her indignant yelp as her legs sank several feet into the snow, soaking her already shoddily patched breeches and effectively trapping her in place. Shitebag bitch that was making them walk out this way, through all the snow and cold and nature and...and snow. Sera was grumbling this and more at a more or less inaudible level as she struggled to pull herself back up out of the snow bank. If it wasn't for the fact the arse-nut was running around, hurting the little people just trying to live their stupid lives in the middle of all this madness...

"What sort of wonky brained idiot lives on top of a stupid mountain?"

IV: Dancing through life...

It had been too easy. Everyone had been so serious and mopey faced and it had been driving her mad. So a little fun was needed. A pinched butt here, a stolen drink there, and the place was a right sight soon enough. Sera had, of course, happily vanished to a better viewing area (with her small pile of stolen drinks). She was crouched under a table in the corner, giggling madly into her tankard as the chairs went flying. There's enough room under there for someone to join her, or she's loud enough that she can be dragged into the fray. But for now she's having fun, basking in the piss and fire that had replaced the whining and tears.

Wildcard

Run into Sera anywhere! Set the scene and I'll reply.

Option 1: History Repeats Itself with Bears

_{[ They say that history repeats itself, but this was one incident Kirk really could have done without repeating. Admittedly, bears were much, much smaller than the giant crustacean that had chased him before, but everything else? Everything else was disturbingly similar and it was perhaps the injustice of this whole scenario that gave him the real impetuous to crash his way through the snow and away from the creatures (who seemed a little angrier than he though reasonable, but what did he know of the local fauna of wherever the hell this was?).

He understood one thing, at least. He needed to put space between him and the bears (he was going to call them bears, he had no idea if that's what they were called, but running for your life left little room for quibbling over species and native names). Climbing a tree was never a good idea, even with adult bears as large as the pair coming at him, but they were plowing through the snow and gaining quick. His options were limited to trees and rocks and what he thought was the sound of a river but had no clue how close.

One of the bears roared behind him, and he thought he felt his bones quake at the sound. He rounded a copse of tree and stone, eyes widened when he saw what had to be a drop off up ahead. The creatures showed no signs of giving up the chase, not so long as they remained on near equal ground, and his legs were tiring, lungs already burning. At this rate, he would not last, and he sincerely did not want his legacy to be dying on a remote planet as bear food. He had more planned for his life than that.

Which was how he came to be falling with a cascade of snow, letting out that primal sort of cry humans were prone to as they gave the last of their hopes over to fate.

Hey, it worked once before, right? ]}

Option 2: Where's All the Rum Gone?! Or: History Repeating Itself Again

_{[ Pike had once accused Kirk of enjoying a fight to much, and moments like this he had to agree with this late friend. He could at least safely say that this entire fight was not his fault (he had been innocently sipping his mug of... ale? Beer? Alcohol, just minding his own business and observing the local species and culture when the first punch had been thrown. That the punchee had landed on his table and his mug had spilled across his face as a result was entirely out of his hands. Not that such logical reasoning mattered to a drunken crowd.

So far he had laid out at least three humans (or what he was calling humans for the sake simplicity and what he had picked up from local language), fended off what he thought might be a dwarf if he had been hearing things correctly, and now faced... well, he wasn't sure, but he was quite large and had horns. Great. His previous shield had been shattered against the dwarf, leaving him with nothing but his own hands and feet (he didn't want to grab something like glass, which could have consequences he didn't even want to flirt with). He wiped his thumb across his split lip, licking away the blood and raised his fists, flashing a white toothed grin. ]}

Well? Come on, big boy, let's dance.

_{[ Guilty as charged. ]}

Option 3: Wildcard!

_{[ It's all up to you! ]}

Why Couldn't They Be Pandas?
_{[ If someone ever wanted to witness a grown man crying, they would have to look no further than up into the boughs of trees in the Hinterland woods. Yogi wasn't even ashamed of it, because frankly if there was ever a time to cry it was now - waking up in a strange place, none of his friends anywhere close, and being chased by very angry bears. Bears! And not the cute, cuddly kind, but the kind with claws and teeth and looking very, very angry. He had tried apologizing, he had, but they hadn't wanted to listen and now he was scrambling across thin branches and trunks to keep out of their way.

So far he thought he was making a good pace and keeping ahead of the sounds of rotten breaths and scraping claws. That was until he the world suddenly inverted and the sky became the ground and the ground became the sky. He squawked as he turned, hanging from one of the long straggling straps of his shirt tangled with a nest of branches. And yes, the tears are still falling from those multicolored eyes. ]}

Don't let them eat me!

The Show Must Go On
_{[ If the little village in the Hinterlands was not usually full of children's laughter, then today was a bright change. Despite the cold weather and the chill sunlight, a gaggle of children shrieked and giggled at the funny man in the center of town. He was dressed in strange attire, but he moved nimbly, flipping and twirling along the rim of a fountain, dropping down into a handstand on the ground, and other feats of acrobatics. He suddenly swirled to a stop though, throwing out his arms grandly. ]}

Filled with the power of man's spirit! I'm the Sparkling Prince who makes your heart throb! Yogi has arrived!

_{[ Is this guy for real? ]}

Wildcard!
_{[ Make up your own adventure! ]}

a) On the Road to Skyhold
He wrapped himself tighter in his threadbare, tatter-edged cloak, and let his teeth chatter without shame on the way. The steep road angled sharply up, and the mountain wind whipped and howled, driving snow thickly about them. The brown mule beside him, head down, trod slowly and stubbornly through the snow, hard breath pluming little white clouds in the frigid air.

"Andraste-cursed, weather-blasted, thrice-damned, giant-buggering mountains," he rasped, thick provincial Orlesian accent twisting the words into a smooth, sinuous hiss. "Andraste-cursed... snow..."

The plain, unadorned metal halfmask he wore stung and itched the skin of his face. "Inquisition, templars, mages, war, all of it, just madness..." Teeth still chattering around every other word, he bent down, scooped some snow into his gloved hands, packing it absently into a ball as he walked and muttered and shivered. At times, the long-eared mule would snort as if in agreement, and its dully ill-tempered gaze would swing back behind them as if to consider the merits of just... turning around.

"... and the weather, the delays, the bandits..." He carelessly chucked the snowball at the treeline.

Only to realize a horrified moment later that he hadn't looked, and there'd been a person there. His free hand shot to cover his mouth and he hastily made to bow his apologies. "A-ahh, forgive me! I h-hadn't... hadn't meant..."

b) Skyhold Tavern
Lyon poked his head in... and, scowling, stepped into the warm candlelit glow of the tavern. His mask made him easy to pick out as Orlesian, and after a moment of uncertainty, he prowled cautiously toward the bar. Offered up a small handful of copper coins, clearing his throat.

"Whatever it'll get, which I can take away. Forgive the impertinence; I haven't found yet where the servants are meant to go."

c) Wildcard!

[1.] Sinister crafter of clever deceit

Chased through the snow by bears? Oh no, not Loki, but he's happy to watch 0ther unfortunate souls being chased by bears in the snow. He cannot imagine that anyone would have been stupid enough to provoke them, they could have happened upon the bears accidentally, stumbled into their territory, but then again? Intelligence was a difficult thing to measure in creatures with such brief lives

Loki was not known for his helpfulness, it was a great deal more fun for him to watch chaos unfold until or unless such things stopped being fun, which would happen eventually. For a time he simply stood there on an outcrop watching the scene play out in the snow before it was simply no longer interesting. Besides, playing the hero came with its own set of benefits, people owing you their lives, their allegiance, their favor. Loki could be heroic when the mood struck him. When he felt like it. If there was something to gain.

So after a time he descended from his perch, placing himself between the beast and the target. He could misdirect the beast, he could blast it, he could create a mist and lose the creature in it, or an illusion for it to chase...but swatting the creature simply took less effort. Like batting a dog on the snout and the bear had a similar reaction: confusion, submission, an appropriate degree of shame? Whatever it was the creature seemed to at least sense it was messing with forces out of its league.

"Ta-da."

[4.] Loki's wily trade leaves many bereaved

Well, if someone had to bring the party it might as well be the patron god of mischief, chaos, and other such deviances. This would not be difficult, as they say, like shooting ducks in a barrel, especially given the fact that the present crowd was already drunk and worked up.

All it needed was a little push! The proper application of magic.

Turning ale into snakes had always been his favorite, it worked on the servants in Odin's palace, and these were drunk mortals. One had to be paying close attention to even suspect it was Loki who was going the conjuring, hand gestures that were subtle, his scepter tucked at his side not at all in use. The toxic mixture of his enchantment and the atmosphere and soon the ale was flying and mortals were breaking furniture over one another.

Nothing left for Loki to do here but watch and bask in the ambiance, he'd completed his mission.

[5.] Your tricks can take away, yet also give

This sort of thing was only funny when it was happening to others.

In fact Loki was usually the cause of such things, not the effect. When things popped out of strange portals and began attacking other things he was the one creating the portals and the one letting the beasts through. Granted letting the Frost Giants into Asgard had gone spectacularly wrong, but it had given him some clarity as well.

This, this was different, this was not the rift he created, nor the dimension he hoped to cross. He'd no idea how he managed to get lost in the transition to Earth, but this was not they way he was expecting to begin his reign and the heckling of the House of Odin. On a world he, astonishingly, knew nothing of (none of these realms were of the nine he readily recognized) and fighting strange creatures, demons, not of his design.

And they had the audacity to attack him, but mindless creatures weren't expected to know a king when seen, a trespass that he could forgive, even if he would not forgive being attacked. Fortunately he still had the scepter in his possession, not that he would not have been just fine on his own, but being able to channel destructive energy blasts swiftly and efficiently? Enabled him to mow these creatures down quickly.

Of course the kind of magic or power that he wielded was vastly different from indigenous magic. If the scepter produced nothing in the way of results it could still function perfectly as a spear with severely curved ends.

Help him or stay out of his way, Loki is not very discriminating when it comes to killing these creatures and anyone who gets in his path.

3. Out on the Ice
Dangerous trade routes were always good for a bit of 'found' wealth. Usually, this was at the expense of others who had run into bad luck. Maybe the goods had been left in a hurry or maybe their original owners had perished in the snow. Regardless of why or how they'd come to be abandoned, Balthier's happy to gather them up and lug them back to town to turn a profit. So, staying close to the edges of the ice, he combs the snowbanks for abandoned cargo on one of the ingenious little sailed sleds.

(a) He hadn't exactly had much luck, but the oddly fashioned sled and sail reminds him a bit of being at sea. The exhilaration and the rush of cold air on his face are a wonderful distraction to the marked lack of valuables waiting to be found and he finds himself grinning away as the wind carries the little vessel skidding across the ice. Like the sea however, the ice carries it's own danger and it only takes one unseen rock to send him and the little sled flying with an undignified shout into one of the snowbanks.

(b) Finally, a glint of something buried in one of the snowbanks catches his eye, something distinctly not rock, ice or snow. He sails the sled as close as he can, but has to cover the last few yards on foot, frown deepening as he approaches. A weapon, and beside it a person. A person who looks very much alive.

"Excuse me, are you alright?"

4. Tavern
While not running cargo or hunting the banks of the frozen lakes for abandoned goods, Balthier spends him time at the local tavern. The booze isn't great and the patrons can be even worse, but the fire's warm and he's drunk worse. Sometimes there's even live entertainment, like tonight. He cringes from the safety of the table he's sat at in the back as a bottle collides with another man's head and it all goes down hill from there.

He spots someone else entranced by the violence, or maybe just surprised. Either way, they seem to be in need of a seat, so Balthier clears his throat to get their attention before motioning to one of the empty chairs across from him.

"I won't take a swing at you. Promise," He teases with a charming smirk.

[or dat wildcard!]

Edited 2016-03-09 01:59 (UTC)

( 5: DO YOU WANT TO BUILD A SNOWMAN )

Lacey is from District 8, where it's cold and snowy about four months out of every year; she can't say she's especially bothered by this weather. She knows enough to bundle up before she goes out, heavy boots on her feet and a thick cloak draped over her shoulders.

The cold bites at her face immediately, and she almost considers going back to camp, where there's a warm fire and hot drinks. For whatever reason, though, she doesn't. Maybe she just wants to be alone for a while. Seeing the drifts of snow brings back old memories from her childhood, before her brother was reaped for the second Quarter Quell — memories of playing with him in the snow for hours until her teeth chattered and her mother shouted at them to come back indoors.

If one comes upon her gathering piles of snow into shapes that look suspiciously like the beginnings of a medium sized snowman, she'll just have to blame the nostalgia.

( WILDCARD IDK COME AT ME )

[ ooc: hey guys! Lacey has an old app from another game here just for reference. feel free to ask me if you have any questions. ]

Edited 2016-03-09 06:24 (UTC)

the cold never bothered me anyway

[ She's never seen so much grass in her life. A beautiful brunette, a young woman in her early twenties, is standing amidst the green and wildflowers with eyes wide, expression awed. The Hinterlands are so much beautiful; words could never do them justice to explain the way that every inch of its grounds hums with life and energy. Everything is so alive, vivid in color and detail, and she utters a little, enthralled laugh, spinning once in place, boots tracking circles in the dirt.

The differences between the Hinterlands' space and vibrancy as compared with her limited views of Starkhaven are enormous. True, she'd been able to see similarly-beautiful gardens from her tower, but that had been a play at the reality of the world. Being out and free now only solidifies her suspicions, back in isolation that Thedas had so much more to offer than she could ever imagine.

Elizabeth, the bright-eyed young woman, takes a very long and very deep breath of the air. It seems to cut through her with its sharpness, shockingly fresh. There isn't a single aspect of her current environment that she could attest as being worse than Starkhaven, not that she'd admit it allowed, considering the dire necessity of her hiding her identity from... well, everyone. If she is to meet any of the refugees or farmers who she knows live in the grassy wilds, she'll have to produce a story innocuous and common enough to avoid attention. After Serah DeWitt's disastrous appearance in her home, it had been inevitable that the escape would be noticed in a very real and dangerous way. They've been extraordinarily lucky that no one has gotten to them, yet, with how far south they've managed to travel.

South. It's colder than she'd imagined, too; that may be one of the only real disadvantages. Luckily, it could be quickly remedied if she's able to find a warmer cloak.

Elizabeth smiles again, humming a sweet-sounding, low tune to herself, before wandering around one of the closest rivers. There are a few different kinds of herbs and flowers that she'd like to gather and take back to camp so that she can determine whether or not they'd be useful for potion-making. Serah DeWitt seems to always get himself hurt, throwing himself into battle at any given moment, and they'd only gotten this far by the grace of Andraste... and with the help of poultices she'd managed to make. Or, that he'd managed to steal. ]

constants and variables - closed to booker dewitt

[ In her arms is a bundle of elfroot, blood lotus, and embrium. Elizabeth is still singing (a bit of the Chant of Light) as she approaches camp, slipping between the trees to where they'd settled to rest. ]

It's only me. [ She says, sweeping some of the hair from her face. He seems easily startled, as if he expects an ambush at any given moment. From what she's heard about the quarreling between the mages and templars, it's a fair bet, but she can't bring herself to be as worried as she should be. Not when she's finally free, let loose into the whole of Thedas for the first time in her life. There are too many things to be excited about for her to be wringing her hands over the less-pleasant possibilities. ]

Does your bandage need to be changed? [ Elizabeth asks, turning to him with the quirk of an eyebrow. A lone wolf had wandered into their camp earlier and the slash had torn into Booker's arm after he'd taken the blow to keep her from a potential mauling. ] Does everyone from Kirkwall get into such awful trouble?

Edited 2016-03-11 03:18 (UTC)

( 1 - No Need For Bears )

[ To hell with this shit! To hell with snow, to hell with this mess, to hell with everything. Ryoko has had a hell of a time adjusting to this new form she didn't ask for and didn't want and can't change out of, to not being able to fight or fly the way she wants, to being cold and feeling cold, to having this green thing stuck in her palm. There's no Ayeka, so bonus! There's no Tenchi which leaves her miserable on top of everything else. She could take this if she had Tenchi.

But there's no Tenchi.

There's bears. Angry, hungry bears and this? This is a fight she can take, new fists or not. ]

COME ON!

[ Running from bears? Fuck no. Ryoko sprints at them full tilt, past whoever's fleeing, swinging right for that open bear jaw. ]

( 4 - No Need For Bars )

What do you mean 'What's Sake?!' It's. Sake!

[ One thing. Just one thing from home, just one thing that's normal, that's all she wanted. But no- she doesn't get her skin, she doesn't get her powers or her gems, she doesn't even get her booze of choice. She gets a bar that splinters under the fist she slams on top and a barkeep that looks like he wants to wet himself. A quick sniff tells her he just did.

That's about when the chair gets broken over her back and all that coiled up tension from running around in the snow and the cold where she couldn't fucking fly. This, though, this is familiar. This is comfortable. Give her a bar brawl and she's laughing soon enough, cackling as she heaves one idiot over her shoulder and behind her. ]

That all you got? You're gonna have to try harder than that!

( 5 - No Need For Trees )

[ Near a camp, in the courtyard, just outside this bullshit skyhold place- doesn't matter. Ryoko glowers at a tree in front of her and rests her palm against the bark, eyes narrowed. She pushes-

And nothing happens. The tree's solid. Her arm's solid. No amount of pulling, no amount of pushing, no amount of focus lets her phase through. ]

Nnnnggaaa- FUCK THIS!

[ Pushing becomes punching, full weight thrown into each blow over and over till her knuckles split or something in the tree gives. ]

Fuck this fuck this fuck this FUCK THIS!

Threaded | Flat

ɢᴡᴇɴᴀëʟʟᴇ ᴠᴀᴜǫᴜᴇʟɪɴ | sᴘᴏɪʟᴇᴅ ᴏʀʟᴇsɪᴀɴ sʜᴀʀᴅ

legolas, tolkien

Thane Krios | Mass Effect | Native AU | elven assassin eyyy

delyth | native oc (city elf, kirkwall, scout)

ashley williams | mass effect | native au | rivaini seeker

Sera | The Age of Dragons

James Tiberius Kirk | Star Trek: Into Darkness | Rifter

Yogi | Karneval | Rifter

Lyon Delacroix >> Native OC - Orlesian Elf Servant