Test Drive Meme!

[faderifting]

You'll Never Leave the Hinterlands Alive*

Welcome to Fade Rift's very first Test Drive Meme! Use one of the prompts below or make up your own, and tag around! Have fun, try out the setting, generate samples for your app, coerce your friends into joining you.

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, early fall finds 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.

1. In the Deep Dark Hills of Western Ferelden

You have turned the wrong corner, forded the wrong stream, crested the wrong hill, entered the wrong cave. Maybe you are far from camp. Maybe you are in camp. Whatever has happened, wherever you are: you are being chased by bears. Did you provoke the bears? Are they huge? Babies? Fade-touched? Mage-controlled? What are they chasing you away from? What are they chasing you into? What do you plan to make out of their hide if you kill them? What do you think they'll craft out of your hide if they kill you?

2. There I Read on a Hillside Gravestone

The rebel mages and renegade templars have ravaged the Hinterlands, skirmishes breaking out all over. It looks like you've just missed one-- great spikes of ice melt slowly in the cool autumn sunlight and patches of grass and trees have been scorched away. Three bodies are scattered about, two templars and one mage judging by their clothing. You could bury them. Or search their pockets. Or track their friends. Or all of the above, if you're feeling industrious.

3. Won't You Walk With Me Out the Mouth of this Holler

Whatever task you were actually sent out here to do, you are going to be late. One-Eyed Jimmy asked so nicely for your help finding his prize ram, Lord Woolsley. It's been in the family for years, so smart for a ram, it's a good luck charm, their business has boomed with it around, and it's lived for so long, he just can't abide thinking of it getting eaten by some mangy apostate. And then he went and offered you money, too. How could you say no? Maybe you're still wandering, asking everyone you pass if they've seen a ram that looks like it's wearing an orangey-red sweater. Maybe you've found it and are chasing it around a lake or trying to lead it back to the village for your reward. Maybe you've gotten fed up and gotten out your sword to bring Jimmy a new sweater instead and discovered that lucky Lord Woolsley is a demon in sheep's clothing. Surprise!

4. Fill Your Cup With Whatever Bitter Brew You're Drinking

Just because the region's had a rough time lately doesn't mean the tavern at Redcliffe is any less crowded than usual. Bella behind the bar dishes out tankards to refugees and soldiers, scared villagers and angry farmers, merchants traveling through from Orzammar and Orlais and families fleeing the rifts in the foothills. It's packed, basically. The Inquisition has only recently extended its influence into the region, and while some have already seen the benefit-- demons killed, fighting broken up-- others are skeptical.

5. Spend Your Life Just Thinkin' of How to Get Away

Choose Your Own Adventure: hunt game, kill demons, gather herbs, track bandits, haggle over the price of armor, fall off a deceptively tall rock, 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, rummage around in empty homes, run from a dragon, cry over how cute that fennec fox you just shot was, set up camp and chat around the fire, knock yourself out (figuratively, or even literally if that's more your speed)-- the Hinterlands are your Frostback Mountain oyster.

*Yeah, I had this stuck in my head. It's a good song!!

Comments

mia rutherford | dragon age: inquisition

[lettersfromhome]

1

[ This was foolishness, she's decided. Come all this way to do some good, and what has it gotten her?

Of course her intention had been to make for the Crossroads, taking the main roads before the conflict had her making for the woods, trying her best to stay out of sight of either mage or templar. Damn them both for putting people in harm's way for the sake of this bloody war. It was almost refreshing to find something more mundane to worry about.

Almost. If there wasn't currently a bear very, very intent on wedging open the door she'd worked so very hard to barricade.

The hut was a shambles, half burnt-down and ransacked, but it had proven shelter enough when the great lumbering beast made for her. Somewhere inside she'd managed to pick up an axe, steeling herself, as the sound of claws and snuffling persisted. She would not be some squalling maiden lying in wait for the animal to make a meal of should it make its way inside.

It would find teeth waiting for it in turn. Maker. Let it be enough. ]

4

[ Adventuring may not have been the most suitable option, after all. It took a toll on a person, and she was not so young as she used to be. Still, she was safe for the moment. The air here was thick with suspicion and whispers, but for now it was enough that it was out of the wilderness, with four walls and a stiff drink to ease the ache in her bones.

She was sparing with coin, lest anyone think her easy prey. She knew the trouble that could befall a woman on her own, but Maker willing she still had enough ice in her stare to make them think twice before approaching. She'd survived the Blight, after all. Some cutthroat was not going to find an easy mark here. ]

Another, if you please.

[ The coin was slipped discreetly across the counter, the mug of ale taken with a grateful nod, her hood slipping back enough to breath in the stiflingly still air of the tavern. ]

4

[prinudit]

[ Ivan shifts the weight of his broadsword, reaching out to clasp the hand with the coin and push it back.]

Please. Allow me.

[It may sound sexist, condescending and perhaps intimidating and forward, but Russia simply sees his actions as forth-right and even friendly. This is more obvious in intention as he moves a coin of his own forward in place of the one the woman offered.]

I appreciate a woman who can drink.

[ His eyes are cheerful, almost childishly so, which contrasts eerily with his lumbering, thick frame and set jawline. Their unnatural lavender hue also tend to throw people off.]

[lettersfromhome]

[ He's gotten her attention, at least, even if the look she gives him is a stern one. ]

And I appreciate the generosity, ser. But I can pay my own way.

[ It might have been more cordial to allow the gesture with a little more grace, to feign a smile she didn't feel. She's too blunt for that, however, and ill accustomed to playing the game. There are few reasons for a strange man to be buying her a drink.

Suspicion keeps her on her toes, this far from home, and she does not abandon it lightly, no matter how benign the company might seem. ]

[liberalum]

[ Big bony bear claws catch in the splintering door, with a thump of weight that seems to make the entire hut creak ominously, shaking dust amongst the bars of sunlight creeping through gaps in the wood wide enough to slot your fingers through. Outside, the creature goes about its excavation with a kind of plodding curiousity, absent-minded in its ferocity.

It won't be long now.

Or maybe it will be a little longer. It's a strange noise, specifically electrical and so not often heard by those unaccustomed to wielding it. A zap, and a crackle, and a sharp white light flickering brighter than sunlight that recalls lightning.

Immediately, the bear gives a rumbling roar of pain, dragging its claws out of the door. Distracted from its task.

In the air, there is now the smell of burning fur, and ozone. ]

He-llo, you're an ugly one, [ sounds like a man, somewhere outside. There's another crackle of sharp white light -- tearing metal, flame glancing off dry kindling, the sound of a knife running sharp off a whetstone, those are all the things it sounds like -- and another bear growl that is itself unmistakable for anything else. ]

[lettersfromhome]

[ A mage. One of the rebels? At least the bear had been predictable in its desire to eat her.

Still clutching the axe tightly, ready to swing if need be, Mia edged closer to the door, now with several large gouges torn out of the wood. The noise and smell tells her that the mage is to thank for distracting the animal...but there's no telling what's gone on beyond that. Unwilling to simply wait, she peers out of one of the holes in the door.

She could hide, she supposes, but mostly she's furious. The rebels and templars are the reason she had to divert from the road in the first place. It was their bloody war wrecking all this havoc among those simply trying to live out their lives.

At lest she'd have a good head of steam going, tell him off properly before she got herself killed. That was something. ]

[liberalum]

[ If it is indeed a rebel mage, it appears to only be one, at least; Dorian stands with his feet firmly rooted in the Hinterlands dirt, wielding a staff pointed rigid approximately for the bears snout. And if it is, indeed, a rebel mage, it's one who's bothered to groom at all in the past twenty-four hours. Most of them are too busy, you know, having a war.

In short, he doesn't appear to be from around here, even at a glance and between the claw-torn cracks in blackened wood.

He flourishes his staff, finishing by staking the blunt end of it into the earth, and another burst of crackling energy dances forth to momentarily cage the animal in forking tongues of white light. In its distraction, Dorian chances a glance for the hut, only maybe gets the impression of human life hidden behind bear-ravaged door. ]

If you were planning to run for your life or join in on the fun, [ he shouts-- well, announces is a better description for what his voice does in general ] now would be the time!

[ Another jab of his staff in the air as the bear seems to come to, and another burst of energy. Weaker, this time. ]

[lettersfromhome]

[ So. A rescue after all, or so it appears. That's a relief.

The door wedges open, just enough for her to bend down and crawl through, her hair a wild mess of curls about her face and her traveling clothes now streaked with mud and soot. She looks the part of a rebel far more than he, she expects.

But she's still got the axe. And she's not simply leaving him to be eaten, mage or no. Leaving people behind is simply not something she does, and she's not about to start now.

With a look of steely determination she takes up on the beast's flank, swinging that axe as hard as she can muster. The resounding bellow that resounds down to her bones tells her just how little the animal appreciated the gesture. ]

So much for an easy meal, then.

[liberalum]

[ Dorian is clearly expecting her to take the former option over the latter, because for all that he has gamely thrown himself into saving a stranger's life -- when in the Inquisition, and all -- bears aren't fun. This one is yellow toothed, has a putrid breath, and scraggled thatches of hair that imply scarring beneath its dense coat.

But then there's an axe, and his eyebrows raise. ]

That's the spirit, [ comes out more flatly ironic than anything else, but there's a certain twinkle to his eye in swift sizing her up that implies he is more than somewhat delighted by her conceptually.

By the time the bear is turning its snout to follow the swing of the axe, Dorian swings his staff and very unmagically clouts the brute over the head with it, springing aside from a confused swipe that could probably have broken his neck without effort. Conserving his energy, somewhat, but determined not to let it hone its attention on the woman.

It does, anyway, opening a maw that could swallow her head, spittle flying.

A more precise jab channels a thicker stream of electricity for the bear's back leg, searing and crackling, tongues of flame withering fur. This time, the bear's bellow is one of pain over ferocity. You'd almost feel bad for it, if there weren't so bloody many of them. ]

[lettersfromhome]

[ He's free to pay her sparkling compliments once they're both no longer in harm's way, for all the good they might do. She'll be happy enough to have good news to report home, or any at all. Bit hard to write letters when you're in several indelicate pieces due to mauling.

That second bellow nearly sends her tumbling back into the door frame, but she swings again, this time intending to divert the lunge of that massive furry head if nothing else. She manages to clip it about the face -- Maker willing, she's put an eye out -- and then the sizzle of magic sends her hair standing on end once more. That crack of lightning is enough encouragement for her to get out from between the bear and the house, one hand wiping spittle from her face and the other wrenching her only good weapon free.

Is the mage hurt? A glance tells her nothing's been torn off yet, and her eyes focus ahead once more. ]

Wonderful. If you've a plan how to end this, now would be the perfect time to share it!

[liberalum]

[ Right, yes, an end game; Dorian is getting to that in his attempting to cripple rather than kill, even if you'd imagine this much electricity being channeled into one creature might at least make it woozy.

Still, the damage is done. The bear, now bloodied at its face in addition to having only three cooperative legs, staggers aside, wounded, in a move that isn't an obvious attempt to fight back, but Dorian isn't taking any chances. Staff still in hand, he circles the beast's blind-side, and doesn't presume to grab at the wild-haired woman and her axe because he values his life and limbs. ]

The plan is quitting while ahead.

[ The mage isn't hurt, and he has no plans to be today. He goes to lead the way with haughty agility, not quite back to the main roads -- which are chock full of civil war besides -- but up an incline. He levers himself over a ledge of rock, and turns back to offer a hand. ]

[lettersfromhome]

[ A more malicious man might have tried to finish the beast off. It spoke to this one's character that he did not, though there was precious little time to think on it as she quickly fell in step after him.

The brush beat at her boots as they went, and there was only a brief moment of hesitation before she took hold of the offered hand, hauling herself up as much as he might pull, quickly scrambling to her feet once more as soon as she was able. Face flush and certainly looking more like an Avaar tribeswoman at the moment than a Ferelden peasant, she stared back in the direction of the bear as it lumbered away.

Her axe -- might as well be hers, now -- lowered by degrees as she turned back towards Dorian, until it hung harmlessly at her side. If he'd meant her harm he could have accomplished it long before now. ]

Bloody thing nearly had me. I owe you my life, ser mage.

[ A weary noise escaped her as she struggled to brush herself off as best she could. ]

Though I'll admit I'm about three good baths away from feeling completely right with the world again.

[liberalum]

[ The same philosophy could be applied to putting the beast down, injured as it is; as it stands, Dorian is more interested in getting out of clawing distance. This accomplished, he slips his staff back into its hooks, eyes sharp and tracking the shape of it below and through the trees until he's satisfied it's moving, and moving away, at that.

And now he turns better attention to her. The last of his magic is dimming down, the air faintly dry around them, a little staticky, but easing.

His smile is crooked, but immediate. ]

Here I thought you were simply trying to fit in.

[ But if anyone can sympathise, it's Dorian. He glances about to get his bearings -- har dee har -- and then points in a vaguely westwards direction. ] There's an Inquisition camp that way -- a twenty minute walk, I'd wager, or a twenty five minute trudge. That is, if you'd like a place to sort yourself out before you're back on your way. Are you hurt?

4

[fadeish]

( by chance she happens to hear "another" in passing, and, for someone already so harried, anything that might yield a bit of help is welcomed. the fellow mage companion she was assigned to per the buddy system has been missing for some time now and, it is Astrid's hope, someone might have seen him in the tavern. so when she hears a bar patron ask for that next ale, she can't help but turn to her seek any guidance she may have to offer her in this, her least favourite predicament of the last week or so. and, with all of those fade rifts and demons out there, that's perhaps saying something. )

Excuse me, have you been here long?

( maybe the hood should clue her in but she's not really in the right frame of mind to process and draw inferences from visual cues. her current state of mind, though--irritated nearly beyond caring--is very apparent from the tension around her eyes and the quickness, almost snappishness, of her gestures. )

[lettersfromhome]

[ A breed of impatience she can understand, if not appreciate.

Mia's eyes flicker towards the woman as she speaks up, her own brow furrowing lightly. It takes but a moment to take her in, the flustered state and anxious tone of her voice, before she shakes her head regretfully. ]

Not by most senses of the word, no. Were you looking for someone, dear?

[ Even if friendliness is beyond Astrid at the moment, Mia's willing to be the first to extend it. Poor woman looks like she's been through every bit as much as the rest of them. ]

[fadeish]

( more than anything she might have expected--being told yes, in fact he faffed about and fell into the harbour, yes, he got carried away by griffons in fact so her problems are over--it's being called dear that gets Astrid to just stop for a moment. she's not used to being called such, not by those around her, let alone a stranger.

it takes her a moment to process what exactly Mia said. it's a nice little rest, though the resulting pause before her response might be a bit confounding. then, as she begins to think of her companion again, the ill-feeling comes rushing back. )

Yes, actually! ( she has enough sense to realise she sounds snappy, so she resolves to tone it down a notch. a kindly stranger doesn't deserve this kind of treatment; she's going to save it for her companion. ) I think he was here a while ago, but perhaps you've seen him? He's a mage--well, one of the many that are around here at any rate. Human, black hair longer than it should be, about a head taller than me?

[lettersfromhome]

[ Stranger or not, Mia's instincts have always been to take care of those around her. Not that the woman herself doesn't look capable enough, but she also looks as though she's at her wit's end by this point. Asking a stranger for assistance certainly lends to the point. ]

I'm sorry to say I haven't. But surely with the other mages about the village, he might turn up?

[ It's not very helpful, and her expression says she knows it, nose wrinkling faintly. One hand reaches to draw back the stool beside her, giving the seat a pat. ]

Here, take a moment off your feet. Perhaps he'll turn up.

[fadeish]

Hah.

( the other woman's willingness to help a stranger communicates a lot about her character, much more than their short exchange so far would be able to convey. that's one of the reasons why Astrid takes the offer. she stares at the seat first, of course, tilting her head a little bit like she's contemplating the concept of a stool. what is a stool actually for? what is it that gives it its inherent stool-ness? sitting upon it? it sounds like a good idea to try it out. )

Thank you, ser. Maker take him, I hope so. I don't know where else someone with so little common courtesy could show up. Probably not the Chantry, wouldn't you think? ( after setting her staff against the bar and sitting down her self, she kind of just. stares at a staff member and waits to get their attention. a tavern is a new experience! )

[lettersfromhome]

You might be surprised. I can't remember the last time a holy calling necessarily kept someone from having atrocious manners. But you would think, wouldn't you?

[ Mia clucks her tongue, taking another sip of her ale. It's watered-down, but one had to expect as much from a heavily-trafficked tavern like this one. Had to make the supplies last, didn't they?

Her eyes linger on the staff but for a moment. This is the first time she's dealt with mages quite so closely, used to the idea of them all being in a Circle. But none here have given her any trouble.

That's something, at least. ]

[fadeish]

I do wonder... ( she trails off because, for a moment, she does think about the many templars she has known. it wouldn't be fair to call them all out-rightly ill-mannered, but there have been a handful of brutes she'd rather have never met. though there's also been ill-mannered mages, of course, hence her current predicament. She sighs, and then turns her attention to Mia.

speaking of manners has reminded her that she has her own set; the reaction that her staff gets is so mild, so nice compared to what other responses she has provoked recently, she's further inclined towards affability. )

Is that any good? ( she indicates the ale ) If you feel like another round, please let me know, it's the least I could do. But please don't let me keep you here longer than you intended to stay. ( these are dangerous times so being where you plan to be before nightfall seems like a rather good idea. )

[lettersfromhome]

I think I intend to remain here for a time, honestly. I'm making better time than I thought I might.

[ Though the journey has been wearying, certainly trying. It isn't the first time she's made her way across country for her family, though, and she isn't inclined to complain. Not having a horde of Darkspawn at her back is certainly preferable.

She understands what it is to be chased, hounded. Perhaps that's why she doesn't eyeball the mage like a threat, when she seems so put-upon already. But her own feelings on the conflict are quite complicated. Particularly from a familial standpoint. ]

I wouldn't say no to another drink. You look as though you could use one yourself.

4

[perseverances]

[The Tavern was as good as any a place to find soldiers shirking their duties, and he had had reports of some of them gallivanting instead of being proper. While he never minded the soldiers to have fun on their own time, it was their right, after all they had seen and done, but on his time? They would be soldiers, and they would do their duties correctly and to the best of their abilities.

He saw the group in question as he entered, and he was of right mind to give them a stern look and posts at the farthest edges of the Hinterlands when he spotted someone that should have written before heading all this way, in such dangerous territory. He made a beeline for the counter, sliding into a seat next to her.]

I would ask what you were doing here, but I suddenly find that I already know the answer.

[lettersfromhome]

[ It was a surprise that he'd honed in as quickly as he had. It had been some years since they'd seen one another, and Mia's tongue was still for a moment as she took him in. The years had been less than kind to any of them, but it startled her for a moment as to how little of the young boy she remembered remained.

Of course, that was a moment only. Then her mouth thinned sternly. ]

Is that how you greet family, these days?

[ Her back straightened, the look in those stern brown eyes disapproving at best. ]

[perseverances]

[Cullen coughed suddenly in order to turn away from that stern look, and when he 'recovered, he squared his shoulders to reply.]

Forgive me, good afternoon, Mia, it is wonderful to see you.

[Awkward at best, but this is Cullen we're talking about, and while he is happy he's seeing her for the first time in what seems like forever for him, he's still wondering what exactly she's doing here, if it's not to check up on him. He never knows what to write in letters to home.]

What brings you to Redcliffe?

[lettersfromhome]

[ It's still feeble as attempts go, though it isn't quite the outrage she'd anticipated. Just as well. It wasn't the sort of argument they needed to have in a public venue. ]

Why, the fresh mountain air. I hear it's delightful this time of year.

[ Deadpan just never carries in a letter the way it does in person, and of course the look she's giving him makes it absolutely clear what a ridiculous question it was. ]

[perseverances]

[Ugh, Mia, don't give him that look. He doesn't like that look and it's scary. He knows it was a ridiculous question; his letters haven't been that forthcoming when he finally does write home. It's like pulling teeth in order to get him to say exactly what he feels.]

Perhaps we should speak outside?