allthisshitisweird | Test Drive Meme!

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Test Drive Meme!

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!!

Threaded | Flat

1.
[ Really? Bears? Not that The Iron Bull was too surprised. This was the Hinterlands after all, and bears were fairly common. The surprise came from the fact that he had seemingly provoked them by doing nothing more than being in the vicinity. The first one he could handle, but apparently killing a bear angered every single bear in the area, because he was now being chased down by not one, not two, not even three, but four Great Bears.

He is channeling his namesake well, barrelling down the pathway towards camp. He doesn't normally enjoy hauling ass like this, but he also doesn't enjoy nearly dying when his healer isn't around to fix that. There are, however, healers at camp as well as other people who can probably set the bears on fire.

So. The Iron Bull is charging (ha ha) into camp, yelling at the top of his lungs about bears. What do you do? ]

4.

[ Forgetting the bear fiasco was a lot easier when you had alcohol and pretty people sitting on your lap. The entire bar had gotten quiet when a 6' plus tall Qunari walked in the door, flanked by a ragtag band of mercenaries, but when he hadn't caused any trouble, and in fact had paid for a round for everyone in the bar, things had livened back up. In fact, he was being ignored, for the most part, which was fine by him. All the better to observe that way. The Inquisition isn't the only group needing information about how things are turning out in the Hinterlands, after all. ]

Edited 2015-10-01 04:27 (UTC)

With no signs of further danger around him for the moment, Damien's approaching to investigate the bodies scattered here. The picture is...he hopes that it is not so painfully clear as it appears, but he doubts that very much. At any rate, there is not much more to be done here, but to see to these people who lost their way in the best way that HE can.

If anyone else should come upon the scene, they would find a young man kneeling, surveying each body for a moment, his lips moving in a silent prayer. Whoever they were, and whatever they did, even if only to themselves and each other, there is a final respect that they are owed, as people, and he's prepared to give it. Of course, with no burial tools about, it's hard to imagine how to do so. Cairns, often something he's disapproved of, might be an option if he were to build them.

After the prayer, he's rising, moving to begin to gather what of the scorched wood is near. Perhaps...he can do that much, arrange them some protection at least, from whatever else is to come.

The prayer that he offers as he works though, is for something else entirely, and he would admit it easily enough to any of his brother templars who happen to come along, or anyone else who cared to ask. He supposes that the former are, maybe, the ones who would understand that most.

" O Maker, hear my cry:
Guide me through the blackest nights"

He starts, hoping he might guard against falling to the same sort of temptation that must have taken over these people in future. It isn't enough for him, but it will have to do just now. Help would be appreciated all the same.

3

[ This is not the sort of job Zevran takes often- as a master assassin, aide to the hero of Ferelden, friend to one of the most revered wardens in the country and swashbuckler of renown- but he is short of coin. While not as bad as taking those back alley deals in Denerim while fighting off the fifth blight finding a lost ram is not usually how he spends his time. But- revenge is not a profitable business and Crows are not known for carrying coin.

Odd Jobs it is.

Infinitely weary he finally, FINALLY comes across this strange creature and is not all that surprised to find it becoming something else when he looses his net.

A demon. ]

The countryside is rife with your sort as of late- truly? A ram? There must be better ways to spend your time-

[ Taunting a Rage Demon from the boughs of a tree may not be the most dignified thing- but it is the most practical while he strings his bow and takes aim. ]

4

[ Ah, Redcliffe. It is not so bad now long that it is free of the flaming undead, a possessed child, and a rather disrespectful set of bar patrons. Coming to the tavern is almost nostalgic- well. When he meets Bella for a pint of ale, glad to see that she is still running it to pleasing and exacting standards? It most certainly is. For the moment he's content to tuck himself onto a corner, observe a game of dice, and drink while taking the measure of the crowd. One never knows where they may find an employer. Or assassin. ]

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. ]

{ 1 }
[ Christine hadn't meant to stray far, but the wounded refugee absolutely refused to let her treat their wounds with her magic, so Christine had rushed to find some elfroot instead. She needed several of the plants for the poultice she planned to make, and each one she spotted led her farther and farther away from the refugees' campfire.

And then she hears the growl. Whipping her staff off her back, she stuffs the elfroot into her pouch with her other hand before casting a magical barrier over herself. With that done, her eyes scan around, searching for the owner of that growl. When she spots the bear, she takes several steps back before hearing an answering growl behind her. Oh no. Not two bears. Christine knows if she flings a spell at either one, she'll just antagonize them, so she slowly begins to step off to the side, hoping to get the one behind her in her sights. But when a twig snaps far too close for comfort, she screams and starts running. ]

{ 4 }
[ As one of the mages who agreed with Grand Enchanter Fiona's decision to break the Templars' hold on mages, she's found herself labeled a rebel and is here in the Redcliffe tavern because there's no where else to go. Or there wasn't, until recently. All of a sudden, Fiona had indentured them all to Tevinter. And just as suddenly, the Inquisitor had arrived and made the magister give them up. Within a few days, they'll be starting off for Haven, but until then, Christine is trying to keep herself occupied at the tavern, leaning against a post with a tankard in one hand. ]

{ 3 }
[ Ellana is hoping she can be of help to the poor man who dearly misses his ram. She sees no harm in taking time out to see if she can locate the creature. So far, everyone she's asked has said they've never heard of a ram with that coloring, but she'll keep looking.

The unfortunate people around here could do with some luck, and she thinks this Inquisition could bring it. With people so downtrodden and worried about what's to become of them, she's barely heard anyone call her "knife ears" either. Before coming here, Ellana had never seen a human before, but of course she's grown up hearing how terrible they are. How cruel they are to elves and how they're responsible for the elves' misfortunes. Ellana never believed that all humans could be like that, and has always been curious about them and their culture. It's sad that when she finally is among them, she finds them turned from their homes because of this conflict between the mages and Templars.

But she puts those thoughts aside when she sees someone. ]

Oh, excuse me, have you seen a ram with an orange and red coat around here?

[Bears. Alphinaud never been fond of bears.

Such creatures are rare to Eorzea considering all of the other manner of beasts that exist. The boy had never seen such grizzly creatures up close and never wanted too. He, of course, knew what a bear looked like but the beasts that prowl the Hinterlands quite different from your average bear. They looked somewhat demonic in design, almost as if tainted by something foul. Knowing nothing of this realm besides it's name, Alphinaud traveled over the sprawling hillside only for his journey for supplies to be halted by a pack of vicious carnivores.

Alphinaud had strayed from the makeshift camp in hopes of finding safer pastures elsewhere. The camp where he had called "home" for the last few days is in desperate need for supplies. According to the kind men and women who found him, they claimed they happened upon the boy at the entrance of some gruesome cave. He was unconscious at the time his rescuers found him and thankfully they came when they did. Without any idea as of how he came to be in this world and sporting a few injuries, Alphinaud found himself forced to accept the help of Samaritans.

He owes the people at the camp his aid for their efforts and vouched to fetch supplies for them. However, he didn't quite heed their stern warnings about the queer wildlife of this region. No, the boy simply volunteered himself without a second thought.

A fool's mistake.]

Goodness, they're enormous.

Edited 2015-10-01 05:33 (UTC)

two.

[ Scouting ahead with Caesar isn't the most pleasant of assignments. He lags behind, makes note of random points of interest that don't hold any obvious purpose, and complains. Endlessly, he complains. Why is it so cold out here? Shouldn't their gear have more insulation if they're going to be mucking around Ferelden, of all places? Was that a nug? Of course that was a nug. Those disgusting things are everywhere--

It's almost as if he never runs out of things to find offense at out here. Almost. Coming across the three bodies, however, finally gets him to put a sock in it. Instead, he lingers behind, brow furrowed at what they've found. ]

What a waste. [ Ah, there we go. A new complaint. Just not as frivolous as the rest. Caesar leaves off scowling at the bodies after that, instead stepping close enough the nearest, the mage, and dropping into a crouch next to him. He reaches out, but hesitates, stopping short of actually touching the body. ] Ah... Probably recent. Uh, since they don't look picked over. Yet. Right?

[ Yeah, no, he doesn't want to check if the corpse is still warm or not. Let's just make other reasonable observations instead! He looks back a little hopefully, as if expecting someone to agree and leave it at that. ]

three.

...I can't believe this. This is really how I'm going to die.

[ Or maybe that particular demon in sheep's clothing has chased certain unfortunate someones up a tree. Even a fancy Orlesian can scale a tree at great speeds given the right motivation and, thankfully for Caesar, he had already been adept at climbing even without the extra help of a rage demon. Of course, the scene anyone else might come across, well, it may not make as much sense. Well, depending on one's general view of Orlesians, anyway. Someone might find one being treed by a woodland creature entirely believable.

Source of irritation now out of range, the demon has gone back to his oddly red ram form and is serenely chewing away on grass at the base of the tree Caesar's gone up.

Really, it looks like he's hiding high in the branches of a pine from a stupid farm animal, of all things, and that's just silly. ]

1.

[Daylen's not much of a fighter. He's not much of a bear expert either. He's not entirely sure what he did to provoke these two. He didn't think he'd even been that close. Apparently that was too close for their liking, however, and now he's fleeing.

Not that he really thinks he can outrun a bear, much less two of them. He reaches behind him for his staff, turning to cast a glyph of paralysis and glyph of repulsion in quick succession, the blast from the combination freezing both bears.

Relieved, he turns to make his escape properly... and promptly trips over a rock.]

Andraste save me...

[He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to push himself to his feet before the bears regain their movement.]

2.

[He hates this war. So much pointless conflict and death. The templars aren't from his own circle, and neither's the mage. That doesn't make him any less angry that the damn thing had started, though he's relieved that this time there don't seem to have been any civilians to have got in their way. Both sides are getting as bad as each other, and it wouldn't be the first battle ground he'd have come across with bodies of people who didn't seem to have done anything other than have the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The destruction had only deepened his resolve that mages belonged in circles, but to see so many crimes committed by templars. That had surprised him. Especially when he'd come across templars he'd known, even liked, causing just as many problems as the ones from other circles.

He's quiet as he gathers wood for three small pyres. He's struggling to find enough, but he doesn't want to burn them all together. He nudges one small pile of wood uncertainly, scanning the area to see if there's more wood he'd missed.]

4.

"No."

A tiny elf seems to be arguing with, or lecturing at, someone. It looks like a Circle mage, but it might be you instead.

"Oral tradition is respected across many cultures. It saves us the trouble of arguing about interpretation and it makes learned facts more important than authors annnd it can be changed--cheaply--if we learn we were wrong about something."

***

The same tiny elf can also be found at one of Redcliffe's booksellers, holding a pristine copy of Hard in Hightown like it's gold. She runs her hand over the cover reverently before tucking it in her elbow, thanking the seller, and turning to find a place to sit down and read.

These weren't like the woods Ariadne had grown up in. For one thing, she knew each and every tree like the back of her hand. It had always been a simple matter for her to find her way. But she was completely lost. It was a disconcerting feeling. She'd never really been lost before.

For another thing, there were no bears in Deleo.

It wasn't her fault, really. She hadn't been trying to provoke the creature. She was only curious. And she'd wondered if it was sentient. She'd only gone over to get a closer look, to maybe ask its name. She certainly hadn't anticipated it would get so angry. So while she had her answer, she also had a bit of a problem. Maybe the bear smelled another predator in her. Who knew? The important thing was that it decided to chase her.

Lithe and nimble, Ariadne crashed through the underbrush, yearning for her wings and her ability to take flight. But she'd sacrificed them for a Human life. This was the first time she regretted that decision. The bear had something of a longer stride than she did and was much more powerful, able to brush aside obstacles in a way she couldn't. It was gaining on her, leaving her with precious few options. Her sling would hardly do more than annoy the bear. And while she could use her claws against it, the last thing she wanted to do was hurt it.

Which left her with option three: Running. And, as ever, hoping for the best.

two;
[The Breach had been bad, but the escalated fighting was probably one of the worse things to come out from that incident. Ever since the Chantry in Kirkwall exploded things had gotten worse, and now--

The cold air from the ice around him is a sharp contrast to the blazing sun high in the sky. The day, by all means, is perfect. Blue skies, green grass, perfect weather on a perfect day in the Hinterlands. A good day ruined, just like all the countless other good days that were ruined by the constant skirmishes between the Templars and mages.

Bruce looks at the bodies around him. Two Templars and a mage, all three of them dead. The blood is still fresh enough to know that the fighting had been recent. For other mages, perhaps, they'd feel rage over their own fellow mage being killed like this, or triumph that a mage had managed to take out some other Templars before dying - but for him, all he felt was sorrow. Fighting had never been his thing.

When others pass by they'd see him currently trying to make a pyre for all three of them, Templars and mages. He'd make a grave if he could, but he didn't exactly have any digging equipment with him. In another time Bruce would have used his magic to do something for the bodies, but he had come into the Inquisition with the lie that he wasn't a mage but a surgeon, so he had to keep up appearances.

And besides, Bruce didn't like to use magic. It reminded him of... too many things.]

four;
[Being a surgeon and relying on non-magical means of ailing the sick and hurt meant that Bruce needed herbs. A lot of herbs. And what better place to get herbs than in the Hinterlands?

It's easy enough to spot Bruce picking herbs if they look well enough - anywhere there's a notable amount of elfroot and such around, Bruce will most likely be there as well. Even if its spindleweed in the river. Bruce is there as well, with his leggings pulled up as he wades in the waters, picking whatever he can find.]

1. [Korrin is...so very tired of bears. Either she's a magnet for them, or they're infesting the Hinterlands in greater numbers than reported. She doesn't care about the reason, though. It's annoying not to be able to take a path without being ambushed, let alone the danger they pose to civilians.

So, she'll be taking the fight to them. It doesn't occur to her at the time to ask for help, since everyone at camp is wounded or resting. But still, one mage can make a difference...right?

Or, you know, she might need someone who can go toe-to-toe with these things. That could be useful when, not too much later, one of them is intent on charging her.]

4. [At some point, like any other battle-weary Inquisition agent, Korrin gravitates toward the tavern. She isn't injured, not anymore thanks to potions and the like, but there are definitely signs she's been in a scuffle or several...such as all the blood that isn't hers staining her armor. That some automatically give the tall, horned woman a wide berth causes her to roll her eyes, but she's not looking to start another fight at the moment.]

Just give me the strongest brew you have.

[It doesn't really matter what it is, Korrin can handle it. Human brews are nothing compared to what her old mercenary company used to drink.]

Edited 2015-10-01 13:15 (UTC)

4. [He wasn't as comfortable in places like this any more, but with the Inquisition an influence here and the fact that it had been the seat of power for the rebel mages, it at least made the scarred city elf feel less like a target.

He didn't exactly like drinking, however, nursing a cup of tea and nibbling on a piece of cheese. Mostly lost in a book about herbal tonics, Alim seemed pretty much in his own protective bubble with nothing attracting him or other people.

That was, until the elderly mabari snoozing with her grey head in his lap opened her eyes and barked loud enough for him to drop the tea cup.]

Andraste's ass, girl! What?

It wasn't that he'd wanted to fight the bear, exactly. It was just that he hadn't really been paying attention to where he was going. He should have been - he was supposed to be scouting - but he'd gotten distracted watching a skirmish between mages and templars far below him, and had been considering figuring out a way to get down the cliff without wounding and/or horribly disfiguring himself. Why he wanted to jump into a magic fight with nothing but his bow was a question for another time.

Right now, the only real important thing was that a bear had suddenly taken a swipe at him, and had made the decision of how to get down the cliff an amazingly easy one - considering he was already tumbling down it.

He swore, trying to keep his footing, not die, and get his bow out at the same time, while twisting around to fire an arrow at the bear. The fact that the bear seemed to have no problem with the cliff, and simply kept barrelling down at him, was extremely unfair.

The fact that there was someone at the base of the cliff, right where Gavin needed to be if he didn't want to break every limb in his body, was also unfortunate.

"Watch out!"

2.

[Being a native to the Hinterlands was a mixed blessing. Harding could play the guide, and she did, all those months ago, before being put to work and becoming a scout of her own right. You would think after all those months there would be no need for her skills in the Hinterlands.

You would think.

Today was just another example - another quiet shortcut she took with Leliana's agents on a regular basis that was now not so secret. That would be hard, given that the trees were frosted over and ice hung from their brances and she was pretty sure that one was on fire? She'd seen weirder.

Constant change. That was the Hinterlands. Especially with- yeah, in that furrow.

Harding sighs, but she doesn't make to stop. She looks over her shoulder to her entourage.]

We better keep moving.

4.

[Sometime later, Harding is in the tavern, tucked away in a corner away from the noise and the hustle and a scuffle that's broken out at the bar proper. There's a tankard next to her, untouched by the look of it - even here, even off duty, she's still working, penning a detailed report to Leliana before she inevitably heads out into the wilderness again. Some of it is in the common tongue; the more... sensitive information is encrypted, which is likely the reason she pauses every now again, recalling the cipher.

No matter what befalls the bar, she doesn't stop working - not even when the scuffle heads her way and someone is thrown over her table (in jest, it seems, due to the whooping that follows), her reflexes are sound enough for her to lift both report and drink safe from harm's way in less than a second.

Maybe you could try getting this dwarf to relax and enjoy the evening?]

2.

The mages and templars one finds out here are willing cast-offs, the ones who broke ranks to satisfy their bloodlust or sense of vengeance or whatever it is. Everyone knows it. Everyone also assumes they're isolated gangs, or that if they are organized, tracking down their central command isn't worth the trouble and danger.

Well. Almost everyone.

Sherlock crouches down by one of the dead bodies - the mage - and after a cursory examination, begins to rummage neatly through the woman's belongings. There are a few items here that could still be of general use, and those he pockets. But then... ah. A rolled-up piece of parchment. Still crouched low, Sherlock begins to unfurl it, eyes skimming over the words.

Edited 2015-10-01 15:21 (UTC)

2

[ The Veil grows thin in places where emotions run hot, where death occurs in excess. Spirits press close to observe, to taste the essence of the moment as it bleeds over. She can feel them there like a tingle on her skin, hear the whisperings of moments passed.

The bodies have barely grown cold when she finds them, barefoot and alone, her robes tattered from the trek through the wilderness and her hair falling in wild tangles behind her. She's been running, but not from them. They didn't know she was here, too focused on each other, hating and hurting until they were broken and bleeding on the forest floor. The remnants of the battle remain around them, a burning tree and pillars of ice standing monument around the corpses.

River tilts her head, listening. The voices make her skin crawl, tasting ash in her mouth as the bloody clash sings in her mind, captured by the Veil beyond. For a moment there she's simply prone, standing stock-still in their midst, hearing something beyond the call of birds or the crackle of burning wood.

She wants to understand. ]

[3.]

[Finding a lost sheep. Well, there were worse jobs, Isabela knew that much. Or thought so, originally. The damned beast was a stubborn thing and human charms and manipulations don't work so well on livestock.

Until it became a demon. Figures.]

Really? Of all disguises. Points for originality, though, I suppose.

[Not to mention, she can duel a demon. Let's dance.]

[4.]

[Ah, now this was more like it. Drink flowing as long as her coin did, and she's clearly already enjoyed a few, some minstrel plucking away in a corner... The shore of a lake was a far cry from the sea, but better than no water at all. The pirate queen drew out a deck of cards, shuffling suggestively, a smirk on her lips.]

Care to join me for a game?

[1]

[Bears. An improvement on spiders, Kaidan supposed, but barely. He wasn't even sure what had brought him to the Hinterlands, trying to track down some of his wayward brothers that had gone missing. Why would they be there? Too many people around about, asking what the Grey Wardens had done in the last ten years. Can't this bear see that he had things to do?]

Right. Let's do this.

[4]

[The fact he was a Grey Warden was obvious - the armor with the prominent griffon's worked into it was a giveaway. But the staff? That had people hurrying to get out of his way, which suited him just fine. All he wanted was to get a drink, and sit in a corner in the inn to enjoy it. Not that he had that chance when someone crashed into him.]

Are you alright?

Edited 2015-10-01 16:15 (UTC)

[2]
[Jamie is used to a certain amount of upheaval in his life. Over the past few years, the young Scot has found himself traveling through time and space, going to places he'd never dreamed existed and seeing wonders he could have never imagined, no matter how hard he tried. It's been a voyage of discovery in many ways, but one thing he's never truly encountered before is magic. It simply doesn't exist in his word, apart from stories, and it doesn't occur to him that the strange new green glow in his hand has anything to do with that sort of thing.

The scorched grass and the large spikes of ice are a completely different story, however, and when he stumbles across the aftermath of some sort of battle, it's that which catches his attention more than the bodies. He's used to traveling with the Doctor, and has seen his share of corpses before. While he does look somewhat sad at seeing them, there's really nothing he can do for them now, and after a brief moment where he bows his head, he steps across them and over to the slowly melting ice, tentatively reaching out to touch it with one hand and then pulling it back quickly when he finds that it really is as cold as it looks. He's about to go get a better look at those scorch marks when a rustling noise in the underbrush catches his attention, causing him to tense for a moment before slowly turning towards the sound. A hand drifts towards the dirk worn at his waist, but he doesn't make a move to pull it free - not yet, anyway. Instead, he lifts his chin, calling out in the direction of the noise. Maybe it's only some wee animal, but he'd like to find out before he goes any further.]

Hello? Is there someone there?

[3]
[One thing is clear - wherever he is, he's going to need to find a way to survive here. While he knows he'll be able to forage for food and hunt game if he needs to, he'll still need supplies, and maybe something to hunt with other than just his dirk. Retrieving someone's prize ram sounds like ideal way to do just that. This place may not be the Highlands that he grew up in, but it's not all that dissimilar to what he's used to. Getting a sheep to follow him should be easy. So when he spots Lord Woolsley meandering on the side of a hill, he approaches him with all the confidence of someone who's done this sort of thing many times before.]

Right, we'll have you back to your master in no time at all. All you have to do is...hey, where do you think you're going?

[Maybe he's too confident here, because either the ram hasn't noticed him, or simply doesn't care. Whichever of the it is, one thing is obvious - Lord Woolsley plans on going somewhere that is exactly in the opposite direction of where he needs to be going, and he bounds off, further up the hill. Grumbling under his breath, Jamie heads off off after him, only to snag his kilt on the branches of a fallen tree. He's forced to stop and disentangle the skirt-like garment, his mutterings becoming somewhat louder as he tries to extract himself without ripping his clothing in the process.]

Och. Why am I doing this again?

A: Ram Hunting 101

Peter was only good with certain kinds of animals. Not his fault, that. What with the lifetime in a stone tower and all there were only so many a mage actually met. Birds in the rafters, mousing cats, hounds that came with the occasional noble-born mage as a consolation prize for having their chances at inheritance and position crushed. And, of course, Peter's personal favorite: the rats and mice endemic to any circle. Those he knew. This sheep- goat- farmland animal nonsense was beyond him. And for very good reasons.

That he'd found the blighted thing should've been impressive enough. But now that he was faced with the animal, crouched down a respectable distance away (in case it should charge) and frowning at the unfairness of it all. Why'd he get sent on this stupid quest, anyway? Wandering out in nature and what not for some rogue animal. What was he supposed to do with an animal close to his size by the virtue of all that fluff and horns. Pointy looking horns...

Peter swallowed hard and warily help out a fistful of some nearby plant life.

"Here, er, your Lordship....c'mere. Please?"

B: Bears are the maker's punishment for the sins of man

Peter Pettigrew was running. Not sprinting, he didn't really have the leg strength or small waist circumference needed for that, but running nonetheless. Up a hill, down a hill, on and on he ran. With a bear after him. Because nature was a terrible, awful thing, and perhaps the templars had been on to something with the whole plan of keeping nice, sane mages as far away from it. He tried to cast, he really did. He'd gotten the barrier up, at least. But anything offensive or any turning into a nice rat that could scurry down a hole? He couldn't hold his concentration long enough. Which wan't so much a poor reflection of his magical skills, he thought, as it was a testament to the amazing skill bears had of being utterly terrifying.

But, bless Andraste's infinite mercy, he thought he saw another living person up there on the next hill. Beyond caring if that person were a member any number of very bad no good groups of people out to kill him, or if it were another innocent incapable of defending themselves that the bear may simply veer off towards and maul instead, Peter put every last bit of energy he had into rushing towards them.

"Help!"

C: Pick your own adventure!

1. [she's been alone for a long time. or, what feels like a long time, ever since the sky tore asunder. her Clan is gone, destroyed; there was no trace of anyone remaining save for scorched earth where caravans once stood.

so she travels alone, a dangerous venture for a young Dalish woman, but she has her magic and knowledge of the natural world to get by on her own. and the animals don't bother her for the most part, and she respects their boundaries as best she can.

but not all territories are obvious. she's bathing in a shallow edge of the river; washing her face, her arms, but a low rumbling growl disturbs her and she stops, freezes like a cornered animal. she doesn't even need to turn around to know that it's a bear, but she has to wonder why. bears don't typically trouble you if you mind your own business, but the air feels wrong here at their approach, the taste of the fade lingers at her lips and she turns around, seeing pair of bears barreling her way, their natural senses lost.

she doesn't want to hurt them, but she doesn't want to be hurt. so wide-eyed and shaking she grabs her staff and her bags, magic burning cold at the ends of her fingers but only to let it carry her forward, put more distance between her and the bears.

she's quick-footed but in a state of panic she doesn't notice a particularly steep slope of a hill until it's too late. another fade step here and she finds her foot catching on a patch of dirt, tumbling forward and down the hill...possibly into another person who hopefully has less qualms with fighting, or at least helping a strange elf out with her predicament.]

4. [she's not so much in the tavern, but outside it. completely unintentional, completely accidental, but she's travel weary and tired from attempting to outrun overly angry bears in the Hinterlands. she's only been among human settlements a handful of times in her life, only when her Clan used to head in to trade pelts for other resources.

for her, she has no qualms outside of a nervousness that settles in her gut. but she lingers on the outskirts, the warmth of the inside looking welcoming, but the cool grass against bare feet offers her a comfort that she no doubt wouldn't find in there. but she's hungry, and the disruption of her travels kept her from gathering and hunting to replenish her dwindling supply of food.]

1. Exit pursued by bear
It was safe to say that Eirlys was out of her depth out here. When she'd volunteered to help the Inquisition she wasn't sure what to expect, but she'd hoped for more of a delegation role. Instead here she was, gripping a bow she barely knew how to use, running and skidding over rocks and grass and almost tumbling down hills, being chased by a bear. She didn't dare to look back, but she felt its paws thundering along behind her and heard its angry roars as it pursued her. Without thinking, she dives into the nearest cave, hoping fervently that she hadn't just entered the bear's home and would be facing its equally angry, hungry relatives.

4. Drink with me
If there's one thing she enjoys it's people watching, and the tavern is just the place for it. Positioning herself near the door and nursing a glass of a rather cheap red wine, Eirlys' gaze follows the many comings and goings to the place, shrinking back into herself as a large, rowdy group of human men enter, and looking both relieved and intrigued whenever she sees another elf.

(2)

This is probably covered in Chapter Three of How To Be A Warden On The Run: "don't stop and linger over dead bodies unless you're looking to join them," and so on, right after the chapter on not returning to the place where you grew up and the chapter on not wearing your Warden armor if you can find anything, anything else at all, to replace it.

But even if that book really existed, Alistair isn't much of a reader. So here he is, not two miles from Redcliffe, griffon emblazoned on his breastplate, surveying the spread of corpses with a mild weariness that hasn't quite managed to reach jaded, yet, no matter how many dead people he's seen. Maybe not ever.

"Poor bastards," he says.

He doesn't have an audience--as far as he's aware--so he doesn't make any jokes about having that in common, and he doesn't hesitate more than another second or two before crouching down to check a charred Templar for coin or jewelry. That isn't jaded, either. It's an old habit picked up from a friend, you know, and necessary besides; Weisshaupt stops covering the costs of your meals when you're missing in action. He turns up one bit of gold and a letter that he scans once quickly, again more thoroughly. His eyebrow raise walks the line between impressed and disgusted.

"I take that back," he tells the man's blackened, blank face. "You absolutely deserved this."

(5: Grey Warden fugitive group road trip, anyone? Anyone?)

It's the worst at night. Nightmares if they're sleeping, the song--melancholy, which wouldn't have been his choice--if they're awake and it gets too quiet. Fortunately, not letting things get too quiet is one of the few things Alistair is better at than average. It's his turn to sit up keeping an eye on the mouth of the cave, watching for bears or wolves or Wardens (or Templars or mages or demons or), and when one of the others stirs in their bedroll and makes a nightmare-y sort of noise, Alistair prods them in the side of the head with a boot and only gives them a few seconds to emerge from whatever groggy fog sleep might have put them in.

"Do you think it would be less annoying if we put words to it?" he says, quiet for the sake of anyone still asleep, then hums a few bars of the Calling along with the quiet curl of it in his head and segues into a sing-song, "something-something, creepy Old God."

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