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allthisshitisweird2016-04-16 01:02 pm
faderifting) wrote in allthisshitisweird2016-04-16 01:02 pm
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TEST DRIVE MEME!
WHAT A GLOOORIOUS FEELING
How’s the weather, Inquisition? Terrible. Heavy rainfall pelts the plains and the mountains, four straight days of it! Dark clouds block out the sun. It may begin to feel like there’s no end to the storms in sight. When darkness falls, cold evening temperatures turn that rain frigid. Your boots, your socks, they’re soaked through. Everyone smells like wet wool.
And as if all that weren’t enough: the increased rainfall loosens patches of mud and shale, causing mudslides.
1. We’re not in Orzammar anymore…
2. Are you mad? That’s twelve year old scotch!
3. I gotta go, Julia, we got bears.
4. We got 12 skins of water, 56 ales, two vodkas, four whiskeys, six bottles of wine, tequila, hazelnut paste, cheese, bread, eggs, bananas, apples, bacon, steaks, pancakes, dry grain, milk, sweet tomato sauce, half a pudding, half-ounce Sour Wine, 3 1/2 grams Grand Inquisitor Kush, one ounce of 'shrooms, 15 ecstasy potions, a smutty woodcut, a bat…
5. Lots of fish… and lots of weather.
WE'RE STILL IN THE HINTERLANDS
How’s the weather, Inquisition? Terrible. Heavy rainfall pelts the plains and the mountains, four straight days of it! Dark clouds block out the sun. It may begin to feel like there’s no end to the storms in sight. When darkness falls, cold evening temperatures turn that rain frigid. Your boots, your socks, they’re soaked through. Everyone smells like wet wool.
And as if all that weren’t enough: the increased rainfall loosens patches of mud and shale, causing mudslides.
1. We’re not in Orzammar anymore…
A recent group of dwarven traders bearing fine crafts and goods were inbound for Skyhold, ready to flood the markets with their wares. Instead, they got flooded out.
Yes, word has reached the Inquisition that the traders have been unfortunately detained by the weather and they are now in need of a rescue. Dare you venture out into the lashing rain and sliding mud to rescue the traders?
If you do so dare, you’ll find some of the traders to be exceedingly grateful for your efforts, ready to bestow handsome rewards on you, O Brave Soul -- just as soon as you’ve escorted them safely back to Skyhold. Or you might find a cluster of more disagreeable traders, grumpy at the water in their boots and the loss of their goods. Some of those goods might still be rescuable, if you want to wade out into a mud field to retrieve a fallen chest, or tug an errant terrified donkey back onto what’s passing for dry road these days.
As you carry these treasures back to their masters, or back to Skyhold, you might consider helping yourself to a sampling of the wares on your way back. After all, your reward might not be adequate, and you are risking your life for these ungrateful sons of mothers. Just don’t get caught. These traders don’t look kindly on thieves, and frayed tempers snap easily.
Feel free to get stuck on your way to the rescue, too. Weather out the storm with a fellow do-gooder. These days, the rescuers might need rescuing just as much.
2. Are you mad? That’s twelve year old scotch!
In Skyhold and the surrounding tent towns, what with the confusion and the panic and the scramble for high ground, market stalls are left unattended and wares are ripe for the taking. For some, temptation proves to be too much. Where there’s disaster, there’s often looting! A few vendors defend their own wares, and those that can’t make desperate entreaties for assistance. Bandits! Thieves!
Are you a brave and hale friend to the Inquisition and to good honest trade, ready to defend the wares of the waterlogged merchants? Or maybe your sticky fingers spot a tempting treasure too great to ignore. If they didn’t want it stolen, they should have taken it with them! Watch out for that Qunari metalsmith with the mean right hook. He’s not to be trifled with, and his blow will leave you toothless in the mud.
3. I gotta go, Julia, we got bears.
The rainfall has disturbed more than the mud. Bears, resting in their caves, have found their caves to be too damp for their liking, and they’ve taken to the open air to vent their spleens. Some people say that the bears are as frightened as you are, but when you’re faced with a six hundred pound beast with huge pointy teeth, their innocence is a little harder to keep in perspective.
The tents surrounding greater Skyhold are especially worried by rogue bears. Make a stand against them, or else help evacuate a threatened campsite. Mudwrestling a bear is a great way to impress the ladies, or the gentlemen… but no one will blame you for beating a hasty retreat.
4. We got 12 skins of water, 56 ales, two vodkas, four whiskeys, six bottles of wine, tequila, hazelnut paste, cheese, bread, eggs, bananas, apples, bacon, steaks, pancakes, dry grain, milk, sweet tomato sauce, half a pudding, half-ounce Sour Wine, 3 1/2 grams Grand Inquisitor Kush, one ounce of 'shrooms, 15 ecstasy potions, a smutty woodcut, a bat…
TIME TO HUNKER DOWN. In the tavern, the barkeep is handing out free spiced wine to anyone who takes refuge behind her door. The din of conversation and lutesong makes a fine lullabye for the careworn traveler, and you might find yourself inadvertently dropping off to sleep. Or maybe someone’s fallen asleep on you.
Who can blame the slumberers, finally safe and warm and dry? In the tavern, the fires have been built up to ward off the chill and the damp, but relaxation is a little more difficult these days. You really have to elbow your way in there to get close to that warmth. Once you get close enough, you’ll find that the hearths are taken up with dozens and dozens of wet socks and wetter boots, steaming gently as they dry. Be disgusted if you want, or else peel off your own and go barefoot while you wait.
Hey! What’s going on over there? Someone’s taking one of your socks! Stop, thief!
If you can’t make it to the tavern, you might find yourself holed up somewhere a little more unlikely. The limited space within Skyhold means there aren’t a lot of free rooms. That door you shoulder open in desperation might have an owner already. Intrusions aren’t always unwelcome, but beware of what -- or who! -- you might find.
5. Lots of fish… and lots of weather.
WILDCARD. Whatever you do, just remember: there’s a lot of rain, you’re very wet, and if you’re feeling amorous, keep in mind that everyone smells like wet wool. We cannot stress this enough.
3
With her nugs. Not anywhere on her person. He valued his life too much to state otherwise. But this had not been fun or invigorating ten years ago and time had not made the experience any more desirable. After fighting to loosen one of his boots from the mud (and failing, and these are his good boots) he swore violently- though not so much that he had not heard the bear. Or the man yelling at him to move. Caught ankle deep in a mire Zevran could not exactly flee. "I can SEE that!"
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Luckily, it bought them both a few precious seconds, enough time for Blackwall to close the distance between them and make it very clear to the bear that he was the threat here.
With another loud shout, this one simply wordless determination, he takes a few swings at the beast and starts backing it away from the man, giving him time to escape, or at least get himself unstuck from the mud.
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Zevran stumbled free, staggering away from the muddy path in an attempt to flank the beast. Stealth would not be an option.
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The rogue, if that's what he is, will sneak around and do his thing, Blackwall's job is to keep the bear's attention on himself, which he'd been planning on doing anyway, and patiently chip away at it. He lands a few more calculated hits, moving strategically to avoid the bear's swipes at him. Getting hit is still ill advised, even when you have a shield.
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Fighting a bear. It is not entirely unlike fighting an Ogre (well they smell better than darkspawn) or a very small dragon. Not. Terribly small, but smaller than say a High Dragon. Definitely smaller than an Archdemon. And yet Zevran still finds he'd rather be on the working end of a ballista instead of attempting to sneak about and find an opening. While none is forthcoming the old tactic comes to mind and he, without a better plan-
Runs and leaps upon the beast's back, burying his daggers deep into the flesh of it's neck.
...He has had better plans, to be certain. A killing blow that does not quite kill leaves him clinging for dear life while the Bear roars in agony.
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Blackwall focused on the task at hand, fighting the bear as if he were alone. After the close shave with the dagger, he'd honestly lost track of the rogue, which suited him just fine. The man hadn't seemed to be hurt and hadn't been mauled by a bear, which was the important thing.
The sudden movement from behind the bear is very worrying and Blackwall nearly gets a massive paw to the face as he goes to the trouble of trying to get a better look at what new enemy he's dealing with when he realizes it's the rogue. Well, that's a pleasant surprise and definitely not a second bear coming to join the party. It's difficult to tell whether the daggers serve the killing blow or whether Blackwall's sword does. Zevran's attack gives him the opening he needs to drive the blade through the beasts chest, and it's all over. With one last roar the bear falls back down to all fours, takes a lumbering step forward and then collapses.
"Not bad," The warden says with an appreciative nod, working his blade loose from the creature, "You're not injured, are you?"
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Well.
All was damp but that was simply the way of things in the Hinterlands.
"And thus the beast was felled. Go team, Hurrah." Zevran wrenched his daggers free of the beasts' back and slid down it's furred hide. "Injured? No. Muddy? Yes. And yourself?"
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"Likewise. Muddy and wet is the worst of it," He studies the elf for a moment, recognizing the accent, which only serves to pique his curiosity, "Your accent. You're Antivan, aren't you? Long way from home."
Of course, the unspoken question is what the rogue is doing in the Hinterlands, but Blackwall isn't about to push for answers.
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His eyebrows raise in surprise upon hearing why the elf is in the Hinterlands.
"You're on an errand for the Wardens?" It's obvious by his tone that the stranger immediately has earned a handful of respect, "Are you a conscript or are you a Warden yourself?"
The strangest inflection creeps into Blackwall's voice, obvious reverence and respect for the Wardens and also something close to nervousness.
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Or running errands for them.
Or feeding them.
Or making certain they are all warm and as well rested as they possibly could be.
Someone must make certain they survive long enough to make more little wardens to save the world in future generations, it might as well be Zevran.
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"Well, that's more than most. I don't think anyone can fault you for valuing your own life," He clears his throat and offers out a thickly gloved hand to shake, "Warden Blackwall. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.
I hope it's not too forward of me, but if you're running an errand for the Wardens it only feels right to offer my assistance, if you'd have it."
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Provided they weren't soaked to the bone and covered in armor.
"Forward would be asking me to bed and is normally more my thing than the other way around." Another crackling laugh. "But no, it is not so forward as all that. I am seeking out supply caches left by those who camped here before-"
He hesitates a moment and shakes his head. "Before they moved on."
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This time Blackwall's laughter is genuine, unguarded and full, if a little embarrassed.
"I suppose, I set myself up for that one," He says, still chuckling. "Supply caches. Right. Well, I don't mind helping you look, if you don't mind the company. Though, at this point, anything left behind might be under water."
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"Served it up on a silver platter, much like your terribly fine self." His smirk takes a sultry edge for a moment, but only a moment. Work first, play later. "Not at all. Another pair of eyes for bears or hands for hauling would be marvelous. Why they chose to send an assassin to do a warrior's job I will never know."
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"Well, you got it half right. 'Terrible' isn't completely inaccurate," He's mostly joking. Mostly.
"So, I'm guessing we're looking for tents, or other noticeable signs of an old campsite?" Something large like that would be slightly easier to find in the rain and mud than crates he assumed, "Maybe they thought you'd be less likely to attract the attention of bears. Or get stuck in mud." Because now that neither of their lives were being threatened by said bears, it definitely seemed like something he should tease the stranger about.
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No wonder people grow so massive down here, they are constantly watered.
"Fire pits and the like. There should be crates with their griffon branded into the wood nearbye. I have the general area marked on my map but became preoccupied." By mud. "The whole myth of elves being light enough to walk on top of snow is just that, alas."
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He shuffles a few stray planks of wood he comes across with the toe of his boot, but upon closer inspection it definitely isn't what they're looking for.
"Maybe not an elf thing, no, but I thought assassins were supposed to be light on their feet. Agile." Face it, getting stuck in the mud was less than graceful.
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"You try landing light from a twenty five foot drop." He'd landed silently! But. Sunk upon impact. These things they do happen. He pauses to peer at the map, squinting about the hills for a moment before moving onward. "Avoiding a different bear. Why do they come in packs?"
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He pauses by what looks to be an old campsite, a singular tattered tent. If it'd belonged to wardens, there was no sign of any of their supplies left behind. He gives up on it and turns his attention back to the elf, scanning the treeline behind him for unwanted visitors.
"You ever been to Orlais? They seem to be one of the only places immune to our Southern rain. Decent food too."
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"I have worked in Orlais quite a bit in the past few years. Lovely men, gorgeous women, half decent wine, excellent chocolate- too much butter in everything but the tiny cakes." Which could always use a little more, in Zevran's opinion.
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He watched him pick up the crate, focus moving back to the conversation. "Lovely men and gorgeous women? How can you tell under those masks and all that frilly fabric?" He joked, though the easy answer there was 'take it off'.