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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.
Luke Skywalker | Star Wars original trilogy
Luke never thought he'd complain about rain. Okay, Dagobah had been unpleasantly swampy, and humid, but it had honestly been kind of a relief after the extremes of Tatooine and Hoth. This, though. This was just obscene. (And to someone who'd once been part of an industry devoted to saving the most minute bit of H2O from the air, that was literally true. It was a grotesque waste.)
Still, it'd have been more of a waste had he resigned himself to sitting around and keeping warm, so Luke was out, defending traders' wares from all manner of opportunists. He just hoped somewhere in part of this deal was a pair of warm socks.
(4)
Luke had never been much of a drinker. But there was something oddly reassuring about the fact that no matter where you went in the galaxy or, okay, the multi-verse, taverns and cantinas were pretty much alike. A wretched hive of scum and villainy, peopled by all manner of beings. And maybe, in most groups of scum and villainy, Luke's fresh-faced youth stood out. But it wasn't as if he couldn't take care of himself, at this point. And it sure beat the downpour outside, for which he'd been woefully inadequately prepared.
(wildcard)
[Come at me, bro. Luke is just-post-ROTJ so still young, but seen a lot.]
tavern!
It was a woman's voice, from somewhere over Luke's shoulder. A moment later its owner elbowed her way into the crowd of people hovering around the fire: a small, freckled, middle-aged lady with red hair braided and pinned at the nape of her neck, balancing a glass of wine in her left hand and carrying a cloak — a dry cloak — in the other. The cloak she draped over Luke's shoulders before settling onto a recently unoccupied chair nearby, tucking her knees up to her chest, bare feet hanging slightly over the chair edge. She was wearing what Luke may or may not have recognized as Circle mage robes, green trimmed in fawn and gold.
Alysanne smiled, making it plain she'd been teasing. "Then again, so do most of the rest of us." She'd been in here long enough to have mostly dried out, except for some damp strands of hair. There was a brief pause while she took a sip of her wine. Not bad — not the Orlesian vintage she would have preferred, but still, not bad.
She noted the lack of beverage in his hand, and her brows went up. "Not fond of wine?"
no subject
While he wasn't a refugee in the sense that most people were, here, he certainly was new to town.
"I'm Luke," he said, holding out a hand.
no subject
When he extended his hand she reached out hers to clasp it, a light grip that didn't linger. "First names, is it? Call me Alysanne, then. It's a pleasure." To be honest, she'd rather that than Senior Enchanter, which, while a well-earned title, still made her feel... old. Alysanne looked him over, a brief examination; he wasn't quite dressed like the others here.
"Forgive me for being nosy, but are you a rifter?"
no subject
But they were still his friends, more or less, so they had to try. He supposed it was a compliment, in a way, as much as an expression of greed. And that was when he felt it, the way the Force surged and sang, refocusing around a pair of bright blue eyes, and a young, round face. He didn't recognize the young man who'd just taken a seat in the tavern, but he felt sure that he should.
Obi-Wan collected his complimentary wine, difficult to refuse given the weather, and the insistence of their host, and crossed the crowd to sit beside Luke. After all, a Jedi trusts his instincts.
"Hello there," He said, by way of greeting, "You must be a new arrival. I don't believe we've met."
no subject
Luke stared, rather rudely, at the too-young face surrounding familiar eyes. The voice, just the same, but in a man the years had not yet weathered with pain and solitude. He didn't know how it was possible, or why.
But this was Ben.
If there'd been any doubt upon hearing the voice, seeing the man, there was the Force, pinpointing with terrific accuracy the echoes of familiarity he'd felt upon entering the tavern. Close your mouth, Luke, he chided himself. It's not as if you've never seen a ghost. He was pretty sure he looked like an idiot, but it didn't really matter because somehow, in this mixed-up world he'd fallen into, he'd found Ben Kenobi. Or Ben had found him. How was he supposed to handle Obi-Wan not knowing him? How was he supposed to handle being from the man's future. Rifts and fades were one thing--Luke was used to strange new worlds with stranger people. This was throwing him for a loop.
"Yes," he said after an awkwardly long pause. "I'm... new. Here." He couldn't stop staring. "Skywalker. Is my name. Luke Skywalker."
no subject
At first he'd thought he simply startled him. And then, as the silence wore on, he wondered if he didn't have something on his face; was it caught in his beard? No. Alright then. Maybe he'd just encountered him by mistake-- a coincidental meeting with the conversational equivalent of a wordless interrobang.
But nobody with that name could be a coincidence.
"Luke," He said, with as much caution as he could manage, "Any relation to a Schmee Skywalker?"
He's too old to be a child of Anakin's, thank goodness, but now that he's looking for it, there's a certain family resemblance. Blue eyes, easy smile-- a long lost Skywalker brother, perhaps? That'd explain the strength with which Luke's presence affects the Force, at least.
no subject
"If that's someone you know, then, yes. I know this doesn't make sense, but--we've met. When you're older. I'm... I'm Anakin Skywalker's son."
no subject
"...Pardon?"
What fresh hell the Skywalker name has brought to his feet.
no subject
Which is a huge confidence boost, right?
Luke sighs. "It's, um. A really long story that clearly starts after... whenever you're from. I'm not sure if it's safe to tell you." His brow furrows. "Wait. You... do know Anakin Skywalker, right?"
no subject
Much to Obi-Wan's continual delight and dismay, but that's another thing. This is why they forbid attachments, but even Obi-Wan is only human; and Anakin, for all his faults, has a good heart.
"Who--" His mother. For a moment, Obi-Wan looks askance, then winces as he puts it together. Padme. It had to be Padme. No one else, or at least no other human woman, was so close to Anakin. And that was when Obi-Wan realized, perhaps worst of all, that he actually believed Luke's ridiculous story, "...Of course."
no subject
After all, you can't really get more awkward reunion than Cloud City.
"Wait," he says. He's now turned totally towards Obi-Wan, entire focus on the other man. The rifts, the rain, the Chantry and the Inquisition all fall away, for the moment. "What do you mean 'of course'?"
no subject
Do they win the clone wars? Does the Republic survive? Is Anakin well? If you are a Jedi, if the future is not ash, if Luke himself is happy, a thousand small things, each more fraught than the last. Can they even affect that future, from here? The nature of time and space, mysterious as it is, is pinched off here, a remote claudication. It's possible that no memories of this place will remain, if they ever leave.
"Assuming you are from the future, you do realize it's not possible to hide everything. Unless you're planning not to speak with me at all."
no subject
Tavern
Unfortunately, the charm that originally had earned her an invitation to the game had turned somewhat sour as the night wore on and as she continued to win. She could smell it as the adrenaline around her rose and pulses quickened.
She tried to lose a few hands, but that didn't help.
And anyway, she wanted to use the money to help fund Katniss' building project.
And so it happened that after winning yet another hand, one of the men at the table stood up, violently flipping his chair over and pounding his fists on the table.
Definitely time to escape...