lavellout: (attitude)
Rhiall Lavellan ([personal profile] lavellout) wrote in [community profile] tushanshu_ooc 2015-08-06 03:27 am (UTC)

Inquisitor Lavellan ❧ Dragon Age: Inquisition

a; console network
[Look, she might be medieval, but she's not stupid. She can figure out how to work this thing. In fact, she's picked it up rather quickly with help from the welcome center, along with a few other...miscellaneous tidbits of information.]

I heard a rumor that a foreign force is paying us a visit within the month, under the pretense— [Please pay attention to how she stresses that word.] —of recapturing one of their own. One of their own who, as I understand it, attempted to stage a coup here not so long ago.

And we're...letting the Grand Justicar of the same order march a small army in here, with only her word she's not simply bringing reinforcements.

...Who gave them permission to do that? And why?

[She may not have an army or a title here, but she's been 'round this block a few times. It generally Does Not Go Well.]

It's no business of mine, of course. [kermitdrinkingtea.jpg] But while we're at it, maybe we should roll out the tea and frilly cakes for their arrival? Never do things by halves, I say.

b; just outside the walls, probably in a cornfield or something tbh crop circles incoming
[She's experimenting. For the sake of not stirring up a fuss, she's doing it in a field just outside the city walls, where hopefully no one will notice anything funny going on.

The magic still works, she'd already tried that, though it has a certain...feel...like the thing that lets her unravel the fabric of reality is further away than it's ever been in her life. So does the mark still work? And can she—if she's crazy enough to try it, which she's not entirely sure she is—use it to access the Fade and, subsequently, home?

The answer to that is, apparently, no. She's not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

It's a reckless experiment, but she's taking care not to attract any attention from either side of reality. She only opens small ones, like she does in a fight, not big enough to let anything through but still enough for that same relentless pull she's weaponized time and again. She's flattened half the wheat in a ten foot radius around her, golden grain stalks bent and broken inward toward a central rift.

She can open them, but what she finds is she can't pass through them. Well, she can—in fact, she walks right through one, feels the hair on the back of her neck stand on end and the hum of energy and hiss of things beyond around her—but she doesn't go anywhere. She comes out on the other side in the same field she started in. May as well not have been a rift there at all.

She plants her staff on the ground and leans on it, chewing the inside of her lip, puzzled.
]

Well, damn.

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