farsickooc | Test Drive Meme #1

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*test drive meme

Test Drive Meme #1

Welcome to Fernweh's Test Drive Meme! Do you have an interest in joining the game? Need to make sure the setting works for you and your character first? Or have you made the decision to join the game and need fresh samples for your application? Whatever the reason, feel free to use the scenarios however you wish.

You know what to do! If you don’t, just follow the instructions.

How To Play:

→ Comment with the character you would like to test drive (duplicates are allowed)
→ Choose a scenario or start your own
→ Tag around
→ Have fun!

SCENARIOS

01. Arrival

You have been sitting and staring at the sign above you for some time now, lost in a blur of swirling questions that seems to start with how you ended up there; in a place (and time, maybe) that you know you weren't an hour earlier. Or maybe you're an old hand at this by now and you've figured out that this is simply another stop that the multiverse bus has made. So why not get off and look around a little?

At any rate, the sign points you towards the direction of a place called "Gazin", which looks like a decent-sized town from where you stand. There has to be someone who can explain.

02. Around Town

So, you've settled in. Well, mostly. At least you know where things are without taking too many wrong turns and ending up in the less desirable areas of town. But now you can go about your day. Visit the market, check out the local shops or have a drink with a new friend at one of several inns.

03. Exploring

You've heard people talk about some pretty interesting places and now you're itching to get out and find them. Be careful though, there are creatures and monsters out there that will be pretty interested in meeting you and may wish to have you for its next meal. Better take someone along. And maybe some weapons, too. Make sure one is made of silver.

04. Monsters

So, you managed to find that location you were looking for. Good for you! Only.. it seems you've also found one of the native creatures to the area and you now face to face with it. Um. Good luck! We'll see you when you get back!

Hopefully.

05. Celebration

It won't take long for you to figure out that people of Gazin are, all in all, pretty happy people. It shows, too, when a seemingly quiet evening suddenly bursts into a random, impromptu party to celebrate whatever good fortune has touched a person. Name Days, good harvests, betrothals, weddings, or just life in general.

Sing, dance, drink and be happy, too!

06. Wild Card!

Want something else? Feel free to choose your own adventure or mix and match to create something completely different!

NAVIGATION

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

01. Arrival

Geralt of Rivia is typically a calm guy, though he is also often grumpy and finding himself in an unknown place by way of unknown means is only adding to his irritation. Not to mention he's without either of his swords and that alone leaves him feeling not particularly friendly if someone else happens to be close-by and wanting to chat.

Amber eyes look ahead and then slowly move behind him, sure he would spot the leftovers of an active portal which would solve the puzzle of how he got there. But spotting the violet-eyed sorceress, who might still be mad at him for his last wish, wasn't much of a success. He didn't even have a horse. Well, not yet, anyway.

Letting out a long, deep, grumbly sigh, Geralt starts his walk towards the city where he hopes to get some answers.

05. Celebration

The longer Geralt is there, the more he could close his eyes and imagine himself in Novigrad or Vizima, giving a sense of familiarity in a small way. He's spent the last few days since arriving quietly getting to know the area, listening in on conversations that have to do with "pest" control and the odd regaling of a patron's tale of when he came face to face with a monster! It was one of the better tales he'd heard, but it still made his eyes roll.

When the music picked up and the celebration began, Geralt remained in his corner, drinking his pitcher of ale while looking every bit the part of someone who wanted to be left alone. Of course, that didn't stop some of the females from wandering over...

Edited 2020-01-02 18:09 (UTC)

Oh, the horrors.

His greatest creation; Major Sir Eric Moreland Clapham-Lee, had returned. He had returned to the house the scientist and his partner had shared in Boston. One moment the sounds of the dead coming through the old masonry, and the sound of his partner screaming and fainting. He prayed for the first time since his youth, wishing deeply to be anywhere else, trying to press against the wall to fight off the death coming for him.

The sun was suddenly bright, everything was blurry for a moment as his glasses had gone askew when he appeared before the sign. His long blond locks tied back in a simple black ribbon, dressed in a very sharp suit and a long evening jacket over it, as he had been ready to go out on a job before the package arrived and destroyed any hope he ever had of escaping his creations.

Reaching up with shakey hands he pushed his glasses up looking around.

Dunwich had been tiny and vast, but this land around this sign, didn't have the same feel as his damned childhood home. Looking up at the sign once more he idly wondered if he had rightly, and truly gone mad, he had been in Boston, likely about to met his end and yet... here he was.

And here he started to walk towards the town, he pulled his coat closed tighter around him as he moved down the road. The man himself, was a fair slender looking youth, looking no more than nineteen at best, which was far from true, but his crimes had never touched his face or body, he stayed forever young as he moved through the world commmiting crimes against life and death looking to stop true order of man's plan, live and die. No, West wanted to live forever. To let everyone live forever if he could. And for now, the delicate looking man simply walked wondering what kind of town Gazin would be.

01. Arrival.

This isn’t the first time Cassandra has ended up somewhere strange. She’s almost getting used to it, by now. And at least she’s not naked, this time. That is something. She finds she doesn’t mind it, either; she’d been filled with such a desperate desire to be free of the City, to be back in Rome, to be somewhere familiar. (Not Whitestone. Never Whitestone.) To be somewhere... else.

And here she is, somewhere that reminds her a bit of Rome, and more of the good parts of Tal’Dorei, the ones outside Whitestone’s walls. She almost feels.... lighter, for however intense the relief filling her chest is.

The city Gazin sounds as good a place as any to begin learning more about the world where she’s found herself, so she begins walking towards it.

02. Around Town.

Learning more about the world where she’s found herself proves terribly interesting, and she finds herself exploring the town of Gazin at length. The market is lovely, and she picks up a bit of produce, as well as a trinket or two from the shops. She even has a drink or two at one of the inns.

Her favourite places, however, are the herbarium and the apothecary, and she spends a great deal of time there, talking plants and remedies. She does, after all, still have her Ceres given gifts, here. It would do her well to learn more about the flora she’ll be dealing with.

05. Celebration.

There’s a happiness to the people of Gazin that’s almost overwhelming at times. Cassandra’s not accustomed to this, the levity and cheer.... She is, however, terribly accustomed to the sudden bursting into celebration. Rome had been very fond of their festivals, after all. She’s just glad there’s less... nudity involved with these parties.

(That had been how she ended up with multiple carved winged phalloi. Not by choice, but she’d ended up with them.)

She prefers to keep to the outskirts of the celebration, though, sitting with her food and her ale at a table and watching the revelry going on around her. And hoping that she’ll be left alone for the time being.

06.Wildcard!

[Choose your own adventure!]

Edited 2020-01-02 21:15 (UTC)

Cassandra feels much like he does, in the preferring to be left alone. But it’s rather difficult with the celebrations going on around them. All she wants to do is sit and eat and drink in peace... After the third time she has to slip out of someone’s reach or sidle out of their way there is a spate of swearing running silently through her head. Pelor she just wants to sit and eat and breathe without someone constantly seeing if she’d like to dance or like some company. (No, no she does not.)

The sight of him, sitting in his corner with his ale looking like she feels, with more than one woman making their way over to him with predatory gazes in their eyes, gives her an idea. A way to possibly kill two birds with one stone and perhaps get them BOTH left alone for the moment. If he goes along with it. How she wishes Ceres had gifted her with telepathy.

So she wends her way gracefully through the inn, easily reaching his table before the women who have set their eyes on him, giving him an easy, familiar smile as though they actually know each other. “There you are,” she says, settling into the chair opposite him and setting her ale and plate of food down on the table. “I couldn’t find you for all the celebration going on.” Her sharp blue-eyed gaze shifts to the women who have finally sidled up to the table, arching an eyebrow as if to ask them ‘need something?’. With a touch of 'Do you mind?'

01. arrival

[ Beau is not the type to sit still for too long, so while she has no idea where she is or what happened, she decides that standing there, staring at a sign won't get her anywhere.

So she heads down the path, straight to Gazin. Maybe she's found on the road, walking double time, gaze skittering here, there, everywhere in a distrustful, wary kind of way. She's looking for something. Someones. And they're not there.

The city that greets her is bustling and full. She wanders through the streets for a moment, trying to get the lay of the land, but quickly finds herself making eye contact with someone. She nods in a casual greeting, sauntering closer. In her comfortable and vibrant blue monk's robes, she looks relatively unassuming. But there's a great deal of muscle to her frame. She's doing her best to walk that fine line between gruff and friendly. It's hard for her. ]

Hey. What's the best place to get a drink around here?

02. around town

[ She settles in as much as she can without the Mighty Nein present. That is, she makes herself at home in the local tavern, sipping at poor beer and nonchalantly eavesdropping. Nothing sinister going on here; she's just looking for an explanation. For how she got here, for what here is, for where her friends are. Bad things are afoot back home and she doesn't trust her sudden arrival here one bit.

She moves from the bar to a table, nodding in greeting to the assorted persons playing a dice game there. She has enough gold in her pocket to get her through some time here, but she has to make more. She's not great at dice, but it's one way to get the conversation going.

Or maybe she's at the bulletin board looking for a job. Or information. Beau is not above a little criminal activity to make her way, and it's a good way to get the lay of the land. Better than honest work. She just has to be careful what she chooses.

And then there's the possibility that she arrives at a table out of the blue, nodding to the occupant with a casual air. ]

Hey. Strange place, huh?

03. exploring

[ Beau doesn't have any silver. Well, she has silver pieces, but not a silver weapon. All the same, she trusts her fists more than she trusts most people. So she heads out to the forest, a job on her mind. A goblin's stolen a family heirloom from someone in Gazin, and Beau's going to get paid good money to find it.

She tracks (or sort of tracks, sort of hopes) the creature to the forest. There she stands on the edge of the greenery, looking in at the dense mass of trees and branches. It's not the best situation. But she twirls her staff and considers how to start. ]

04. monsters

[ It's not a goblin that she finds but a harpy, which is just fantastic because she doesn't have any ranged weapons except throwing stars and she's not about to prick this thing to death. But every time the harpy makes a dive at her, Beau has an opportunity to grab, jump and strike. Lightning crackles in her bracers as she prepares to take another strike at the attacking creature. ]

Come on, you fucker.

05. celebration

[ She's a bit worse for wear after the battle with the harpy, but she's succeeded in that tussle, if not in finding the missing heirloom. She comes back to the town only to find herself in the middle of a celebration. It doesn't matter that she has no idea what it's for; Beau doesn't bother to find out. She simply makes a bee line for the alcohol, chugging down one cup before taking another. The second she takes a gulp of, but then slows down on, sipping instead as she gazes at the crowd. ]

Do we have any idea what this if for? [ She asks this of no one in particular, not even sure she'll get an answer. ]

06. wildcard

(( Open to anything and everything. Will match formats. evilsalmon or Evil Salmon#2308. ))

01. Arrival

These weren't her woods. This wasn't her cozy, well hidden tree home. The air, the plants, the feel of the place was strikingly different from the forests that Isa had been roaming around for most of her life. The most familiarity she had was with was her druid's staff and her short swords belted against her hips. She'd have prefered her bow.

With no real telling how she got here, having slept long past the portal that transported her closing behind it's deposit, and so Isa followed the signs. Without a cloak to hide under, Isa used the rose gold lengths of her hair to hide the shortened tips of her ears as she came into the edges of town.

Well, it didn't actively look like a bad place, but that meant nothing. You didn't live to a hundred and fifty by being fooled by appearances.

03. Exploring

As decent as most of the town seemed to be, Isa had never been much for larger towns and their bustle, much preferring nomads or her own Treefolk, who integrated beautifully with their environment instead of jutting up in the middle of a place with square stone boxes. Isa didn't hold it against them; they were built by young souls who'd seen very little of the beauty that the world could offer, or how they could live within it without such blatant destruction to give them space.

After she'd asked some questions and begged a bit of bread, her coin purse still on her horse back where she'd fallen asleep, Isa headed back out of town. She'd slept and lived wild before and Ranger skills were deeply useful for this kind of thing. You know. Waking up in another world kind of thing? The further south she traveled, the lighter she felt and the oncoming treeline of Vasari Forest was clearly why. Her face broke out into a grin as she trotted forward and into the forest.

There was little foreboding and she'd grown up amid similar trees - how could she be less than pleased to see them?

05. Celebration

Parties were not a new thing. Parties without some sense of upstanding sobriety were less so and while Isa had attended a few very small parties that weren't of the weighty Elven traditions, she was not wholly prepared for the noise and joy that greeted her as she came out onto the street.

The lights and music, the wildly free dancing looked graceful and raw, beautiful in its unrefined freedom. Someone pressed a drink into her hand and Isa took it with a half spoken thanks as the someone was already go back into the frey again. She couldn't partake, not really and so found herself walking around the edges, openly watching the faces of those participating with a subtle note of curious fascination, drink all but forgotten in her grasp.

There didn't seem to be a reason for the party, after a few gently asked questions and Isa marveled at their ability and willingness to celebrate nothing. Everything. How strange.

The Viking had uttered the wish many, many times before and nothing had ever happened, thinking the Gods must have seen a reason for him to stay and finish whatever business he needed to. Never did he wish it in battle, even though no man ever did. Ragnar doesn't remember wishing it while he was taking care of King Horik for his betrayal and deceit or the rest of his family. And it didn't come to him that he was there because of a thought he didn't remember having.

But that was what the man in the hooded robe told him, right after he waved his hand and spoke in a language he could understand. It was magic he only ever heard of and there was a quiet suspicion that the man who introduced himself only as Bhalris must have been a god. Because only gods could do that sort of thing, right?

Ragnar walked with the druid until they reached the Gazin gates and then spent the next little while looking around, wondering when he would find his family.

Surely if he made it there, they did, too.

Meanwhile, West was a man who cared not for any religion, any thoughts of life beyond death. Only the deep seeded hatred of death itself. His one true enemy. While he didn't truely beleive in anything, he also deeply felt that not everything could be explained by his beloved science. A true-born son of the Miskatonic Valley, he knew some things could never be explained, better to ignore those things, the whispers of the horrors of Innsmouth or rituals the Whateley's preformed on certain nights, before he left Dunwich for good to attend Miskatonic.

He had only made it past the gates a bit, paying mind to the way the natives seemed to be dressed. What in the actual hell was this? What had happened? Was he dead, or in a coma? Was their life after death or was it right and true madness?

He didn't have a chance to respond as a hand reached out to grab him, jolting his glasses off onto the ground, thankfully no one stepped on them and they didn't seem to crack, his free hand reached into his jacket only to find his revolver gone. The bigger man was stronger as the petite man spoke in a deeper voice than one would expect for him. "Unhand me, you vile fiend!"

This? This was nothing like what she was used to. Like New York or even freakin' L.A., which was always a bit of a shit-show full of hippy-dippy stuff, as far as she was concerned. Any city that had coffee colonics and places that would cleanse your lady bits with crystals was a fucked-up place, as far as Jessica was concerned. But then, Jessica thought a lot of shit was too touchy-feely, and a bar with booze and a quiet corner to hide herself in was the kind of speed she could be happy with.

That being said, she couldn't help but notice the steady fluttering of the female parties around the men that sat here and there. Over there was a bear of a man, who looked like he might be part actual bear, beard included. He had two women on his lap and was having a good time. Another corner had some rock'n'roller type; blonde hair and a smile and weird velveteen duds that the one on his lap couldn't stop petting. The other corner had some older guy, long greyish-white hair and a surly look on his face. But he looked solid. Sturdy. not quite as old as that hair would imply. And she watched women flit over, then flit off. Then flit over. Then flit off. Curious, because it seemed like this whole thing was just a rude escape from reality for her, she got up with a pitcher of something that was harder than beer or 'ale', and a mug she was sipping from. Then she went over and sat across from him, setting both objects down, pouring herself a glass, then sipping from it as she watched him over it. A quick glance over what she could see of him, then she met eyes that were like someone had taken them out of a tiger and popped them in a human face. Gold. And he looked younger up close than he had from further away. "So, you seem happy to be here. Even happier than me, if that's possible." That? That was sarcasm, Geralt.

ARRIVAL.

Well, [ Dylan's got both hands on his lap, his head tilting slightly in the direction of whoever's sitting with him ] that's gotta be a sign, right?

[ Haha, literally. The name "Gazin" doesn't ring any bells, and Dylan definitely doesn't remember walking here and going to sit, of all things, but he's had enough of sitting awkwardly with some stranger by his side. Don't get him wrong, he likes his silence-- he just doesn't like it in the middle of the freaking unknown.

When you don't know what to do, it's best to find a solution.

So he gets up, exhaling softly, and looks in the direction the sign is pointing to. ] I'm heading there. [ Then he turns back, catching his companion's gaze. ]

You coming?

EXPLORING. ( ROSELAKE )

[ Chances are you, like Dylan, have felt something in your chest pulling you to Roselake. He's not much of a group or partner guy, but he understands the dangers of travelling alone, and probably on merit of keeping safe had convinced you to head over to that "spiritually charged" area northeast of Gazin alongside him.

Was he ready to be disappointed? Sure. But instead, with the sun kissing the horizon good night, he finds himself witness to fire fennecs dancing about the area instead-- small, and cute, and graceful as hell. ] Heh. At least some places are like home.

[ And don't get Dylan wrong-- he likes the old timey era more than anyone, probably, but it isn't the time period that makes him feel out of place. The blacksmith's is cool, the apothecary is cooler, but it's all pretty "normal" in terms of societal standards. Seeing what's definitely a supernatural creature is the clincher that makes him feel like he hasn't left New Orleans at all.

Fire fennecs... he's not sure what attracts them, but he looks about for a stick and picks a sizeable one up. Then he heads back to you, holding the stick out. ]

Wanna see if it'll play fetch?

MONSTERS.

[ Dylan bolts up from the bench he's fallen asleep on because something's crashed a few metres away. He blinks blearily, trying to adjust to darkness around him-- temperature-wise, he'd put the time at a little past two in the morning-- and then reels back at the sight of... what is that, a werewolf?

It darts, briefly, into moonlight, and he realises that it's anything but. It looks decidedly more canine than a werewolf, more like a beast than anything even slightly resembling human, and based on the way it's snarling as it turns barrels over and smashes into carts, it isn't really in a good mood, either.

The creature turns its big head, eyes glowing in the darkness, and looks like it's focusing on something. Dylan follows it, and while he doesn't quite see what it's looking at, he slips from the bench as quietly as he can to tiptoe a little closer to the area.

From this distance, he can just make out the shape of someone else out there-- someone else that this monster doesn't like. Dylan counts himself lucky the creature hadn't noticed him instead, but a long-hammered instinct to protect people and the undead from each other tells him to help the poor sap that the creature's locked sight on.

Thing is, he didn't account for how fast the thing would dart to him once he whistled for its attention, and Dylan only barely manages to dodge its lunge while crying out: ] Hurry up and run!

WILDCARD.

Leave me a starter or PM me if you'd like to discuss anything first. Feel free to reply through paragraph or brackets, past or present tense-- I'll adjust to whatever you choose.

Edited 2020-01-03 14:13 (UTC)

There is a flapping of wings overhead, and then a thump sound, that rattles the ground, and a soft voice, loud and yet not loud, comes to her ears.

"Lady Cassandra Johanna von Musel Klossowski de Rolo. It is good to see a friendly face." Behind her, close to the ground, settled and laying so that their head is lowered, and not completely towering over her, is J'mon Sa Ord, or as they are known in dragon form, Devo'ssa. Their draconian lips are curved in a smile as they survey the woman and the land around.

This land is new to them, but while they are startled and displeased to be stolen against heir will, there is also excitement, for this is the first new nonviolent thing to happen to them in a very long time. And in a life so long, new things are treasured.

[ Natasha groans softly at the joke about the metaphorical and literal sign, though a small smile cracks for just a briefest of moments at the edge of her lips. She'd been content to be in silence; she does her best work that way. ]

I suppose it is a sign, yes.

[ Her accent is a nondescript American one — something that wouldn't stand out as especially notable to Americans or people familiar with the country's accents. What she can't do anything about is her attire of A Definitely Normal Black Catsuit. Maybe she can make a joke about Casual Fridays at work. She stands, giving a slight tilt of her head. ]

Sounds like the famous last words of people who go find trouble or have it find them.

[ Which is to say, yes she's coming. ]

[ The woman stands and the corner of Dylan's mouth tugs up slightly in respect. ] Now, why've they gotta be last words?

[ He likes to think he's at least a little more durable than that (but in her defence, he really does get the crap kicked out of him pretty often).

The path is in no way a planned construct; it's been beaten in by travel, dirt in the middle and grass at the sides. Dylan takes note of some grooves of horse hooves and the distinct lack of tire marks, and looks back up to catch sight of the town off in the distance. Maybe it's an Amish settlement?

Without preamble, he asks, ] Do you remember how you got here?

"This place is a little weird, huh?"

Have an odded out half-orc standing to one side of the big party, watching it with worried and confused eyes. He had seen people get happy about the oddest of things, but never about nothing at all. Not without magic at play anyway. He had prayed to the Wildmother earlier that morning, but gotten no answers, and he was troubled by that, too.

Glancing at the woman, Fjord nodded, lifting a drink in salute. A drink he had brought elsewhere and brought with him. he had a weird feeling about this place.

1 -the search for guns
This wasn't Pandemonium. Or perhaps it was. Perhaps he was under some sort of illusion magic or maybe he'd been banished to some other plain of existence. Perhaps he was hallucinating from the pain of that random bugbear that tore his arm off. Percy is certain he's not dreaming. So wherever he is, he needs to get his bearings. He needs to get back. But for now, he takes quick stock of everything.

Very quick stock.

"Oh no." After all, some very very important belongings are missing. Things other than his arm. Bad News and Anamus are missing. He has Manners and Deplomacy.

He needs to think calmly and rationally about this. Step one, find his guns. Step two, a cleric, to grow his arm back. Thus, the one armed Lord of Whitestone can be found combing the area. He can't let them fall into the wrong hands. They've done enough damage already.

[2 - I need healing]
After a lengthy search for his missing weapons, Percy finally admits, at least to himself, that he sort of does need that other arm. A visit to the local cleric is in order. The problem, he doesn't really have any clout in this city. No one has heard of him and demanding assistance hasn't gotten him more than a few dozen doors slammed in his face.

But a door has never stopped Percy (except all those times it had). The man heads through town with purpose, approaching whoever he can find that looks even remotely like they are in charge.

"Hello. My name is Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the third. I'm looking for a house of healing."

[3 - the search for Gold]
What do you know. The more things change... it's been a while since he'd been a dirt poor adventurer, with only the List and the rest of Vox Machina. It's rather much like the bad old days, charging out into the unknown with a half-assed plan if any plan at all after the Gods knew what in hopes of making enough to afford not sleeping out in the woods, again.

Healing had not come cheeply. Without the local coin, he had to barter his skills. Percy is no ranger however. He's not the Mistry of the Grey Hunt. He asks himself what Vex would do in this situation.

Certainly not crashing about with nothing but a sword. But sadly, the silvered sword is the only real weapon he has to his name right now. That and his companion.

His poor companion in this hunt. Percy, as usual is trying to take charge. "I think that of we surround it, we'll have a much easier time of it." He says it with a confidence he doesn't actually feel.

[4 - the search for the stick]

Percy doesn't do parties for the most part. He'll celebrate when it's appropriate. This party for all occasions is taxing his patience. The pub is wild around him. He mostly ignores it, sketching some designs in a small book he's managed to snag.

He doesn't even look up to grump at the proceedings. "You'd think they'd never get anything done, with how often this goes on." He's not jealous. Not one bit.

Wildcard

Edited 2020-01-03 22:53 (UTC)

Somehow, seeing an orc made more sense than the jubilation in front of them. Isa lifted her own drink in response but still didn't sip at it, glancing at the crowd as she steps closer for a more conversational tone. It wasn't that she couldn't hear him well enough, only that she didn't want to make herself be heard in such a way. The loud boisterous way.

"Weird. New. Strange. Certainly words for a place like this. Farsennia. It's on no map that I know of." Nor in any legends or tales or songs.

"Have you gotten a straight answer on what their celebrating yet?" Some celebrations ended in less than celebratory ways and while she hadn't gotten a whisper of it yet, she wasn't ruling it out as a possibility, however slight it may be.

"I'm pretty sure we are way past the edge of the map." Which has meaning for him as a sailor. The edge of the map means danger. Chances, too, but danger most of all.

"Not at all. I'm not sure there is a reason. It seems like, well, almost like they just spontaneously started partying."

Which reminds him of one thing, a thing that, on this scale bothers him. Magic.

"Perhaps they'll spontaneously stop." Isa looked at her cup again with a faint look of displeasure and poured it out on her far side before tossing it away. This could all be caused by magic, yes, but she had heard of some compounds that rendered one without their free will.

"It's better than the alternative. There are worse greetings to a new place." Without anything to fill her hands, she propped her palms on her pommels and propped a boot on the wall. They all looked almost genuinely happy and that was something to marvel at as well. Normally there were at least 3 dissatisfied faces, over something. Perhaps she was just looking in the wrong places to set her mind at ease.

"And the music is tolerable." The faint slant of her lips suggested it was more than tolerable, but private joys were private for a reason, to her way of thinking.

The last time he had seen Cassanadra, it had been right after they had returned from their defeating Vecna. He'd barely stepped foot inside before that fool had done what Vex had been worried about. Grog had pulled a card, the wrong card, from that confounded deck. and then they were off again. No chance to take a breath, no chance to really handle their injuries and their losses. It had been over, finally. He had finally been about to take his place, remove the burden from his sister and then they were off again, to find their way to Pandemonium to get back the soul of their Goliath friend.

Now, he is here in this strange place. He's here without his guns, without Vex or anyone useful. Hell, he'd even except Scanlan right now, but Percy had been alone. Alone until he had seen her. He sees her and as always, there's a small spike of guilt that he doesn't acknowledge. For leaving her behind, again, to deal with Whitestone while he ran off to save the world. Instead, he sweeps to where she's at. Where the plants seem to bloom like she's been taking pointers from Keyleth.

"A far cry from snowdrops, but pretty none the less."

"Perhaps? " He's not sure. His smooth (British sounding) voice was low and rumbly, and filled, in this case, with doubt. These people are crazy, he though.

"I suppose so." He offered her his small flask, a gift from a friend back home that was getting some use, here. "Here, purified water. Nothing from here."

The comment on the music made him look askance at her. "Its... something, anyway."

01. ARRIVAL

Emma sat on the rock staring at the sign above her head. Killian, Hook, whatever he went by was nowhere to be found, not that she had looked particularly hard, no she was in too much shock to look for anyone at the moment. She had just been sucked into a portal, yeah, but she was pretty sure it wasn't a place called Gazin.

If there was a tree remotely close to where she sat, she would be hitting her head against it because she wishes this was the first time she ended up in a place that she didn't belong. Displacement was becoming old hat to the savior, well, best be getting to it then, find a way home and not dying would be an added bonus.

Exploring

Emma felt most comfortable with a sword in her hand and she wasn't one for celebrations unless they were mandatory so she took the opportunity to explore the world around her. A crack of a branch had her spinning around, sword raised.

"Who's there?"

Wildcard

[ I am terrible at starters but feel free to spot her anywhere. ]

Between the third and fourth women that came over to proposition him, Geralt had made the decision to try his best to quietly disappear. But as luck would have it, one boisterous female was already heading his way, smiling big to show off several missing teeth. A groan sounds low in his throat while he closes his eyes, knowing that there was simply no more patience left in him to maintain even an iota of civility.

Taking a deep breath, the Witcher reopens his eyes to find someone else sitting in front of him; someone far more beautiful and who had all her teeth. Yet, he stares, more than a little confusion in the amber eyes that are narrowed on the woman across from him. He looks at the other over her shoulder and then back at her. He fakes a smile and nods, clearly not sure how to play this little game. When the toothless woman retreats, Geralt looks at Cassandra, returning with a look of his own.

One that asked why did you do that?

Once the toothless woman who had had her sights set on him has left to seek out other targets Cassandra turns her attention to the man seated across from her. White-haired, amber-eyed, and terribly striking (handsome, the word is handsome). And looking at her as though he’s wondering why she’d done it. Which only makes sense. She is a stranger, after all.

She exhales softly and gives him a small smile. “My apologies for intruding. But it seemed the best way to try and keep your... ‘admirers’ at bay. They didn’t seem to be getting the hint.” Her gaze shifts to one of the men who had been trying his damndest to proposition her. “And I hoped that it would help keep mine at bay as well.” If she’d had to avoid one more hand trying to touch her without invitation she was going to be driven to punching someone.

And Geralt is well versed in sarcasm and can take it as well as give it.

His lips press into a thin line, the corners barely lifting in what most would call a fake, but courteous smile; the same smile he's been giving all night, though he's been around now long enough to be able to tell apart the ones that showed up like him from the civilians who have always been there. But there's something about the raven-haired woman sitting across from him that reminds him a little of Yennefer, if only by that sarcasm with which she's speaking.

"You have no idea," he answers, stonefaced. "You must have missed me jumping around and singing jovially at the top of my lungs."

Isa shrugged. "I haven't been here long enough to know how deeply into the night these people might celebrate. How conservate they might be." Anything was possible here, right? The rules hadn't been set yet, hadn't been figured out.

Murmuring a soft thanks, Isa took the flask, sniffing it softly before knocking back a shallow sip. Refreshing. "I wish I'd had the foresight to bring my own." Handing the flask back with a small smile, Isa looked him up and down.

"I've heard worse. I'm Isa," she offered with a faint tilt of her head. "New, much like I assume you are."

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Test Drive Meme #1

Geralt of Rivia | The Witcher (Netflix)

Herbert West - H.P Lovecraft's ReAnimator - 01

Cassandra de Rolo | Critical Role

05. Celebration

beauregard lionett | critical role (campaign 2) | circa ep 69

Isa Riverwood | OC

S2 Ragnar

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5

dylan dog | dylan dog: dead of night

Re: Cassandra de Rolo | Critical Role

@ arrival

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Celebration time, come on!

Percival de Rolo | Critical Roll | OTA

WOOHOO~

Re: WOOHOO~

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2 I'm so sorry

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Emma Swan | OUaT

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/dies laughing

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