closed.

[propulsion]

WHO: Ellis, Lukas, Mhavos Dalat, Tony Stark Rhodes-Potts
WHAT: Do you remember finding those obscure drawn maps in Dragon Age: Inquisition of waterfalls and shit and getting very angry attempting to decipher them? Yeah.
WHEN: Harvestmere.
WHERE: On the way to and within the Planasene Forest.
NOTES: They anticipate at most three nights of camping, with some supplies to stretch that if somehow necessary, but likely no one wants to waste more time than that on this. Warnings TBA but probably not.

It's the bottom of the barrel as far as Riftwatch priorities are concerned, but eventually, someone has to check it off the list. It is a map and a report on its circumstances, found and compiled who knows how long ago, and by map and report-- the childish drawing of a mountainous range with arrows and circles and an X marking the spot, along with the barely legible half-assed note along with it, only barely count as either thing.

But here they are.

The map is not a bird's eye view depiction of rivers and roads and territories as expected of maps, but drawn from a ground-level perspective, presumably, and will likely only make any sense once they get there.

The report describes something about a researcher, Bernardo Kesoro, having taken a hermitage in the foothills of the Planasene Forest, and the map that was found on his unfortunate rotting corpse. It speculates as to the likelihood of valuables to be found at this location, and the frustration they personally had in attempting to decipher the map themselves before giving up. They suppose: rare texts, alchemy supplies, a cache of gold, or perhaps nothing at all.

Maybe someone will have better luck than they.

Maybe these are those someones.

Comments

[murderbaby]

Mhavos gives a slight shrug. "You haven't been here very long, and I don't know much of your world. Honestly, I'm in no place to judge."

Just to be judgmental.

He holds open his book, letting the pages face the wind as it comes in, drying the ink. "I don't think one should be in the habit of self-evaluation, though."

[propulsion]

Tony places a hand on the edge of the cart, an easy cheat towards propelling him along. Probably few minutes and he won't be able to keep up this peace without needlessly tuckering himself out, but it's good to get his limbs moving, returning blood flow through certain critical areas.

"Maybe your world should consider inventing therapy," he says, mild exertion doing nothing to slow the ready tempo of his words. "Then I wouldn't have to. And correction: you know exactly jack about my world."

[murderbaby]

"Perhaps you should tell me what therapy is so I can invent it," dry as ever.

He looks up with something that might have been a smile. Just now, it's canny. "I know you come from it. And you brought along with you the secondary parasite that is your personality. Two natives from your world. I know something."

[propulsion]

"Why does it gotta be this way between us."

Quick, flat affect, a rolling look side along.

The bit is dropped as quickly as it starts. "You'd make a killing. Back home I charged this one guy a small fortune for sessions I didn't even go to, but it felt great just to know someone had your back, you know? Basically you listen to problems and dispense advice based off psychological assessment but in my experience that last part is optional. Sometimes the meaner you are, the more it feels like it's working. So you'd do great."

[murderbaby]

"I'll consider it a retirement prospect when I gain a sudden interest in other people's lives."

His mouth twitches in what could, potentially, be a smile, but probably isn't. Ink dried, he sets the book aside. "That was an invitation to tell me more of your world, or should I have been more blunt?"

[propulsion]

"See, that right there?" Tony says, raising one gloved hand, splayed, a circular motion. "Mixed signals."

But. Kid asked a question. Kinda. It's not like Tony needs an excuse to answer it.

Even if it's a big question, the bigness of which he hadn't considered before he set himself up, bringing around a thoughtful pause as they go. The sound of hooves impacting soft ground, the creak and groan of cart wheels, and the buffeting wind all around. "Well," he says. "I'm American, as in, from the United States of America. State of New York. I hear someone else cracking wise about Orzammar one more time, I'm telling the Seneschal.

"We don't have magic," he says, because he lacks a canon update or two, "the way it's thought about here, anyway. Civilisation developed differently. Machine-based, mechanics, medical, it's-- technological advancement's left swords and sailing ships in the past by a couple've centuries, among. A lot, of other things. Uh. No elves. No-- dwarves, no qunari. Just a world full of humans, so you can imagine what kind of a nightmare that must be."

The horse tosses its head, and Tony readjusts his hold of the reins to accommodate. "And we have cars made of metal that go very fast and would have gotten us to our destination a couple of hours ago. No offense," tossed back over his shoulder at the mare he's dragging along.

[murderbaby]

Mhavos half-shrugs. Fair. He also can't really care, because communicating is not something this man struggles with. Clear communication, honest communication, forthright and unambiguous communication, maybe, but not communicating.

So Mhavos listens and takes notes. America. United States. New York. No magic. No swords or (sailing?) ships. Only humans (nightmare). Metal car(t)s.

He nods blithely. "Well, I think I took in about as much as I could, considering. It sounds very different. I would likely fair very poorly in the world of your description, so I would assume you've done well coming to ours. Does that satisfy?"

[propulsion]

Oh, are we still doing this bit? Sunglasses do something to obscure the sidelong look that Mhavos gets for his assessment, the corner of Tony's mouth twisting up, sardonic.

"Nailed it. Slap it in my performance review," he says. "Maybe I'll get a raise."

That's how jobs work, right?

"And for the record I think you'd do okay on my turf. Better than those guys," is maybe just loud enough for both Ellis and Lukas to hear.

[heorte]

A brief chuckle drifts back from the front of the cart.

[murderbaby]

Mhavos is emboldened by the laugh, but tries not to show it. "The world which you described as a nightmare?"

[propulsion]

Ellis laughs at a thing Tony says. +5 approval.

"Sure. I mean, so is this place, just different. People born with the ability to do magic tricks but stand a coin flip's chance of turning into screaming rage demons isn't exactly a good time. And we only have one of those." In the tone of a sidenote; "Friend of mine."

[murderbaby]

"It's not quite that random-" What- "You befriended a demon?" What.

[propulsion]

"His name is Bruce," Tony says, bone-dry. It's either a joke or the kind of truth that is funny in itself and only to him. "And-- how not random are we talking? I assume no one becomes Abominations on purpose."

[murderbaby]

...tabling that for now. Mhavos nods. "Precisely. It's up to the individual and how they deal with temptation, fortitude, and so on. I admit, I only know what I've read; you'd have to speak with a mage for a real sense of it."

A moment of contemplation. "And any numbers you pulled would be irreconcilably biased, if not useless. Some circles have higher rates than others, and all rely on having a circle to pull from; a state of the world now rather outmoded."

[propulsion]

"Right. The places where naughty mages go. Or went. Hey, do you think they'll take it super personally if some asshole rifter quizzes them on how well they deal with the temptation to turn into terrifying affronts against nature?"

[murderbaby]

"All mages were sent to one. Regardless of..." Give him a second... "Behavior. And it probably would, but as you've not yet asked to touch my ears, I imagine you'll muddle along fine."

[propulsion]

"Sure, and all mages are naughty."

He read about it.

And Mhavos gets a glance sideways at the ears thing, an expression that communicates 'what did you just say' without actually saying it out loud, on account of Tony can figure that that sounds like a weird racism thing. He lets that one alone. "Thanks boss," he says, instead. "Take your word for it."

Now, he drops back a little out of pace to go about getting back onto his horse. That's enough break time, though he does make a face as soon as he gets one leg up over the saddle. "If I get set on magic fire it's on you," he adds, as he does so.