#windline

[ylvaslooks]

10. Bandit

[flockrest]

Since time immemorial, the Rito have been deeply connected to the winds and all they have to offer — in a way that surpasses bare, profound appreciation. For them, it goes beyond physical attachment ( of which is still greatly significant! ) and is indelibly tied to their spiritual and cultural identities.

Seen more as a relationship — where the winds are the source of all nourishments and fulfilments, and they are simply partakers of those boons — this concept is rooted and condensed in a word that doesn't have a concrete, established meaning so much as a contextual one that defines many things all at once: Windlines.

When speaking of the Windlines, one could be referring to the material winds and their boundless touch; or the nebulous "voice" of the winds as perceived by those especially responsive to their movements and paths; or the closely related but separate consciousness of the winds that carries, blesses, curses, or otherwise meaningfully interacts with all beings; and so on. Not quite an entity, almost bordering on a kind of philosophy with how hugely it shapes their way of thought — but believed in all the same!

Knowledge of the Windlines, and hence, this layered relationship with the winds, has been reliably passed down through generations with little to no external nor internal distortion. How an individual develops that knowledge — as well as with it — may differ ( e.g. very few may take it to unprecedented heights, bending the Windlines to their will and becoming masters among patrons, whilst others may be content with simple, competent flight ), but the core foundation is pretty much universal.

Being estranged from the Windlines in any capacity can be unbearable for any Rito. Peaks Among the Ripples saw the worst of this impact during the upheaval detailed in their Songs of the Stormwind Ark: with the Windlines so absent, population health and wellbeing waned, even if nothing was bodily amiss. Essentially, Windlines and what they embody are incredibly important! An integral part of a Rito individual and whole collective!

[nirikeehan]

Dragon Age Lore Prompts 

Bits of lore compiled from codex entries, letters, and other marginalia found throughout Thedas.

In the Mists: The Windline Marcher. A ghost ship. Still, the story continues to be told, its intent to chill, amuse, or even titillate. As a consequence, the tale has grown more colorful over time. In many later versions, the "Marcher" is manned by a crew of stunningly beautiful spirits, who can fulfill one's deepest (carnal) desires, should one succeed in boarding the ship.

The Lost City of Barindur. A city lost to time or disaster. Swaying grass hid flocks of birds so vast that when they took flight, their numbers blocked the sun. This, our guide informed us, was the great city of Barindur, wonder of the ancient world, famed for its fountains which were said to grant eternal youth.

The Pyramids of Par Vollen. Structures of unknown purpose pre-dating the Qunari. Par Vollen's distinctive pyramids, looming from the overgrowth, have remained largely intact, even if their intended purpose has been lost. They do not seem to be tombs, though some chambers contain bodies that have been carefully preserved. Amazingly, the pyramids' proportions are mathematically perfect. 

Confessions of a Lyrium Addict. Rare first person account of the Templars' plight. But the ration's too small. If they don't give you enough, your hands get cold. The sky starts to press down on you. Little things slip away. So you have to stay.

The Aeonar. Mage prison found abandoned by Seekers, with no sign of violence, during the Mage-Templar war. Accused maleficarum and apostates are held in the confines of Aeonar. Those who have a powerful connection to the Fade, and particularly to demons, will inevitably attract something across the Veil, making the guilty somewhat easier to tell from the innocent.

Notes on Methods of Enchantment. Ancient notes on enchanting eldritch items. Using up the last of the stock was well worth it, as I explained to it as a courtesy before final work began. Adjustments to the underlay were a great success, and will allow the recipe to be made with material taken from lesser animals, if the need arises.

The Hand That Cuts. A unique ring. This ring grows unusually warm when slipped onto a finger. It pulses slightly and steadily, as if in time with the wearer's heartbeat.

The Eye That Weeps. A unique amulet. This amulet is heavy for its size, and the metal is clammy and sticks jealously to the flesh. The gem in the center contains a liquid that glowers a sluggish red in bright light. Condensation slowly forms on the gem's outer surface, no matter how many times it's wiped clean.

The Bind that Guides. A unique belt. No matter how loosely this belt is tied, after a few steps, it warps itself snugly around the waist. The stitching, while fine, is of a strange, thin thread that resembles hair and can't be cut with even the sharpest knife.

The Skin That Stalks. Unique armor. The leather of this armor gives off a faint, living heat. It is heavier than it looks, but the weight and warmth are somehow comforting. The armor makes little noise in motion, and after a surprisingly short time, wearing it feels quite natural.

Chronicles of a Forgotten War. An account of encounters with mysterious Scaled Ones in the Deep Roads. A robed Scaled One stood before the altar. Its voice was different from the others: softer, almost feminine. It chanted and raised a basin of blood towards the altar. The other Scaled Ones bowed low. The robed Scaled One produced fire from its palm and mouth and ignited the blood.

Grim Anatomy. A book on animal dissection and demonic possession, by an unknown author. It's not wearing the creature's skin. It has become the creature: its mind, its senses... its blood.

The Hedge Witch. A witch who transformed herself into a giant hawthorn bush. She possessed only a modicum of magical power—enough to draw the templars' attention, but not nearly enough to defend herself from them. As the templars closed in on her, Saramish worked a spell of transformation. No one knows what her intentions were, but the outcome could not have been to her liking. 

Arboreal Fort. Creative solutions to uncommon problems. Flatten the area? —Cullen. Of course the commander suggests hitting the hills until they forget they're hills. —L I was joking. Meanwhile, have you threatened to cut out anyone's tongue today? —Cullen Thinking about it right now. —L

A Compendium of Orlesian Theater. Fascinating cultural practices from the artistic heart of the empire. If a director believes they can sell the part, men can play dowagers, women can play dukes, and even an elf can play a king. Once donned, the mask is understood to be absolutely them. None of the actors I spoke to could explain to me the history behind this tradition, but bristled when I suggested other nations find it strange. 

She of the Highwaymen Repents. A song unsung for a dead man walking. For know my crime was cruel, and all my pain deserved. I stand here as a fool, despite my brother served.

The Silver Knight. The final verse for a fallen knight. In lost verses of a song, painstakingly unearthed, I found the answer to my question. Who could bear the weight of a people destroyed by his hand?

The Executors. Those across the sea. “Remember that, for the moment, we are not your enemy.”

Constellation: Visus. The Watchful Eye. The early Inquisition took Visus as the symbol of their holy calling when they joined the Andrastian faith: the Eye representing both their search for maleficarum and the Maker's judgment upon their actions. When the Inquisition ended and became the Seekers of Truth and the Templar Order, the templars took the sword while the Seekers retained the eye.

The Lover's Alcove. To be seen not being seen. Dignity of course requiring that one does not also make use of the darkness for actual physical gratification. This has, of course, never occurred.

[bluewren]

Happy DADWC Wren! Gimme a job that the Chargers took part in, using this DA Lore prompt: "In the Mists: The Windline Marcher. A ghost ship." Because Bull freaking out on a ghost ship sounds hilarious.

THANK YOU FOR THIS PROMPT! It's been so much fun to write. @dadrunkwriting wc: 3521, a hefty one.

Lex has heard every story about the Windline Marcher. When he worked for the Kirkwall Merchant Guide, everyone had a bet placed on what was carried by that ship. Jerrik thinks it's cursed gold that some sailor tried to mutiny and sail away with. Korpin is adamant that it's Antivan sex toys, her explanation, 'Antivans are strange creatures.' Lex has no actual coin on that wager though. He was surprise to find Korpin at Skyhold, working as a direct lyrium trading line for the Inquisition. They chatted on a few occasions, Lex even mentioned this job the Chargers are sent to do. She's still betting on sex toys.

There's been rumors that the ship is now appearing more frequently. Hurricane season is more intense this year than others. With the intrusion of red lyrium and rifts into Thedas, Minaeve and the Helisma have been looking through the weather data to see if it affected the weather in any way. Their recent findings have uncovered an unlikely connection, there are mana streams resonating out like an inverted whirlpool. It overlaps with sightings of the Windline Marcher. The researchers considered it one mystery solved and were ready to move on, but then a large sum of money gets dangled in front of the treasury. A nobleman caught news of their findings.

They promised funding for the Inquisition if they captured the Windline Marcher for him. With sparkles in her eyes, Josephine sent the Chargers to do the job. The main forces are with his sister fighting Red Templars, and he's out here adding a vanity piece to a nobleman's collection. This has to be most self flagellating job he’s been on.

The Chargers and the researchers get shoved onto a longboat and sail for the Windline Marcher. They needed Minaeve and Helisma there to correct course on the ship when if the mana changed its concentration. The Chargers mages are pushing the sails with magic, the winds are harrowing and unpredictable during the hurricane season. Every hand needed to be on deck in case something goes astray. It's been trial keeping their boat in the right direction, the storms have been thrashing them in all directions and the swaying has made steadying themselves difficult. Lex would rather let the Windline Marcher stay as one of Thedas's great mysteries, happily so… If only a certain nobleman hadn't offered the Inquisition enough gold to feed the troops for a year.

But even the most jaded of sellswords have to admire how uncanny it is to actually see the ghost ship up close. It has two masts that still stand and fluttering, though the heavy wind seems to have stopped. From his cursory glance, the ship's strutting and placement of rivets look significantly less intricate than their third of the size boat they ride on. Taliesen can probably gosh over all the exact little design details, but isn't here to do so.

The most eerie feature is the glow the ship has. Not a trace of mildew or seaweed growing on its hull, it has the look of never being seaborne. Whatever secrets it holds, it hides them well.

The Chargers begin their plan to scale the ship, beginning shooting grappling hooks tied to crossbows.

"I finally understand why he wanted it so badly." Dalish remarks, she stretches in place to prepare for the jump.

Lex merely shrugs, keeping his attention on aiming. "I'd still much rather throw a fireball at its hull and call it lost."

Lex, Krem, and Skinner are first to ascend the ship, checking that it's safe for everyone else to enter. They arrive to a deck as empty and as clean as the hull, they drop done the rope and ladder for the rest of the Chargers. Minaeve and Helisma stay on the longboat, if the Chargers get overwhelmed they will have the best chance to leave and tell what happened.

Bull is the last to ascend, he immediately starts shivering as soon as both feet meet the wood.

"Alright Chargers! Dalish and Lex stay top side, everyone else begin searching the ship." Iron Bull commands, he speaks with a bold voice and hiding his fear admirably well. "If you see any dead shit in the rooms, tell the mages immediately."

We all knew the captain is pissed scared and had a quiet chuckle to ourselves, but everyone followed and got to work.

The big qunari can still be seen teetering his feet at the front of the ship when we left.

"It's hard to believe we're barely half a days trip from Kirkwall." Commenting as his eyes stayed trained on the horizon. "You can still see hightown. Have you noticed yet, that the sun isn't in the right spot?"

Lex smirks, their captain is clearly trying to distract himself. "You know if we get lost out here, there'd be no way to send people to reach us."

"Lex! I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to scare the piss out of your captain." He furrows his brow, his voice sounding parched. "Get back to your patrol before I make you scrub our whole living quarters with your hairbrush."

Worth every bit of that reprimand.

"Point taken." Lex backs away, leaving with a big smile.

Top deck guard duty has been the most uneventful part of the job, the horizon as calm as a summer hiking day. The sun highest in the sky, and not one drop of salt water on the wood. Anywhere else they would lie down to take in the sun, though knowing that the hurricane that they pushed through to get here, they're likely in the eye of the storm.

The one peculiar sight they can find is that the ship's wheel seems to be missing, no sign of it ever being mounted on its base.

"Another 'wierd shit' job to tell Varric." Lex side eyes the missing wheel. "What's your take on this?"

Dalish shrugs. "Always so negative. Maybe the sailors whacked the wheel off with a stick."

"Sure. Sure. Probably knocked off with a bow too. Not like we already know this boat is cursed."

"They could have knocked it off to protect everyone on land."

"Always the optimist." Lex chuckles, he stretches out his stiffening shoulders. "But you do know that a spirit wouldn't need a wheel to steer the boat."

"Shush now." Dalish smirks, giving him a swift slap on the shoulder. "You should try hoping for things to go better, it’s possible."

It didn't take long for the rest of the Chargers to resurface. They needed the mages to burn away some corpses before they can turn undead. Stitches and Rocky staying topside, this time.

"I'm surprised you're coming downstairs with us." Lex says, trying to not giggle.

"I wouldn't much of a leader if I let my band do most of the fighting due to some demons." Bull grumbles, he still steadfast in drawing his axe.

"I never count the Iron Bull out of a good fight."

Everyone started with slow tiptoe steps into the lower deck. The scouting group has already informed everyone of the suffocating air below, feeling more alive than up top.

The floorboards creaks in ripples in the water, repeating like a pulse. Nothing aligning with their steps. It's difficult to tell the direction of the sounds.

"Through there. Be ready."

Krem leads us the first right door, immediately Lex, Dalish, and Bull winced. Though there is no smell, a few skeletons laid in this room. Decayed to nothing, not even a smell nor untarnished rags, there is nothing to identify them.

Lex feels the goosebumps rising up his neck, he didn't move any closer.

"Everyone, cover your noses or get clear." He raises his palm to set the bones ablaze.

It'd be pointless to recover anything from their bodies, now four centuries lost. There priority is to stop any demon possession from happening. If the Chargers get careless, then this will be their fate.

"Everyone doing good?" He asks.

"Swell." Krem replies, though clearly close to gagging.

Lex closes the door, ready to be rid of this room too.

"I hate to wonder how they passed on." Dalish sighs, lowering her palm with a flame still contained. "Some of them look at peace."

"You've noticed that too?" Lex raises his brows. "Everything's awfully neat for boat caught in a storm."

"Be on your guard, but try not to worry." Bull hushes."Focus on the bodies, us with blades will keep you two safe."

Both mages nodded, they split into two teams to check the next set of doors. Grim and Skinner follow behind Lex, exploring a supply room inside the ship. The creaking comes from this room too. The shelves still holds the former crew's rations, but not enough to rattle loudly. It's difficult to determine if there is an origin at all.

"Check this." Skinner snatchs a bottle. "Don't think anyone has Antivan vintage this rare."

"Who'd want to drink wine from a ghost ship?"

"It could still be good for a fire." Skinner adds.

Lex chuckles, somehow Skinner always comes up with the most amusing ideas.

They find more bodies on the far side of the room, leaving it to Lex throws another fireball at them.

After the bodies are burnt through, they hear a loud cracking sound coming from the wall they learned on.

"Pass me the bottle." Lex trains his eyes at that wall.

He throws the wine, a fireball ignites it. The fire should have spread to the walls, but it does not take. His flames smothering when meeting the wall, it let's free a grumbling. The owners clearly didn't like someone setting their home on fire.

Grim grumbles, disapprovingly.

"Think you made this it mad.” Skinner chuckles.

“What?” Lex raises a brow. “You would have done something different.”

“No. No.” She shakes her head. “I would have done the same thing.”

Lex snorts, somehow they've always been of the same mind.

The three are ready to leave this miserable room and rejoin the rest of their companions. Likely they'll want to know about the sound.

"Shit!" Bull is the first to run for answers, almost snapping Lex's back when demanding them. "Did you hear that sound? It sounded like a roar, ship's shouldn't be roaring?"

"Calm down. We all knew this ship wasn't normal, we needed to get out in the open."

The roar comes again from he far side of the hold, a hand constructed of stone reaches forward. The demons haunting this ship takes the form of golem, summoning more of its kind to push out it's intruders. Skeletons come from the rooms they hadn't checked, one of them wields a scimitar with a jewel and gold encrusted hilt. That's likely the former captain.

Worse yet is the swords flying free from the rooms they burned the corpses from, wielded by spirits taking the impression of humans. Their work has been shown fruitless, the demons have a liking for hosts without a pulse.

Atleast the monsters finally decided to come out of the shadows.

"Shit!"

Bull finally lets free of Lex's collar. He frantically begins hacking at the floating swords.

The abstract forms of the possessed swords fall easily, one strike from Bull's wide swing is all it takes to smother their connection to Thedas. Though their severed connection reestablish fast, another spirit pushes through the Veil and picks the sword back up.

Worse are the foes with more solid forms, slowly close the distance. The amorphous spirits were little trouble for their blades, the skeletons have an unnatural strength to them. Skinner dashes to cut more holes through their tattered leather armor, she is pinned to a wall when the demons lunges its bones in her direction.

Krem is close enough to shield bash the demon away.

The tight corridors give little room to maneuver, one misstep and the demons will overwhelm us. And will have even less room as the golem closes the distance.

“Bull!” Lex shouts, his blade sets ablaze surrounding spirits. ”We can’t stay here.”

“Bah!” Bull growls, his swinging gets his axe stuck to a wall. “We need more room. Everyone get upstairs!”

The Chargers retreated, Lex needing to run his blade through a skeleton blocking Grim from leaving. The whole team is able to see daylight, though the demons are close behind.

“Rocky! Clear the tunnels.” Bull commands.

When the last of the Chargers is safe enough distance, Rocky drops an explosive through the door. There is a bout of clattering and clinks from flying swords, it worked to clear some of their foes. It wasn’t enough to finish them off, the same roar from below deck is heard again.

The golem reaches out, it’s stone hands pull the rest of itself through the door. A scattering of spirits and skeletons follow behind.

Another bomb would have cleared them, but the golem is smart enough to use its giant body to shield its friends.

We continue our skirmish, the demons using the same strategy as before. It’s an effective one, the spirits are plentiful and cutting one down isn’t enough to stop the weapon from being reused. While the skeletons wait for the moment when fatigue sets in.

They’re now losing daylight with little to show of their battle.

“This isn’t working.” Bull grimaces, holding back a skeleton.

“Got any better ideas, Chief?” Krem shouts, striking down a few more spirits down. “Would be open to a Chargers high roller.”

“Just one. The golem is probably in charge. Get Lex and Rocky to it, blow up its head.”

"Got it." Lex and Rocky dash for the golem, the other Chargers clearing the path for them.

Grim and Skinner cut down the spirits in front. Krem and Stitches raise their shields, blocking the skeletons from reaching the runners.

"Dalish!" The mage pulls up icewalls, they have a direct line to the golem now.

The last thing that is now between them and the demon is the captain's skeleton, pointing its decorated sword at them.

Lex kicks up a fire jet, dropping his sword on the skeleton.

Rocky has his opening to throw his bomb in. After his sword runs through the skeleton, Lex sidestep to ignite the bomb with his fire magic. The explosion is massive, enough to cause Lex's ears to ring but it is able to crack the golem.

The demon is extricated from its homely pile of rocks, now fluttering for safety and something new to latch onto in the physical world. It make haste for Bull, the sudden flash scaring the piss out of the qunari. But for some unknowable reason, it flies past the horns and into his axe…

"Shit!"

The Iron Bull breaks into a cold sweat, his weapon uncontrollably flailing at the rest of the Chargers and too mortified to let go of his grip.

"It's got my axe!" Bull heaves, hiccuping every time the axehead drops. "Shit. It's on the tip of my blade! Its got a mind of its own! Help! Help!"

It's rare for demons to act like this much of a nuisance. Lex dashes under Bull's shadow, readying himself for the axe to land over him. He prepares a telekinetic spell for that exact moment, enough to knock it into the opposite direction.

"Let go!" He commands his captain, throwing his spell when safest.

The axe flung backwards, through the air, into the sea. Ridiculously, it still isn't enough to stomp the demon. The possessed axe gathers a watersprout. The long neck spreads out and freezing over into scales with a reptilian head enveloping the axe. A sea serpent, it's like an ex that won't leave you alone.

The boat starts to tumble, shaking like it's falling. Everyone tripping and losing their footing, head first onto the floor. It's likely that this boat dropped into the water, probably the first time the boat has actually been seaborne in years.

"This fucking demon really needs to die." Lex coughs, completely exasperated by their foe. "Bull, do you need my weapon?"

"I liked that axe, first time I had one perfectly balanced." Bull growls, seeming more angry than frightened now. "Thanks. Appreciate it. You never quite see a demons this tenacious, I'm wringing its neck."

Angry is not the right word. To be exact, he's got a hard on for fighting a sea serpent. Lex hands over his sword, Bull revels in this moment. Although he now needs a new weapon, he remembers the possessed ship captain carried an elegant one.

A scimitar, gem encrusted, more fashion piece than tool, that'll be the one. Lex finds it amongst the bones, picking up and igniting it with his fire magic. He's now ready for this grand final hunt, but not without some censorious looks from the others.

"You couldn't have set something else on fire?" Bull narrows his eyes. "Something more practical. Less lavish."

"We're moments from taking on a giant water lizard, why worry about ruining an expensive sword?" Lex trains his wicked grin at the giant beast. "It's much more fun this way."

"Can't say I disagree." Bull chuckles, he takes stance to point Lex’s sword. "Chargers! Go for its head, knock that thing back into the sea."

The sea serpent summons tentacles to defend itself, made the same way that its body was. The ice is made resilient by the magic, the Chargers hacking away at the appendages barely cut through them. By Dalish’s fire magic, she’s able to soften them enough to amputate. Lex’s flaming sword sword has been able to do similar, although one clumsy slash is enough to flash melt the ice.

It’s enough to splat his eyes, momentarily blinding him. He gets slapped down to the deck by one of its tentacles, striking with enough force to fling him to railing.

While picking himself up, he notices the rattling of their grapples hooks attached to the ship. He peaks over the edge to find that the researchers and ship captain are in a struggle with shades as well. He hacks off the hooks, freeing their longboat.

"Get to safety!" Lex shouts to them.

The Chargers will have to win against this demon to get home. At least now, they only need to worry for themselves.

“Bull, get me to its head.” Lex huffs.

The battle is now taking the air out of him.

“Gladly.” Bull nods, his axe slices through another of its icy tentacles.

The Chargers attack the neck. Fire weakening the ice, arrows chipping it away. Whenever close enough, the warriors swing their swords at it. It lets out meager scream unlike its earlier form. Eventually the head slumps itself enough for Lex to reach.

He puts the last of might into the fire enchantment. His scimitar’s blade becomes indistinguishable from starlight as it cuts through the serpent’s head. The demon’s head falls backwards, finally losing the will to fight. Its ice shatters, finally dropping the possessed axe into the sea.

The battle is finally over, and Lex is ready to vomit.

“Strange that after all that work, it’s our boat tugging us back to land.” Lex remarks.

“We are still missing the wheel to steer the ship.” Dalish adds.

“This boat’s old.” Bull points out. “It’s much faster to have our’s do the heavy lifting. The masts catch more wind.”

All the ship's anomalies have vanished, the demon probably took all its mana back when forming the sea serpent.

“Fair point.” Lex is finally able to kick his feet up, though Stitches keeps a watchful eye on his bandages after getting thrown by the sea serpent.

The Charger’s job is finished, but the researchers are still busy on their work. Studying the clouds, measuring wind speed, gathering data. It’s perfect time to learn more about weather patterns in this part of the sea.

“I’m glad you two are unharmed.” Lex waves to the researchers.

“Thank you for helping us when you did.” Minaeve grins back, her head seems stuck in her notebook. “And I’m grateful for you and Helisma.”

Lex turns his head to Minaeve’s companion, the tranquil?

“The demons avoided Helisma, she’s the one to guide our boat to safety.”

“Have you found anything interesting?” Lex asks.

He has trouble, shaking the feeling of being perturbed though he still has gratitude to the other researcher helping the Chargers.

“Something, yes.” Helisma nods, pointing out to the sea. “I spotted the glow of a unusually large lyrium deposit when we ran. We can’t be certain, but it’s possibly how the demon had so much control over this ship.”

“That’s certainly interesting.” Lex asks, wide eyed. “Is there anything more that we can learn?”

“Again, there’s no way to be certain. The demon is gone, its host sank to the bottom of the ocean and the deposit is too far out to excavate. We can only theorize.”

Lex sighs, it’s expected though dismal that there isn’t any good answers for this headache of a job. Still there is one last mystery that needs answering, Korpin wants her answers.

He makes his way to the hold again.

[dreadfutures]

HELLO beloved grumpy old man tiem >:]

for Hal & Thom: "there is no absolution for the fallen, only the dying"

For @dadrunkwriting

STEALTH PROMPT AND FILL.

Somewhere along the way to Serault, featuring:

Warden Commander Halevune Mahariel (aka the Windy Marcher)

Thom Rainier-made-a-Warden

Vivienne

Inquisitor Ixchel Lavellan

Agent Charter

Agent Argent (DAI multiplayer)

Warden Carver Hawke

Merrill

-:-:-

The fog lay thick across the land, moving almost imperceptibly away from Lake Celestine to take over Val Firmin, and then, perhaps, the world. That was how it felt, at least.

Rarely had Ixchel seen fog like that outside the Storm Coast, unless it was brought to a battlefield by Despair. As far as she could tell, however, no figures moved through the mist besides the members of her own caravan.

"Feels like that old ghost ship should come out of the fog at any moment," Carver muttered, and Mahariel barked out a laugh that made several of their companions jump.

"A ghost ship?" Merrill asked with surprise. "But we're so far from the ocean. Do they have large ships on this lake? Do they get a lot of bad storms?"

"No idea," said Carver. "It's a Fereldan story, anyway. Just came to mind."

Vivienne chuckled. "Is that where you get your namesake, Warden-Commander?"

Mahariel shrugged. "You would have to ask the ones who gave it to me," he demurred. Anticipating Merrill's next question, he continued: "They say when the fog is thick on the Storm Coast, an old ship called the Windline Marcher will be seen in the distance. People try to meet her but can never reach the ship before they find that they've sailed into dangerous waters and sink themselves."

He patted Merrill on the arm. "Don't ask what that has to do with the Dalish Teyrn. I haven't the foggiest."

He laughed again, and his companion's groans fell loudly upon their ears in the close confines of the mist. Their party lapsed into uneasy silence for a few moments, but that was nearly as unbearable as the harsh and unsettling sound of their own voices, and it wasn't long before someone spoke again.

"Val Firmin is a lovely, peaceful place, but it has its share of superstitions," Vivienne said. "They're not quite as provincial, I'm afraid. Ill-fortune befell the ruling house for a time. Mysterious deaths and generational bad luck drove the lady of the house to destroy her family mask--absolutely scandalous, but their fortune has since risen."

"There are new ghost stories," said Argent, and suddenly it seemed everyone wished for silence again. The agent spoke like a Tranquil, even, emotionless in her intonation, and just quiet enough that even in the closeness of the fog it required them to strain their ears. She walked along placidly, face forward and shorn head covered with her hood. She moved, like all assassins, as a ghost herself.

"Children," she said. "They say on these nights, you can hear children playing in the fog. If you follow the sounds they'll lead you to the same place, no matter where around the lake you start."

She turned her head slowly and fixed Thom with a stony look.

"It's a little road, just inside a copse of trees south of the Callier summer estate," she said.

"That's enough, agent," Charter ordered.

"It's very peaceful," Argent said neutrally.

Ixchel moved a little faster to come abreast of Thom. He hung his head, jaw clenched so tight that his beard trembled.

"I didn't realize it was here," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

Mahariel watched them, suspicious as ever. She met his eye askance, then bit her lip and looked back at Thom.

"Remember, you're a Warden now," she said. "You're paying your life twice over, Thom."

"Right," he muttered. "I'm in good company."

Carver looked back and forth between them all in confusion. "Somehow that doesn't sound like you mean it in a good way."

Thom winced. "Present company excluded. I just meant... I'm not the only man paying for a terrible crime with service to the Order."

At that, Carver's face hardened. "Well you certainly don't hold yourself like a man who's happy to've escaped a death sentence," he said. "I've met some of those. Gleeful they get license to continue on with their ways."

"No, he's one of your Andrastian sinners," Mahariel observed, predatory eyes never once leaving the side of Tom's head. Reflecting the dim mage light, he had a predatory look, as if he could see right through Thom's skull and found the hiding spot of a particularly juicy prey. "The Wardens is a rightful penance, a sacred path to redemption. But there is no absolution for the fallen, only the dying."

He leaned closer, letting the light slide from his face so that his eyes seemed as flat and pale as a corpse's.

"We're dead men, Rainier," Mahariel said with a grin, too wide to reach his eyes. "This life's miserable enough without the self-flagellation, let me tell you."

[mako-designated-driver]

Codex Entry #27: The Windline Marcher

The story of the "Windline Marcher" is an old one. The earliest versions of the tale appear in the Exalted Age. Said to be a two-mast brig that set sail from Antiva City carrying cargo bound for the Free Marches, the "Marcher" was lost in a storm, and never made port.

Weeks later, she is seen on the Waking Sea, miles out from Kirkwall. A sentry from Hightown spots her floating in the mists, her sails full though there is no wind. Boats are launched, but no matter how far out to sea they go, they are unable to reach the "Marcher." Finally, the ship recedes into the mists and is gone. From that day on, she is spotted by sailors on the Waking Sea, always through mists and always before a storm, and is said to herald a violent death for all who see her.

Of course, the legend of the "Windline Marcher" is often dismissed as superstition, and in recent years the sighting of phantasmal vessels was proven to be nothing more than a trick of light upon the water. Still, the story continues to be told, its intent to chill, amuse, or even titillate. As a consequence, the tale has grown more colorful over time. In many later versions, the "Marcher" is manned by a crew of stunningly beautiful spirits, who can fulfill one's deepest (carnal) desires, should one succeed in boarding the ship. In one particularly outlandish retelling in these versions, the "Marcher" is sent on a disastrous journey to pilfer the secret recipe for Qunari ale and is lost to their cannons. She later reappears at important moments in Thedosian history and abducts legendary figures (Andraste included) who then band together aboard the phantom ship to attack Par Vollen.

—From Thedas: Myths and Legends, by Brother Ferdinand Genitivi

[gloryseized]

     They probably shouldn't just be sitting here watching all the chaos unfold like this, but. Well. When your foes start fighting each other instead of you...nothing else to it but to sit back and observe, right? Even if it makes Tulin feel a weird mix of guilt and delight over how things have unfolded.

     ( He's only a little delighted, he swears! )

     "Who d'you think's gonna win?" His gaze flickers over to Link for a second, before it's back on the battlefield. The bokoblins aren't doing too bad, honestly! But Tulin can already taste whose victory it'll be on the Windlines. "My bet's on the green guys."

Link eyes the fighting below the pair of them curiously. He'd heard the commotion up ahead and climbed up to the higher vantage point that Tulin had already selected to get a better view as well. And he can't help but smile slightly at the site before him. It seems that more of the sky island pieces have fallen from the sky, bringing a few unsuspecting malfunctioning constructs with it. Usually Link is the one who finds himself responsible for subduing the Zonai technology, but this time, the sky island seems to have dropped by very close to the bokoblin encampment.

All there's left to do is watch the enemies fight each other, although Link can tell it's going to be slow going. Neither group is armed particularly heavily although they both have armor. Shaking his head a little, Link shifts slightly, finding a more comfortable position to watch the fighting before he responds.

Fingerspelling the word, he ends with a point to the ancient construction. Hands move out in front of him, palms facing inwards, before he alternates chopping his hands. << Zonai constructs. >> He responds, supplies before tapping himself on the chest then poking at his temple. Thumb curls into his palm, his fingers sticking up, before his hands both lift up next to his face, hands splayed. << I think the bokoblins. >> They outnumber the constructs by one fighter, and they're nimbler than the machines, but all things told, the two groups are rather evenly matched.

[ylvaslooks]

10. Trail ride

[carnalapples]

DA Lore Prompts

A personal version of nirikeehan's list found here!

In the Mists: The Windline Marcher. A ghost ship. Still, the story continues to be told, its intent to chill, amuse, or even titillate. As a consequence, the tale has grown more colorful over time. In many later versions, the “Marcher” is manned by a crew of stunningly beautiful spirits, who can fulfill one’s deepest (carnal) desires, should one succeed in boarding the ship.

The Lost City of Barindur. A city lost to time or disaster. Swaying grass hid flocks of birds so vast that when they took flight, their numbers blocked the sun. This, our guide informed us, was the great city of Barindur, wonder of the ancient world, famed for its fountains which were said to grant eternal youth. [received]

The Pyramids of Par Vollen. Structures of unknown purpose pre-dating the Qunari. Par Vollen’s distinctive pyramids, looming from the overgrowth, have remained largely intact, even if their intended purpose has been lost. They do not seem to be tombs, though some chambers contain bodies that have been carefully preserved. Amazingly, the pyramids’ proportions are mathematically perfect. 

Confessions of a Lyrium Addict. Rare first person account of the Templars’ plight. But the ration’s too small. If they don’t give you enough, your hands get cold. The sky starts to press down on you. Little things slip away. So you have to stay. [Filled 1/5/24 HERE]

The Aeonar. Mage prison found abandoned by Seekers, with no sign of violence, during the Mage-Templar war. Accused maleficarum and apostates are held in the confines of Aeonar. Those who have a powerful connection to the Fade, and particularly to demons, will inevitably attract something across the Veil, making the guilty somewhat easier to tell from the innocent.

Notes on Methods of Enchantment. Ancient notes on enchanting eldritch items. Using up the last of the stock was well worth it, as I explained to it as a courtesy before final work began. Adjustments to the underlay were a great success, and will allow the recipe to be made with material taken from lesser animals, if the need arises.

The Hand That Cuts. A unique ring. This ring grows unusually warm when slipped onto a finger. It pulses slightly and steadily, as if in time with the wearer’s heartbeat. [received]

The Eye That Weeps. A unique amulet. This amulet is heavy for its size, and the metal is clammy and sticks jealously to the flesh. The gem in the center contains a liquid that glowers a sluggish red in bright light. Condensation slowly forms on the gem’s outer surface, no matter how many times it’s wiped clean.

The Bind that Guides. A unique belt. No matter how loosely this belt is tied, after a few steps, it warps itself snugly around the waist. The stitching, while fine, is of a strange, thin thread that resembles hair and can’t be cut with even the sharpest knife.

The Skin That Stalks. Unique armor. The leather of this armor gives off a faint, living heat. It is heavier than it looks, but the weight and warmth are somehow comforting. The armor makes little noise in motion, and after a surprisingly short time, wearing it feels quite natural.

Chronicles of a Forgotten War. An account of encounters with mysterious Scaled Ones in the Deep Roads. A robed Scaled One stood before the altar. Its voice was different from the others: softer, almost feminine. It chanted and raised a basin of blood towards the altar. The other Scaled Ones bowed low. The robed Scaled One produced fire from its palm and mouth and ignited the blood.

Grim Anatomy. A book on animal dissection and demonic possession, by an unknown author. It’s not wearing the creature’s skin. It has become the creature: its mind, its senses… its blood.

The Hedge Witch. A witch who transformed herself into a giant hawthorn bush. She possessed only a modicum of magical power—enough to draw the templars’ attention, but not nearly enough to defend herself from them. As the templars closed in on her, Saramish worked a spell of transformation. No one knows what her intentions were, but the outcome could not have been to her liking. 

Arboreal Fort. Creative solutions to uncommon problems. Flatten the area? —Cullen. Of course the commander suggests hitting the hills until they forget they’re hills. —L I was joking. Meanwhile, have you threatened to cut out anyone’s tongue today? —Cullen Thinking about it right now. —L

A Compendium of Orlesian Theater. Fascinating cultural practices from the artistic heart of the empire. If a director believes they can sell the part, men can play dowagers, women can play dukes, and even an elf can play a king. Once donned, the mask is understood to be absolutely them. None of the actors I spoke to could explain to me the history behind this tradition, but bristled when I suggested other nations find it strange. 

She of the Highwaymen Repents. A song unsung for a dead man walking. For know my crime was cruel, and all my pain deserved. I stand here as a fool, despite my brother served.

The Silver Knight. The final verse for a fallen knight. In lost verses of a song, painstakingly unearthed, I found the answer to my question. Who could bear the weight of a people destroyed by his hand?

18. The Executors. Those across the sea. “Remember that, for the moment, we are not your enemy.”

19. Constellation: Visus. The Watchful Eye. The early Inquisition took Visus as the symbol of their holy calling when they joined the Andrastian faith: the Eye representing both their search for maleficarum and the Maker’s judgment upon their actions. When the Inquisition ended and became the Seekers of Truth and the Templar Order, the templars took the sword while the Seekers retained the eye.

20. The Lover’s Alcove. To be seen not being seen. Dignity of course requiring that one does not also make use of the darkness for actual physical gratification. This has, of course, never occurred. [received]

[flockrest]

unprompted / always accepting / @gloryseized ( Link )

<< I'm glad you're here. >>

     Revali almost doesn't catch it. Almost wishes he hadn't. It's a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye in the low lantern-light, fingers hurried and tucked in closer than Link's words usually are: as though some secret blurted, or a deep embarrassment realised, or— maybe, maybe, stars, let it be so, it's simply a trick of the dark. Anything else would mean Link really just told Revali he's glad he's here, too furtively for it to be his brand of pity, and that isn't— that isn't.

     Something swells beneath his feathers, near numbing in its capacity yet thawing in all its touch; a sudden rooting of a feeling he can't make out or place. As with every other indiscernible thing this Hylian has roused from him, Revali doesn't want to examine it.

     Ruined as his body still is from that century in Vah Medoh, he can't escape it.

     For all the do-good kindness he practically embodies, Hyrule's hero can be unexpectedly cruel sometimes.

     From the down bed he's been confined to, Revali carefully breathes through this completely fine — completely fine — development and does not move. He's lain in such a way that plausible deniability isn't so farfetched an excuse. He could feign preoccupation and open with, "Did you say something?" Save the both of them the acute awkwardness of trying to do anything with Link's...confession. Moment of vulnerability.

     Whatever it is.

     He turns his head towards the hero in full. The glow of the inn's lights washes over that face with a certain kind of warmth, accented by what more reflects off the curtain screens surrounding them. He's grateful for them to an extent — the privacy of a curtained-off corner is valuable even if the narrowed space feels too much like a narrowed world: with the two of them alone like this, no witnesses but the Windlines and skytrails to what will be shared, it isn't so difficult to see why Link might think it appropriate to...well.

     Revali opens his beak. The lantern by his roost flickers, and he watches its light dance across Link's eyes.

     "I'd hope so," he says, truly unable to escape any of this. He could stand to sound rankled about it, some part of him thinks, or at least a modicum of bothered. He tries for a sigh that only ends up sounding exhausted (unfortunate but unsurprising), then lifts his gaze back up to the roof.

     "...I suppose it's...good. That you're here as well."

[nirikeehan]

Dragon Age Lore Prompts 

Bits of lore compiled from codex entries, letters, and other marginalia found throughout Thedas.

Rebloggable version found here

In the Mists: The Windline Marcher. A ghost ship. Still, the story continues to be told, its intent to chill, amuse, or even titillate. As a consequence, the tale has grown more colorful over time. In many later versions, the "Marcher" is manned by a crew of stunningly beautiful spirits, who can fulfill one's deepest (carnal) desires, should one succeed in boarding the ship.

The Lost City of Barindur. A city lost to time or disaster. Swaying grass hid flocks of birds so vast that when they took flight, their numbers blocked the sun. This, our guide informed us, was the great city of Barindur, wonder of the ancient world, famed for its fountains which were said to grant eternal youth.

The Pyramids of Par Vollen. Structures of unknown purpose pre-dating the Qunari. Par Vollen's distinctive pyramids, looming from the overgrowth, have remained largely intact, even if their intended purpose has been lost. They do not seem to be tombs, though some chambers contain bodies that have been carefully preserved. Amazingly, the pyramids' proportions are mathematically perfect. 

Confessions of a Lyrium Addict. Rare first person account of the Templars' plight. But the ration's too small. If they don't give you enough, your hands get cold. The sky starts to press down on you. Little things slip away. So you have to stay.

The Aeonar. Mage prison found abandoned by Seekers, with no sign of violence, during the Mage-Templar war. Accused maleficarum and apostates are held in the confines of Aeonar. Those who have a powerful connection to the Fade, and particularly to demons, will inevitably attract something across the Veil, making the guilty somewhat easier to tell from the innocent.

Notes on Methods of Enchantment. Ancient notes on enchanting eldritch items. Using up the last of the stock was well worth it, as I explained to it as a courtesy before final work began. Adjustments to the underlay were a great success, and will allow the recipe to be made with material taken from lesser animals, if the need arises.

The Hand That Cuts. A unique ring. This ring grows unusually warm when slipped onto a finger. It pulses slightly and steadily, as if in time with the wearer's heartbeat. - in progress

The Eye That Weeps. A unique amulet. This amulet is heavy for its size, and the metal is clammy and sticks jealously to the flesh. The gem in the center contains a liquid that glowers a sluggish red in bright light. Condensation slowly forms on the gem's outer surface, no matter how many times it's wiped clean.

The Bind that Guides. A unique belt. No matter how loosely this belt is tied, after a few steps, it warps itself snugly around the waist. The stitching, while fine, is of a strange, thin thread that resembles hair and can't be cut with even the sharpest knife.

The Skin That Stalks. Unique armor. The leather of this armor gives off a faint, living heat. It is heavier than it looks, but the weight and warmth are somehow comforting. The armor makes little noise in motion, and after a surprisingly short time, wearing it feels quite natural.

Chronicles of a Forgotten War. An account of encounters with mysterious Scaled Ones in the Deep Roads. A robed Scaled One stood before the altar. Its voice was different from the others: softer, almost feminine. It chanted and raised a basin of blood towards the altar. The other Scaled Ones bowed low. The robed Scaled One produced fire from its palm and mouth and ignited the blood. - in progress

Grim Anatomy. A book on animal dissection and demonic possession, by an unknown author. It's not wearing the creature's skin. It has become the creature: its mind, its senses... its blood.

The Hedge Witch. A witch who transformed herself into a giant hawthorn bush. She possessed only a modicum of magical power—enough to draw the templars' attention, but not nearly enough to defend herself from them. As the templars closed in on her, Saramish worked a spell of transformation. No one knows what her intentions were, but the outcome could not have been to her liking. 

Arboreal Fort. Creative solutions to uncommon problems. Flatten the area? —Cullen. Of course the commander suggests hitting the hills until they forget they're hills. —L I was joking. Meanwhile, have you threatened to cut out anyone's tongue today? —Cullen Thinking about it right now. —L

A Compendium of Orlesian Theater. Fascinating cultural practices from the artistic heart of the empire. If a director believes they can sell the part, men can play dowagers, women can play dukes, and even an elf can play a king. Once donned, the mask is understood to be absolutely them. None of the actors I spoke to could explain to me the history behind this tradition, but bristled when I suggested other nations find it strange. 

She of the Highwaymen Repents. A song unsung for a dead man walking. For know my crime was cruel, and all my pain deserved. I stand here as a fool, despite my brother served.

The Silver Knight. The final verse for a fallen knight. In lost verses of a song, painstakingly unearthed, I found the answer to my question. Who could bear the weight of a people destroyed by his hand?

The Executors. Those across the sea. “Remember that, for the moment, we are not your enemy.”

Constellation: Visus. The Watchful Eye. The early Inquisition took Visus as the symbol of their holy calling when they joined the Andrastian faith: the Eye representing both their search for maleficarum and the Maker's judgment upon their actions. When the Inquisition ended and became the Seekers of Truth and the Templar Order, the templars took the sword while the Seekers retained the eye.

The Lover's Alcove. To be seen not being seen. Dignity of course requiring that one does not also make use of the darkness for actual physical gratification. This has, of course, never occurred.

[flockrest]

     Did Master Revali just say yes? Master Revali just said yes! He also said "in a little while," yeah, which kinda sucks 'cause it's not right now like Tulin wanted or hoped for — but he can understand being a busy guy ( 'specially when you're a Champion ), and the most important thing, anyway, is Master Revali didn't say no!

     "Yes!" Tulin crows, practically triumphant in his joy, nodding so enthusiastically it's a wonder he's still upright. "I'm gonna think so hard, and-and then even harder 'bout it, I swear!"

     Any previous refusal to leave gone at his hero's word, he looks upon that back one last time and steps away, half-spun and wing raised to wave goodbye. "See 'ya at home, Master Revali!" And you better come, 'cause you said you would, you said so, so you better!

     For a beat between breaths, in the middle of fully turning, the sun suddenly filters through everything juuust right. The light catches on blues and jades and reds and streaks of ochre, swathing Master Revali in a glow so striking that Tulin's gotta stop for that second to take it all in.

     ( One day, he thinks as he watches those braids flutter in the breeze, he's gonna be special enough to ask 'bout adding one and have Master Revali say yes to that, too. )

     Then he's off! Going on, cutting some flitting path elsewhere — content in knowing that as high up as Master Revali likes to soar, he'll be flying with a promise of returning to Windlines that Tulin can follow.

The children, twittery little things they are, normally do as they're told without too many questions asked. They're far too eager to please more than anything -- naturally, perhaps -- and that's about the beginning and end of it all.

Tulin is eager, there's no doubt about it. But the textbook undiscerning fawning comes across a bit oddly.

One might start to think that it isn't undiscerning at all.

But that's nonsense, of course. He's only a fledgling. Still, a curt "away with you, boy" feels mysteriously inappropriate.

"Yes. In a little while," he says. "Go on, now. I can hardly whittle my whole day away entertaining you."

"Think about what I said."

And for the first time in a good, long while -- without any good reason he could name -- he would, too.

[bluewren]

WIP Whenever

Thnx for the tag @roguelioness

This is part of DA one-shot about the Chargers going to capture a ghost ship.

Lex has heard every story about the Windline Marcher. When he worked for the Kirkwall Merchant Guide, everyone had a bet placed on what was carried by that ship. Jerrik thinks it's cursed gold that some sailor tried to mutiny and sail away with. Korpin is adamant that it's Antivan sex toys, her explanation, 'Antivans are strange creatures.' Lex has no actual coin on that wager though. He was surprise to find Korpin at Skyhold, working as a direct lyrium trading line for the Inquisition. They chatted on a few occasions, Lex even mentioned this job the Chargers are sent to do. She's still betting on sex toys. There's been rumors that the ship is now appearing more frequently. Hurricane season is more intense this year than others. With the intrusion of red lyrium and rifts into Thedas, Minaeve and the Helisma have been looking through the weather data to see if it affected the weather in any way. Their recent findings have uncovered an unlikely connection, there are mana streams resonating out like an inverted whirlpool. It overlaps with sightings of the Windline Marcher. The researchers considered it one mystery solved and were ready to move on, but then a large sum of money gets dangled in front of the treasury. A nobleman caught news of their findings. They promised funding for the Inquisition if they captured the Windline Marcher for him. With sparkles in her eyes, Josephine sent the Chargers to do the job. The main forces are with his sister fighting Red Templars, and he's out here adding a vanity piece to a nobleman's collection. This has to be most self flagellating job he’s been on. The Chargers and the researchers get shoved onto a longboat and sail for the Windline Marcher. They needed Minaeve and Helisma there to correct course on the ship when if the mana changed its concentration. The Chargers mages are pushing the sails with magic, the winds are harrowing and unpredictable during the hurricane season. Every hand needed to be on deck in case something goes astray. It's been trial keeping their boat in the right direction, the storms have been thrashing them in all directions and the swaying has made steadying themselves difficult. Lex rather let the Windline Marcher stay as one of Thedas's great mysteries, happily so… If only a certain nobleman hadn't offered the Inquisition enough gold to feed the troops for a year. But even the most jaded of sellswords have to admire how uncanny it is to actually see the ghost ship up close. It has two masts that still stand and fluttering, though the heavy wind seems to have stopped. From his cursory glance, the ship's strutting and placement of rivets look significantly less intricate than their third of the size boat they ride on. Taliesen can probably gosh over all the exact little design details, but isn't here to do so. The most eerie feature is the glow the ship has. Not a trace of mildew or seaweed growing on its hull, it has the look of never being seaborn. Whatever secrets it holds, it hides them well. The Chargers begin their plan to scale the ship, beginning shooting grappling hooks tied to crossbows. "I finally understand why he wanted it so badly." Dalish remarks, she stretches in place to prepare for the jump. Lex merely shrugs, keeping his attention on aiming. "I'd still much rather throw a fireball at its hull and call it lost."

tagging @cleverblackcat-deactivated20231 | @melisusthewee | @theluckywizard | @ladyofc | @anneapocalypse

[brettbowden]

Rob Brown on Strategy and Tactics

I have copied below parts of an interview I did with Rob Brown on Strategy and Tactics Rob is one of Australia’s absolute sailing treasures and a regular nice guy. Rob is one of those special sailors who has done more than most of us could ever dream of achieving in our sport and is completely humble and down to earth. He has sailed everything from 18'skiffs where he was a world champion to being a crew member of Australia 2 when they won the America's Cup in 1983. In 1984, Rob was awarded one of Australia’s highest accolades, the Order of Australia Medal. The award for “Outstanding Contribution to Sport” was soon to be followed by the inclusion to the Australian Bi-Centennial Hall of Fame for being part of the “Best Australian Sporting Team Ever – Australia II”. AUSSIE SAILORS - DISCOUNTED STW BOOK AND BONUSES Brett: How far from the bottom mark would you start planning your upwind strategy? Of course, it depends on what's going on, on the boat but do you start to plan your upwind strategy while going down the run? Rob: Well, most definitely. That's a very interesting question because theoretically, you should be doing it halfway down the run. Say the bottom third of the run, you should be thinking about what you're doing upwind. But if there are boats around you, you're fighting for air, and competing for a position to get inside running at the next mark, then it doesn't give you a lot of opportunity to look around. That's where if you're in a two or three, probably more, so with a three-man boat, that person should be looking behind, he should be calling the wind pressures downwind. He should be saying that he likes the left-hand side of the course better than the right-hand side or whatever as you're coming down to that bottom mark. That really places a lot of responsibility on the person to not get involved in the immediate tactics that are going on around the boat but to get his head out of the boat and think about the bigger picture a minute, two, three minutes ahead. FREE SAILING GLOVES Brett: Obviously there's going to be some indicators when you're going downwind as to which side of the course the pressures on.  If you're back in the fleet you can look at who's already gone around the mark, what's going on with them, how high they are, who's gone where and that sort of thing. Rob: Say if your compass heading as you’re coming down on the bottom mark, whether you're in a lift or a knock. I tend to try and get my head out of the boat and look for...I use the term, dominant pressure...where is the dominant pressure on the course. If it's in sort of fluky light to medium conditions, my general rule is to get to the dominant pressure and then work out whether there's a lift or knock when you get there, whether it's upwind or downwind. AUSSIE SAILORS - DISCOUNTED STW BOOK AND BONUSES Brett: Okay, so what you're saying is you sail for pressure rather than lifts generally? Rob: Well, if there's no other consideration, go for pressure. Pressure is dominant pressure. Look, there's no point doing lifts and knocks if you're not in the dominant pressure. If there's a definite windline or band of breeze, the obvious thing would be to get to that pressure and then play that pressure. FREE SAILING GLOVES Brett: I don't know how much current you get here in Sydney Harbor but some of the other places you've sailed there has been plenty. Do you take a huge note of current? How do you work out where it is and what it is? Rob: Well I think that, that comes down to your research before the regatta, and how much information you can get on tidal flow, and coming up with how dominant the current is in your decision-making compared to pressure. If you're sailing in Cowes, for example, where you get three or four knots or current, then all of a sudden that becomes a major influence on your strategies. In Sydney Harbor, which I've done a lot of sailing on, you've got a knot, knot and a half current. Then it all depends on how much breeze you've got. If you've got 20 knots with 1 and a half knots of current, that's not quite as important. But if it's 8 to 10 knots with a knot and a half current then definitely I look at my tide tables over and over again. I've probably got them printed on my brain now and I know it pretty well. But, obviously, there are certain tactics of being out in the current for assistance in getting out of it if you're sailing against it and that with experience becomes really an automatic strategy before the race. If you're going to be fighting current upwind, your strategy before the race would be to obviously try and get out of the current upwind and stay in it downwind. AUSSIE SAILORS - DISCOUNTED STW BOOK AND BONUSES Brett: If you're at a new venue, say you're going to be sailing in Port Philip or you're going up sailing in Morton Bay in Queensland, obviously, you don't have that indelibly etched in your brain. How do you work out the currents? Do you look at the tide tables?  Rob: If we've got a major regatta, Auckland Harbor, Port Phillip Bay, there's not that much current there, but there is current. I would be researching that, talking to locals and getting as much information I can on current flow, months before the regatta. Realistically, when you get there, you're not looking at a bit of paper to tell you where to go. You've done the research before the regatta and on the race day, you're saying, all right, I've got this wind direction, we're going to have this current throughout the race period so these are the things that we should be doing. You have that as your database. Then you're reacting to that database around the track. FREE SAILING GLOVES

Read the full article

[ylvaslooks]

10. Trail ride