You can't concern yourself with bigger things

[faderifting]

WHO: New rifters & their helpful rescuers
WHAT: People fall out of a rift and get attacked by stuff, it's pretty old hat by now (sorry Jefferson).
WHEN: Solace 7
WHERE: High in the Frostbacks, within a day of Skyhold.
NOTES: This log is open to any characters who would have volunteered to go welcome the rifters, whose arrival sites can now be predicted, thank you Solas. Rifters are also welcome to begin RPing at Skyhold as soon as they are ready.

You were asleep--deeply or fitfully, for the last time or just resting your eyes for a moment-- and then you were not. And wherever you were was not, anymore, replaced by nothing but the sensation of falling, tumbling into endless, bottomless nothing. If this were still a dream, you would wake before you hit the ground. You can't die in a dream, they say. In some worlds.

In this world, something has definitely died. But not you; not yet. When the afterimage left by a flare of too-bright, greenish light fades, you will find yourself in a pile of bones, stripped by teeth and weather, bleached almost as white as the snow that covers most of the rocky, mountainous terrain around you. Beneath its threadbare blanket, it's easy to pick out heaps of earth and stone and debris arranged in a rough ring-shape on the ground around you and the rift that just spat you out. Almost like...a nest? Whatever might once have lived here, it must have been very large, because the bones scattered about are the size of large livestock, at the least. Some of the bare rocks show what look like marks from very large claws, and where snow doesn't cover, the stone looks suspiciously scorched. There are no recent tracks, but maybe that's a good thing.

Less good: the cluster of demons that is emerging from the rift to take over the job of killing you. Some are tall, spindly stick-things with too many eyes, some hunched and hooded with no eyes at all, others mere wisps of greenish light. None look friendly or familiar. Also unfamiliar is the narrow splinter of light the same sickly green as whatever brought you here that now glows out of the palm of your left hand. It aches, a bone-deep pain that gnaws even through all the distractions. Hopefully you can set it aside enough to pick up a bone club and get to work in self-defense, because there is no immediate sign of road or path or settlement anywhere to be seen.

Comments

[hattergonnahat]

He goes stiff at the sudden grip from behind, as anyone within reason might, and he twists free as she pulls away and steps in front of him. Jefferson's eyes flicker quickly to her blade and back up again before he scrambles back, pressed against the cold stone behind him.

A monster hunter? Whoever she was, she was at least good for getting between him and...whatever those things were. But she's mad if she thinks he's staying put. Already he's looking to see if there's a way out of this nesting ground and away from the fighting.

And, of course, looking for a head of dark-blonde hair. Listening for any trace of her voice. Had it been just him? He didn't know whether to hope for that to be the case or not, but he's quick to start slinking away all the same.

[doneisdone]

Turning back from the demon to check on the newcomer, Teren rolls her eyes to see him already going off to be tripped over. She rips her knife out of the dying Terror, confident that its other assailant will finish it off, and steps after the man.
Luckily, she's not stupid enough to call out to him or otherwise make a scene; she understands that this process can be quite traumatic and people aren't always sensible after the journey is made. Bearing that in mind, she simply trails him, prepared to fend off any demons that are drawn to him.

[hattergonnahat]

Sensible. What's sensible about staying in the midst of a battle like that one? What's sensible about going to sleep, safe at home with your loved one, only to be torn from them again? The entire situation is mad, he can't be faulted for acting accordingly.

It's damn cold. He finds himself tugging his coat closer around him as he moves off into the snow, away from the awful sounds of whatever those monsters are. He can run. That seems the only sane thing to do.

[doneisdone]

As he picks up speed, Teren gives a long-suffering sigh. He is running... away from Skyhold, into the mountains. He will die of exposure within hours.
"Stop, stop, STOP," she barks, breaking into a jog that closes the distance somewhat. "Have you a brain, newcomer?" If he allows it, she comes to stop in front of him, not touching him, but holding her arms up as though she might grip his shoulders and shake him if he doesn't collect himself.
"That way," she says, with an aggressive point of her thin finger in Skyhold's direction, "is where you go if you want to live. Beyond here is all snow and wilderness and wolves, and you're in no shape to be braving any of those things."

[hattergonnahat]

She's not wrong. It's been years since he's had to survive in the woods as a scavenger, and these parts are unknown to him. It's likely enough that he'd run afoul of something in these woods.

But he's a little less than trusting, these days. Panting slightly, Jefferson narrows his eyes and straightens, though moving no further forward.

"...and you're here to offer shelter? Out of the goodness of your heart?" he responds dryly, hitching up the collar of his coat even as he speaks.

[doneisdone]

"As it happens, I am," Teren sighs, letting her hands drop to her sides, his small gesture not going unntoiced. It seems the toffee-nosed type is a universal constant, even when they aren't from this realm of existence.
"Senior Warden Teren von Skraedder, Skyhold liaison to the wardens. With this latest gash in the sky being fairly close to where I live, I thought I'd forego my wardeny duties for an hour or so and help direct you poor sods to food and a fireplace." She folds her arms. "Unless you'd prefer the snow. If you'd rather just die, I'm not going to bother myself with you any further."

[hattergonnahat]

"Does anyone ever pick that answer?" Maybe some of them know something he doesn't. It all sounds very good, of course, a fireplace and food and out of the cold and the wilds, but people don't just do things out of the goodness of their hearts. There's always a price, unless they're complete saps.

This woman doesn't strike him as such. She's got a canny look about her, if somewhat impatient. But he doesn't care about ruffling feathers, at the moment. His only concern is surviving, and getting back to Grace.

Running in a random direction may not be all that helpful to the cause, in retrospect.

[doneisdone]

"None who have lived," Teren answers, perhaps embellishing a little bit-- she hasn't asked the question of many-- but she's just doing her best. "Follow me then, if you like. No one's going to force you." No sense wasting their energy if he's going to be a tit about it, and she suspects he'll end up wandering back towards voices anyway. Teren gives a curt nod and turns to go back the way she came, walking a little more slowly than usual just in case.

[hattergonnahat]

In fairness? He's been a bit of a tit before, on principle.

But this isn't just about him. Wherever it is, it's not where his daughter his. And his only concern is making it back to her again. Again. And again, and however many times he has to after that, no matter how many times they manage to become separated.

So rather continue to trudge out into the snow to make a point, he chances it. Runs the risk of winding up in someone's trap, because surely they wouldn't be so apathetic about him spilling into it if there really were one waiting for him.