faderift | Harvestmere Rifter Arrival

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Harvestmere Rifter Arrival

WHO: New rifters & their rescuers
WHAT: People fall out of a rift and get attacked by stuff… in the desert!
WHEN: Harvestmere 10
WHERE: The Western Approach
NOTES: The arrival log is open to all. Solas was able to alert the Inquisition to the general area where the new rifters would be arriving so people could be sent to pick them up.

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, you wake with a jolt when you hit rock or sand or wooden planks--you've been dropped into a narrow canyon, into the rocky orange sand at the floor or onto the rickety scaffolding along the steep wall. Judging by the heat, somewhere above is a bright and unforgiving sun, but view of the sky overhead is blocked by a flaring green rip in reality. There's a narrow splinter of light in the same sickly green as whatever brought you here, now glowing out of the palm of your left hand. It aches, a bone-deep pain that gnaws even through all the distractions.

The way ahead is blocked, too, by a monstrous, horned beast with too many eyes and electricity rippling down its arms: a pride demon with a very off-putting laugh. The only quick way out is up. The ladders and scaffolding and narrow bridges across the gorge have demons, too, but only smaller shades and wraiths. Your chances are better up there--you and the people you arrived with, four altogether, collectively less dangerous-looking than the demon.

Along the way, the planks are littered with debris: crustaceans, skateboards, crustaceans on skateboards, a cyvasse piece, a dagger, a set of bloody and very sharp canine teeth. And an enormous, moving, roaring tiger made of something green, translucent, slightly bouncy, and fruity smelling. The tiger has a rider, at least briefly, clad in a crinkly white suit and rounded helmet. It also has saddle bags, which are full of donuts if anyone is able to get close enough to check without getting swiped by a giant paw, claws sticking out through the ends of pink bunny slippers.

And at the top of the canyon walls, there's help--armed, armored help--already making its way down to meet you.

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It's very rare that Harry has restful sleep, so it had been fitful and uncomfortable and then this. He half expects that he's still in a nightmare, but Voldemort never used anything like a pride demon.

He scrambles up, takes look at the scene around him, and reaches for his wand. He can feel that it's wrong, but he doesn't have time to process that. He just wants to buy some time to get away from the demon.

"Stupefy," he tries, but the red blast of light misses the demon completely and hits next to it uselessly.

Running it is then. And up is good, it's easy to make sure the others are safe too, at least the people trying to get to them are shaped mostly like humans. Not that that means much. Some humans are terrible and some non-humans are among the bravest beings he's ever known.

Tyrion himself had found himself drifting off during the squalling match between the mercenary captains, both of which were being, in Tyrion's own personal opinions, rather thick about the entire thing. He closed his eyes for just a moment -- and then it was as if he had gone back to drinking at least five bottles of red wine as he was falling ... falling ...

Slam.

Into the ground, sand, and he wondered briefly if he had fallen out of his chair under the tent, when he heard the roar, and looked up. Then up some more. Then up a little further than that.

"Fuck me." Tyrion whispered, as a splash of red light streamed up and smacked another creature, next to the snarling, many eyed monster before him. His gaze swiveled towards the young man who had shot at it, who was now running - towards him? No, towards ... all of them?

No time for that. He looked around quickly to find something to defend him, shouting to the young man, "Do you know what in the name of Seven Hells that thing is?"

Oh look, the cyvasse piece he had been holding -- and ... a board with small, odd wheels on it. Well, any spittle in a drought. He picked up both, stuffing the piece in his pocket and holding the skateboard in front of him like a shield, blue eyes following all the creatures cautiously, then darting around for a way out.

Harry doesn't have time to try contemplate who the man is that he's with. What matters more is that they get out safely. "I don't think it's smart to stick around and ask," he says. Then he gestures towards the ladders. "I think we need to go up."

He would offer the levitate the stranger to make the process faster, but he doesn't want to risk it with his wand acting up.

"You know, I think you may be right. On all counts." He hefted the strange board with wheels, as he hobbled as quickly as he could to the ladders. This wasn't going to be easy. and he eyed the big demon, then the boy. "You first. I don't want to slow you down."

Harry shakes his head. There was no way he was going to let that sort of talk pass. He didn't care about being slowed down if it meant leaving someone behind. Tyrion may be a stranger, but Harry isn't the type to look out for himself first. "I have a way to fight them," he says. He can't trust his wand completely with the state it's in, but it will do better than the skateboard. "You go first. I'll make sure you get up safely and then follow."

[ooc; I'm thinking once Tyrion starts to make his way up, that's when Harry disappears to go help Sansa? Then they meet up again at the top?]

Tyrion frowned but he nodded once, tucking the skateboard under his arm as he climbed with one arm. It was unwieldly, and it certainly did not help that he was not the best climber with his legs. However, surviving did happen to be one of his most valued qualities, so he pulled himself up, and over, heading to the next ladder, smacking another waspish creature with the board in his hands.

[Sounds good to me!]

Sansa has no idea what is going on. She's disoriented and lost, afraid, and none of her choices appear to be safe. There's a monstrous being before her, something she's never seen before in her life and creatures only slightly less monstrous above her. Her first instinct is to scream and she does but she chokes that off quickly; that's the instinct of a stupid girl and she's not a girl any longer.

She looks among the debris for a moment and she spots a few others stranded with her. Others might help her or harm her. For now, she should put her trust in the other people stranded with her, shouldn't she? She tips her gaze up and sees what appears to be men and women-at-arms. She's going to have to trust them.

"Help! Please, help!"

"We've got to get up, away from those things," Harry is there, near her, almost right after the call. He really had a weakness people who need help - more so when those people are red haired women. He has his wand in his hand but he's not using it, he can't risk it with it being damaged. Instead, he comes closer to Sansa and looks towards the ladders. "You start, I'll watch and distract them if they start to attack."

He's not exactly sure how. He'll throw rocks at their faces if needed.

Sansa nods quickly. She knows that she's not going to be able to do anything by standing frozen and screaming and he at least has a plan. She can go along with it for now even if she doesn't know him.

She can do this. She fled through the Wolfswood from dogs and through snow and she can climb these ladders. She begins her ascent, looking back to make sure her companion is following. "Don't let me go alone," she says, worried that he might end up getting left behind.

Harry nods then. "I'm right behind you," he promises. He puts a hand on the ladder to let her know he will start the climb once he knows she's safe.

Sansa starts the climb. There's no way to go except for up, after all, and up she'll go. She'll put one foot in front of the other until she reaches safety, just like the Wolfswood months ago.

She makes it up a few steps when she's stopped by a shade, paralyzing her in her tracks. "What do I do?"

Harry tries the stunning spell again, this time, miraculously, the spell hits its target. He should be more worried about doing magic around people who might be Muggles, but right now his main concern is getting them to safety. The demon stumbles a bit from the spell but isn't completely defeated.

"Go, hurry." He isn't sure the next spell will hit as neatly.

Sansa doesn't have time to contemplate how he makes the creature stop dead in his tracks, only that he does and that it buys her time to escape. She'll have to get his name because now House Stark owes this man a debt, a life debt, and she takes such things deadly serious.

Once, she'd had a head filled with nonsense about knights and flowers and silly things. Now she has a head filled with sense but she still wants to recognize service when it needs to be recognized and she will recognize this man's service to her house. She will. Now, though, she won't have a house if she doesn't get away and so she does, scrambling across a bridge and up a ladder.

"Go," she shouts. "Follow me!"

Harry would be more than a little bemused at the idea of being owed a life debt, but that conversation is for another time when they aren't going up rickety ladders and bridges.

For now, he's hyper alert to things around them, trying to make sure another one of those monsters doesn't attack or get in their way. He's far more concerned with getting out alive than anything else.

"There's people up there," he comments, talking about the Inquisition members that they can just barely start to see. "They might be able to help." They might also be in cahoots with the monsters, but Harry would deal with that if it turned out to be true.

"They don't seem to be shooting at us," Sansa says, continuing her ascent upward, occasionally glancing back to see if he's following. She doesn't know if they're friend or foe but she thinks, if it's their death they want, it'd be easier to go ahead and pick them off from here.

"I think we should trust them for now." It goes without saying that she trusts him. He's saved her life once already. "I'm Sansa, of House Stark."

It's been so long since Harry has had to really introduce himself to someone that it almost feels awkward. "I'm Harry," he says. "Harry Potter." Then after a moment, "It's nice to meet you but I'd rather it have been under better circumstances." He means that as a bit of a joke, and his tone is a little dry as he says it. He's still on the lookout for more demons.

"Likewise," Sansa says, smiling just a bit.

"I don't think anyone would want to meet in circumstances such as these. It's all a bit dire, honestly, and I don't want to wish that on anyone. Still, well met, as much as can be considered."

Harry offers her a smile in return. "Seems like most times things are dire," he admits after a moment. He had just finished one war to find himself trust in a world with monsters. He'd have to make sense of that when they weren't trying to escape.

Tyrion looks down the ladder, to see a familiar head of red hair. The fellow with the bottle green eyes, being the good lad that he is, is making sure that they are all on their way. Tyrion can see a few others, and he is shouting to them all, especially that familiar red head,

"Up here!" One of the sliding horrors is coming right at him, and with the pure will of someone who wants to survive, he clubs it as it swings claws at him, hitting it grimly in the mid-section.

As soon as he can see that flash of red out of the corner of his eyes, he calls out, "Lady Sansa, what an odd pleasure to see you again."

He slammed the board into the creature's midsection one more time, and it screeched, fading into the ground and leaving a nice wide scratch on his arm.

"My lord!"

It comes out as a startled gasp, both at seeing the creature dispatched and at seeing him again alive. She's been told that he's dead, that she'd been a widow before being married to that cruel monster and now to know that she'd never been a widow is making her head spin a bit. Still, there's no time to contemplate that now. Now, she's got to focus on getting to the top of this canyon and to safety. She cannot think about anything else right now.

"My lord, thank you. Thank you so much."

He would take a moment to bow - but it is that moment that he is grasping her hand and pulling her along to the next ladder. He shook his head slightly. "Thank me when we're at the top of this cliff and we're not about to get eaten by things out of our nightmares. For now, just go! We will be right behind you."

Sansa scrabbles upward as quickly as she can, wishing she wasn't wearing her heavy Northern cloak and gown. Oh, what she wouldn't give for something brief and silken and Southron in this moment. If only! Still, her boots grip the ladder better and she makes it to the top, scrambling upward and clearing away so she can reach for Tyrion and the other man.

"I'll help you up," she says, stretching out her arms. "Come on!"

He smashes another creature, this one made of flames - flames, how was that even fair? - making sure that the young man was following behind them, then flinging himself up the next ladder. He gripped his weapon under one arm, getting close enough to Sansa to throw it over the edge near her, and then grasping both of her hands, allowing her to pull him to safety.

He huffed as he scrambled to his feet, "Many thanks, my lady ... ah, here is my faithfully odd weapon ..." He plucked up the skateboard, "Is the lad behind us?"

Sansa glances past Tyrion for a moment to confirm that the other man is behind him before nodding quickly and turning her attentions to her lord husband.

"He is, my lord. Are you hurt at all?" It's been ages since she's seen him and he looks worse for the wear but she does not release his hands, too shocked to see him alive.

Well, he was going to be honest, he did not expect her to hold onto his free hand like that, and cover his other hand with hers. He looks at her with shock and surprise, his eyebrows raising together. So confused was he, that it took a moment for him to gather his thoughts once more.

"...I. Yes. But nothing major." He cleared his throat. My it was dry in the desert. "Just a few claw marks."

"I will tend to your wounds when we are able," Sansa says, squeezing his hands lightly. "And you must tell me of what has happened since we saw one another last, all right?"

It seems that there are others who want to talk to them and a flurry of activity all around them. It hardly seems the place for a private conversation but Sansa knows that they must have one and soon.

"Do you promise, my lord?"

He pressed his mouth together, confusion again flashing through his blue eyes. This one was slightly less terrifying, however, than the creature below them, but only slightly less.

"I am ... I promise, Sansa. I will ... tell you whatever you wish."

"Good. It has been a long time," she says, giving him a tight smile. "And much has happened to me. I imagine it's been the same for you, too, and it will be good to speak with a friend again. It's been a long time since I've talked to anyone I knew in King's Landing."

Her smile grows but only a little. "I saw my brother Jon again."

"Yes ... yes it has. Months. Almost ... well. Almost a year now, if I were to guess." A friend? Well, they had been getting there, friends who could depend on one another. Inbetween his stabs of lust and his family heartlessly murdering her own.

Something in his chest surged, bastard, you live yet, before he exhaled slowly. "I want to hear all about this -- once we aren't getting hunted by horrors."

"Yes, exactly," Sansa agrees. "I just thought you'd want to know that I lived," she says. "And that I made it to Jon."

Not in the condition that he'd seen her last, no, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that she survived and she'd made it north again to Winterfell along with Jon and they are the last Starks in their ancient seat once again.

"I am relieved to hear, and to see." He crooked a smile at her, before he bowed deeply at her, "As you can see, I am also alive. In mostly one piece."

"I am grateful, my lord," Sansa says, her own little smile firmly in evidence. She never wants him to think she is anything but grateful, considering how he protected her when he did not have to.

"I am glad."

1. Wynonna snaps awake at the first jolt of the helmet against her forehead, whacking square between the eyes. It's the tiger struggling for balance beneath her that does it, paws sliding against the hill of sand, jostling his rider about.

"Ow," she mumbles, and reaches up to rub at the spot, only to find that her hand is in a glove and the glove is pawing at glass. "What the shit?"

Her eyes open then, squinted at first, against the harsh sun off the desert sands, and then blinked wide because what sands? And what glass?? And what the fuck tiger???? It all feels distantly familiar but also immediately weird, like the sensation of abruptly waking up from a dream and suddenly realizing how insane everything is despite it having felt normal a moment ago.

She reaches down to grab hold of the saddlehorn in front of her, because for some reason there's a saddle, but no reins. The green gummy tiger she's atop isn't bucking like a horse, but it's wheeling and snarling and slashing its paws at whatever it can find, whether it's sand or person. When one toss of its gigantic gummy head brings Wynonna into view atop its back, it begins trying to throw her off. It looks a lot like a cat chasing its tail, whipping around with greater and greater force in its effort to get teeth around its own middle. But unlike the tail, she's actually in reach and after a few attempts, teeth snap around her heel and Wynonna jerks back as they slice through leather, both girl-in-astronaut-suit and saddle and saddelbags all tumbling to the ground with an undignified yelp only half-muffled by the helmet.

2. Wynonna leaves the astronaut suit on. The ground here might as well be Mars, for all she knows, all orange sand and strange creatures and two moons hanging low in the sky overhead. She's not sure where all these bridges and paths go, and isn't at all convinced that following them is a good idea, but there's no better path on offer and they're easier to run on than sand, so here she is, stumbling her way up a ladder, the heavy astronaut gloves clumsy on the rungs, boots slipping, too big for her feet and faintly sloshing as she moves. She curses, a string of only mildly creative invective as she catches herself and hauls herself up, flopping forward onto the platform above and crawling forward without a shred of dignity before gripping rope railings to try to haul herself to her feet. She gets partway up and then collapses back down for the count.

"Oh," she says to the feet of the person whose path she has been blocking as she's laid prone on the decking catching her breath, the pant of it audible even through the astronaut's helmet she wears, "Sorry, just-- just go ahead on down. Good luck. God speed. Whatever the fuck--"

A crab rolls by her on a skateboard, its claws raised in the air. "Fuck you," she replies, rolling over onto her back and beginning to struggle her way out of the suit, slapping at clasps and clawing at catches, throwing gloves this way and helmets that.

(feel free to wildcard!! and either brackets or not is fine w/me)

Edited 2016-10-12 02:38 (UTC)

Mitchell, sweaty, looks up from deep mad reverie to find--

A woman, in an astronaut suit.

He actually takes a step back. Far away from this moment is the echo of George, what could be scarier than one of us? But it isn't fear that makes him recoil. It's uncertainty, in a moment when everything is sunk deep in uncertainty.

"Yeah," he says, without knowing why he says it. Resists the urge to rub his hand over his mouth.

It's not purgatory. In purgatory, there's no woman in astronaut suits falling at his feet. There's no crabs on skateboards. Mitchell steps aside from that crab as well, slowly, a man mired in a dream. The full terror of waking up in this place is distant, not yet worked over him. The full ache hasn't quite settled in either. His hand hurts, dimly; that reminder is enough to take some of his other pressures from him, at least for the moment.

If this is a dream, he will either be able to manage this moment, or he will kill this woman, or else she will just be dead. Mitchell looks away, quickly, as she works the helmet off. The skateboard wheels are a quiet rattle.

He darts a look back at the woman.

"Was that a crab?"

"Uhhh. Yeah. Yep. That was a crab. On a skateboard. This is such a weird dream. And I don't even remember drinking." She lets out a long, loud groan of exasperation.

And then tries to sit up, which proves to be more difficult that anticipated with all of this space material flopping and swishing and tangling around her limbs. With another noise of somewhat pitiful irritation, Wynonna flops over onto her stomach and pushes up onto all fours, tottering to her feet. She presses a hand to her forehead and swipes dark hair off her sweaty forehead.

Only then does she really look at Mitchell, squinting against the light off the sand. "Who are you supposed to be, anyway?"

"Just," he starts, before concluding, lamely, "Mitchell. We don't know each other."

The strength of his conviction in those words will carry a long way. He knows, not because immortality has granted him this long memory--though truthfully it has, in the worst way. And to that end, more what he's thinking is that he would remember her, if he'd met her before. The shape of her face, the fall of hair over her face, the curve of her mouth. Some detail.

Mitchell rubs his wrist over his mouth, once, quick. Follows the line of the spacesuit's flopping arm with his eye.

"And you're... meant to be landing on the moon."

Educated guess.

Okay. Church has seen some weird things in Thedas. Honestly, none of it all that much weirder than the things he'd seen or been part of back home, just a different brand of weirdness.

Gummy tiger with bunny slippers and donut bags and astronaut rider? Weirdest shit he's seen. (So far.) He's definitely all for killing the tiger, and maybe eating its delicious potentially green apple flavored insides before they go bad, but it's also got claws and teeth that it isn't afraid to use.

Like on its rider. Which he had thought might be an enemy. But it's attacking its own rider, so...that's...that's weird, and maybe it's just some weird-ass fucking Rifter from a gummy tiger planet. Or it's a wayward spirit of the Fade who ate too many shrimp tacos before bead and/or absorbed too many weird mortal dreams.

Either way, Church is a little afraid to go wailing on it with his sword, because what if it doesn't feel gummy pain? What if it claws him up instead? Listen, running around with a sword is not as easy as it looks. Guns are easier! "Hey!" Just because he's afraid to doesn't mean he's not going to. "Hey Flubber! Get your bouncy ass away from the spaceman!"

Woman, sorry, but who can actually tell in that getup? He's both trying to distract it from finishing the astronaut off while also trying toooooo rescue the fallen rider, so, y'know, that doesn't really direct attention elsewhere. He skids to a dusty stop not far from the rider, sword in one hand, shard-powered pain shield in the other. "Howdy, partner, you might wanna get up before Tigger decides you look extra delicious."

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Harvestmere Rifter Arrival

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Hiya Harry!

mmm tyrion :D

Re: mmm tyrion :D

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Further on up

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hi, 2, idk that his cold dead heart can take tigers too

wimpy heart

YOU'RE a wimpy heart

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