Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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faderift2016-10-11 06:56 pm
faderifting) wrote in faderift2016-10-11 06:56 pm
Entry tags:
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.
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.
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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He's not exactly sure how. He'll throw rocks at their faces if needed.
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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.
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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?"
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"Go, hurry." He isn't sure the next spell will hit as neatly.
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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!"
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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.
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"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."
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"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."
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