Wintermarch Rifter Arrival

[faderifting]

WHO: New rifters and their rescuers
WHAT:
WHEN: Wintermarch 10
WHERE: The Southern Hinterlands
NOTES: This log is backdated intentionally to allow new rifters to also immediately play in Skyhold and have a few days to handwave acclimation and explanations, if you'd like. It's open to rifters and to any Inquisition members who would volunteer to recover them.

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 stone, dropped from above by a flaring, crystalline green rip in reality that hangs overhead. Beyond it is blackness--no, if you focus, it's not emptiness, but stone, with the light from the rift reflecting on distant crevices and stalactites. You're underground. And you're not alone. There are two other people on the ground with you, and something with a deep, guttural laugh not far from you.

The source of the laugh is soon lit up with light of its own, arcing purple electricity rippling over a hulking body so large that humans don't quite reach its hip. It's the only demon here, but it isn't going to go down easily. And the only way out is a narrow tunnel that the demon is--demonically--blocking.

But you're not alone. There's that. The ground around you is scattered with weapons and belongings--maybe one of them is yours--and it won't be long before more people arrive, armed and armored and ready to fight.

Comments

[arlathvhen]

Staring with your mouth gaping is probably not the best first impression, but neither is flailing around for your bow as the mysterious elf tells you to arm yourself. Beleth manages both of these things in a truly dazzling display of the grace and poise that elves are famed for.

Or. Not.

"Um--You just, ah. Hit it?" That is not a particularly prize-winning explanation, either, and she winces as it sinks in just how dumb it sounded. "I mean--It's just a demon. You don't need to do anything special to kill it." That sounds slightly better, and Beleth tops it off with a demonstration, nocking her bow, the electricity that was magically imbued within it dancing across the arrow even before it went sailing into the pride demon's side. Well--At least she managed that without looking like an idiot.

[thehiddenking]

"Obviously!" Thingol ducked under one of the demon's swinging arms, nodding once, "Comforting, I daresay!" yet her words were difficult to understand when he could clearly see magic on her arrow, "Lady, you are using a spell!"

He watched the demon roar in outrage and claw at his side to remove the shaft. Well no distraction should be wasted! With fleet-footed grace, the silver-haired Elven-King leapt forward and plunged his blade into the demon's thigh, ripping a large gash.

[arlathvhen]

Even knowing it was deserved, she can't help but grimace at the 'obviously'. Smooth going, Beleth. Really making a good first impression here. She blinks when he says that she's using a spell, glancing at her bow. "Oh--Um. I'm not magic, just...the bow is..." The admittance is given with a sheepishness that seems to hint that the lack of magic is a personal failing on her part.

But now isn't the time to grouse about that, with a giant demon that's now very angry and bleeding. And armed, with a large whip that it raises, sending at the Eldar. Beleth makes a distressed noise in the back of her throat, even as she shuffles back. She can provide back up support, but there isn't much she can do for him without getting within range of the whip.

She sends another electrified arrow at the demon, anyway. It's better than nothing.

[thehiddenking]

"You have taken charge of the bow! That means you have accepted its nature." Thingol's voice was just barely strained as he aimed another blow at the demon's arm. His aim was to see the creature without those grasping claws and the hands to which they were attached!

The whip fell on him without mercy, but he shielded his head with Aranrúth, his legs nearly buckling. But he was not a King for nothing and he soon shifted the blade so that it sliced through the whip.

"Lady!" he warned when the demon reached for her, roaring its defiance. Thingol shoved the whip off of him and ran to Beleth's aid, expression determined.

[arlathvhen]

Beleth has to stare at her bow for a few baffled moments, to ponder what nature she had accepted. Should she tell him that she kind of...totally just stole it from the Empress of Orlais? ...Nah. If he wants to think she's cool and not just a loser with a stolen bow, then she's not going to stop him.

She's so busy trying to contemplate how, exactly, she took charge of the bow, that she doesn't notice the demon coming for her until Thingol shouts.

Oh shit.

She falls back with an alarmed yell, scrambling to her feet and shooting off another arrow, quickly trying to book it backwards, while not turning her back to the demon. She grunts, fishes around in a pocket, and throws down a small vial, that promptly breaks, a noxious-smelling gas springing up in a cloud. This seems to give the demon pause--or at least, he stops to cough.

"Don't--um. Don't. Breathe that in, by the way." She called to Thingol belatedly, while taking advantage of the extra seconds to try to put some distance between her and the demon. Poison can be useful, although...occasionally inconvenient to allies.