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

[meds4sale]

'Crafty', was one way to put it, the Medicine Seller thought as he circled himself with the paper charms just in time to ward off a blow from the pride demon. Even then, it left him staggering and another strike was incoming.

The Medicine Seller's mind raced. Thingol's attacks would have felled any living creature - but that was always the problem with spirits - they weren't alive. At least not in the way other people were. There were no organs to pierce, no spine to sever, no veins that would bleed out. But Thingol's sword could harm it.

He planted his feet more firmly, pushing back against the second strike. The skin on his hand split from the force, and dribbled onto the cavern floor. Not since Tamaki's raw fury had he encountered such power and that had been a very long time ago.

"Sever its arms," he said through gritted teeth. It was rare he ever raised his voice but he did so now. "Take away its means to fight!"

[thehiddenking]

The idea had occurred to him too. Thingol smelled his companion's blood and knew him injured. That could not be left unattended! The next blows he dealt the pride demon were aimed at the creature's wrists - or, at least, the thinnest part of his arms. Remove the hands and they would have a helpless foe!

"Hold strong, mellon!" he grimaced in disdain as, first, one hand fell and then another. In the act of seeing such a task done, Thingol was knocked about and sustained some gouges on his shoulder and side.

Truly nothing an Elf of his pedigree couldn't endure! Yet, once he landed beside the Medicine Seller again, he was breathing a little harder, face paler.

[meds4sale]

Did...

Did he just call him a melon?

Well. That was new.

Perhaps it was an insult, perhaps melons were particularly renowned for holding strong here. Wherever "here" actually was.

As Thingol landed beside him, the Medicine Seller gave a small nod. The pride demon, howling in pain, was gearing up for another attack as the air filled with electricity.

The Medicine Seller pulled the large, circular pendant from his throat, which turned out to be a hand mirror. He gently nudged it into the air where it hung for a moment, before shooting foward and expanding rapidly in diameter to the height of a grown man.

The great storm of electricity was reflected back at the creature, bringing the demon to its knees, helpless and spent for the time being.

"You should be quick," the Medicine Seller said, as the mirror returned to its usual size. "There is no need to draw out its suffering."

[thehiddenking]

That would be mellon, which was the Sindarin word for "friend" - therefore it definitely was not an insult. Thingol had forgotten that he was not amongst his own kind - or at least those who knew the language he preferred! With a quick flick of his wrist, he shook any pieces of flesh from Aranrúth's sharp edges and watched the Medicine Seller work.

He truly was a powerful, curious ally! The Elven-King had many questions for him, but they must wait. Once the demon was helpless - truly so - he nodded and ran at full speed, climbing the beast as he had before and drawing his blade across the demon's neck. His sword was so lethal that he nearly severed the demon's head; he saw no reason to leave the job half-finished and, so, with another slash, he saw the creature's head rolling.

[meds4sale]

It was quick and efficient work - the Medicine Seller had to admire that kind of skill. The pride demon dissipated back into the rift and they were, for now, safe.

He lowered his hand, and the remaining talismans went blank, folded in on themselves, and vanished up his voluminous sleeves.

He gave the rift a long, quiet stare, unsure quite of what to make of it. There was a feeling of familiarity, yes, but there was something wildly alien about it as well. But simply staring at it wasn't going to deliver answers - just a headache which he could really do without. And Thingol's injuries, while likely not severe, needed some tending.

He was, after all, a Medicine Seller - it was the least he could do, given that Thingol had done most of the hard work.

"I will mix you a salve," he said. "Those wounds look painful."

[thehiddenking]

As the demon disappeared, Thingol cleaned his blade, giving due credit to his sharp companion. Aranrúth had been at his side for many a year and it was his favorite of all the Elvish blades he had once owned. Then, with care, he sheathed the sword at his hip and focused on the Medicine Seller.

"Oh?" he glanced, as an afterthought, at the gashes on his shoulder in particular, "They do sting, but I am more concerned for your well-being. Did you expend your power too recklessly by chance?"

He approached, peering at the Medicine Seller curiously. Yes, he was concerned, however that emotion was overshadowed by the questions that were blooming - of their own will - within him.

[meds4sale]

"Not at all," said the Medicine Seller. And it was only a half lie. He hadn't been any more reckless with his power than he usually was, but he felt odd since waking. Perhaps a proper rest and some food would clear matters up. If not, then he would have to search elsewhere for answers.

The Medicine Seller had his own mountain of questions slowly amassing. He wasn't prone to assumptions, but maybe this one who led the charge against the demon had more answers than he.

"Do you know where we are?" He asked, dodging too much scrutiny under the pretense of seeking out his medicine pack.

[thehiddenking]

"I cannot say." Thingol glanced around as if he was seeing their surroundings for the first time, "I thought we might be in the Halls of Mandos, but those are places of rest for weary souls." and thus there were no towering demons ready to devour any who arrived before it.

Unless, of course, Morgoth had defeated Námo somehow. The thought made his spine straighten and his limbs freeze in dawning horror. No, there must be another explanation. There would be another explanation.

"Shall we discover the truth together?" he too felt a strange fatigue and hunger. Food would do them both good. He extended his hand to the Medicine Seller in case he needed aid.

[meds4sale]

"I cannot say I have heard of such a place," he said, brows furrowing ever so slightly in thought as he contemplated where he could have possibly wound up under such mysterious circumstance. Fugaku Fuketsu and the Narusawa caves were always cold, even in the summer thaw, but considering the oddness of his companion's own words, they could be anywhere.

Thingol had the right of it - there was no point in speculation. They needed to find out where they were.

"A moment to prepare please," he said. "Whatever these caves are, they are not without dangers."

Picking through the clutter of his supplies, the Medicine Seller found the salve he was looking for.

"Ah. This should ease any pain from your injuries."

He offered the black lacquered jar, decorated with golden cranes in various stages of flight.