faderift | Wintermarch Rifter Arrival

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"In all honesty, it's unlikely to accepted." Inessa's look is apologetic, as she can't imagine what it must be like to be torn from all that is familiar, let alone the resources that such a title would command. "It might not even be believed; as I said, elves do not have such titles here. Among Skyhold, at least, there is more tolerance or acceptance of rifters. In other areas, we still struggle with public uncertainty as to whether or not such people from beyond are demons in disguise. Those of us who know better at least try to explain why this is impossible."

At least with the Inquisition's numbers, even those who doubt might refrain from taking action in their presence. But in times as chaotic as these, it's never a sure thing. "Your drive to aid is commendable, though I hope it will not often be needed. For the most part, we know how to keep a low profile. And again, in Skyhold, the cosmopolitan nature of Skyhold allows for more relaxed attitudes within." Not that it's a bastion of progressiveness, but still. Inessa knows a good thing when she has it.

"I suspect we will be departing soon, for the first established camp on the way back. Any simple needs can be tended to there." Garahel isn't making it easy to get up and go, though. The mabari plops down and stretches, reluctant to move until food or playtime are mentioned.

"Tis best to know that beforehand." Thingol accepted the blow - it was less burdensome than what he had endured already. His pride would endure - what was left of it. However he frowned when she mentioned that he might be seen as a demon. That was going too far!

"Do demons wound one another?" he tugged down his robe to show her the gashes on his shoulder from the pride demon, "Will these scars serve me well?"

If not, he would raise his voice and give words to his ire over such a silly assumption! As if one of the first Elves of Arda could be demonic! Even Fëanáro had not earned that title.

"I am not accustomed to remaining in a crowded city. I much prefer the trees; are there any forests within walking distance of Skyhold?" he grabbed a spare cloth and wiped down Aranrúth, his blade, with care. His lips quirk at Garahel's actions and he murmured thoughtfully:

"I should like to eat and share a meal with at least one fine companion."

Are there any mabari takers? Any?

Inessa frowns upon seeing those gashes, instantly more concerned with them than the topic at hand. Almost automatically, she begins casting, summoning a healing blue light to envelop Thingol. Depending on the depth of those gashes, she might not heal them entirely, but as they are relatively new, she has hope. Only after casting the spell does she relax again.

"...demons are capable of many things, but what they never have are those shards. For whatever reason, only the non-demonic bear them. I have done my best to make that clear to all I meet.

As for what is near Skyhold, most of it is snow and mountain terrain, but there is a valley below. The Grey Wardens and many of the refugees dwell there, for instance. The accommodations will not be as bountiful as within the fortress itself, but the campgrounds are still within the Inquisition's protection."

Inessa nods over to the Inquisition soldiers; they'll be ready to go before long, but she can see the need to clean weapons properly before doing so. "A fine blade. We have time enough for its care. And the camp fare will be simple, but I believe that can be arranged. Just don't overfeed him, if you would. I still need him in fighting shape."

The blue light spooked him and some deeper instinct had him moving from it, the glow flashing in his eyes. The Elven-King of Doriath was not far removed from those Elves who preferred to remain in the forests. He was wild at his core for all his dignity and grace and he was not comfortable around magic. The spell, however, fell upon him like a gentle rain and the pain diminished to a whisper.

"Is the shard the source of your...powers?" he asked slowly, softly, touching his now well healing wounds, "Then I shall go to the valley after visiting the mountain. I can fend for myself so I do not fear being attacked."

No, he feared loneliness - isolation - far more. He was bereft of a family and a kingdom, yet he was not bereft of life or time. Thingol would not waste a moment feeling sorry for himself.

"We shall eat healthy fare!" he chuckled, seeking out a generally itchy spot behind the hound's ear, "Animals need not gorge themselves; that would not be healthy for him." and Thingol would look poorly on someone over-feeding an animal that was dependent on them.

Inessa turns her wrists to reveal her palms. "I bear no shard. I am a mage; those thus born manifest their gift at some point in their lives. When we do, we are taken to the towers of the Circle of Magi, to hone our abilities and guard against the dangers that come with our gift. Well, we were. The current state of affairs is...in flux, on more than one level."

Rifts are only part of it, but she's not sure how interested a newcomer would be in political matters. Besides, he's been through enough and she doesn't want to overwhelm him further. Noting Garahel's happy rumbling, she smirks. "And yet, he tries. One would think I never feed him, the way he stares pleadingly at any who give him attention."

Wintermarch Rifter Arrival

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