faderift | Cloudreach Rifter Arrival

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Cloudreach Rifter Arrival

WHO: New rifters & her rescuers
WHAT: Weird people fall out of a rift with demons, now with bonus civilians to save.
WHEN: Early Cloudreach
WHERE: Jader
NOTES: This log is OPEN to new rifters and to anyone who might have volunteered or been ordered to go retrieve new rifters. It takes place during the migration from Skyhold to Kirkwall, along the way, so those going early and those staying in Skyhold can still easily participate. Rifters: the log is intentionally backdated to allow you to also jump straight into RPing elsewhere. It's safe to assume everyone lives.

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 cobblestones, dropped from above by a flaring, crystalline green rip in reality that hangs overhead. Beyond it the sun glares down through scattered clouds, and there’s wind—strong salty wind off a sea, whistling now through the narrow spaces between the buildings surrounding the city square.

That’s where you are now: a city. Around you and the rift, merchants and shoppers freeze where they stand, a few with fish or coins extended. The shocked silence extends for whole seconds before it’s broken by two things at once: a man’s terrified shout, and the heavy, stone-rattling stomp of a massive purple demon that’s followed you through the tear. Then everyone is moving at once, screaming and shouting and snatching up children to carry with them as they run.

Another demon follows shortly—smaller, hooded, floating, shrieking horribly and freezing everything around it, emanating despair. But there’s also hope! Your belongings might save you; they’re scattered on the ground where you fell. There's also 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, but it’s going to help, promise. And it won't be long before more people arrive, armed and armored and not at all surprised to see you.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

1. FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!!!

It has been some time since she was displaced so thoroughly. She stares at the quaint scene of the afternoon market, frozen in the same second. Diana comes alive as the villagers do, but not to scream and run. She doesn't know where (when?) she is, but there is danger. Cold chilling her to the bone, latching on to the open bleeding wound in her heart. The golden lasso blazes on the ground and she grabs for it. Thus armed, she hurls herself into the fray.

Priorities first. The small creature can't be left to run amok while she handles the big one. The lasso flies, encircling the shrieking, hooded creature. It screams louder. Her hand throbs. Diana ignores it and hog ties the damn thing, praying it will not be able to escape before she's finished with the large creature. There is no one to hear her prayers.

"Yield, beast," she snarls, chilled to the bone, frost etching across the glinting silver of her bracelets. She wants nothing more than to go to her knees and tear at her uniform and weep for days. Instead she takes to the air, slamming into the giant creature, disrupting a flow of energy between it's hands. "If you seek to harm these people, you'll have to go through me."

Bold words. As much for herself as her opponents. Electricity crackles over her skin as the giant creature turns to her and seems to smile. Then it laughs. She punches it right in it's obnoxious smug face, throws her entire strength into it. She hits it again with her left hand, grounds herself with the pain and gets back to work.

She doesn't see the hooded creature, wriggling free of it's bindings. She doesn't see the lasso frosting over, loosening (not breaking, never breaking) and falling once more to the ground. She might need some help.

2. Post Fight Cool Down

There are, Diana thinks from where she's seated on the ground, Significantly worse ways to make an entrance. She can't think of any involving her personally at the moment, if only because she didn't normally drag large, super powered creatures through holes torn in space and time with her. It's hard to top that.

She is seated on the ground for a number of reasons: The first, she is a stranger in a strange land. It's not brilliant detective work, certainly, one can tell at a glance. She is also a very large stranger, towering over most of the townspeople she's seen so far and a few of the fighters who had shown up to assist. And moreover a strangely dressed stranger. She would prefer not to be the stranger that's seen as a threat, so she endeavors to make herself as nonthreatening as possible. Ergo: sitting. The second reason is that she is tired. And aching. The familiar deep down ache she gets after a fight that probably could have killed her and Hera knows how many others, had she made even one wrong move. The ache in her left hand is a new and entierly unfamiliar one and that...

Well, it's not actively killing her or anyone else at the moment or spitting out demons of its own, so it can wait. For now, she is content to be the bruised and bloody woman, dressed in outlandish clothes and sitting in the dirt, her posture that of a warrior at rest. The intensity of her gaze is the only thing that gives away the fact that she is not exactly resting.

That had been... quite the fight, and not least of all because he's never seen anyone fight with a rope before. Anders is circulating through the combatants, seeing to injuries, when he comes over to the woman who is most definitely a rifter. And most definitely taller than him, too. Plenty of people are, but her skills at punching demons makes her height all the more impressive.

"How are you doing? Is any of the blood yours? I'm a healer, so I can help if you've need of it, magically or, if you've objections to magic, less effective salves and potions." And please let her not be someone who hates magic and magic users.

"A portion of it is mine, I would imagine. Though if you ask me where it's from I couldn't begin to tell you," Diana says, tilting her head up slightly to look at the man from her seated position, "But I'm perfectly well, you should see to others first. Were there any casualties?"

What was a few flesh wounds anyway.

"No casualties, thankfully, and I've seen to everyone who was seriously injured already. Now I've moved on to the people who are sitting rather than walking around." He gives her a faint smile. "Like you."

Anders holds out a hand, letting it glow green. "I can assure you that what I do is entirely painless and relatively quick, since going by what I saw of your hand in the fight suggests you may not already know that."

"I suppose I have little choice then." She says it with a laugh and does not flinch away as his hand begins to glow. Rather she watches it with some curiosity. Magic is always different, even within her own world. What the healers on Themyscira did with the Purple Healing Ray was far and away different from the arcane, sometimes hellish magic of Jason Blood or the straightforward backwards words of Zatanna.

"What's your name?" she asks. She has many questions, but that seems a good one to start on.

"I'm Anders, and you always have a choice about healing save when you're unconscious and bleeding out. Then I assume your desire for survival is a given." He flashes her a smile as he gets to work, closing wounds and easing bruising. It likely feels warm and a little itchy; healing skin isn't always the most comfortable thing.

"May I ask yours?" Meeting Rifters, while dicey at first because he never knows who will hate magic, often proves relaxing otherwise. They don't know his name and his past. They can't. He can just be him for a short time until someone else spills his secrets.

"I have been told I am not the best patient," Diana admits, though she does sit still and manages not to scratch at the wounds as they close up, "Sitting still can be difficult at times, but thank you, Anders. I'm Diana."

"Oh, another not the best," he says, shaking his head but still more amused than anything else. "We seem to be gathering a lot of people who like to escape from the healing tents before their wounds have been given the time they need. All the same, welcome to Thedas, Diana. You likely have a multitude of questions, and I can try to answer some of them if you'd like."

She laughs at that, pleasant and soft. "Well, can you blame us? There are always far more important things to do than staying in healing tents." She does pause to think over his offer.

"In truth," she says, "I can hardly think of where to begin. What were those creatures that came through that portal with me?"

He gives her a wry look and a shake of his head. He can blame patients because he then has to chase after them, but now's not the time for that discussion. Right now she's a billion questions and he can help with that.

"Demons. The portals, which we call rifts, don't simply touch other worlds. They also touch the Fade, a realm attached to this world but separated by the Veil, and populated by demons and spirits. Those were various sorts of demons, all representing different vices that they inspire and feed off of. It's best to take them out as soon as you see them."

She attempts to not put too much strain on her various doctors. This... doesn't actually work, but the attempt is made. She nods as he speaks.

"I'm not unfamiliar with such things," she tells him, thinking of the realms she's walked, separate from her body. There was no simple word like demons for the beings that lived in those realms. Most called them gods. "And this?" She holds up the hand with the sparking, spitting shard, "This is part of it, isn't it."

Anders nods.

"It's a part of it, but we've no full understanding of it. Most of the people who are pulled here from other worlds, if not all of them, gain a shard, that. The shards can close the rifts when used right, but they seem to cause pain to their bearers from time to time." He exhales. He wishes the news was better, but there's nothing he can really help with there.

"We healers have pain potions that can ease the worst of it. I'd been working with the only apparently expert in the shards, Solas, while he was around, but he slipped away again before I was able to understand how to ease the pain from the shard itself. He's a habit of that, slipping away."

Something in Diana lights up, curiosity maybe, a clear cut course.

"How does it close rifts?" That is rather good news as far as Diana is concerned. She does not care for a strange magic imbedded in her without knowing what the thing is meant to do. As to the rest. "The pain is bearable, you needn't worry on my account."

He nods about the pain, expression a little distant because of the question.

"I'm not certain, actually. I know some have done it. We'll be heading back to Inquisition headquarters, where most Rifters stay, and you can find out from them what training they have. Araceli's been here for quite some time, she may know. If you can't locate her, Jamie is sharp, he may know, Hermione studies a great many things and is likely to have an answer. I can gather more names if none of those three is available or able to answer the question for you, but those are who I'd go to first."

"Excellent, I will start with that," Diana says, looking surprisingly pleased. She's not the drifting sort, having a course of action is the ideal for her. "Now all I need is a bath."

Anders might have done an excellent job healing, but there's not much to be done about the blood splatter on her Wonder Woman uniform. She picks at one stain a little thoughtfully, "And clothes, come to think of it. I seem to be a little underdressed for the crowd."

"The good news is we're not far from the current Inquisition headquarters, and there's a room for bathing. Clothing should be easy enough to find as well, though I can't guarantee it'll be anything exactly... fashionable."

Brown and grey basic pants and shirts and robes they have. Anything extra would be counted as a luxury, for good reason.

Anders tilts his head to the side, to where people are gathering. "And you can get a little more situated, away from people who are still, um, doubtful about people appearing through the Rifts." Which is a gentle way to say some of the city might not be entirely friendly to people they know aren't from these parts.

Diana looks down at herself and the blood and gore stained Wonder Woman uniform and then back up to Anders with a raised eyebrow. "I think in this instance I would prefer function over form."

She is a realistic woman who is fully aware that at no point in history was the uniform considered fashionable, this does not stop her from loving it. She does follow his slight gesture to glance around at the assembling crowd.

"And something a little more inconspicuous perhaps."

He gives her an amused nod, conceding the point. No one likes running around in a blood-stained outfit, and hers is... unique.

"A moment. Let me see if they brought anything along with us." Sometimes they do when heading out to a rift, because you never know if there will be people alongside the demons spilling out. Anders steps away to speak quickly with someone carrying a sack and a few moments later he's returning with a brown tunic and a long brown skirt and a shrug.

"It's definitely inconspicuous."

This shit is wild.

There are plenty of more purposeful thoughts on her mind: about what this means for the Inquisition’s presence in the city, about whether their work with the Gallows has unspun the Veil somehow, about just how fucked they’d be if it had taken a little longer to put the demons down, about how cold it looks to be fighting in one's smallclothes.

This shit is wild, and she’s halfway sure that through the chaos of it all she just watched Diana punch a pride demon in the face and live,

And so when the battle’s done (when they’re all picking up the pieces: clearing rubble, seeing to the injured) Wren finally approaches with someone else’s canteen in hand, and offers it out. Her gaze is hard; assesses first the hand, the posture, Diana's own eyes.

"You should drink," A short, may-I gesture to the space beside her.

Diana meets the woman's gaze evenly, a smile softening the look as she takes the offered canteen.

"My thanks, sister." The title is almost automatic. This woman moves a bit like an Amazon and Diana's heart is still raw, chilled from the frost of the small demon. She nods to the space beside her, inviting Wren to sit. She takes a drink from the canteen, the water tasting slightly of the metal, but cold and good. She doesn't rest in silence long: "How bad are the damages?"

Sister, how long has that been? Maker. Her eyes want to narrow at the smile; she resists the instinct.

"The city has had worse," A small shrug as she eases herself down. "If there is one thing that Kirkwall does not lack for, it is fish."

And regular destruction. Still, if a day's spoiled catch may hurt some, it will do less to sully their image than crushed Hightown steps.

"I assume the Inquisition shall see to reconstruction," Wren gestures to the troops still about at that. The Inquisition. "And many will be pleased to see the things dead."

Wren isn't such an optimist, but immediately lobbying accusation hasn't been working well for her lately. Perhaps they can yet spin this into something positive. Wary as Kirkwall is, Diana cuts a damn sight; doubtless someone's working on a woodcut even now.

"Is that what that smell is," Diana says, deceptively mild.

Her eyes sweep over the assembled troops Wren captures in her gesture, thoughtful. An armed force, the emblem of the eye not a very benign one. "And this Inquisition, are they the local government?" Somehow she didn't think so. "They seemed to be expecting those creatures when we appeared."

"Well," She considers, eyebrows lifting lightly. "I should not wish to discount the gullshit in the mix."

"We are here at the behest of the Viscount," More like: Our presence is tolerated by, but that wouldn't make an ideal first impression. "An effort of multiple nations. That which you saw were demons; they have emerged elsewhere, as well."

Implied: So have more of you.

"Intercepting them, closing these tears — it is as one piece of our purpose."

Perhaps the researchers would be able to tell Diana more, of how they knew of it; of what allows them to guess the details of where and when. Try though she might, Wren understands little of it.

She's not sure that's information she'd immediately hand over, anyway. Thus far, these Rifters have been a mixed bag.

That does pull a laugh out of Diana, soft and almost surprised. "Hera, no, one must not ignore the efforts of the gulls."

She listens dutifully to what Wren has to say, watching the milling crowd slowly filling the streets back up. There are gaps in what is being said, implications and double meanings, though only the gods would know the full truth and they were far from this realm.

Diana curls and uncurls the fingers of her left hand, feeling the way the skin of her palm stretches and pulls at the mark. It aches still, but no worse than a broken bone.

"And the other pieces of your purpose," she says after a silence, "Is there more to it than just these tears?"

"To stop the man who has caused them. He calls himself Corypheus, and his aim is power at any cost."

Wren unfastens a gauntlet, offers over a sweaty palm. Diana is not the first such Rifter she's seen flexing or rubbing at the marks.

"Your hand, does it pain you?"

It's nothing she'd admit to were their positions reversed, but if Diana will have the question then there's no harm of it. She knows less than she ought to of these shards; for Gwenaelle's sake, and for others, that must change.

Edited 2017-04-16 11:17 (UTC)

To that, Diana can say nothing. There is nothing that need be said, in truth, her expression settles into something harder and sharper as she stares out over the damaged street. Corypheus was it... Well. Everything she had fought for and worked for was in ashes in her world, another crisis looming large in the horizon. What was one more war.

Wren's gesture surprises her. She gives her hand without a second thought, fingers uncurling to expose the gleaming, spitting shard buried in her palm. "No worse than anything else I've had," she says, "It's. Unusual. It throbs and aches."

It was not entierly unlike Medusa's poison burning her eyes.

Wren accepts the hand, turns it aside to inspect.

From the corner of her eye, she notes Diana's face shift, says nothing of it. To downplay the pain of the mark, that's as expected. But she offers more than that, she offers it freely, as though Wren were not an armed stranger.

Confident. Unguarded in a manner at odds with that brief severity. She makes a note on some private little ledger: So there's yet that which can wound,

Even if she has no bloody clue what that is.

"I am told," Not unkindly. The press of fingers against Diana's — too light to be a proper squeeze — as she releases her once more. "That it eases. With time, and with the company of others so marked."

"It is an old magic, one which we are still working to understand. If it gives you trouble," If it becomes another fucking weapon, "Myself, or another templar may be able to assist. I am no healer, but I have spent my life handling similar matters."

That's one way to put it.

Diana could not have explained it, even if Wren voiced her surprise. As she could not have explained the comfort she took in the whisper soft press of her fingers. It simply is, as natural as the sun and freely given.

"That's encouraging," Diana says lightly, holding up her hand to inspect it herself, looking at it closely for the first time, "If all it does is spit and ache, it should be fine." She curls her fingers back toward her palm, pressing lightly on the shard. It returns the touch with a sharp bright sting that zings down into her bones and through her wrist.

How much of her arm would she need to remove to get rid of the shard completely?

The thought is an idle one, but a bit too grim, so she turns to look at Wren again, a slight smile and a try at humor: "Strange women tumbling out of the sky or old magic?"

"Would you believe the former?" Dryly. Oh yes, they spatter everywhere, it’s a terrible mess — Not a joke for new company, but something faint tugs at the edge of her lips, amused. It's short-lived. "This mark, it tethers you to the Fade."

Perhaps that bears explanation. If Hermione’s to be believed, it’s not present of every world (bizarre as the possibility seems).

"A place of raw energy, of feeling. It is magic."

Maybe. Sort of. The scholars can quibble over definitions. The practical details stand:

"This connection can be dangerous. These demons, yes? Too, it may be suppressed."

If all it does is spit and ache, it should be fine. And how fine that would be, a world where they might ignore these things without consequence; where they would not fester and bloom.

She absorbs all of that. The Fade. Another realm. Nothing strange or new to her, though the finer points might be. Her fingers press harder on the shard, sliding a little, trying to feel just how deep in her skin it sits. Not quite like Medusa's poison then. Diana loosens her grip on the shard and drags her hand through unruly hair instead. "I've been bound by gods, but this is the first time a whole realm has laid claim to me," she says.

Was she even Athena's champion, now that her gods had once more departed? Now that Diana wasn't even in her realm? Was she still bound to Aries' quest, to bring peace?

"And who are the gods of this land?" she asks with the grim air of one who might ask where the court house is. What old magic existed that did not in some way involve the gods.

Bound by gods. That's obviously metaphorical, right? Right.

"The Maker," They're in the middle of a city, heathen folklore's of little immediate use. "The work of His Prophet, Andraste, continues through the Chantry."

"Her word binds us to god and to realm." Her head tips slight; silently, she puzzles at the tone. She's heard it of Arnault, in his more dolorous devotions. Agitated, and unwavering for it. "By serving the Maker's people, we hasten His return."

If the words seem a touch route — well. It's not a mistaken impression.

"A comfort to know mine are not the only ones with a habit of disappearing," Diana says, the grim set of her jaw turning to tired resignation. Someone would show themselves sooner or later, she was not fool enough to think this world only had one theology. At the very least she holds off from asking if there's anyone else. Best not to tangle oneself in the games of another world's gods.

Nevermind then. "I am Diana," she says instead, "My thanks for the drink. And the information."

"He makes a poor husband, 'tis true."

Wren stoops back up to her feet, ignores the creaking of tired knees.

"Ser Coupe," She returns, offers a hand down, "If you shall permit, I recommend returning with our ranks to rest — if only for a time. We've food and blankets enough, and this city is wary of outsiders."

Diana laughs, perhaps more than the comment needs, but- "Ah, but you never ought to accept a god as your husband, that was your first mistake."

She takes the offered hand, though she doesn't let Wren take much of her weight. The light touch, too soft to be a squeeze, she returns before dropping Wren's hand. A communication of something. Deeper thanks, perhaps. Or maybe just sentimentality, the icy ache of the despair demon still fluttering in her chest. "How could I turn down such an invitation."

Rifts that open up and dump out eponymous Rifters are nothing new by a long shot. This is the first that Church knows of that's opened up 1) in a city and 2) in a city where the Inquisition literally just set up shop. He doesn't have to be a genius to see that this isn't going to look good.

Church isn't shy about his status, but all the same, he's been wearing his pair of gloves that block out the sickly light of his hand, honestly more for protection against cuts and gross shit than hiding, but the hiding part is also kind of nice, just so nobody decides stoning Rifters to death is a great idea starting with him.

"Out of the way! Move back!" The gloves, literal and figurative, are off now, Church motioning anyone still transfixed by the scene to get the hell out. There's not many this time. Good. He might not have to shield anyone. One of those little hooded bastards is getting out of some kind of magic glowing rope. "Not today, buddy!"

He is not the best sword fighter by any means, but by god he's had plenty of experience by now fighting these demonic assholes.

The purposeful shouting is what catches her attention. The glance costs her when the large creature backhands her. Blocking large things in midair is never easy, this knocks her right out of the air, plowing into the ground not far from the fighter and the hooded demon.

She feels almost winded hauling herself up, but at least at this level she can spare more than a glance. The hooded figure has started it's screaming again, spewing ice just as the massive creature chuckles deep and unpleasant, electricity sparking on the edge of it's fingers.

"Throw me the lasso!" she shouts to the fighter, even as she launches herself back into the air. Hera, what she wouldn't give for a sword as well.

He throws up his glowing shard shield when the ice starts, trying to duck out of the way to get in a good swing, when Miss Fancy Pants or fancy...fancy halloween costume or whatever lands. Lasso? Jesus, did she just land here from Texas?

No. Definitely not from Texas. He rushes by the ghoulish demon fuck, cutting it along its side and grabbing up the magic rope with his free hand. He keeps running, because he'd rather not become a Church-cicle. "Here!" Please catch it, he's throwing with his off hand, and then takes a moment behind a pile of boxes to catch his breath.

Just one moment. And then back to facing Mr fucking Freeze out there. And maybe keep a peripheral view on what Fancy's doing with her lasso.

The throw is a little off, but she dives for it, snatching it out of the air. Far be it from her to let her new comrade get frozen solid. The lasso flies, finding the hooded creature again. It's enraged shriek is cut off almost comically as Diana hauls on the lasso.

The hooded creature flies through the air, screaming and shooting ice and snow in a grand arch that leads it directly into the path of the large creature. Ice and electricity meet and mingle as the two crash together, the whip thing hooded creature shrieking and scrabbling to get away as the larger one growls and swats at it. Diana takes the momentary diversion to dive back down to her comrade.

"I don't suppose you have a spare sword," she says, somewhat breathless as the two demons shriek and growl just barely out of arms reach.

No one will ever accuse Church of all people of having good aim, that's why he mains a sword even though he's trained with a crossbow for ages. The whip-lasso-ing of the icy demon into the big fuck pride demon is almost as impressive as straight up punching the thing in the face, he's gotta say.

"Uh. Just the one on me, sorry." He holds his at the ready, because at some point presumably they're gonna stop pissing each other off and go back to actual battle, but-- "Go for the legs, or, like, I'll go for the legs, you keep doing your crazy death-defying leaps and punching things!" Maybe she can use her tiara to wait that's sailor moon isn't it--

Normally this would be the point where he's squeak out a one-liner, but he doesn't want to be stupid enough to distract the pride demon, so just a straight up charge at the thing's fucking legs it is. He really hopes not to get stepped on. That'd be a stupid way to go.

"Pity that," Diana says, though she agrees gamely to his battle strategy. They're rather running out of time to work out anything more sophisticated than punch and stab til something stops moving. "May Athena watch over us."

And with that she leaps into the air again. She grabs the hooded creature, one hand fisting into it's tattered robe as the other goes to her tiara. She can't tell if the thing has a throat. She hopes it does, this could be messy otherwise and Diana does not deal in drawn out deaths. It would not be the first neck she's broken is the almost hilarious thought she has as she plunges the razor sharp edges of the tiara into the darkness of the hood. She is aware of only freezing cold until the blade makes contact with something. Hooks, pushes deep, cuts and Diana rips with all her strength.

The cold does not disappear so much as seem to rupture in her arms, but she gives it barely a second thought before hurling herself at the large beast, plunging the frost etched point of her tiara into one of the creature's eyes.

Look, listen, in Thedas, sometimes 'punch and stab til something stops moving' is the best strategy anyone's got. It's kind of like the Reds' strategy of 'keep firing until you have no bullets left because some jackass forgot to bring extra ammo and/or sold said ammo to the other team'.

Church is more concerned with the pride demon, even though usually he concerns himself with people falling out of rifts and the little guys. Korrin tends to be a big muscle for it, magically speaking, and Church likes being someone there for new Rifters.

This one seems to have shit covered. It also means he can't focus on her so much right now. Or on hoody mcfreeze. Especially when she so...crazily dispatches it with her fucking tiara. He notes that she isn't going with the plan of going for the legs like he is, but he also can't jump 15 feet in the air, so the fuck else is he gonna do but duck around any crackling fists and hack at the back of its knees and down at its ankles. He doesn't even have a special sword or any runes. Just whatever muscles he's got and skills he's picked up along the way.

Athena's sure as hell watching over someone.

The only sharp thing she has on her is a crown, she is going for vulnerable spots. But speaking of desperate half baked plans, one comes to her rather suddenly. She drops to the ground, lasso in hand.

"Get to it's head quick as you can!" she calls to her new comrade, "Drive your sword into it's wounded eye, straight to the hilt!" If that sounds impossible, don't worry, she's on this. It's not quite as quick as the Flash, there's something strange about this world that pulls her to a normal pace, but she winds the lasso around the creature's ankles.

Planting her feet, she heaves with everything she has. The creature has enough time to get out a mocking chortle before it's feet are pulled out from under it and it goes crashing backwards.

He's never taken one of these guys down before. Like, the killing blow sort of thing. Or charging straight the fuck at one without a lot of backup.

"Oh," he breathes, "shit." She is nowhere even in the same galactic quadrant of fucking around. It's kind of hot in a terrifying way.

The ground actually fucking quakes under them when the demon lands, given how big it is, and he hesitates for only just a split second before heaving a breath out and sprinting. "Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit" being the breathy chorus the entire way, even when scrambling over the bulk of the damned thing, "oh shiiiiiiiit" when he hefts the blade high and slams it into the eye, far down as he can.

The demon seizes, a deep bellow of a scream from it, and manages to flail its arms for a good couple seconds, a hand coming down over Church to grab him and pluck the offending sword out--

--before it goes still and limp. There's still a muffled yelling noise, but that's just Church screaming with a giant demon hand over him. He only stops when the demon starts dissolving (into the ground or back into the fade or what have you, whatever happens to them when they fucking melt away) and plops to the ground.

"Oh. I'm not dead. Wow, that went so much better than expected." Church shakes his head, getting back to his feet--then snaps to, sprinting back for Diana. "Quick, hold out your hand!"

He demonstrates, skidding to a halt beside her and raising his sharded hand toward the rift. "It's gonna hurt, but them's the fucking breaks."

It's time to introduce pain lasers to the newbie.

There is little she can do to help, other than struggle to keep the cursed creature off it's feet and distracted with a few well aimed punches. It is a relief when it screams it's last, when it melts into the ground, but it's briefly lived.

Diana barely has time to let out a breath before Church's shout reaches her. She spins on her heel, facing the crackling green tear in the air. She spares only a glance at her comrade so that she may copy his motion and then-

Green light and energy cracks through the air, lancing through her arm and shoulder. Diana makes a sound like a wounded, furious animal and stands her ground. This is nothing like anything she has ever done before. Close, close. Hardly a clue if that's how it works, but Diana has will to spare though she can feel her endurance weakening and the pain burrowing deeper. Then with a crack and a hiss, the tear closes.

Diana does not stagger, but in the sudden silent aftermath, she is rather sure a good stiff breeze could topple her.

He's gotten really used to the pain. It's still a bitch of a pain, but it's no surprise, no shock to him anymore. What really hurts them is only having so few a number. He knows just one of them alone can't close a rift. Two...two sucks. And it takes longer than it feels like it should for that.

When it does close, leaving the air crackling with energy but otherwise clear, he does stagger, bent over with his hands on his knees, catching his breath from the whole encounter. At least princess monstertruck is still standing, though with a glance, he's pretty sure she's reeling from it all.

"I'd say it gets easier," when he's got more breath back, "but then I'd be making a liar out of myself. You okay...?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Cloudreach Rifter Arrival

That New Crazy Rifter

Post fight cool down

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2~

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forgive the weird icon i haven't gotten around to renewing yet

well i guess

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fite all the things

give em such a punch

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