faderift | terror takes the sound before you make it

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terror takes the sound before you make it

WHO: New rifters & characters in the Fallow Mire
WHAT: More people falling into the bog than usual
WHEN: Firstall 21
WHERE: The Fallow Mire
NOTES: This rift will open just as the Inquisition manages to close another with the assistance of previously-arrived rifters, and reinforcements will be called in quickly, so everyone in the Mire is welcome.

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.

But there's no waking here, just a flare of green-white light and a jarring impact, a plunge into waist-deep water that smells sour and tastes worse. It's raining, dark, and you are not alone. Others splash into the murky water nearby, as bewildered as you, and those who have already found their footing in the muck are no less confused.

You are also not as you were: in the palm of your left hand there glows a narrow splinter of light the same sickly green as whatever brought you here. It aches, a bone-deep pain that gnaws even through all the distractions. Like the freezing water. Or the fact that you're being attacked by monsters--some tall, spindly stick-things with too many eyes, some hunched and hooded with no eyes at all. Every splash into the water and every thrash thereafter brings wakened corpses rising out of the bog with their old weapons still in hand.

From dry land--near a small cluster of homes, one with firelight--there's a shout, then another, where Inquisition forces had just closed a larger rift and begun to regroup when the Veil split open again across the bog. A few arrows are loosed at the demons that look most likely to succeed in killing someone. Help is on its way; just last until it arrives.

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It's as unpleasant an awakening as he's ever had, plunging into freezing, foul-tasting water that closes over his head immediately. Sam's eyes fly open to murky darkness, and panic stabs through him as he flails helplessly. Drownded. He's drownded, or near enough - will be soon, any road, and he can't even remember how this had happened, how things had gone so terribly wrong -

He kicks uselessly, waves his arms without much hope, and miraculously his feet hit the bottom and his arms break the surface, though the air's so damp it's hard to tell much difference between water and sky, and the mud squelches under his feet, threatening to suck him down deeper and swallow him up for good. He's reminded, unpleasantly, of the trees in the Old Forest and how they'd all been nearly buried without so much as noticing, and he launches himself up with a sudden, terrified effort, gasping for breath as his head breaks the surface.

He's treated to half a second of a terrifying sight: darkness and gloominess and terrifying shapes all around, an eerie green light illuminating it all, and he barely has time to shout "Help!" before he loses his footing and plunges under the water once more.

The Fallow Mire. Ever an appropriate name, but Muck in Your Boots and Then Some would have been just as appropriate. When he'd been ordered to come out here with other agents, Twisted Fate had frowned silently. He's not thrilled to go in somewhere so murky.

Demon slaying would be much more fulfilling elsewhere, honestly.

Upon arrival in the face of the open rift, the elf had already slipped into the mindset of throwing out a fiery wall to impede the movement of the demons. He's focused primarily on that right at the moment, but he hears the call for help.

Oh. Someone is in the water.

Someone is drowning.

His throat constricts and he feels his hands tighten on his staff before he's sighing and putting the end of his staff into the water, trying to encourage the stranger to grab on.

"C'mon!" Twisted Fate glances over his shoulder. "Someone a bit taller mind helpin' him out?!"

The opening of the new rift sent the mercenaries swearing and marching off into the bog, their Lieutenant front and center with a sword in hand, massive maul across his back, and a look like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world at that point. He's determined, though, and would never take the back ranks when there was fighting to be done. As such, when the Bull's Chargers stormed the area around the new rift, anything in their way would very soon be reduced to so much more mulch in this nasty, muddy water.

Of course, with so many people falling through, it was inevitable that someone should immediately start drowning. Shouting from an unfamiliar voice draws Krem forward that much faster, and after casting Fate a glance, he spotted the nearest new arrival, up to his nose in the nastiness that was the Mire. His first instinct was to grab onto the first limb he could catch and so, here he is, holding a terrified, tiny man by the wrist and blocking an oncoming terror with the blade in the other hand, crouching low then lunging and slashing at the terror's legs. It gave a terrible, bubbling shriek and stumbled back, allowing the mercenary time to haul Sam toward the bank, or at least to where the land was less soggy.

"Stay there!" he commands Sam before marching right back out, taking his blade in both hands and hacking his way through another demon without hesitation.

It was one surprise after another in this bog. Hadn't they just closed a rift? The prospect of fending off more waves of demons and corpses was not fun. But it couldn't be ignored either. So with a tired groan, Sam turns from his trek back to camp to head towards the newest threat. At least it isn't too far, but it's still a pain to try and run through water and muck.

Screeches of demons and the magic of the rift send a shiver down his spine, having him drawing his staff for battle. At least until the shouts of 'help' and 'stay put' catch his attention. The battlefield isn't pure chaos just yet, so it's easy to spot someone dragging a squirming body to land before they run off to take care of demons.

Keeping an eye on the fight, Sam quickly heads over to see what the matter was. He's honestly a bit shocked to see such a small person, first thinking it was a child, but at getting a closer look it's obvious he's not. Course at the time height really doesn't matter, not with demons breathing down your neck. Reaching over he checks to see if he's alright. "Hey, can you hear me?"

It had felt almost like sleep, for a blessed split second. A moment in time between being where he was (and who he was) and the flash of something that he knows is going to wipe out everything, a moment wherein he closes his eyes and feels ready.

A moment is all the time the rift needs, apparently, because the next thing he knows, he's being pulled backwards and falling and everything digital shucked away for something more solid, and it all happens so dreamily and yet so suddenly that when he leaves the light (is that what an emp looks like?) and hits the water, he's so shocked that he can't even manage a yelp.

Look, he doesn't necessarily have a problem with the idea of being immortal in some way or another, but this is getting pretty fucking ridiculous.

His hand feels like he impaled it on something, and it's sure got some kind of rock. thing. that glows in it. Well that's nice. And it fucking hurts. Hurts enough that when something grabs his leg, he doesn't react initially. But then he realizes, uh, murky water and a hand grabbing him, probably not good. He pulls free of it only to turn and see some crazy fucking monster fuck rising up out of the water and lurching toward him and oh my god what is even happening it has a sword.

Church mostly splashes in a backwards direction, somewhere that had looked a little drier than the current predicament, screaming. In a perfectly manly fashion and not in pants-shitting fear. Screaming punctuated by very emphatic curses in no particular order or coherence.

It never ends, apparently. Korrin scowls in annoyance as news of another rift is overheard. She's so very tired of rifts and the demons they spew all over the place, though after the events in Haven, she doesn't hesitate to make her way over. Demons or not, there might be more of those rift-folk emerging, and who knows how many of them can actually defend themselves? Not about to put that to the test, the Vashoth mage blurs ahead using Fade Step, before coming to an abrupt halt.

She spares a brief glance at the person nearby and--yes, they have to be a rifter. Strange gear, that same glowing hand-mark, probably never heard of Thedas or the Fade, if she asks them. But this isn't the time for questions, not with demons everywhere. Casting a Barrier spell to protect them both, she then immediately sets about to unleashing Chain Lightning on the nearest creatures.

Ugh, that screaming. She's not without sympathy, honest, but that's going to hurt more than it will help the situation. "Knock it off, I'm trying to draw their attention away from you!"

All he wants his his armor back. Or, well, that's what he's going to want when he realizes it's gone and all he's got are some...soaking wet blue garbs and do you realize how cold it is? And jesus christ what the hell is this new thing with horns and it's fucking huge he is going to die another death here it comes--

Oh. No. It's helping. She's? Helping? He turns and leaps (as much as one can in the water and muck and it's gross and smells funky), trying to scrabble for land away from the electrified monsters. "Yeah, okay, well maybe--" He slips before he can rant, but who knows, something might have grabbed him. When he surfaces again: "God damn it! Maybe you could've, y'know, fucking told me your plan instead of, like, I don't know, just hopping into the god damn fray!"

Someone grabs his wrist and Sam allows himself to be dragged out of the water, coughing and spluttering. Not as if he'd have had much of a hope of fighting back even if he wasn't still terrified and half frozen. He's deposited on the bank, blinking blearily as the figure draws a sword and runs off. Sam's first thought is Strider, but his rescuer doesn't much look like Aragorn, nor Boromir neither.

Before he can start to really consider that question, however, his train of thought is interrupted by another voice, and he looks around to find yet more Big Folk peering down at him. This close, there's no question that they're unfamiliar ones, and he just stares for a moment, wide-eyed and bewildered, before he manages to speak.

"Lor' bless me," he manages, coughing up a bit more nasty bog water and wiping it away. "Nearly drownded! And what would my old Gaffer say?"

"No time!" With the amount of demons surrounding them and their ferocity, Korrin has little opportunity for a chat. Perhaps she could have said something, but her mind was -and is- more focused on the demons themselves. As one seemingly made out of flame moves toward them, she casts Winter's Grasp to freeze it solid, chilling and slowing down those nearby. That ought to buy them some time, though it won't last long.

There's a wrinkle of the mage's nose as he observes the small man coughing up disgusting water, making him a lot more glad he didn't go in there to attempt to rescue him. Is he a dwarf? Difficult to tell, but the feet sure do seem awfully... fuzzy.

"Probably something like well that's embarrassing. In any case, you're in a bad spot." Twisted Fate tilts his head as he looks at Sam. "Don't suppose I could leave him in your capable hands? Seeing as how we've still got an emergency here with demons and all."

He doesn't leave, not yet, but he does turn around to send a blast of flames toward a meandering Wraith. At the very least, he's not abandoning them quite yet.

Well, to be fair, that's a pretty familiar refrain. It's just that he's usually the one shouting something like that. Maybe, just maybe, he should help protect himself, but when he reaches for his waterlogged rifle, it's not there. His pistol isn't there. In fact, he tugs on his shirt. Why is he wearing a shirt? Wait, where did his helmet go? Jesus fuck, he's going to get a bullet in the head and that fire frog just turned to ice.

He grabs whatever roots and plants are around to heap himself up out of the much. "What," he pants, very tired of this already, "the fuck," because this is the shittiest version of an afterlife he's seen to date, "is going on here?!"

As one demon falls, another takes its place, bubbling up from under the mire. Its head is cleaved but it still fights back, lashing out with ragged claws and scarring the front of his breastplate. He swears at that, some Tevene epithet that's cut off as a boot lashes out and snaps the creature's knee, sending it tumbling back into the muck. The sword is yanked free as the demon falls, then jammed into it again, sending up another wave of muck. The thing is dead, and the dead aren't firing in his direction, giving Krem time to look toward the party on the shore.

"SAM. Take him back to the tents!" he shouts at the taller Sam of the two, knowing full well that he'd be able to do just that, even if he didn't care for being ordered around. Before he can make sure that the Sams are taken care of, he jerks, an arrow protruding from the leather between the plates of his armor. He glares down at it and breaks off the shaft before sloshing his way further out into the water, sheathing his sword and drawing the maul from its harness, bringing it down on the shambling corpse (as well as the corpse beside it, and the tail of a lesser Terror) in a single sickening splat-thud.

Fine, the short short version.

"A rift opened up, spewed all these demons out and you, too. Welcome to Thedas. Now can we kill them, before they kill us?" Trust Korrin to highlight what really matters. She knows there will be more questions, including what the hell a rift is and how he came here, etc. Some of those she can answer and others she can't, but in any case, that will wait until their surroundings are slightly calmer. "Do you have a weapon on you?"

While waiting for his answer, she unleashes a blast of fire at the nearest wraiths.

One moment, he'd fallen... and gone under, he was sure, never to awaken again. The war was over and it was up to the others to carry on. Kain had accepted his fate...

So when he suddenly wakes up again, it's a total shock. Even worse, he wakes up just in time for a massive splash as he falls into the dark and disgusting waters of the mire. He thrashes around, splashing uselessly a bit before he finally gets his bearings enough to lift his head above water. He doesn't recognize a thing about the scenery... a dark, dreary swamp of some kind, apparently...

Also, he's surrounded. The... things... that are all around aren't yet upon him, but it's only a matter of time. They're creeping in from all directions, these horrific, stinking creatures that Scarmiglione would definitely be pleased to call his own. Kain groans, mutters a curse under his breath and struggles to find his spear, searching in the filthy water for it... fortunately, it didn't drop too far from him. But the moment he tries to grasp it in his left hand, he cries out in pain.

Kain stares angrily at the mark. It's been bothering him increasingly in these moments since he woke, but he's tried ignoring it. He's a fighter, used to shoving pain into the back of his mind while he carries on... except it's not working for this. Now it's even more in the forefront... and those sickening undead are getting closer...

"Uh, you can kill them, cuz you seem to be the one with the voodoo powers, man. I don't even have any of my fucking guns on me!" He really should just find a nice rock to hide behind until all the fucked up alien-monsters are gone, fuck.

Sam's nose wrinkles as well as he pats the small man's back to help him with coughing up the bog water. Choking on regular water was bad enough, but getting bog water in your mouth, let alone drowning in it? That was gross. Besides shaken, frightened, and coughing up bog water though he seems alright. And he's talking, though he doesn't know what a 'Gaffer' is.

Sam doesn't know this other Mage, but he's right, the small guy is indeed in a very bad spot. How did he even get out- The thought quickly drops away when he notices a small green glow about the stranger's hand. It's just like the one on the Rifters- The feel of warmth as a fire spell is cast brings Sam back to the present, shaking his head. "He'll be fine with me. Go help them with the demons," he replies, already helping the Rifter to his feet.

He's already planning on getting the guy out of the fight when he hears someone calling his name. Krem. Looking up it doesn't take long for Sam to find the mercenary. Ordering him around as usual. The thought would bring a smile to his face, but he's a bit busy looking a bit horrified at seeing an arrow land a hit on Krem. For a moment he has to fight with himself, wanting to join the fray because of Krem, but- Swearing lightly he looks down at the stranger before picking him up.

He really hates the Fallow Mire, and he will continue to say that until he's dead and in the ground and last rites and blessings to the Maker and Andraste have been said. It's dark and wet and smells of last week's garbage and did we mention the undead? Yeah.

Everyone knows to not get into the water here. The undead lurk in the murky depths, waiting to prey on any unsuspecting traveler. Or rifter, in this case. Clint had seen demons come out of a few of the rifts, but now it was people coming through one and he's not going to stand by while the undead come to make them their next meal.

An arrow flies right past Kain's head, embedding itself into the nearest undead creature. It staggers back, and Clint's already getting the next arrow ready, flint and striker ready to light the arrowhead on fire. "You might want to get out of the water, ser," Clint calls out. "You're attracting quite the attention."

Voodoo? "You mean magic. And fine, stay down and let me keep their attention, alright?" Korrin's fine with that role, unleashing an explosion underneath said wraiths to finish them them off before blurring a short distance away to blast at a terror demon, intent on getting the drop on one of those damned things before it inevitably flips her on her back.

"The fuck else did you think I said?" Jesus lady-monster-alien-fever-dream. Maybe it's racially insensitive or some shit, he didn't grow up in the fucking bayou. But fine, he's kind of useless without armor (and he's not going to settle enough to consider the implications of that right now), and can't really do shit without weapons, so once he's somewhere vaguely in a land-ish area, well, he'll just make sure to watch his back and make sure he isn't gotten the drop on.

Firing off a salvo of lightning blasts from her staff, Korrin has to wait a moment before replying.

"Whatever, just let me know if something creeps up behind me." If he can't finish off the demons with her, the new rift-person can at least be her eyes and ears when she's too busy to look behind. Those terror demons are known for phasing in and out of the Fade to get surprise attacks in, so perhaps with a little warning, the usual might not happen.

Sure, whatever, he can do that. He's already trying to keep his eyes everywhere, y'know, once he's wiped bog water of gross out of them. Nothing is okay right now, which...in a way is kind of okay. It's at least the only feeling that's familiar to him right now.

Which is, of course, when one of those gross spindly too many eyeball shits simply appears behind her. "Shit, duck!"

It's true enough - his Gaffer wouldn't approve at all, and Sam flushes in embarrassment. There's no time to waste in pitying himself, though - the one who'd spoken turns, and Sam's eyes widen as he sends a fireball towards - well, towards something he doesn't want to look at too closely.

In fact the bog is full of...of things, now that he isn't drowning and has a chance to look. The soldier who'd dragged him out is fighting another, and Sam flinches as the Man all but rips one apart. He jumps at the sound of his own name, startled and confused, but the last Big Person is already urging him to his feet and he has no real choice but to go along with him.

An arrow flies through the air, piercing the Man's armor, and Sam gasps. The Man beside him hesitates as well, before muttering something Sam would guess to be an oath, from the tone of it. He glances down, and before Sam can say a word he's being picked up and lifted high into the air.

"Oi!" he shouts in surprise, but it's no use; he's being carried and there's no fighting it. From his new vantage point he can see a lot more of what is undeniably a battlefield, filled with what seem to be all Big Folk fighting eerie figures that remind him of nothing so much as the Barrow-wights. His gaze lifts to the bright green light splitting the sky, and only then does he have a moment to register the deep ache centered on his hand.

He turns it over to see his palm, staring in growing horror at the matching green mark there as he is carried swiftly and determinedly towards the tents.

Korrin has the front view covered, so at least her new companion won't have to worry about that as much. Granted, she's not invincible, but at least he'll have warning and she'll buy him as much time as possible. Upon hearing those words, the Vashoth mage does exactly that, just barely avoiding the maneuver that tends to leave her without breath or dignity.

"Thanks!" Not daring to take her eyes off the demon, she summoning a lightning bolt to blast and paralyze the damned thing.

For a moment, Twisted Fate lingers, laying down a magical trap to initiate an explosion the moment another demon walks over it. It's enough to hopefully give Sam and the short man-dwarf some cover, perhaps.

He glances over toward Krem, who seems to be managing himself quite nicely. Might as well follow Sam to ensure their safety.

"Don't have too much fun without me." A wink is passed to Krem, and he throws himself ahead with a chilling Fade Step to follow after Sam.

That's when he sees the glow in the small one's hand, when he catches up.

"What've you got there, drippy?" he asks, keeping his tone friendly. Wary is about how he feels, though.

The comment makes him pause briefly after bringing his maul around again, smirking back at Fate. Sure he'll leave a demon or two, just for you.

The collaborative efforts of the Chargers make short work of at least a chunk of the army of dead emerging from the bog, giving those in charge of helping the injured and the rifters out of the water time to retreat. They would be able to close this one in time, but for now the new arrivals took priority. The wound in Krem's shoulder went mostly ignored as he rode on the adrenaline of the fight. He'd pay for it later, but for now he reveled in the fight, charging into water up to his waist with his maul over his shoulder, sword back out and hacking through another corpse.

His men, heartened by his leadership, nonetheless started to withdraw, assisting other parties as they were needed until Krem himself has to haul himself out of the water. His armor his too heavy, fulled with water in places and mud in others and gore trapped in the nooks and crannies. He needs to visit the springs and take a long back if he ever wants to smell like a human being again.

"Fan out, he barks to the men still on the shore, pointing them toward where the demons were thicker. A war cry went out, echoing through the Mire, as the Chargers skirted around the new rift to assist in the combat.

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