faderift | terror takes the sound before you make it

Entry tags:

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.

Threaded | Flat

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.

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.

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...

[ In the Fight ]

The call for reinforcements came through quickly- Adelaide followed at a distance to have a better view of the field. Just as before there were demons. At least in Haven there had been stable ground to work around- but here? Water to the waist and undead rising as well- it made discering who was a rifter and who was a corpse difficult. The best she could do was raise walls of ice between demons and those they chased, cast barriers on the Inquisition's members that she knew and would appreciate the shielding. With all the light and chaos Focus was difficult, but not impossible. So long as she kept a few paces back from the fight itself she ought to be in the clear. Should anyone find the strikes of demons slowed or a sudden wall of ice locking the undead in their tracks, their thanks could go to the mage in white.

[ Afterward ]

Once the battle has died down and all are herding the newcomers to the tents, Adelaide set out her lantern and made a point to offer her skills to those involved in the fight first and foremost. For those uninjured she had a large kettle of tea off to one side. It was not particularly fancy but it was hot and it was free. What more could one ask for? Cuts and bruises were pasted over with poultices, deeper injuries would earn her magic. Whether they were in line or not if anyone that looked even remotely ill, injured, or weary wandered past they would at least have a mug of hot tea shoved in their direction with a curt order to "Get in line, you look dead on your feet."

Once the battle is over and every demon that emerged from the rift (and possibly some undead that wandered over) is dead, Korrin wastes no time in scanning the immediate area. Newcomers have been noted, and at least this time she's better prepared to deal with them. As soon as any are spotted unattended, Korrin will head over to check on them. Hopefully, the presence of a tall, horned woman won't upset them any more than arriving in a completely unknown and currently utterly depressing land.

"Hey, are you alright? I can show you the way back to camp."

fighting;
Luckily she'd been scouting and watching for the undead when the call went up, sliding down easily with a wince when she watched the new rifters falling. She hadn't really had a chance to look much when it had been her own arrival, too caught up in how afraid she was, in backing away from the demons trying to slaughter her.

She'd been lucky enough to land in the snow, not a bog like this.

Rapiers drawn and one hand glowing, she rushes in. Small she might be but it's clear she knows how to fight in these conditions and how to deal with the attackers.

"Get out as quick as you can, watch for arrows!" She shouts to whoever might listen, parrying a heavy blow with a grunt. "Stay behind me if you don't have weapons."

rifter solidarity;
When it's over, she's soaked through, but there's a cure for that and it comes in the form of a flask at her hip that she offers with the glowing hand. Hard to believe it's been about a month since her own arrival but the shock of it is still fresh. She's here, she's been through it and she received kindness, she can offer that much to the newcomers but anything more, food, warmth, being slightly less wet and disgusting, that'll have to wait until they can all be escorted back to the camp.

"It's brandy, the water here, well I wouldn't risk it. Might stop that," she nods to the mark sitting in her left palm, "from bothering you just as much but it'll go away. The light takes a bit more getting used to."

♠ demons & rifts - fighting

The fighting itself hadn't really been a problem.

Throughout the charge against demons and saving strangers and whatnot, Twisted Fate had been careful to avoid as much muck as possible. He has a good sense of where his footing is, and he's very experienced in keeping his opponents as far away as possible.

Frankly, that doesn't matter if he's caught off guard.

A rage demon charges him, and Twisted Fate doesn't see it coming until the last second. He jerks away, ducking at the fiery swipe, but it causes him to lose his footing.

So he falls, right into the mud.

Although he considers himself fairly dignified, the horrified scream he makes is far from such. After a series of curses, the mage throws himself into a Fade Step, the icy residue impacting the demon.

It gives him a second to lament over his muck-covered self.

"This is a disaster," he groans, struggling with self control to keep from flicking it off.

♠ fine, fine clothes - afterward

After all is said and done, Twisted Fate is sitting sourly at his corner of camp. He's draped his coat over a line, letting the poor thing dry out before he scrapes off the mud. His hat has been set aside, and he's busy sulking while he's rubbing down his boots.

No. No real injuries. Scratches at most, and those have healed or will heal. He's really just miserable in the mire.

"I'd kill for a bath," the elf grumbles to himself, narrowing his eyes as he picks away filth.

[Water crashes into him, or Marcel crashes into water. It glops more than it foams, breaking over his shoulders and threatening to close over his head, when his feet sink into silty mud below. Vampire reflexes negotiate the traitorous slime below, and he rights himself out an instant later. Emerges in chest-deep water, blinking, spitting the foul taste of it out. It sounds a little bit more adorable than it actually is.

Because there are veins growing in black around his eyes, and fangs sharpening down out of his mouth. It's as reflexive to him as the fetal position would be to an ordinary man. Even the most whitebread, dull-witted, or incompetent of mortals know to get the fuck down and out of the way when their sense of threat twinges. It is profoundly the opposite for vampires. When you're built in with free set of predator features, you'll fall back on them sooner than not.

The next instant, he's gone. A needling spatter of falling water drops traces a line across the surface of the water, tracing the path of his flight.

Leap, actually.

And he lands hard on a demon-- right by you, maybe behind you, or perhaps the creature was on you. It's staggering aside now. His sodden boots and blunt elbows landing with bone-cracking force, then his hands blurring out to twist aside the monster's hooded head. He bites down, fangs flashing in the eerie green light of the open rift. Only to snatch his head back the next instant, his face creased into a grimace that's probably almost funny.] What the Hell? [Maybe that question is even for you!]

i. slow climb but quick to descend (fighting demons)

[ elena has accepted that she is going to die. she'd accepted it before, just half a year ago, and it isn't so difficult to do again -- no matter what she told damon about seeing him soon, she knows that he and stefan are going to die. damon, stefan, caroline, tyler, bonnie's mom, and hundreds of other vampires all over the world, all dead, because esther couldn't just leave her children alone, couldn't leave alaric alone. alaric might as well be dead too, for all that he's still walking around. so many people she loves, all dead. at least this way elena doesn't have to live without them. she mourns for jeremy, for his life alone, with no more family, but that can't be helped. she's going to drown, and she's accepted that, and she feels peace when the last of the air in her lungs bubbles out of her.

everything goes dark. for how long, elena can't say -- in the future, when she has time to look back on it, she'll remember that it felt both like the darkness lasted forever and for no time at all. there are dreams, things she will remember vaguely later -- dreams about seeing her parents again, nightmares about coming back a vampire and having to live forever. eventually she wakes again, and she is falling. there's no time to think about why she's falling before she hits ground, though it barely counts as ground, squishy and wet as it is. she doesn't notice it at the moment, too distracted by what the hell is going on, but a bracelet slips off her wrist to land in a more shallow area of the mire, the gold chain and blue stone just visible through all the muck.

there's no time for elena to try to figure out where she is, or what's happening around her. one minute she was dead, next minute she's been dumped out of the sky into some kind of marsh, and there are monsters all around her -- monsters and arrows slamming into those monsters. she's lucky she didn't get shot herself, really. when she looks to the source of the arrows and sees a force charged toward her, she's not really sure how to feel about it -- they seem to be attacking the monsters, not her, which is good, but being run toward by a group of people carrying sharp weapons rarely fills one with confidence. there's only so much emotional room in her, though, and most of it is taken up by pure confusion, so she's just going to go with "glad the monsters are being attacked" and leave it at that.

she runs to meet the racing crowd, narrowly dodging a demon swiping at her shoulder, and catches the attention of anyone friendly-looking and armed. ]

Do any of you have a spare crossbow? I can use a crossbow!

[ elena gilbert is not a damsel in distress -- at least, she isn't anymore. anything that wants to eat her is going to get a hell of a fight out of her before it does it. ]

ii. i got that beast face, i'm a trapper star (aftermath)

[ demons. she'd been fighting demons. what the hell kind of place was she dropped into? there's no extra clothes back at the camp the people who were fighting the demons have set up, so she's left to stand about in her muddy jeans, extremely aware of how out of place she looks but unable to do anything about it. that's not the worst thing, though. muddy and cold and conspicuous, elena could deal with. it'd be annoying, but alright. what she's having a harder time of dealing with...

she's never wanted to be a vampire. not when she's seen what it's done to stefan and damon, how it's ruined their lives. elena wants a human life, with human choices. she wants to grow old, and get married, and have kids, and have the life she should have had without all this vampire-werewolf-original bullcrap. all she wants is to be normal.

but here she is. she can recognize the signs now that they've been pointed out to her -- her gums ache, she's ravenously hungry, and all the commotion around her of people around camp is so loud. the real clincher, though, the unmistakable sign, is her preoccupation with the triage area. there are soldiers over there with bloody wounds, and elena hasn't been able to bring herself to walk too far away yet. she wants to, but the blood smells so good, and she's so hungry... and if she doesn't get some in her system in twenty four hours, she'll really die. she'd accepted that when there was nothing else to be done, but now that she has a real choice, her instinct of self-preservation wants her to feed. she never wanted to be a vampire, but she'd rather be one than die.

you can either find her before having fed, hanging around the outskirts of the triage area, trying to be as inconspicuous as a girl in 21st century clothes can be in a medieval world..

or you can find her after she's given in, found an unconscious soldier, and pulled a bandage aside to swipe her finger through a bloody wound. as soon as she's got the blood in her mouth she wants more, and it will be a struggle not to outright attack all the injured humans around her. maybe you want to distract her? ]

Edited 2015-11-26 12:57 (UTC)

[In Battle]

Now that she's seen them before, these demons, the Valkyrie doesn't even hesitate as she leaps into the fray, sword swinging to bite deep into the corrupted flesh of the Shades. What does give her pause, however, are the humanoid shapes thrown from the rifts as she herself had been not too many weeks prior.

Her voice carries clear and ringing over the noise: "Get to solid ground! Stirring the water brings the undead!"

If the water's where you are, she's coming to help get you out. Anyone foundering will find a gauntleted hand thrust out to pull them to their feet and out of the muck with a solid strength. She'll fight the same way until everything corpse or corrupted stops moving: assertive, matter-of-fact, with an aggressive energy.

[Afterwards]

After the fight, she can be found cleaning her equipment (and the last foot of her hair) by the campfire with a sour look on her face.

Then looking for the new arrivals to help them get settled!

Threaded | Flat

Samwise Gamgee | OTA

Leonard Church

Kain Highwind | OTA

Adelaide LeBlanc