THE SEAS SHALL RISE & DEVOUR, Part I

[faderifting]

WHO: Any Inquisition members + all rifters
WHAT: A semi-involuntary tropical island vacation
WHEN: Kingsway 20 onward
WHERE: The sea and an island east of Rivain
NOTES: OOC post.

I. THE JOURNEY

Two ships depart from Kirkwall on the morning tide, sturdy vessels crewed by veteran sailors--but a mere skeleton crew, as it turns out, or so a few of them would have you believe. They're prone to assigning tasks to anyone who happens not to look busy, shoving ropes into hands without a care for station or experience, barking out instructions and expecting to be obeyed. With plenty of work to do the journey seems quick, and besides the unexpected chores it's otherwise smooth sailing through the Waking Sea. Some claim to've spotted the Windline Marcher one night, but it could just as easily have been clouds on the horizon, and that's it for excitement until the ships round the island of Brandel's Reach and out into open ocean, the ever-present coastline finally falling away behind.

The sky is bigger out there and the waves are too, especially when a storm strikes a few days out, dark clouds and driving rain sending any inexperienced sailors below decks to wait it out. The worst of it being the pitch of the ship rolling up and crashing down the massive waves, and the way the hold fills with the stench of people being sick. But the next morning dawns calm and clear and with no lasting damage done.

The group is bound for a desert island, drawn on maps with a big deep cove like a bite chomped out the side it, and a narrow channel through the surrounding reefs to reach it. That's the only moment of true tension on the voyage: as soundings are taken every few feet and the helmsmen adjust and readjust in response, carefully threading the needle to avoid running aground on ship-killing banks of sharp coral.

Both ships make it, and anchor offshore in the bay in the sheltering lee of a cliff, safe from future storms. The first party ashore reports back that Qunari are present in the area, but while they've displayed a palpable wariness, hostility does not seem their aim today, and they retreat back up to the hills above the beach as Inquisition forces arrive. Anyone able-bodied is tasked with assisting in unloading, and those less hale with helping the quartermaster's assistants track the process to make sure nothing goes astray between hold and shore.

Camp is to be a collection of tents: large ones beneath which makeshift facilities for cooking, eating, and working are set up, and many small ones designed to hold 2-4 Inquisition agents. They're still hammering stakes into the sand and tying off ropes to the sturdier palms when a shout goes up, though anyone present who possesses an anchor shard will not need to be told: a rift has opened nearby, a couple hundred yards out into the bay, a knot of shapes splashing about it. Better hope the rifters can swim.

II. ARRIVAL

Rifters

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, when the afterimage left by a flare of too-bright, greenish light fades, you will find yourself at sea. Not metaphorically (though perhaps that too) but literally: dropped into what is unmistakably the ocean, from the salt in your mouth and the incessant slosh of waves into your face, the squawk of gulls circling overhead. You had better start treading water.

Thankfully, if you can keep your head above the waves long enough to make a quick inspection, it turns out that land is in sight, only a few hundred yards off. Unfortunately, between you and it is a strange slash of greenish light. It sticks up out of the water but seems to continue beneath as well, turning the otherwise-turquoise waters the same pale greenish shade of a man gone seasick. The cluster of demons emerging from the rift are tall, spindly stick-things with too many eyes who flail about like stickbugs dropped in pond, but use the long reach of their arms to attack. Some are hunched and hooded with no eyes at all, their shrouds sodden and draped in seaweed. Others are mere wisps of greenish light that float easily over the surface. While you might get the impression they are as surprised as you to find themselves in the drink, any humor that might bring is probably outweighed by how angry it seems to make them.

If that were not enough to contend with, there is also the narrow splinter of light the same sickly green as whatever brought you here that now glows out of the palm of your left hand. It aches, a bone-deep pain that gnaws even through all the distractions. But there is some good news: from the beach over yonder boats are launching. Perhaps they'll save you.

Rescue

As if rescuing rifters from drowning and demons weren't hard enough work, all the commotion in the water inevitably draws the attention of the local predators. But what arrives isn't the usual eel or ray or even a shark: it's something much bigger and much...redder?

Slinking through the water comes the flash of a fin and the glint of a scaly back, so quick and sinuous it's hard to say how many of the sea serpents there are. As wide around as the circle of a man's arms, with snapping jaws lined with an unnatural number of curving teeth, but what should be smooth snakey curves are instead jagged with the jut of brilliant red crystals that catch the light and make the sea seem to be already splattered with blood. They're studded all over its body, making any even glancing blow carry twice the danger: there's not just the stunning force of the strike to worry about or the possibility of being coiled in a crushing grip, but also being sliced and gored by red lyrium.

And the serpents aren't alone. While all eyes are on the churning water and the incredible sight of demons battling it out with sea monsters (because everything in that water is fair game to the beasts, not just the Inquisition), one sailor is suddenly plucked out his boat and carried screaming down into the depths by a great, crystal-encrusted tentacle. Cleansing runes are effective, but the monsters are canny enough to avoid capture, falling back into deeper water before attacking again. The arrival of a red lyrium-tainted kraken is just about the final straw for the ship's crew, and after seeing the monsters come dangerously close to cleverly flipping one of the longboats, they insist that the Inquisition row back for shore.

If flight is hard to stomach, consider it a tactical retreat: in shallower water the great bulks of the monsters become a liability, thrashing about among the rocks as they try to give chase. Escape back to the beach is possible, and surely the safer course, but it may be possible to lure one of the sea serpents into a tide pool or to beach itself up on the sands. The rest continue to prowl the bay, visible circling the ships at anchor and making any return impossible for the time being.

III. STRANDED

Once everyone is safely on land and out of the monsters' reach—after any wounds have been seen to, with particular attention given to any that may have been exposed to red lyrium—it's obvious that there's no way to leave for the time being. There isn't much to do but to try to make the most of things and try to accomplish what you came here for.

Some of the team will be tasked with continuing to set up camp. Now that the stay might be longer than a single night, it needs to be a little sturdier. The beach and cove are protected from harsh winds and exposure by a half-circle of rocky cliffs, and the Qunari communicate in grunts and one-word answers that large predators make sleeping in the jungle itself a bad idea. They've only been here a few days (that much can be gleaned despite their reticence), but some of the untamed jungle has been cut through to make clear paths to fresh water and fruit sources.

Penetrating the rest of the island is slow, difficult work—though magic may make it easier. The goal is near the top of the formerly volcanic peak in the island's center, but hacking through the growth to create a path may abruptly become a waste of time when it gives way to a steep drop-off or an equally steep incline and forces everyone to double back and try another route. If there was ever a clear road to the top, it's gone now, grown over during centuries of abandonment. But there are signs of past habitation: the lower portions of the island are spotted with crumbling ruins, chunks of moss-coated wall rising out of the forest floor, the occasional pillar looming up amongst the trees. Some have architecture and faded murals that are distinctly elven. Others, more recent, are clearly human, including a statue of Andraste in the center of a clearing. Others are harder to identify.

The predators the Qunari were trying to warn everyone about turn out to be real--they're large, jet-black cats about the size of a height of a mabari but longer, with short manes, near-scaley skin, and horns almost like the Qunari's. And before anyone gets any ideas about keeping one, they're fiercely territorial—always likely to try to eat your face, but doubly so if you come near their adorable kittens. Feeding them may buy a moment or two for escape, but nothing is going to win them over.

Comments

Araceli Bonaventura; open

[foxsays]

i. journey;
As with any time she's on a ship, Araceli spends much of the voyage pitching in because this is what she knows and there are never enough hands on deck. If you need to know how to tie your knots correctly without fear of being shouted at then she's probably the safe bet. If Kirkwall made her happy just to be by the sea again, to hear the gulls, smell the salt, wake up to masts in the docks then being out on the open waters again has her smiling even when the waves lash and the wind almost blinds her.

This is like being home and she loves it.

When the cry goes up about the rift after they finally make it, she's one of the first to kick off her boots and strip off her coat (sorry if you were helping her unload anything) because yes she can absolutely swim.

iii. stranded;
Things could be worse.

They could be in the Fallow Mire. Or Emprise du Lion. Or Skyhold. Because if you're stranded anywhere an island by Rivain isn't the worst place to be stranded on. The fish might be out judging from what was in the water - what a thing to tell Madame de Cedoux - but if anyone wants to fashion nets or rods at any point and try their luck since no one knows the length of their stranding? She's willing. Hacking through jungle, yes, that's fine too and she has notes she's taking for back in Kirkwall so she doesn't forget. (She isn't submitting a report but not all eyes are here and information is currency and vital.)

But she's diplomacy and approaching the Qunari is probably what Madame de Cedoux would like for her to do in the interests of getting some sort of information if they can or at least just speaking with them so she does try. Vashoth apostate mercenary kadan might be a poisoned chalice with them but so might rifter and Inquisition so they might all be equally screwed here.

I

[mactears]

It has been some decades since Loghain was last at sea (the memories of that vain voyage hounding him every time he steps out onto the deck and looks out to the horizon), but what his mind has forgotten, his muscles remember. He puts his back into the work of maintaining the ship with vigour and no complaints; he lacks Araceli's enthusiasm for the work, her joy in the scent of the sea and the rush of the waves, but that doesn't deter him from putting everything he has into each task he undertakes.

When the rift opens and spills the rifters into the open sea, he's on her heels towards the shoreline, though his destination is one of the boats waiting to be launched into the surf. "Wait!" he calls out to her, "they'll drag you under before you're of any help to them!" If they can get the boats to the rifters first, they'll all stand a better chance of getting back to the shore alive.

III

[misdirection_hex]

Well. He had always said he wanted to travel the world beyond the Circle tower. Granted, he'd said it quite a bit less frequently after a few months of camping and starving and fighting in the Hinterlands, and he's stopped saying it altogether after one ill-timed remark had gotten him assigned on a mission to the Deep Roads, but at least now he's broadening his horizons even further. (Now that he's left the ship's hold, anyway. The ferry path between the Gallows and the city proper is about all the water a desert flower like Vandelin can stand to cross if he has to look at it.)

He is sunburned, waterlogged, sweaty and bug-bitten--clearly the perfect condition in which to introduce himself to a new colleague. Never one to be easily deterred by unfortunate circumstance, Van marches himself with all the dignity he can summon over to Araceli as she records her observations.

"Mademoiselle Bonaventura?" What name she might prefer other than what Petrana has given him, he's not sure, but he supposes now is the time to find out. "Enchanter Vandelin Elris. I'm told we're to be sharing an office. It's a pleasure to meet you."

III

[judgemewhole]

When Araceli starts going towards the Jungle towards the Qunari camp, James gets up from where he was helping the healers make bandages, dusting the sand off of his breeches. Considering the heat, he's stripped down to a mail shirt and his clothes, but he automatically plucks up his shield and tightens his sword belt as he walks across the sand towards her.

"If you're going to talk to the Qunari - you need a show of strength." He states, and then sighs as he looks back to his armor. "...Which might be more impressive with the full plate armor, so if you give me a moment to put it on, I shall travel with you."

I.

[kartereo]

On the list of things to do when not being put to work on the ship was to get more practice in with climbing things in a rapid amount of time. His inital session with Araceli had given Waver a big boost in confidence, and although he wasn't the best by any means (with some impressive bruises to show for it), he was getting better.

Ship rigging seemed like the ideal, in truth. So when they were less in use, or Waver could politely offer coin for someone to look the other way, he did what he could to stay sharp. And to practice going down in ways that weren't falling, but being as quick and clever as climbing up.

Which was all to say that he was doing absolutely great with the whole thing until two seconds ago when, on final decent, he got his leg tangled up in some rope and was now dangling upsidedown, the ends of his hair just brushing the floor.

Of course he managed to do it right in front of Araceli to boot. Brilliant.

"...Hey," he managed, absolutely red. Damnit.

Skadi Iceblade (Open)

[iceblade]

I.

On the open sea, Skadi is having the time of her life. Having never been beyond the Frostbacks before her trek to Kirkwall, the Avvar woman has seen very little of the world. This trip is a chance to change all that, and she embraces it with gusto. If the crew needs her to hold or haul something, she's there. The few times she's not needed for something, Skadi will be leaning on the railing, staring at the open water with awe and calling out in delight when she spots a dolphin or sea turtle. If you're nearby, expect her to grab at you and gleefully point it out. "Look!"

Her enthusiasm doesn't dampen any when they finally make it to the island either, unloading what's needed before helping construct the camp tents. Does she ever stop? Well, no one gets a chance to find out, as even without the shouting, she grimaces and looks down at the shard flaring at her hand. By now, she knows full well what that means. Heaving a sigh -for once not enthusiastic about something but not willing to sit it out, either- she rushes toward the nearest boat and claims it. Anyone else wanting to join in rather than swim will have her gesturing impatiently. "C'mon, we've no time to waste!"

II.

...well, fuck.

Staring in horrified fascination at the red lyrium-encrusted creatures, Skadi has to remind herself that she can't fight them all. It would be futile, not to mention the rift folk need aid. So, she snaps out of it and heads for whoever she can help rescue. Between using her shard to help stun demons and generously unleashing a burst of Fade energy, her goal it to clear a path enough to get in, and get them out. Then it's time to retreat to shallower water, doing what she can to keep them off their backs.

III.

After that excitement, Skadi has decided against wearing her furs and leathers for now...at least those covering the top half of her body. On land, it's too damn warm for such attire, so while she keeps her pants, her torso and arms covered in paint that she'll deem as hard as any armor to those who ask. It's plain she doesn't have any care for what others might think, instead seeing to her own comfort first and foremost.

That done, the Avvar woman is ready and willing to contribute. She'll instantly join any party venturing outward to secure food and water, hacking through the jungle or the flesh of whatever accosts them with that huge, ice-like greatsword of hers. Often enough, she cloaks herself in mystical energies that seem to protect her, though it disperses when any Qunari are nearby. Skadi's not a mage, as she keeps saying, but she doesn't trust them to know the difference and would rather not make their stay any more difficult.

iii;

[foxsays]

If the height didn't give it away, what Skadi's wearing certainly does and Araceli smiles as she approaches with the beginnings of some fishing supplies. Or what are going to be fishing supplies once she can get down there and get some help or peace to do it.

"Avvar?" She guesses with a gesture to the paint because it brings back memories of scrubbing it off Korrin the night she came back, that was a surprise to see after their time apart but a welcome one. "Araceli Bonaventura y Castell at your service. Do you know anything about fishing?"

Inessa Serra (Open)

[circleprodigy]

I.

For the most part, Inessa's portion of the journey consists of her staying out of the way of those who know what they're doing. She has no real upper body strength, or knowledge of seafaring. At best she can energize items with her magic, so if a sailor dropped a rope below or some such, that can be fixed. But otherwise, she'll keep away from those working so as not to be underfoot. The best times to find her on deck are after the sun has set and when the winds are calm; storms leave her miserable and nauseous. Garahel is at her side, of course, curious about everything. If there are any interesting creatures in the water, he'll be sure to bark at them, and will generally be a solid wall of muscle for anyone to brace themselves against if they don't yet have their sea legs.

As exhausted as she is by the time they reach the campsite, Inessa doesn't think to get off her feet while there are tasks yet to be accomplished. When her own tent is set up, she continues to assist with others...at least until that shouting about a rift reaches her ears. Grabbing her staff, the slight elf woman follows Garahel, pausing and groaning upon realizing it's located out in the bay. Considering her swimming skills are still somewhere around beginner range, that's going to be a challenge. But the sight of shapes -people- splashing about hardens her resolve. She can't just leave them to the demons, whatever the circumstances. It's time to seek a boat and assist.

III.

After everyone is rescued and brought to shore, Inessa's first concern is for the new rifters. She'll approach each, doing her best to ignore both fatigue and the residual horror of encountering red lyrium creatures. Whatever her own state, the rifters are undoubtedly having a worse day. With her mabari in tow, she pauses to offer healing if it's needed and what answers she can spare if not. Shelter is also a concern and she'll do her best to see that everyone has a space in a tent. It may not be the most comfortable of surroundings, but the campsite will have to suffice until they can find safe means to leave.

Only afterward does Inessa let her fatigue show, reclining against her only slightly less tired mabari before the fire as she sips at her tea. Company won't be shunned, though, and she'll offer a tired smile for anyone who joins her.

I

[serannas]

The lanterns on deck provide enough light to get around by, and Ellana settles herself at a spot on the starboard side, looking out at the waves. She's been rather quiet this trip, and though seasickness has been a factor in that, it's not the only reason. When Garahel makes himself known -- as mabari are wont to do -- Ellana turns and offers a slight smile at the pair.

"There you are. I lost sight of you early on, I had so many things shoved at me to do." Which might sound like a complaint, but keeping busy keeps her from thinking too much. It's in these quiet hours that she mulls over her choices and it's the worst.

Christine Delacroix | open

[aceso]

{ II. ARRIVAL }
rescue
The waiting is the worst part, as she watches the longboats head out to fetch the rifters. Christine can heal them, can soothe the pain of their shards, but she might turn into another flailing victim should a demon flip the boat. She can't swim. So she stays on shore and that's where she witnesses a familiar sight. Well, somewhat familiar. The glow of red lyrium is well known to her, but not in these creatures, and she immediately has to know more. Some might call it a bad thing when one of the serpents follows a boat back towards the shallows, but for her, it's an opportunity to study it.

"There! Draw it there!" she yells, pointing to a shallow pool it won't easily be able to drag itself from. As the boat comes in, the creature is finally close enough to hit, and Christine throws a cold spell at it. "Help me bring it down!"

{ III. STRANDED }
Christine gives instructions to the other healers on how to deal with the red lyrium in their patients before seeing to a number of them herself. Her eyes glow blue as she uses Spirit Healing to tend to each, gloved hands expertly pulling chunks of lyrium out and placing a healing spell on them to quickly close up the wounds. But not all of those hurt have been exposed to red lyrium either. As she sends one patient off, she turns to the next person in need.

"Where does it hurt?"

II

[circleprodigy]

Forced to return to shore after one of the creatures had badly damaged her boat, Inessa barely stops to catch her breath before rushing over upon hearing Christine's shouting. She clutches her staff, Garahel in hot pursuit. It doesn't take much to see why Christine would give such an order and she obeys without question.

"Got it!" She'll pelt it with an assortment of hexes first, to make it more vulnerable to Christine's cold spells, and less likely to land a blow on anyone else. Only when it's sufficiently impaired will she cast Pull of the Abyss, hoping the spell's power is sufficient to draw it toward the shallow pool.

Ellana Ashara | Open

[serannas]

{ II. ARRIVAL }
rescue
Ellana volunteers to be in one of the boats that head out, her staff angled to sit in the boat against her shoulder. The demons and rift are old news to her now, but the location is a bit of a change. As they get near, she calls out, "We'll cover you! Get aboard!" to the rifters before raising her staff in the air and firing a spell at the nearest demon. However, when a red lyrium encrusted tentacle slithers up out of the water, she realizes this isn't going to be as routine as she thought.

"Uhh... fight or retreat?"

{ III. STRANDED }
Volunteering herself to hack through the jungle gives Ellana an opportunity to explore. She's already visited the elven ruins and copied the murals down in her journal, but for now she contributes by trying to get to the top of the island. The cats don't scare her -- she can turn into a big cat too -- but the constant dead ends are frustrating. At one point she stops when she reaches yet another drop off and sighs, shoulders sagging.

"Dead end," she tells her exploration partner. "Time to backtrack and try again."

II (this is a terrible idea, make her stop)

[iceblade]

"Oh, Lady...." Skadi stares at the red lyrium tentacle in fascinated horror, taking her greatsword from her back. When her nearest companion asks that question, she knows her answer. Imagine tales she could bring to her hold, if she fought and defeated it in combat! Perhaps she'd even gain a new legend mark.

"Fight, of course! If we can't beat it, we can still buy the rifters some time, right?" Besides, she'd much rather kill something than acknowledge the shard in her palm. The more she can put that off, the better. Cloaking herself in Fade-energies, she lets out a battle-cry and swinging her blade the moment there's a chance for it to connect with that tentacle.

[motherfucking_ghost]

ii
Church is, as ever, here for the Rifters. He might not know shit about boats, save for what little he's been forced to pick up helping around on the trip, but he's one of the first to hop in a dinghy or...y'know, the little boats, he doesn't fucking know, he wasn't stationed by an ocean back home, sword drawn like he's fucking George Washington crossing the god damn Delaware.

But he's not looking to attack the demons. Not unless they get within swiping distance, which is always Too Close For Comfort. His focus is on anyone in the water, reaching out with a glowing hand. "Grab on! We'll get you to shore!"

Surprising even himself, he doesn't fuck right off once the red lyrium encrusted sea monsters come out to play. It just makes the job more urgent.

iii
The Rifters were all Church was here for, but alas, that's never his only duty, and naturally as someone with the forces he's ordered to forge on ahead with the others through the god damn jungle like he's going to be of any use there. Maybe he can chop at some underbrush with his sword. Shield people from falling coconuts.

"Psst, hey," he asks quietly to some fellow Inquisition member, "what the fuck are we doing out here anyway?"

iii

[serannas]

Ellana glances up from studying the dense vegetation before them. "We're cutting a path. You know, to supply ourselves with food and fresh water? Were you just following me without knowing why?" The thought amuses her for some reason, but maybe it's because she tends to ask too many questions herself. The thought of someone going along with something without knowing why is kind of funny.

Kain Ventfort | Open

[in_death_sacrifice]

The Journey

So far… so good? Kain has never been as fond of the rhythm of the sea compared to being in the open air, but he’s managing. He’s even been sent a few times to climb or haul or otherwise do things, given he’s able-bodied enough.

But it’s at night when things are especially fascinating. With the wind in his hair, Kain stands on the deck staring up at the stars. It’s a clear, beautiful night, and he intends to savor this. He loves how wide open the sky is out here… even if he’d prefer being up on a mountain.

The Journey... 2

As those dark clouds roll in, Kain knows they’re in trouble. He knows the sky, he knows storms, and he’s got a good sense when it’s about to be a bad one. He’s not at all a seafaring person, though. A skyfaring one, yes, and he longs to be on his griffon, flying away to safer territory. Water is so not his element. Thus, he’s ended up below decks and utterly miserable.

"I wish we’d just flown there," he grumbles as he holds his head, feeling sick to his stomach. Next time, he’s taking Potato, no question.

"Andraste's tits!!" a certain blue parrot screams unhelpfully from where he's perched nearby. Because of course Bastard somehow came along, a sea journey is right down his alley, and he's having a much more fun time than Kain at the moment.

The Journey 3!?

There’s sudden commotion and the call goes out for shardbearers. Well. The person nearby actually mistakenly screams at first for just "rifters". Which, really, does not apply to him. Or that’s his excuse. Kain is going to attempt ignoring this… because he feels the odd twinge of pain from his own shard. Grimacing, clenching his gloved hand into a fist, he’s kind of hoping there will be enough rifters and other shardbearers around to deal with the rift…

Rescue

"We really should have flown." Kain remarks dryly after the kraken snatches someone screaming right from the ship, dragging the sailor mercilessly to the depths below. Oh for Maker’s sake, a red lyrium sea beast? Dive bombing from the air would have been an excellent strategy, much like a bird might go after fish. Instead… no, he’s got nothing, sea strategies are so not his area of expertise.

The fact it’s a red-lyrium infused creature makes it so, so much worse. He’s envisioning those tentacles wrapping around him and...

"Any thoughts for how to handle that?!" he shouts as the boat shakes from the activity in the surrounding sea.

Stranded

They’ve been moving along steadily for a while now, without signs of trouble. As they pause to examine some elven-looking ruins, there’s suddenly a harsh, terrifying sounding growl from somewhere amid all the thick jungle growth. "What… was that?”

Kain draws his sword, as another growling sound emerges from another direction. A large black figure emerges into the clearing. Then another, and another until they’re surrounded. The first one charges, and Kain launches into an attack, ready for it.

Journey 2

[circleprodigy]

Inessa is unsurprisingly below deck as well, looking even more pale than usual. She nods her head just slightly, as though afraid that moving it too much will cause her to be sick all over again. If she remains as still as possible, maybe it will go away, right? And maybe their griffons will come to rescue them, that seems just as likely.

"...as do I. 'You'll get used to it'...remind me to hex the deckhand who said that, will you?" Inessa doesn't mean it, not really, but she's miserable enough to not care about manners at the moment. Garahel lets out a soft whine, concerned for them both.

Fenris | Open

[lyriumcarved]

The Journey

"Let me guess… fish again." Fenris sounds incredibly displeased as it’s approaching dinner-time on the ship. He makes a face. The smell of the stuff had never sat well with him. He doesn’t know how people like Isabela can deal with this for weeks and months at a time. He’ll put up with it anytime he has to travel by boat, sure, but with a great deal of annoyance.

As he takes his food and finds a spot to settle in for now, a lot of others are doing likewise. There’s already some folks telling tales, singing songs, or even playing dice or cards. Fenris is especially interested in the latter things… there are always plenty of ways to alleviate boredom on here, anyway.

Arrival

Fenris climbs aboard one of the small boats, joining a group headed over to deal with the situation. He’s all too eager to start slicing apart any demons that come through the rift.

As they get closer, he notices the glint of green in the water… it’s unmistakably coming from a shard in someone’s hand. "Over there… left! Leftward!" Maker, was that port or starboard? Is there time to even care? Regardless, they start going toward the person floating in the water, but then a demon places itself right in their path…

He readies his sword, awaiting a moment to strike. This will be a challenge, to put it mildly...

Rescue

The whole sea has erupted with the serpents, churning with an all too ominous shade of blood red. It figures. No, demons alone would have been far, far too easy. Fenris narrows his eyes, trying to see a direction, any direction they can take out of this mess.

Then one of those tentacles reaches in his general direction. He moves fast, his sword stabbing straight into the sucker-studded appendage before it touches him. The tentacle waves around unsteadily and moves away for now, but there are plenty more where that came from…

Stranded

"Wait. Let me talk to them.” Fenris gestures toward the Qunari who are gathered nearby. So far, no one's getting much information out of them, but maybe he can attempt. He may not get much more out of them, but at the very least, he’ll have attempted. So he heads over to speak with the group. They look surprised, at first, but even more astonished when he comes out speaking Qunlat.

So they talk, but the Qunari don’t really say much at all, and there's mostly grunting in among their answers. After a bit of back and forth, Fenris turns to his ally. "Apparently we’d better avoid the jungle.” He raises an eyebrow, as one of the Qunari finally adds something in Common: "Cats."

Yep that’s right. Cats. That’s the oh so helpful warning they’re getting.

"Yes, they say that there are many vicious predators out there… Giant cats, it would seem. But we should be safe to camp here," Fenris adds. "They've just arrived not long ago themselves."

Rescue

[iceblade]

Well, now it's time to put talk into action. Skadi, standing nearby and practically glowing with mystic Fade energies, lets out a blood-curling cry and swings her greatsword overhead, viciously slashing at the nearest tentacle, slicing it deeply. Another appears, nearly knocking her overboard, but whatever she's done to herself seems to be shielding her from the blow.

"Lady, are there no end to these things?!?"

Beleth Ashara | Open

[arlathvhen]

II) Rescue

"Fenedhis lasa!" The elvish curse is followed by several more, as Beleth backs up from the edge of the ship, eyes wide and openly terrified as she watches a man get plucked from a ship, like a piece of meat from a stew. The analogy does little to settle her nerves.

She'd been doing just fine, standing at the edge and firing arrows off at the demons, but this? This was something that she couldn't just fire arrows at. This was something beyond her, beyond any mortal, perhaps. How could they possibly fight thatnot engage with that--that thing, if you can help it. Just grab the rifters and go! Where is Iskandar, he should be in charge of this..."

Standing there, she suddenly notices one of those very rifters bobbing on by the ship. She glances at the sinister red mass seething under the water, swallows hard, and tosses her bow and quiver aside, then begins removing her shoes. The idea of going into the sea with that thing is...terrifying on a fundamental, base level. But she can't ask people to do something that she wouldn't be willing to do.

III Stranded

Safe on dry land, Beleth is busy attempting to do her job. This is a far cry from her office in the Gallows, but she's not going to let that stop her. One of the big tents has become her base of operations, and in it is a large, makeshift table. Upon the table is a crude map of the island, one that Beleth spends her time studying, and is constantly making adjustments to. Each time people attempting to trailblaze come back, she takes their reports and marks any new developments. Potential hazards and roadblocks are noted, along with sources of food or water, as well as anything points of interest--for whatever good that will do.

"I wish we had time to study those ruins," Beleth mutters to whoever happens to be in the tent with her. "They sound fascinating." She certainly can't visit them--she has barely set foot out of camp since the retreat, spending her time pouring over her ramshackle map, attempting to collaborate with the trailblazers to produce a viable trail, or to locate resources and make sure that whoever goes to fetch them knows the way.

She's open to being approached, either to receive reports, or to boss someone around. Or you could just drag her away for a break--she certainly looks like she could use it.

II

[conqueredhearts]

It was in this moment that a loud voice was heard over the throng. Even in all of this, his voice still carried. "Do not let the fear take you! Aim for them! Release your arrows!"

The large man came forward and had three injured people that he was carrying. Three injured people and he was still bellowing orders and even holding his sword steady. His mabari was at his side, ready to take on this fight should he be given the order but was loyally staying by his master for the time being.

Seeing Beleth, he actually smiled through all of this.

"To the waters, huh?" He gave a laugh and finally set his charges down somewhere safe then grabbed some free rope. "Tie this round you. I will make sure you get back!"

Kattrin; III; OPEN

[theexile]

A. Healing

After everything was said and done there were injuries to take care of. Kattrin had her tent open to anyone who needed treatment, keeping her care away from the other healers should anyone there find discomfort in her actively reaching out to spirits in order to use their power. She was more than aware of how many would feel about her Avvar ancestry. Since there was nothing she could do about that she could just keep her magical practices off to the side.

But for those who needed it, Kattrin had out her blankets with a variety of herbs spread out nearby. Not everyone was interested in magic so she had to provide for them as well. Seeing someone come forward, she looked up. "What ails you?"

It was time to treat another.

B. Camp

Rather than explore with the others, Kattrin set about helping with food preparation. She'd brought her own supplies but was making use of what the island provided as well. The fire had plenty cooking now as she worked to prepare even more, wielding her knife like an expert. Still, she had her hands dirty at one point so she nodded to the nearest person.

"Pinch some herbs from that pot there and sprinkle them into the pot there." Sometimes the best way to manage was simply to delegate.

A!

[meds4sale]

"Nothing at all," came the slow, even reply.

"I am delivering medicine to the healers. Is there, perhaps, anything you are short on?"

He had already set the medicine box down. The answer had almost universally been 'yes' and the Medicine Seller seemed to have an unending supply of much-needed herbs and poultices in that strange pack he carried.

Oghren; OPEN

[wardeneructate]

I. Journey

Alright. So he'd done the ship thing once already and hadn't liked it. Now he was doing it again and he still didn't like it. It was like the ground just had to keep moving because it wasn't the ground and... Seriously, who thought it was a sodding idea to go around on water? Land was good. It was the best ever. So much better than this ship business.

Which meant a dwarf in a bad mood off in a corner nursing a bottle of something. With a couple other empty bottles of something next to him. Hopefully those didn't belong to someone because they were gone now.

"Sodding water and its sodding movement..."

II. Rescue

So not only was this whole ship mess a thing but now he had to fight something he couldn't actually hit most of the time. Oghren was a wet and pissed off dwarf as he waved his axe at tentacles whenever he could manage it. How did these blasted things seem to know to stay just away from his short reach? It was the worst kind of battle ever known!

It was then the ship pitched and he was tossed right into the water. Well, he was going to need to be rescued but until then there was a furious dwarf chopping into whatever he could hit while he was down there...

III. Predators

After all that mess on the water, Oghren was happy to go hunting for something on land. Sure he was stomping around like some overgrown child but at least he looked ready for a fight. If nothing else, he knew his mood would pick up once he got his axe buried into something living and dangerous. Okay sure maybe everyone else was here to explore or maybe to avoid the things but he was ready for something else entirely.

Hence why, he looked up at one point to say, "So when do we run into the fights with monsters? Heh. Really looking forward to one of those. Should be good now that we're on some sodding land again."

Seriously, who wanted to be on water?

II

[doneisdone]

How delightful, then, that his knight in shining armor should be right nearby in one of the boats, who hauls him out of the water with her spindly arms and panic-strength. Teren is the only person still manning the boat, her companion having been torn away by a serpent, and she'd be petrified if she didn't have to row like their bloody lives depend on it. She doesn't even seem to care that it's Oghren she just pulled out, she simply shouts "grab anyone you see!" a pitch or two higher than normal.

[kartereo]

I. journey
Waver was quiet when he was not given any tasks by the crew. Not that he was given heavy lifting, but rather gopher tasks that took advantage of his long legs to get from point A to point B as quickly as possible. For that reason, he tended to stay below deck during the day, often with a book or else writing in a little makeshift notebook he had composed for himself.

He came on deck during the evenings though, plopping himself down in an out of the way spot and spending hours staring upward. He couldn't help it. London didn't have night skies like this - few places did anymore. And while it was one thing to see the skies on land, to be on a boat and observing felt as close to space travel as one might ever get.

Upon arriving though, there must have been something about being parked to the side with paper in hand that caused Waver to end up helping the quarermaster's assistants. So he walked around crate after crate, checking contents, then scribbling furiously.

"Ugh," he said eventually, hand starting to cramp and feeling the true threat of sunburn that only the pale can. "I think this is the last box. Can someone help get the lid off?"

III. stranded, ruin examination

"This is interesting," Waver remarked to no one in particular as he squated down. There was the base of a pillar that had caught his attention there, thick with moss and long since worn down. It took little effort to move the moss away, and Waver's fingers moved as carefully as they could to minimize damage. This was damn fascinating. "There's likely more."

Waver enjoyed being proven right, and his curiosity lead him from a tiny little pillar base to low walls that were likely dwellings or businesses, to eventually higher walls that had somehow survived. Thick branches overgrew the largest wall portions, and Waver glared up at them as if accepting a challenge. What he needed, what he wanted was a little bit of height and a good saw. Maybe some paper and pen too, to draw copies of some of these sights.

But first things first. Branch removal.

I

[theexile]

Kattrin watched as someone removed the lid for him then went over to look up at him with some concern on her face. It wasn't that hard for her to miss the tell-tale signs of a burn happening or that he likely needed a rest for a bit. As a healer she couldn't just let him continue to run ragged like this.

"Have you had food and rest recently?"

She had this feeling the answer was no currently.

Maedhros; Open

[castintoflames]

II. Arrival: Rifters

From fire to water. The volcano and its fiery chasm had consumed him, turning his body to white hot ash. Maedhros knew it was so even as water filled his lungs, choking him as he fought to the surface of the sea. He threw back his head once he encountered mercifully clear air, startled beyond all reasonable thought. The green light and the monsters awoke his instinct to survive and his sword was out in a flash, held in a hand he had last seen on the Thangorodrim.

Maedhros "the Tall", firstborn son of Fëanor and Nerdanel was alive and whole. He did not question keeping himself so and, by fighting with his considerable might, he would aid others. His hoarse voice rose in a battle cry, the sound ringing like a song.

"To me!" or, better yet, behind him for he was set on one task and one task alone: eliminating all threats and setting foot on the land beyond.

Rescue

Somehow, miraculously, fighting tooth and nail quite literally, Maedhros ended up in a boat. He was breathing hard and completely soaked through, but that did not stop him from continuing to lash out at the foes that threatened the small crew aboard on all sides. The beasts of the sea were fearsome, but his Elven sword could cut deep, giving them good reason to keep their distance.

It was probably a wonder he could tread water at all in his armor, but the body beneath the finely crafted pieces was healthy and toned. He was once more a beautiful example of a Noldorin Prince, though his mind...

Well, that could be tended to once they were on the shore. Grabbing some oars, he set to aiding his fellows in the process, gritting his teeth. There was a strange fire in his eyes - a light that refused to go out or be darkened by fear.

What did he have to fear anyway? He had thrown it all away.

"Yes, follow us into the shallows!" he called to the beasts, smiling cruelly, "I should like to see you wrecked on the shore."

III. Stranded

Once he was satisfied most - if not all - had made it to the shore, Maedhros sat down heavily, his armor digging into his now far less malnourished body. He absently sought to loosen it, gaze distant, but not uncomprehending. He was in another world. This was not Arda - nor was it the Halls of Mandos.

Was his fëa not even allowed to rest with his father and the brothers that passed before him?

Drawing his long fiery hair over his shoulder, he wrung it dry before deftly braiding it. He had at least been given the gift of a complete body and health. But for what purpose?

II

[doneisdone]

"COULD YOU MAYBE NOT TAUNT THEM YOU GIT" comes the shout of a woman in another boat about ten feet away, who looks like she's about to throw up or stab something or perhaps a really strange combination of the two.

Teren von Skraedder

[doneisdone]

I. The Journey

Growing up in a dockside town had its uses, Teren is finding, and though the vessels she remembers were far smaller and used for lake-sailing rather than the sea, she has a decent enough handle on the situation that she's entrusted with jobs here and there.
She spends a lot of her time mending canvas, being among the more competent at sewing of the people onboard, but also helps out with doling out and preparing provisions, as she tends to within the Warden camp.

She's no more cheerful about this than she seems to be about anything else, but at least she's not grumpier, which says a lot.

II. The Rescue

Teren was entrusted with one of the rowboats, which she pretty much immediately regrets when the sea starts boiling with giant predators. Her companion, a deckhand she doesn't know, is among those who were torn away by the serpents, which leaves her alone to row and try to haul people out of the water.
This is somewhat difficult to do when getting tossed about by a bloody dead fish and Maker what is that, why does it look like that, but Teren has been through some pretty crazy shit and she knows she's not lucky enough to die before the Calling gets her. She soldiers on, and holds out a hand to anyone who needs it and isn't about to bite it off.

III. Stranded

Fuck that. Fuck that.
Teren is fairly used to overseeing a camp and its inner workings, so she's quick to gain some control in ensuring everything is erected and procured at maximum efficiency. She is unusually short with people and seems to be holding herself back from just flipping out all over the place, which is preferable to her really processing what the fuck just happened before they came over here.
She's more than happy to assign tasks, yell at people for not going fast enough, yell at people for standing around with their thumbs up their arses, or just yell at people.

III

[mactears]

At some point when she rounds on Loghain to yell at him, he sets down one of the barrels he's modified to serve as a receptacle for drinking water and turns to meet her ire with a frank stare.

He doesn't say anything, but the look on his face well communicates, 'take a breath.'

Fingon | Open

[utulien_aure]

II. Arrival: Rifters

Fingon breaks the surface with a gasp and a shake of his head, the saltwater blurring and stinging his eyes as he tries to make out his location. The results of that are mixed: he find the shoreline, though it doesn't look like any one he knows, and it seems his sword is floating not far away.

Of course, realizing that the green light shining off it is as much the product of his left hand as it is the blade is more than a little worrisome. The creatures issuing forth from the rift, he'll admit, are also looking a tad inconvenient to get around.

Still, those issues can be worried about later. The priority is the shore, or at least the boats which seem to be coming from it. And it shouldn't be trouble; he's swum farther before.

He's never had to do so in the kind of heavy, elaborate robes the Noldor seem to enjoy their kings suffering their way through court in, granted, but there's a first time for everything.

III. Stranded

Fingon stays at camp just long enough to find a safe place to store his most cumbersome things, then he's off to take a look around. Another world, they said this was, and he's curious to see what a place that sounds both so similar and so different to Arda might be like.

Mostly, he finds, it's quiet: there's the rustle of movement in the jungle, but no hint of the inhabitants' thoughts is open to him. Nor do the stones of the ruins speak back to him, telling stories of their long-lost inhabitants.

Fingon has never been an expert at communicating with animal or earth, but it's still strange to be so completely deaf to either. Is it simply that the world is different, he wonders, or whether he is by being here?

III. Stranded

[castintoflames]

He has relieved himself of some of his armor so he doesn't feel so damn hot and heavy. But his gaze is still curiously unfocused - as if part of him hasn't made the transition between worlds. He absently flexes the fingers of his right hand, relearning the feel of it, as he walks about. Really, he is an imposing figure, though his height is less of an issue, it seems.

"Reborn through fire and water..." he murmurs to himself, probably sounding as mad as he looks.

[onlyhymns]

I. The Journey

On a whim, Cade volunteered to join the expedition, since there's always a chance he'll fall off a boat and drown, and that gives him better odds than staying in Kirkwall and sleeping all day. The voyage is having a positive effect on him, however, and he's responding well to the life of a deckhand: it's exhausting, structured, and nobody cares who he is or what he's done when they're all too busy at their own tasks to ask, so he's begun to find a peace in it.
At night, he even sits with the rest of the crew when they play their card games and tell their stories, and though he doesn't talk, nobody expects him to. Perhaps this is a life he should consider.

II. The Rescue

Blessedly not trusted to take one of the boats out (not that he has a history of flipping out at the slightest provocation or anything), Cade has remained onboard to shoot arrows at the beasts and pray for deliverance. He's in a battle haze for most of it, but for lack of a sword, he's remarkably dedicated and well-aimed in his archery, and far less likely to hit the wrong person. Or... thing.

III. Stranded

Still coming down from the ordeal, Cade sits on the beach and tries to slow his breathing, his feet bare and dug into the sand by the surf washing over them. He has separated himself from the group so as not to have any accidents, quietly panicking by himself. Unfortunately, he's not being useful either.
Perhaps this life isn't for him.

III

[arlathvhen]

Beleth has spent almost all her time since she arrived being useful, busy trying to prove that she is up to the task of being scoutmaster. But everyone needs a break, and she needs to check in on Cade, anyway.

She walks right along where the water meets the shore, occasionally stepping further into the water. She makes sure to approach Cade from the side, not from behind him, and she splashes as she walks, hoping it will make sure that he can hear her, as well. The last thing anyone needs is for someone to sneak up on him and send him back into panic. Once she's reached him, she plops down in the sand next to him, bare feet kicking in the surf. "I saw you using a bow back there. You're a good archer, Cade." Her voice is careful, gentle.

Briefly, it occurs to her that she hasn't actually spoken to Cade since she kissed him on the cheek. The best plan would probably just be to never bring that up.

Ever.

Simon Ashlock

[paladingus]

I. Journey

Simon would like to think that he's in his element on a boat. He's a Starkhavener, isn't he? The Minanter is everything there, the entire city built around it, the industries all flowing directly from it. He learned how to swim in its waters almost before he could walk, and he'd spent every moment he could on the neighbors' fishing ketch because it was better than being obligated to help out in the family forge. He's a natural for a mission like this, right?

It takes all of an hour before he realizes that the sea is not a river, and a ship is not a boat. But it isn't too long afterward that he sucks it up and learns to adapt what he does know, taking direction from the experienced sailors with somewhat uncharacteristic respect for the authority. By the time the storm hits, he's convinced he can be of more use abovedecks than below. He stands his ground and determines to help, even when given orders to the contrary.

And when the cry is raised about the rift, he doesn't hesitate to make for a longboat. This much, he can do without guidance.

III. Stranded

Tasked with assembling the shelters and lifting whatever large and unwieldy things need to be lifted, Simon sets to it with shirtless good will. The circumstances may be miserable, and he will complain about them at length, but it's good to have an opportunity to put his facility with a toolbox to better use than just building model dreadnoughts alone in his room like a nerd. Maybe there's a productive reason after all that Wren always orders him to go smash things with a hammer when he's upset. It's good practice for when it needs to be put to more constructive ends.

"Can someone come steady this bit for me? I've only got two hands."

I

[onlyhymns]

Simon will often find Cade working alongside him, hauling things and cleaning the deck and doing all manner of the things one does on a ship, and in these times it becomes not-so-impossible to see why he made a good Templar before he went crazy. Quick to give aid and shoulder more than his share, Cade is the definition of a team player, never needing to be told a thing twice, and even seeming almost upbeat in his busyness.

He's helping Simon secure some of the loose supplies when Simon takes off, and Cade hurries after him. "What are you doing?" he demands, "Simon--!"

Reaper | Open

[shotgunsakimbo]

II. Arrival - Rifters

Reaper had been dreaming of times gone past, memories that liked to skirt the edge of his awareness. Memories that he kept shoved aside during waking hours, they would only distract. And then falling, falling, and even in his dreams, his misting ability tried to stop it, but it didn’t work until he hits the ocean. And gets a lungful of sea water for his trouble before he tries to right himself under the waves.

Breaking the surface, and coughing to clear his lungs, impeded only slightly by the mask, Reaper manages to get a good look around. The demons and the odd green light have him reaching to pull out a weapon, one of signature shotguns, but before his hand can break the water, he knows the weight is all wrong. That’s all he needs to realize that he’s not equipped for combatting this and turns to start swimming towards the shore and boats.

III. Stranded

On dry land, and safe (well, relatively after being in the ocean with demons and a giant glowing red kraken), Reaper is keeping nearby but out of the way for the moment as camp is made. He really would like some better answers, but there’s also priorities at hand here.

He’s working on getting dry, his body armor set down alongside the bone mask and a pair of black metal swords. He’s ignoring the green glow and pain in his left hand as works on wringing the water out his sweater. He keeps glancing around to keep an eye out for anyone that’s stopped working on setting camp or taking a break, calling out, “Hey. Don’t suppose I could get a better explanation now?”

iii;

[foxsays]

Checking that the fire isn't in danger of collapsing on itself, Araceli turns to look at the speaker once she's done. The Fallow Mire was the previous wet arrival prior to this one but it was at least into a bog and not the open waters so she's sympathetic to anyone who arrived as they did.

She's got some larger sticks propped up carefully and her own coat stretched over one, hand extended. The left, marked same as his.

"Here, let me." Haven had been snow and ice, bone-chilling cold on top of shock. "Araceli Bonaventura y Castell at your service. You're in Thedas, you came through a rift from wherever you were before."

The Medicine Seller - OPEN

[meds4sale]

I. Journey
It's astonishing how a man dressed in all the colours of the rainbow can simply up and vanish whenever he's expected to do any kind of actual work. You'd think someone as ostentatiously dressed as the Medicine Seller would be impossible to hide in surroundings of dull browns, but apparently any rope-tying or heavy lifting that the crew might expect of him is left conspicuously not done.

If and when he wants to be found, it's almost comically easy. Perhaps he's lounging on the deck, smoking that long pipe of his, or nestled in some alcove with his nose in a book, conspicuous as always. No matter what, he never seems particularly busy and supremely unconcerned about it.


II. Rescue

Large tentacled monsters were not something he was particularly surprised to see roaming the seas. Stranger things lurked in the waters back home. Still, it would be troublesome if it managed to capsize the ship so the Medicine Seller got off his ass to actually help.

It was no spirit or demon or abomination (though he'd consider the infection of red lyrium abominable in and of itself), so his talismans would have little effect. Same of his sword, even if the circumstances for drawing it from its sheath were met.

So there was always the third option; Blowing Shit Up.

As the crew scrambled around trying to keep the beast at bay long enough to get to the safety of shallow water, the Medicine Seller was crouched down on deck, mixing something that stank of sulfur.


III. Stranded

a. Camp

As useless as the Medicine Seller had made himself on the journey over, he was rather handy to have around when it came to treating the wounded. He was relatively unobtrusive, mixing powders, poultices, salves, and various painkillers and disinfectants. Either he'd hand them off to healers, or apply them himself. Despite his mantra of being a mere merchant and not an actual healer or physician, he was quite adept at treating the wounds when actually roped into doing so, though he mostly stuck to diligently mixing remedies.

b. Jungle

As soon as the opportunity to explore arose, the Medicine Seller took it. He didn't seem to express much interest in the mountain-top ruins, but then again he wasn't a particularly expressive person in general, so.

Whatever was going on in that head of his, outwardly he just seemed to be along for the ride. Or to provide medicine and treatment when someone inevitably had a 'hold my beer' moment with one of the jungle cats.

Sometimes he would break from the group, disappearing into the foliage for hours-long bouts. He'd return, practically reeking of mint, cinnamon or citrus, but after these little ventures, it seemed the amount of encounters with large, aggressive felines dropped considerably.

And it might be odd how one dressed in robes and those ridiculous sandals of his seemed to move through the uneven terrain with such ease and grace. To the keen observer, the Medicine Seller seemed perfectly comfortable - even content - in the wild places of the world.

III.a

[kartereo]

Of all the things Waver had not expected to pick up while in Thedas, art was on the list. But his interest in getting out and seeing more things, combined with the amount of ruins out there in the jungle meant that he needed to get good and fast. In particular, he had been struck by the murals decaying out there, and this was likely to be the first and last encounter with them. In spite of everything their color had managed to hold up, and it would be damn stupid to not at least try and make a decent record of it.

At least the question of where to get paint was easy. Having spent a good few hours in the jungle, Waver approached the Medicine Seller's spot in camp, ignoring the leaves stuck in his hair and the few new tears to his trousers.

"Does anything in your pack make for good pigmentation?"

Prompto Argentum | OTA

[crowncitizen]

Stranded

A. Prompto hadn't minded the journey all that much, aside from that fun little storm that nearly broke his camera and just about caused a concussion on his part. Fortunately, both were averted, and the young man had been in cheerful spirits when they arrived.

That went downhill when the sea monster struck.

If Prompto looks pretty shaken up, head between his knees and positioned far away from others far long the beach after the fight with the Red Lyrium Tentacle Monstrosity, that's because he is.

He's not unused to rough fights like that. Romping around the countryside with Noctis and the others, and his time alone in the Imperial wilderness made him somewhat hardy, despite appearances. He's battled the cold, the damp, and everything in between. But this, this has him reeling.

The whole battle had him flashing back to Altissia. Every time that monster roared, and every time the waves came over Prompto and he found himself drawing in breath before plummeting under the water, he remembered Altissia, and the battle with Leviathan. The havoc that was wrought, and the way they struggled as the city tore apart under her wrath. In the end, almost nothing good came out of it. Just suffering and death. He tried not to let it get to him afterwards, but here, it had all come crashing back, and he's left trying to get his head on straight and get up and help.

He hears someone approach, but he doesn't look up. Not yet. "Sorry. I'll - I know I'm needed somewhere. Just need a second, you know?"

B. Later on, once he's collected himself, Prompto can be found darting amongst the ruins and the jungle, camera in hand as he snaps some photos. Mostly he focuses on taking pictures of the murals he sees. Some are pretty embedded into the jungle, and it'd be safer to take the murals to those more knowledgeable than the other way around.

"Hey, would you mind pushing that huge leaf back? It's blocking the light."

a

[sulena]

Compared to the bruises earned during her investigation work, the ones gained in battle today are nothing and once she gingerly tends to them does she begin to help others. Saoirse is not a healer though, and it shows as she works with more basic herbs and remedies. Few times does she call upon her magic, using her weak connection to the school of Creation to ease away pain and exhaustion. It helps, she hopes and continues her usual state of humming as she worked.

At first, she doesn't recognize Prompto from where he is seated in the sand. She is far more used to a more... cheerful sort of person but she cannot blame him. Everyone has suffered in some way, some more than others and she cannot help frowning as she crouches down in the nearby sand.

"If you are needed somewhere then I have not heard so," she says lightly. "Most importantly, you must care for yourself first. You were not hurt were you?"

Rey; Open

[provenforce]

i.

The ocean is a bit of an unknown to Rey, and as a result her reaction to being on a boat is somewhat mixed. She can often be found standing on the deck looking out over the water, like she's trying to decide whether she's terrified or enraptured. It's probably a little of both, at any given time. Kind of like her first time in space. At least, that she could clearly remember.

When not on deck she's in the belly of the ship, especially during the storm. She doesn't know how to swim, being pitched overboard isn't her idea of a good time, and she isn't sure what would happen to the lightsabers strapped to her belt if they were submerged in salt water.

One constant is Padawan, her large white mabari shadow. Wherever Rey goes on the ship, Padawan is by her side, which is a comfort in itself.

iii.

Rey makes herself useful around the camp pitching in wherever a tent is being struggled with, or a binding not quite coming together. Hard manual labor is what she grew up with, and she works easily, if a little quietly. She can be coaxed into conversation by those who know her well, and she tries to make an effort with those she doesn't know, but it's clear small talk doesn't come naturally to her.

When there isn't work to be done around the camp she and Padawan skirt the edges of the jungle, as much on patrol listening for anyone who needs help as exploring.