faderift | THE SEAS SHALL RISE & DEVOUR, Part I

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I can try."

Sitting next to him in the sand, she shifted her bag that she was carrying. It moved a little and a fennec head popped out before disappearing back inside again. She seemed to take no notice of this as she made herself comfortable.

"What questions have you?"

The small head was a sweet sight and Maedhros smiled faintly. She was blessed to have such a companion - if that was the role of the little fennec. Resting his bowl on his lap, he glanced around, seeking the right words for -

Falling to his doom only to find himself more alive than ever.

"This world is not my own. How is it I was brought here? How is it that I live?"

"The rifts hold many mysteries for us still. Yet they have a habit of bringing those of other worlds to this one. It seems regardless of time in your case."

She hesitated just a moment before holding up a hand. "May I touch you? I am a healer."

It was less that she'd be able to heal him and more that she might learn if he truly was alive.

"I have been saved by magic?" he felt a chill climb his spine. Elves did not feel one particular way about spells and the like - unless they were used for ill. Maedhros could not imagine his life being saved for anything good.

His eyes widened at the request and he seemed to shrink in on himself. For such a mighty warrior - and once a king - the idea of being touched frightened him badly.

"I do not need to be healed." he felt better, physically, than he had in centuries.

"I am a mage. I would be able understand your...living a little better perhaps."

She lowered her hand though, not pushing it at all. If he didn't wish to be touched then she wouldn't and it was as simple as that. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her knees after removing her staff from her back to rest next to her. It was more comfortable that way.

"I am not certain if it is magic that has caused this or a darker force. We are doing what we can with this Inquisition to understand it so we can offer a way for you to return to your homes if you wish it."

"I do not understand...what you could learn? My body was turning to ash and now it is whole and -" better. Unscarred. His right hand had been returned to him. He still couldn't believe that last bit and he raised said hand, flexing his fingers slowly.

"There is naught for me on Arda." he had thrown it away. His brother -

Kano.

"What use am I here? Can the Inquisition be trusted?"

"That I cannot explain. I can only sense real life."

Looking out towards the water, she actually carefully pondered that question for a time. Not because she had doubts but rather because she wanted to be certain of her words before speaking them. To let him know her true thoughts on this.

"I have seen them do great wonders for the good of all. They are perhaps still learning what will work but the heart of this Inquisition is in a true place. For that reason, yes."

Maedhros swallowed the anxiety - the fear - that came with the mere thought of being touched. He had been this skittish since his torture at the hands of Morgoth and his minions. While his body was healed, his mind and his spirit were not.

"Touch...my hand." he stretched out his arm towards her while she considered his inquiries. Her answer earned a small nod of acknowledgement.

"To do their best is all anyone could ask of them." he was not seeking perfection or great wonders - merely progress in the right direction.

Whatever direction that happened to be.

"Do they seek to aid those like myself along with the natives?"

She watched him stretch out his arm to her and lowered her legs so that way she was just crossing them. Turning to him, she very gently took that hand between her own. She willed her magic to life and yes she sensed he really was alive. Whatever had befallen him did not apply in this world somehow. She couldn't say why.

Whatever had caused him such pain though was not something she wished to awaken again so she only kept her touch as light as possible. Like the graze of a feather really.

"Yes. I suppose to whatever end will bring you peace."

She was not going to question nor judge what would help him in that regard. That was for his own heart to decide.

He didn't need answers. It was enough that he was alive and whole. Fëanorians learned quickly to not spurn blessings lest they be revoked at the most inopportune moment.

Maedhros was thankful for her gentleness and he cautiously gave her hand a squeeze before he pulled back.

"Peace is beyond my reach." he had given up on it a long, long, long time ago, "Others are not cursed, however. Peace can be theirs and I would not mind aiding them in the process of discovering it."

He wanted to do something good, though he feared tainting everything and everyone he touched.

She brought a hand to her own shoulder as she spoke, adjusting the sleeveless shirt she was wearing so that it exposed the terrible burn scars that were there under the cloth. "You will not be the only one to have seen pain here. We all have burdens we must carry. If you find there is a way to let another help to carry yours then I will off you my aid."

It was a promise to him. She didn't know what he'd endured but that didn't mean he had to suffer alone unless that was truly his choice. That was all that she was saying in this case.

Scars he had seen; scars he had born though they had been erased from his body by the Rift or by the hand of Lord Námo. Once, he had been missing his right hand and his body had been marked by the Enemy - even his face had not been spared. Each day, he had felt the pain - phantom reminders of hanging from the cliff face of the Thangorodrim for three decades - and now that he was free of them, he felt both relieved and very confused.

"What befell you?" his voice was quiet and he glanced between the scar and her face, "...if you do not mind speaking of it."

"The man I was married to did not agree with me on a matter. I ended up in a fire."

That was the basic part of it really. She didn't add further detail simply because that told the story just fine honestly. People didn't actually fill in incorrect details for the rest of it. At least not to her her knowledge.

THE SEAS SHALL RISE & DEVOUR, Part I

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