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

Frozen in abject terror, Fern has squeezed herself into the modest shelter of the aft deck, with her arms flung over her head and her skinny frame made as small as possible. Honestly, she's probably better off here than scrambling around the deck with the rest of the crew getting under foot. Still, in the crush of all the activity, she catches scent of something--odd--and peeks out from under her arms to see the strangest member of their company at work at something... equally strange.

She's momentarily terrified again as one of the serpents crests the surface of the churning sea and splashes salt water in a spray across the deck, but once it has disappeared (for the moment), Fern forces herself to uncurl from her hiding place and scrabbles across the deck towards the Medicine Seller. "What--what are you doing--!?" He at least seems quite calm, which means maybe he knows that the hell he's doing.

The Medicine Seller was either not particularly concerned for Fern's plight or he was so focused on the task at hand that he barely spared her a second glance until she had made her way over to where he was working.

He didn't seem like he was inclined to explain himself at this point and time, but the ship was rocking so much, he could use an extra pair of hands.

"Please hold this. As steady as possible," he said, his tone serene and even. But there was no warmth or reassurance in it either and his expression was completely neutral - almost bored.

He passed her a tiny ceramic pot. It was painted to look like an owl, and the spout was shaped like a beak. It was a rather cute little nick-nack, the kind of kitschy thing the Medicine Seller gravitated to like a bee to flowers.

"What--oh!" The pitch and yaw of the ship starts to send Fern's staff clattering away from her--and she quickly darts out a foot to hook around the grip and drag it back before it can be tossed overboard.

"Sorry," she says, winded, then catches the pot when the Medicine Seller hands it to her--not because it is thrown, or handed to her with particular vigour, but because she's shaking a little from fear and it's impossible to keep her hands from trembling. Still, at his directive, she does her best to hold the pot steady, looking in worry from its strangely adorable beak to the bizarre elf.

The Medicine Seller watched as Fern wrestled with her staff. He didn't seem annoyed or impatient, however. His pace was almost lackadaisical as he finished grinding the strange powder. When Fern wasn't fumbling with the little pot, he gently held her wrist to steady her shaking hand.

"Please take a deep breath," he said in his usual slow monotone. "You will not die here."

She goes still at the steadying touch of his hand on her wrist, looking up at him with wide, afraid eyes. The ship still pitches and yaws, the waves still crash around them, there's something dark and monstrous lurking beneath the churning sea--but she believes him, against all logic and the rushing of her pulse in her ears.

As ordered, she swallows, takes a deep breath, then lets it out again. She's no less afraid, having done that, but the fear doesn't hold the same sway over her, as it did before. "Okay," she says, and while her voice still wavers a little, her grip on the pot does not. "What--um," she starts, looks down at the figurine, and then up at the strange elf again. "What do you need me to do?"

"Simply hold it steady, for now," he explained, collecting the mortar full of the ground, black powder and a brightly coloured paper packet of something. He handed the latter to her.

"When I am not pouring, add the contents of that. Enough to cover the surface."

The said contents seemed to be some brightly reflective metal powder.

"...Like a layer cake," he added offhandedly. Perhaps thinking about something more pleasantly mundane would keep the young lady calm.

"Like a layer cake," Fern repeats, but rather than think this observation strange or peculiar, it seems to steady her hand. Yes, she can envision that quite clearly--she's spent enough time in her mother's kitchen sorting out the cooking in the evenings.

And so she follows the Medicine Seller's instructions, doing everything in her power to keep her attention focused on the task at hand, rather than the chaos happening around the rest of the ship. Each time the Medicine Seller ceases to pour the ground black powder into the pot, Fern is quick to add a layer of the bright, reflective stuff in atop it. She does this until the Medicine Seller indicates that she should stop, at which point she looks up at him again; having something to focus on had helped her nerves, but now the fear is rushing back in again.

"Now what?" she exclaims, trying not to lose her composure once more.

He smiled a little. It wasn't a very pleasant effect, the way the corners of his mouth curled up and revealed the tips of his sharp canines. A fox that had caught a particularly fat hare couldn't have looked more satisfied.

"Do you know much about fireworks?" He asked, rummaging in his drawer for ... something. It looked like a folded mass of patterned paper, at the center of which was a candle-holder. But no candle.

Colour Fern downright disturbed by that smile, frankly. Either that, or the relentless pitching of the ship through the waves is making her gorge rise. She does her best not to look too green.

"Fireworks?" she repeats, saying the word slowly enough to indicate just how much she doesn't know about it. Before she can ask more questions, a sea serpent rears its head from the waves and makes to snap its menacing jaws at one of the crew members scrambling across the deck. It misses, but only just. Fern cries out at the experience and hauls herself closer to the Medicine Seller--he might be creepy, but at least he isn't trying to eat her. (Yet.)

The Medicine Seller didn't make a habit of eating people. You could achieve the same culinary effect with pork and none of the fuss.

"Correct," he said, holding her steady by the shoulder, as the ship rocked. This was clearly not his first rodeo on a boat under attack by weird monsters. At least this time around they weren't being lifted literally out of the water.

When things were relatively less turbulent, he passed her one of the lanterns.

"Hold that while I pour the mixture," he said. "We are going to blind it."

"Hold that steady while I pour the mixture. We are going to blind it."

Well, that sounded... like a good thing. It could only be a good thing to blind a sea monster before it can capsize their boat, right? Somewhat reassured by his steadying hand on her shoulder, Fern sucks in a quick breath, lets it out, and nods. "Okay," she says, determined not to mess everything up, and takes hold of the lantern as it is handed to her. Dutifully focusing on this task alone (and struggling quite hard not to look over her shoulder to see where the sea serpent might be now), she holds the lantern still for the Medicine Seller, eyes darting between his peculiarly marked face (those don't look like the Dalish elf tattoos), and his hands (pretty long finger-nails for, um, anyone, really).

THE SEAS SHALL RISE & DEVOUR, Part I

II because Fern is exceptionally useless in a fight

time to spread ur wings fern and be useful in a fight

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject