faderift | THE SEAS SHALL RISE & DEVOUR, Part I

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

"Yes. Though they feel and react differently they are not at all simple in nature. Even a simple desire can change them because of this." So few understood this though. They simply seemed to believe all spirits were out there to harm them and often believing they spirits did so without reason.

"To fear them and hate is simply to not want to understand and learn."

"A dangerous cycle indeed. Fear and hate breed ignorance which in turn only creates more of the former. And so men often are the makers of their own monsters."

His usually mask-like expression seemed a little softer for a moment, more pensive, though it faded quickly back into its usually obscurity.

"Though the change you mentioned may share a familiar concept in my own home. Would you tell me please, your own thoughts on it?"

When he first came here, he hadn't much liked the dichotomy between 'spirit' and 'demon'. It seemed overly simplistic from his perspective, and here was a person who likely understood that it was silly to attribute mortal morality where it did not belong.

"There are some spirits that are known as tricksters. Their intent is not evil but more mischievous. These acts can be seen as dark and twisted to those who limit the gods merely to mortal understandings. It is why they do not live in this world but in the Land of the Dreams where they may safely do as they please."

She reached over to touch her staff since it was nearby. Since she was about to speak of her magic it made sense. "Shaman of the Avvar understand that spirits will honor us with their presence in this world but that they do not belong here. Staying here too long can harm them and they turn mortal emotion into something too intense for them to handle. Even the spirit of purest intent can become something dark when exposed to something like anger for too long. A shaman is trained that the spirits must be guided back to their own lands."

So strange to be able to talk about this freely and to have someone understand her. He was Rifter but already he was showing signs of being from a culture that believed in things so similar to her own.

"The lowlanders view all spirits as demons but they are not the same."

There was a soft, polite, and all-too-knowing chuckle from the Medicine Seller at the mention of trickster spirits.

"We have many such beings in my home," he said with a nod. The lore he was so familiar with was practically brimming with tricksters. Some malicious, some playful, and some who put their cunning to more productive purposes - as with most anything, it depended on the individual. "Though there is no Veil that divides the spiritual from the physical."

It was the most noticeable and, quite frankly, the most jarring difference between his world and Thedas.

"May I ask - have you undergone such training?"

Amazing. His culture was so similar to her own except without the Veil. So he knew what it was like to interact with the spiritual. Yes he'd mentioned knowing about them but he was similar to her in that he'd truly interacted with them.

Kattrin gave a glance outside. She didn't care if people knew what she could and could not do but she knew others could be fearful of it. Now as not the time to breed chaos. When she was sure no one was paying attention to them, she looked back to the man.

"I have. My training was not fully complete to become an augur but it was seen that my connection to the gods was strong. So I was being trained to be the new augur of the hold before I left."

He didn't blame Kattrin for being wary. Mages may have been enjoying unprecedented freedoms, but only by toeing very particular lines. A templar overhearing their hushed conversation about spirits being anything besides pure, unbridled evil could make her life very difficult very quickly.

That, he decided, would be intolerable. Not when he'd met probably one of the maybe four or five people here who had something resembling a nuanced opinion when it came to the Fade's inhabitants.

"You said earlier that you were exiled - may I ask why?"

"I exiled myself."

She was wearing a very loose top with no sleeves. It was easy enough to turn and shift the fabric to the side to expose terrible burn scars on her shoulder. They seemed like they probably went all over her back. Based on the coloration and such they were only a few months old, maybe a year at most.

"The man I was married to had an argument with me. I ended up in a fire. As I was burned I saw a vision that told me to leave the hold. That night I left, breaking my oaths to become augur and to remain with him to the end of the marriage."

"You were not wrong to leave him," he said. Despite his slow, soft, even tone, there was an edge to his voice. He couldn't count the number of Mononoke who had become such because they were the victims of a husband's vile temper.

"I do not doubt he would have given you more scars had you remained."

Petty, violent people more often than not struck again.

"It could not have been an easy decision, however."

It was already difficult for women to leave their husbands with a full network of support. Venturing out into the wilds in a hostile world would probably seem mad to most.

She looked down at her hands. For a change, the guilt showed on her face.

"Among the Avvar, an oath is a great power. To break it is looked on in terrible light. What has been difficult is to know I am an oathbreaker even if the spirits guided me on this path."

She took in a deep breath then looked up at him again.

"I can never go back. My only place now is here."

A place where she was treated with suspicion and caution for being born an Avvar mage. As if she would summon a demon hoard upon the city for simply breathing the same air.

"Powerful things," the Medicine Seller echoed in agreement.

"But you were his wife. Not meat to be cooked. Had he no oaths of his own to keep?"

It seemed a terrible oversight if there were no oaths about not trying to murder one another for the duration of the marriage, however much so many couples only paid lip service to such things.

"His oath was to be wed to me for several more years. To be a power of the hold."

She tried to hide her bitterness as she spoke but it was difficult not to. His desire to have her had led to a great deal of pain that was now her burden to carry.

She looked at her hands, working to calm her emotions. Something that wasn't so easy for one born Avvar. "He requested I be wed to him and the choice was not mine when the elders saw that a union between the holds would benefit all. Their augur was growing old and I was the best choice to take his place."

Now...they had no one. She closed her eyes and finally looked up at him. "I knew he desired only my face from the day I first saw him."

The Medicine Seller was quiet as she explained, and he remained so long after she finished. He weighed words the way a miser weighed coins, and he could be even more stingy.

He didn't waste time dividing up blame. Kattrin clearly had her own thoughts on the matter and the Medicine Seller had no business inserting his own opinions.

"I wonder," he said calmly, "whether the burden of exile is heavier than a man who would think nothing of burning his wife?"

She was quiet for a time, lost in thought. When she spoke, her voice was soft, some hesitation there. "Is it wrong to wish to have had a voice of reason like yours around in those past days?"

Sighing, she shook her head slowly.

"He will likely continue to be praised and it is my mot...the Thane of the hold I was born to who will be looked on poorly."

"I doubt anything I would have said would have changed much," he said, folding his hands in his lap. "The traditions of using people in marriage as some sort of leverage has always been strange to me."

It wasn't often he ventured a personal opinion, especially not on such matters that suggested he was more an outsider than the average rifter. But Kattrin had already pegged him as 'not an elf'. She was probably the only person here who had any understanding of just what he was. He could afford her the decency of being frank.

"So often such a price comes with being untethered. You have been freed of their expectations, but at the same time have forfeited their love and protections."

He smiled a little. It almost reached his cold gaze.

"Yet your companion suggests it is not you the spirits have forsaken."

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THE SEAS SHALL RISE & DEVOUR, Part I

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