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.

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"I can't really say," Ellana replies, looking thoughtful. "Arlathan Forest isn't that far from here, you know. The idea that the elves inhabited this island isn't so strange. It was an empire, after all."

She moves back down the path, redirecting them in order to try and get them somewhere useful. Out here in the jungle vegetation, sound seems dampened, so she can't hear any rivers or waterfalls just yet.

"This is the part where I regret not bringing Lux. He'd have hated almost being eaten but he'd be useful for this." But she left him back in Kirkwall to let him continue settling happily into a new home, to make sure Korrin didn't come back to empty rooms and to see that the new diplomacy office didn't look so bare with that big lovely fireplace to sleep in front of.

Still, she doesn't really hear much about Arlathan that hasn't come from someone else writing about it, that someone usually being human. Because there are things that Araceli's been told or had implied beyond the shadow of a doubt that aren't for her with her friends because she's human so she doesn't push it even when she just wants to know, to understand. "All of Arlathan sank, no? That's how it's described as happening which is...well similar but different to our story but no one's been clear on what it was exactly." She offers Ellana her map in the meantime since she's been on a fishing trip or two so they might be coming close to one of those if she's been other places, keeping a watch for any of the damned cats.

"No, the city of Arlathan sank," Ellana clarifies. "Arlathan Forest, where it laid, is still around. And Arlathan itself was far from the only city that existed in the ancient days. So it's entirely possible there used to be a settlement here. Maybe the elves enjoyed the fishing."

Taking the map, she traces a finger along one path and starts walking back the way they came.

"What do you mean when you say it sinking is similar but different to our story?"

"And then in everything that followed any records about there ever having been a city or settlement here have been lost or destroyed over time?" It's a reasonable enough assumption to make when she knows a bit about Tevinter's involvement with the ancient elves and then all that happened with the Dales.

Adjusting her weapons as the sweat and humidity has everything starting to slide off to the side, Araceli clears her throat before she starts to explain. "Where I live, Castileos, you know that I've said it's islands, archipelagos, and that they have waterways and currents between all of them that make up our nation. But a long time before that we lived below the waves and when the moon was made, the making of it destroyed where we once lived. So we built on top of those ruins and the sand and dirt built up around and on top of all of that empire below," her voice soft enough to hopefully not draw the attention of anything lurking in the thick press of green all about them, but she's smiling, warm and proud to speak about her home and her people like this to a friend. "It's still there. When we go down to some of the buildings they go very deep into where we lived and you can look down, see the fish swimming, the reefs growing on them. We lost where we lived before and that's how we became a nation of sailors, spread to all the other lands and in all that time made new ways, new cultures, new stories. Castileos is where we began."

"Mm hmm. We don't know the locations of even half of our ruins, because there are no records left; not even oral ones." That loss keeps her exploring to uncover more and more. Anything lost can be found if only it is sought.

"It might be a common way to destroy cities. Even an avalanche can be shoveled away with enough years and people, but sinking it under the water? You can't bail that out. I wish my people could have built on top of Arlathan and become sailors like your people."

"Our ruins allowed us to live. Before we had the life beneath the waters but no waves, no travel, not all the many nations there are now and the bustle, the trade, the life, the exploration. All the tales and things that we've made. It happened. And now there is everything we've had since." It was a loss but it's where they go after, when they die, when they're given to the waves and reclaimed by the sea and everything in it.

Loss didn't live with her. Not the way it does for the Dalish. It doesn't take shadow her every step. "The first story you're told in the cradle in Castileos is how the world was made. We didn't dwell on it. There was more. We left it behind and kept going. Same as the tides we found."

Of all Araceli says, it's one simple sentence that sticks out to Ellana: We didn't dwell on it. The opposite is true of the Dalish; that's all they do. Ellana has turned it over in her head again and again, meaning that -- ironically -- she's been dwelling on the Dalish dwelling over their lost history. She wishes it wasn't so. She wishes a lot of things, but by now she's learned that wishes don't come true even if you work hard to make them.

"Your people sound very wise. And very blessed." It's all she'll say on that, because if she starts in about the Dalish, she may never stop. Not until long after this trek through the jungle is over and they've returned to camp, at any rate.

"Here; let's try cutting through here and working our way up?"

"I don't know about that," she demurs. "We work hard to learn from the past and to not repeat it. There's a lot to be said for salvaging." Which isn't the same as some of what the Inquisition or even Thedas as a whole gets so very obsessed with. With the past and bloodlines and the very old, with digging it up and making it all as it was instead of taking the things that there are and were and can be found to then reshape into a better thing. A thing that lasts. A thing with a future.

Then again they haven't stopped warring since they started it so there's likely little hope of any of that ever coming true.

Nodding, she moves forward and starts cutting at the vines, listening for the cats or water or other people moving about before she clears her throat with a little smile Ellana might not see. There's a lot of hair in the way, the humidity is destroying her. "You know, I'm surprised I haven't seen a little out of place for these parts bird about. Too many cats?"

Ellana smiles in return and shakes her head no. "Too much vegetation. And tree snakes." You knew about the tree snakes, right, Araceli? Apparently no jungle is completely without a bunch of skinny, vine-looking snakes slithering around the branches, and a little sparrow who lands might find herself gobbled up. The form is perfect for escape in many ways, but the heavy, dense canopy of this island is not the ideal place for it.

"Though I could always counter them, cat for cat. Depends how big they are in comparison to me. But that's if I see one. Until then, I'd rather carry the machete."

Yeah that was a fun climbing experience on a fishing trip with some scouts when she volunteered to climb up and get a lay of the land. Her arse is less bruised than her dignity. Silences have been bought.

"Not tempted by those? We've got sea snakes and giant serpents but the islands have all sorts, deadly vipers full of poison that strike fast as a whip. Beautiful but so danderous." A theory she hopes they don't prove or disprove here from someone being bitten. Although she sort of wants to ask Ellana if shaleshifters can change back inside a smaller thing and just destroy it. How's she supposed to know how magic works?

"I've seen some cats but not for very long, if you want to come on a fishing trip to see if you spot them you're always welcome. We could use any chance against them up close and people could look at you. Being a live one." Sorry Ellana she's always going to sound a little hesitant it's still strange but in that good, wondrous and impossible sort of way.

Ellana huffs out a bit of a laugh at that. "Depends who's on the fishing trip, I'd say. Some people don't want to see a mage shift like that. But I'd be happy to fish with you. That's something I've rarely done myself. You could give me tips. And yes, if the big cats come out to bother us, I'll take them on."

"Skadi - Avvar woman, spirit warrior? - I went fishing with her, she's got a mage sister and sees more than a few things differently. I think she wouldn't mind it. You do that, I can show you how to make a net from rope?" Seems like a fair enough trade to Araceli and she wouldn't mind having a third person for the next trip so someone can swap out from fishing to stay on watch.

"Oh, I know her!" Ellana says with a nod. "That sounds like a deal. Just as soon as we find a path here."

[ ooc: would you be okay with wrapping this one? ]

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THE SEAS SHALL RISE & DEVOUR, Part I

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