Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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faderift2017-11-15 12:48 am
faderifting) wrote in faderift2017-11-15 12:48 am
FIRSTFALL RIFTER ARRIVAL
WHO: New rifters & their rescuers
WHAT: People fall out of a rift and get attacked by stuff, as usual.
WHEN: Firstfall/November 14
WHERE: Somewhere a ways off the Imperial Highway between Cumberland and Nevarra City
NOTES: This arrival log is open to all. Solas was able to alert the Inquisition to the general area where the new rifters would be arriving so people can pick them up. Rifters can then either continue on with the main Inquisition caravan to Nevarra City or be escorted back to Kirkwall.
WHAT: People fall out of a rift and get attacked by stuff, as usual.
WHEN: Firstfall/November 14
WHERE: Somewhere a ways off the Imperial Highway between Cumberland and Nevarra City
NOTES: This arrival log is open to all. Solas was able to alert the Inquisition to the general area where the new rifters would be arriving so people can pick them up. Rifters can then either continue on with the main Inquisition caravan to Nevarra City or be escorted back to Kirkwall.
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 landing with a wet smack. There is no avoiding the mud: this rift has opened up in the center of some unfortunate farmer's field, and all his hard work plowing and manuring has now been ruined, first by the rain that has churned it into a thick and especially fragrant muck and then by the arrival the rift itself, splitting the air mid-field and making it impossible to safely plant. And now, of course, there's you as well, tumbling out of the Fade and into the shin-deep mud.
The cluster of demons emerging from the rift seem at odds with the setting, strange stark shapes in this empty space, standing out against the grey sky. Some are tall, spindly stick-things with too many eyes who seem like they should tumble down the hill in a tangle of limbs but instead sink into the snow to anchor themselves and use the long reach of their arms to attack. Some are hunched and hooded with no eyes at all, others mere wisps of greenish light that float over the icy ground. None look friendly or familiar. Also unfamiliar is 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.
All around is more fields, except for an abandoned farmhouse a ways off, beside a windbreak of spindly trees topping a low ridge before the next stretch of pasture. As you find your feet, you may catch sight of a handful of figures in the distance, exiting the farmhouse and hurrying away over the hill. If anyone ventures to the farmhouse, they will find the remains of a camp, and may be able to locate a dropped notebook or what looks like pieces of some unknown scientific instrument, apparently broken in the rush to leave.
In this world, when the afterimage left by a flare of too-bright, greenish light fades, you will find yourself landing with a wet smack. There is no avoiding the mud: this rift has opened up in the center of some unfortunate farmer's field, and all his hard work plowing and manuring has now been ruined, first by the rain that has churned it into a thick and especially fragrant muck and then by the arrival the rift itself, splitting the air mid-field and making it impossible to safely plant. And now, of course, there's you as well, tumbling out of the Fade and into the shin-deep mud.
The cluster of demons emerging from the rift seem at odds with the setting, strange stark shapes in this empty space, standing out against the grey sky. Some are tall, spindly stick-things with too many eyes who seem like they should tumble down the hill in a tangle of limbs but instead sink into the snow to anchor themselves and use the long reach of their arms to attack. Some are hunched and hooded with no eyes at all, others mere wisps of greenish light that float over the icy ground. None look friendly or familiar. Also unfamiliar is 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.
All around is more fields, except for an abandoned farmhouse a ways off, beside a windbreak of spindly trees topping a low ridge before the next stretch of pasture. As you find your feet, you may catch sight of a handful of figures in the distance, exiting the farmhouse and hurrying away over the hill. If anyone ventures to the farmhouse, they will find the remains of a camp, and may be able to locate a dropped notebook or what looks like pieces of some unknown scientific instrument, apparently broken in the rush to leave.
ii a.
Is that a dragon's egg?
[ Dany may have had to shed her overcoat for the time being to allow it to dry after having the mud scrubbed from it, but she still wears her three-headed dragon pinned to her borrowed cloak. There is no malice on her face, only curiosity. ]
no subject
Who wants to know? ❰ as much an answer as a yes would have been, she knows, but adalia will neither confirm nor deny until she knows who wants to know and why. this lady seems friendly enough, and the pin on her cloak does give adalia some measure of confidence that she won't try to snatch the egg out of her lap and smash it, but it's not enough. not nearly enough to trust a stranger with something this precious. ❱
no subject
My name is Daenerys. I don't mean you or it any harm. I have dragons of my own. Not here... but they are dear to me.
no subject
You've raised dragons? Do you have any advice? I don't know anything about them, I just couldn't let the poor thing get smashed, and now I'm going to be a parent and everyone has joked about me being the mom friend but I don't know the first thing about parenting, let alone parenting a dragon.
no subject
I am by no means an expert, I just tried to do my best for them. I can tell you what I've learned, of course. The most important being that when they're small, it's often hard for them to use their fire. Dragons like meat, as you'd expect, but they want it cooked, they won't eat it raw.
no subject
Okay, cook the meat for them, that makes sense... Although, hm...
❰ she looks down at the egg in her lap for a moment, lips pursed and eyes narrowed slightly as she considers, then she looks up at daenerys. ❱
Where I'm from, there are many different types of dragons, and they each have a different kind of breath. Black dragons, for instance, have acid breath instead of fire. ❰ in the low light of the campfires, the egg in adalia's lap shines like onyx, its shell clearly black. ❱ It makes sense that their breath would take a while to become operable... No baby comes into the world in full control of all its faculties. I suppose then, given what you've said, I must consider what a creature with ice breath, or acid breath, or lightning breath might do differently.
no subject
[ The revelation of there being different types of dragons is interesting to her. Dragons only breathe fire in Dany's world, though that had been more than enough. Dragonfire was devastating. ]
Do you not know what kind of dragon it could be? My dragons, when they hatched, they all had colors in common with their eggs.
no subject
A point I hadn't considered. Thank you, Daenerys.
❰ a prolonged pause, then — ❱
Oh! Oh, gods, I'm so sorry — my name is Adalia, hi, I'm so sorry, I totally forgot pleasantries, I'm an ass, I'm sorry.
❰ she isn't given much time to berate herself, though, with daenerys' question making her face screw up in discomfort. daenerys isn't from her plane, so hopefully she won't jump to any terrible conclusions, but... ❱
He'll probably be black. Not the most... savoury of dragons, on my plane, but I'll raise him right.
❰ to herself, quietly, fiercely: ❱ I will.
no subject
[ Dany waves a hand in a dismissive gesture, smiling all the while. The look fades a little when she notices the discomfort on Adalia's face, eyebrows furrowed in concern. ]
It does matter how you raise them. They are smart, they know who their friends are.
no subject
I want to believe that's true. It's what I've been telling myself this whole time.
I don't think I could bear to be wrong, ❰ she admits quietly. being able to raise a chromatic dragon to be good is as much about adalia as it is the dragon, she can admit that, but if she's saved something just for it to be killed anyway... she couldn't stand that. ❱
no subject
[ That might not be a comfort, but to Dany it is. It was a basis for how she dealt with many things, her beloved children only part of that philosophy. She is a dragon herself. ]
They can be obedient when they find cause for it. Perhaps it's different in your world, but my children and I... we know each other, and they know what I need of them. You'll find your balance with this one.