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.
no subject
only to then hear the rest of his little speech. huh. she could be anybody here, couldn't she? a possibility she hadn't considered until... literally right now, this very second. adalia gapes for a moment, thinking, and then she closes her mouth and draws herself up to her full height (a very intimidating 5'6") and says, in the most badass voice she can muster, ❱
I am Adalia, enslaved High Priestess of the Undying Lord Alacruun. He conscripted me into his service in exchange for the lives of my companions, and now I reluctantly do his bidding, all the while secretly searching for a way to free myself from my evil master!
❰ was that good, alistair, are you dazzled? ❱
no subject
—anyway, it's nice to meet you. Welcome to Thedas.
no subject
Thanks. I'm still workshopping it, you know. "Undying Lord" doesn't trip off the tongue as much as I'd like. I'll find something.
❰ it feels a bit weird to just. admit that. but there's no one here who'd know she's telling the truth, so... maybe if she makes a joke out of it it'll stop being the worst thing ever, who knows. ❱
What about you? Are you a nobody from nowhere, or do you have a terrible secret past with necromantic evil I should know about?
no subject
[ He is, of course, not someone who would probably really be considered a nobody. But he tries his best. ]
no subject
❰ nothing should smell like fish. fish shouldn't smell like fish. adalia feigns horror, then smiles when she can't keep the horrified expression up for too long. she can't tell whether he is somebody or nobody, but whoever he is, he's funny, so that's nice. ❱
Well, Alistair Nobody from Redcliffe: Three things you think a Rifter needs to know about Thedas, go.
steals memes shamelessly
Still, he is nothing if not accommodating.
That's an enormous lie. But he'll be accommodating right now, sort of. ]
Don't smoke the blood lotus, don't compare elves to rabbits, and do not arrange to meet anyone in Antiva. They could be Antivan.
no subject
apparently what alistair thinks is important is making jokes. adalia can appreciate that.
she gives an exaggerated gasp, pressing her hand over her heart — ❱
No, not Antivan!
❰ a pause for effect, and then adalia leans in and whispers ❱
What's an Antiva?