FIRSTFALL RIFTER ARRIVAL

[faderifting]

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.

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.

Comments

[thunderproof]

It is shite. Nothing is intrinsically good or evil. Those are choices, and anyone intelligent can make them. ❰ adalia asserts, looking up intothe stranger's eyes with a fierce expression. she believes this to the core of her being, because she has to, because if she doesn't... what is she, if only her nature matters, and not her choices and intentions? her choices haven't been great, maybe, but her intentions are. that has to count for something.

her expression turns to confusion at the mention of an archdemon, but that one she can infer what it is without having to be told, at least. she bites her lip, frowning down at the egg. ❱

I don't know if it'll be hostile, ❰ she admits, voice soft. shell color corresponds to shell color, and black shells mean black dragons, which are some of the most evil dragons. adalia's not going to say anything about that, too afraid of what might happen to the egg if she does, and instead says something else she's been concerned about. ❱ I don't know if I can raise a dragon. I hope I can, but... I don't know if it will accept me as a parent.

[iceblade]

[The fierce expression is noted with a small smile of approval. The lass has some backbone; that's good, she'll need it.]

Has that happened before, someone raising a dragon? If there's an example to follow -a decent one- it could be worth keeping in mind.

[She chuckles.] You surprise me, lass. I can't think of anyone who would want to try, let alone has and lived to tell about it. But if you've found a worthy cause, stick to it with all your might. Even if no one else has done this, why not?

[thunderproof]

I honestly have no idea. I didn't know a lot about dragons when I set out from the library, and there hasn't been time to study up on them since then.

❰ she vaguely recalls something about silver dragons taking humanoid shapes to walk among people, but she can't recall any stories of dragons actually raised by anything but other dragons. if it happens, it's rare enough that she's never heard of it.

the chuckle makes adalia bristle, but then it's followed by... something that might be a compliment? maybe? she gapes a little, lost for words for a moment, before she just shrugs and averts her eyes, looking back down at the egg. ❱

Well, I just... It's not even a proper baby yet. I can't give up on it before it's even born, that'd just be... wrong.

❰ the encouragement is something adalia has needed for a long time but never gotten, and when she looks up and smiles, it's a shy and hopeful thing. ❱

My name is Adalia, by the way. It's nice to meet you.

[iceblade]

[Perhaps a more cautious soul would urge the same in Adalia, but Skadi's never been that person. She sees a challenge, and is eager to conquer it. Why would she not encourage the same in another? She flashes a grin, her smiles always wide and bright.]

Well met, Adalia. I am Skadi Iceblade, of White Wolf Hold. If you hear the Chantry folk mutter about the Avvar heathens in the Frostback Mountains, those are my people. I think I'm the only one in the Inquisition, though, at least this far north.

[thunderproof]

❰ avvar. that's a word adalia hasn't heard yet. she leans forward, eyes bright with curiosity. ❱

Tell me about your people, Lady Iceblade. I want to know everything there is to know.

[iceblade]

[She throws back her head and laughs.]

A lowlander title, for me? I'm no 'Lady', Skadi will do just fine.

'Everything', eh? Where do you want me to start? With the gods? We don't worship the Maker as the Chantry folk do.

[thunderproof]

❰ well, skadi, if you insist. adalia laughs too, not entirely in on the joke — the fuck's a lowlander? — but wanting to be, and she perches her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands. ❱

Do tell, Skadi, what about these gods who are not the Maker?

[iceblade]

[Skadi crosses her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she speaks.] Some are unique to a hold, but there are a few that all Avvar pay their respects to; Korth the Mountain-Father, Hakkon Wintersbreath, and The Lady of the Skies.

Korth is also known as the Father of the Skies, the eldest and strongest god. Everything found in the mountains stems from him, and it's through him that we have all we need. The Lady is goddess of all above Korth's domain, of birds and even the wind itself. She's also the goddess of the dead and instead of cremating our people as the Andrastians do, we have sky burials. The body is laid out, prayers given and when the birds come, they carry the soul to the Lady of the Skies. And then there's Hakkon Wintersbreath. He is Korth's firstborn and the Lord of War and Winter. We tend to raid and wage war in winter, to honor him and because our resistance to cold gives us an edge over lowlanders.

[thunderproof]

❰ adalia's fingers itch for a quill and paper, but she just tries to memorize the names and functions of each god as best she can, to be noted down later, when she has writing implements available to her. this is much more familiar to her than the maker is — just one god seems... incredibly improbable. how could he possibly take care of everything? multiple gods, each with a set domain, that makes sense.

the sky burial thing is kind of weird, but she wouldn't be so insensitive as to say so. ❱

I see... And then each hold has their own gods? Who are the gods unique to White Wolf Hold?

[iceblade]

Some lesser gods we have in common with other holds. There's Bjorn Reed-Beard who blesses fishermen, and Rilla of the Fireside, whose blessings aid in the making of babies. Sigfrost and Imhar the Clever are revered in most places; Sigfrost is the Great Bear sleeps at the foot of the Mountain Father's throne, and is so vast in size that Korth once confused him with a small mountain. Sitting at Korth's foot, he is also the guardian of wisdom. Avvar hold bears sacred because of him. Imhar is a trickster a slight man who must rely on his quick tongue instead of strength.

As for the unique ones...let's see, there's Anashe Pathfinder. We look to her to always find our way; gain her favor, and you'll never be lost. Gurd Faircoin looks over the traders, bringing prosperity to the hold. Ysmir the Great Wolf is the reason for our hold's name, and we hold wolves as sacred as bears. Gormlaith Heartseeker blesses our hunts. And there are more beyond that, but you get the idea.

[thunderproof]

❰ this is very familiar. adalia nods along, as though all of this makes sense — and it does, to her, because why wouldn't there be many gods, and some unique to a place or a people? much more reasonable than trying to ascribe all of creation to one deity as though he has time for individual attention to everything under the sun. ❱

I do, yes. That seems much more reasonable than the Maker everyone else speaks of. How could one god take care of everything?

❰ it's not a question she expects an answer to, but adalia does sound somehow personally offended by the idea, despite not being a religious person even back home. ❱

[iceblade]

[Skadi chuckles with a shrug.]

That's a question I've asked before. It's usually met with some 'the Maker works in mysterious ways' shite. Honestly, I wouldn't even care what they believe were it not for the way the Chantry tries to dominate over everything. If my people didn't live in one of the most remote places in Thedas, I've no doubt they'd have tried to root us out, same as they did in the Dales or Rivain. The Inquisition's a bit more tolerant in that they don't call me heathen to my face.