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

after the battle;

[mactears]

The figure isn't approaching Maglor so much as patrolling the periphery of the area, searching with hard, keen eyes for lingering demons let loose from the rift. Loping along at his side is a wolf-dog who appears... mostly tame, at least.

Loghain recognizes Maglor as one of the rifters, and so greets him with a nod. "This must be quite a shock for you," comes his gruff comment; not much of a greeting, but he does poorly with small talk.

[seawanderer]

The elf glances at the wolf-dog long enough to see it stays at it's master's side close enough. He holds his sword point down, though remains prepared to defend himself as needed- but the nod is enough to earn Loghain an answering gesture and absent little smile.

"It is strange, sure enough. But not as much a shock as one might think."

[mactears]

Loghain makes a gesture with one hand, inviting Maglor to fall into step beside him as he walks. This task--ensuring the security of the camp, rather than forcing himself to engage in conversation with others--seems to suit him better anyway, though one-on-one, he doesn't appear unsociable.

"Is it commonplace in your land to travel to different worlds, then?" he asks as they walk together.

[seawanderer]

Loghain isn't Maedhros, but the gesture is simple and Maglor takes the invited place. They seem to have the same errand, and the furry companion is likely to only be a boon. And he senses no recognition beyond the awareness of one soldier of another. It's enough to make it easier to not simply bolt away for fear of discovery and recognition.

"Nay. Having enemies suddenly thrust upon you from all directions. Especially from above- the Enemy was always fond of his dragons and fell-beasts."

[mactears]

Well, Loghain has some dreadful news for him on that subject.

"We have dragons in our world as well," he says, sounding somehow both awed and regretful on the subject. It's difficult not to admire the sheer presence the beasts possess, their raw power, but nevertheless, they wreak destruction wherever they go. "Hence where the name of our age comes from: dragon."

[seawanderer]

Looovely. Can you feel his excitement and joy?

He twitches before frowning, eyes narrowing. "I fear I know little to nothing of this world," the elf admits. "Are there many dragons here? I would presume so, by the name as you say. Are they friend or foe?"

[mactears]

Loghain can certainly discern something of Maglor's feelings on the subject, that much is true. At his question, he looks momentarily thoughtful as they walk along together, brows drawing together into another frown. "It is difficult to say," he admits. "Up until recently, it's my understanding that they were believed to be extinct. But no, I don't think any would consider them friend. They're beasts--majestic and awe-inspiring, but they have a beast's base needs and instincts. One will as soon consume a man as a druffalo, should she get hungry enough."