Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faderifting) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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
[ He shrugs ]
Mm. Luthien's heir. That's part of it. She was half-maia, my great-grandmother - that's where most of the power comes from, although I can't acess most of it now. Can still heal, a bit, which is nice.
[ not bitter noooo... ]
But between her heroism, and the other side of the family.... well, between her deeds, and then what my father & mother did, Fate owes us, apparently. Owes us big time. So they let us choose, which side of the family we would cleave to. So we wouldn't be half-elven any more but one or the other.
[ He snorts ]
I'll take mortality any day, even with all the downsides, rather than existing forever until the world ends, watching it all go downhill. Fate. Bah. What did it ever gain us but my mother abandoning us for a cursed jewel and a father we can see but not speak to or touch? But humans... we get to leave. Luthien had the right idea.
no subject
You're a half-elf?
❰ she conspicuously pushes her wild and curly hair behind her ears, leaving the blunted points of the tips of her ears on full display. while adalia has no real attachment to her haf-elven heritage, unsure as she is whether she really even is a half-elf, she can't help but cling to any similarity she finds between herself and other people. people tend to like those who are like them, don't they? ❱
no subject
[ He looks a little guilty ]
Elrond didn't understand. He wants to stay and fight. But I... couldn't, any longer. I'm done, with the tangled affairs of the elves.
no subject
You were half-elf... As in it's something you can stop being? You can... choose to be a human or an elf?
❰ that is so beyond anything adalia has ever heard that it almost makes her head hurt with its sheer bizarreness. she could no more stop being one half of her than she could stop being able to use magic. it's just... in her, forever, unavoidable and unchangeable. ❱
no subject
[ He shrugs, awkwardly ]
It... they told us, because we were of both worlds, we could chose, in honor of the sacrifices of our family, whose fate we would be bound to. I mean... I'm still... half-elven, I guess? But I feel mortal, now. There's... a shift? In... things.
no subject
❰ elros you are supposed to be a king how are you this uneloquent. adalia just stares at him for a long moment, and then jumps when an inhuman screech pierces the air. there are more demons, it seems, and they shouldn't be kept waiting.
huffing out a frustrated noise, adalia jabs her finger into elros' chest, staring up at him. ❱
You are going to explain better when we're done here, I tell you what. "A shift in things", some king you are.
❰ and then she's picked up by the wind and swept forward as she throws another lightning bolt forward through a line of demons. ❱
no subject
[ He lifts his head at the screech and grins at her rakishly ]
A king doesn't have to be good at explaining himself though!
[ He follows her with a whoop, blade singing in his hands as he flows smoothly forward in a deadly dance ]