faderift | FIRSTFALL RIFTER ARRIVAL

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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.

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.

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Falling out of the sky into the muck's a shit idea of well met. We've got birds you could ride but only if you're not fond of your liver or living long enough to talk about it to another soul. [Wiping her mouth doesn't move the little smirk.]. That dracolisk though, sounds like a pest or a daedra's idea of a jest, other one could be good eating; they poisonous? Most shit under there likes to bite or spit, it's being…

[Under her skin a wolf slain howls, her ears prick up at the name - old man I killed you, I sent you on, I am you now - and her breath is the ragged bark of a kicked hound. Laying out her bow to check it, the arrows, she doesn't look, can't look in the shadow of the name.

It takes a few minutes to convince her body to work. When did she sit next to a person last?]

No. Can't stand mead. [Which poses a problem: find a stream and drink, steal a skin from someone, figure out what she can make do with. Misses Valenwood with the savagery of a cracked bond beneath the teeth.]

Right. Dragon priest or close enough for him, don't know about them but falmer go on raids sometimes. Wretches.

Fair enough. [More for her, then. Skadi savors the mead, a taste of the south and a welcome familiarity in this alien land. But she can hardly complain, when that fish-out-of-water feeling has to be even worse for Bronach.]

Poisonous? No, hardly. Not that we eat the big ones, they're too small in number and too valuable as mounts. I've heard talk that dwarves eat their smaller cousins, though, at least those that live underground. They're welcome to it; I took in a wee one before I left, so I can't imagine eating them now.

[Then she raises an eyebrow.] What are falmer? [So many unknown terms thrown about, so if Bronach isn't going to ask questions, she'll just do the asking instead.]

[Juniper berries in the mead at Helgen. Why is she thinking of Ralof?]

You've got horses. Horses were meant to be mounts, don't see why you need anything stranger than that but fine, poison. So. Down in the dark, in lots of places you get this thing called a chaurus. All segments and chitin - if you kill them and take that it makes some good armour or weapons - but they're a bastard to bring down. Falmer keep them. Long jaws too. [Arms out to mime impressive mandibles; imagine, creeping through the dark that's darker than you can imagine, just listening for them, waiting, heart pounding.]

Falmer were elves. They're blind now, living in dwemer ruins, don't even speak but if you fight them you need to know what you're doing or you're dead. In the dark you're as good as blind too but that used to seeing it's a problem. All-- all hunched over when they move, bigger ears than the rest of us mer, don't even have noses just slits. [Softer now, how many of them rot in the dark when she took from them what she needed because falmer flesh is poison near enough, sickening to the stomach. A depravity.] Folk pay a lot of money for you to go get stuff out of ruins or clear out caves or ruins infested with them.

[Her eyebrows raise as she takes in the chaurus description, even more so at mention of falmer and what they really are, though she seems more impressed than horrified. (Well, slightly more horrified on the latter part.)]

Lady...now those sound like a challenge. The rifts only seem to bring over people, but if that changes and I find one, I'll know who to ask to bring them down.

...'were' elves? So, they were corrupted? They don't happen to dig for Old Gods, do they? Because if so, they overlap with our darkspawn.

Old Gods? I don't-- no. What's that? It's--

[Again there's a noise in the back of her throat; how does she explain any of this? This isn't her thing, she's not some priest and faith is lodged in her deep enough to never pry loose but always to rub, to chafe, to burn at parts of her that should never see the light.]

Like I said. Aedra, Daedra. Then there's the Divines and we might worship some under different names. It's how it is. Mine are Auri-El that Men call Akatosh the Dragon of Time, Y'ffre spirit of the now, Arkay of the cycle of birth and death, Lorkhan trickster who fixed death in us; Y'ffre made himself the first Ehlnofey. What's older than the Earth Bones?

[Fervour creeps in. Sweat under her armour now. The night the shamans took so many to drive the people out, when her father forbid it and her belly coils with it, with the shame of the Falmer, with what they were, what they are in that dark alone. That her friends, her family, they were twisted when she was pressed out, away-- But this was about the falmer so she shrinks back again.] Corruption. Even their bodies are poison.

Aye, that I understand. Different names for the same beings.

[Skadi knows better than to try and remember all those names, but the general idea is more important than the specifics, anyway. With corruption confirmed, she nods grimly.]

They sound a lot like darkspawn, then. Fight one of those and if you get their blood in you, it's a fast painful death or you turn into a ghoul and that's worse. They're not intelligent, not most of them, but they have this drive to seek the Old Gods -in the form of dragons- slumbering beneath. When they find an Old God and corrupt it, it becomes an archdemon and leads them to the surface where they destroy or corrupt all they see. That's what we call a Blight. The last one was just over a decade ago. The Grey Wardens could tell you a lot more than you'd ever care to learn, but the only important part is protecting yourself from their taint.

And Divine has a different meaning here; that's the title for the Chantry's leader...or was, the last one died in an explosion that kicked off all this mess. I don't know if they're getting a new one and don't care, it's not my faith. [Skadi shrugs, more or less indifferent and wishing she could be indifferent from a distance. But, the shard dictates otherwise.] You'll hear about the Chantry a lot, though, it's the dominant religion of Thedas and its influence is just about everywhere, even the Inquisition.

[Guess what she has more but that was enough to demonstrate the point.]

I wasn't meaning like that, more that alchemists make poisons out of bits of them. Usually the ears. [But now she listens very carefully to the word, wonders what they look with detached horror because after her life not much gets past the armour. Things she can't eat. The Green Pact allows for this.] That's...well, Greybeards might tell you how it works better but even the worst days of Skyrim weren't like that. So kill any of them I see before it sees me?

Chantry? [The accent drags the word out more than her hesitance.] Imperial faith is the biggest and loudest back home but the Thalmor [nothing but bile scorching up the back of throat to say it, black robes laid out be dead patrols with notes on her hand, their blood in mockery: by my hand and seal] got them to outlaw worship of one god. Caused the civil war.

Poison from...ears. Waste not, want not, eh? [Skadi can't really be that disgusted when she can see pragmatic side of it all. If hostile things are going to attack, why not use their parts however is needed?] Aye, killing them at a distance is best but if you're like me and tend to fight up-close, it helps to at least cover any place their blood can get into you. Same with the Red Templars, too. That red crystalline growth coming out of them is no joke, and a sure path to a quick, painful death.

[Better get the warnings out of the way now, before Bronach gets irreparably tainted with either substance.]

One god? Why just the one? The Chantry more or less only sanctions the worship of the Maker. Any other worship is for us 'heathens', you know. My people stick to the Frostbacks, the Dalish elves keep moving all over Thedas...and anyone else is on the fringes, like us. They dominate any 'civilized' place, even without a Divine to shepherd them...at least, so far.

I favour the bow, the knife is for when I need it. [The knife is for the back, the kidneys, the lungs, a hand over the mouth to come around for the throat if needed but not for fighting that way. No matter how sharp the edge, how wicked the glint in the light, the way it glows as the heart once did that cooled it.] Tell me about that again later, only so much right now. It's been a long day already and I'd been walking in a fog so thick before I slept I couldn't tell what was day from night.

[This is getting to be too much. Between the talk and her hand her head is throbbing.]

He was a man. United all the nations of Tamriel into a single Empire but he was still a man, the Eight Divines supposedly made a place for him when he ascended to godhood. God of War of course. [Ysmir, Dragon of the North. Like her. A Dragonborn but not yet, this is new, and right now to have a moment where she isn't all the things sung and spoken of in legend is a welcome respite.] There was a war between the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire, the Thalmor were the instigators of course but in the end part of it was banning Talos worship. A man couldn't become Divine so he wasn't a god, so he wasn't to be worshiped. What's a Dalish?

The red lyrium? Aye, I can do that. Someone -another new rifter lass, her name will come to me- mentioned doing a list of terms for newcomers, that ought to be on the list anyway. [Skadi can only strongly approve of that, knowing it'd save a lot of time assuming said newcomers could read their script. If not, it'd be available for those who could translate.]

...ascended to godhood. What happened to Andraste isn't much different, though the Chantry would probably call that heresy. But what else would you call it when a mortal woman is the Maker's bride and goes to his side after her martyrdom? [She shrugs, Andrastians are the only ones who have a hangup about more than one god, anyway. Mention of banning Talos worship has her scowling for all that she's not familiar with the god.] That's utter shite, no one should dictate who and how another worships.

Dalish are the elves with the face tattoos. I don't know much more than that, except that they worship multiple gods just as my people do, and that worship is a bone of contention with the Chantry. That's why the Dales was destroyed, I think? They didn't worship the Maker, and the surrounding humans didn't like that. You ask a Dalish about the fall of the Dales, they'll have a lot more detail to tell you, I'm sure.

That's soft. That's not how you learn a thing. You learn a thing by learning it. D'you want to know what happened when I left my home to go north? Got caught in an ambush Imperials set for a group of rebels then got sent to be executed along with them. Me and some horse thief. The thief ran when we were taken off by the Imperials, he got shot full of arrows. The first Stormcloak rushed the priestess along doing her blessing, he got his head taken off. I was next, had my head on the block. Then Alduin came.

[So in all of that there's a lesson about how you learn a thing. Picking a side, picking a battle, waiting, learning. Maybe Skadi can guess who she might have run with in the chaos that followed still once the bindings had been cut from her hands.]

Talos is a man. It's a man thing to do, making one of them a god then starting another war over it all when there was one war already. Lorkhan the Trickster is enough, they still wring their hands over that one, him their other great hero. [A raw wound that one. Men getting to feel the same sting Valenwood knew long ago from the Altmer, the Thalmor. She knows all about the Altmer pedigrees for who might be acceptable enough for them to continue their lines, the view of her people and what they do. Arrows in the throat, bodies laid out for the next patrol to know. Her own notes pinned to them in Skyrim: By my hand and seal in blood, a mockery, always always always.] That's how it happens, how everything happens when things are deceived to maintain the world or die, and when mortality is fixed in us by a god men worship. It lingers. Rots. The Altmer in particular are...vicious about it but mer aren't what we were.

Face tattooing...foolish. War paint washes off, goes back on. Easier to blend in that way when you have to. [Children. Utter children already who are these people of course they had their place destroyed if they were tattooing their faces: strategy dictates you know how to hide and if you have a face that sticks out. After all it was her own fucking mistake in being too obvious once that got her kicked out of Valenwood to save her own skin.]

And who says they want to blend in? [Skadi just laughs, gesturing to her own facial tattoos.] I don't. I never could, but you'll see that soon enough, since I'm the only Avvar in a sea of lowlanders. The elven tattoos represent their gods, so I'm pretty sure they don't care about blending in, either.

[Nah, Skadi doesn't see the point, not for herself. Stealth is pretty much the opposite of how she operates; loud and obvious and up closer is more her style.]

So, you're saying sink or swim? That's one way, and plenty of my people wouldn't disagree. Though Lady, almost being beheaded is one steep learning path. Those shards in our palms are powerful things, necessary to seal rifts, so soft or not I'm surprised that list wasn't made earlier. Lowlanders love to keep everything nice and organized.

Heh, I almost need my own list just to understand all that you mean. Not that I'm complaining, your world sounds like it has some good tales to it.

You said the Dales fell, I'm assuming that was their home if they're called the Dalish. [Knowing something of it with the way the Thalmor move, a long history that stretches out before her.]. You're a man, mam comes with that, not needing it same as most elves in a man's place.

[By now that's a thing she can say matter of factly, no bitterness colouring it because what would the point be of that?]

Empire loves their damned lists, that's what I heard when I came off the wagon, all of us with our best read or asked for. Trouble. Having lists. When I was a girl I had to be able enough to go on the hunt. [So more like swim or starve.]

My world is old, everyone with god's overlapping here and there, wars and crises and empires. This is the stuff that matters to do with what we're talking about. Other tales are for bards or people with too many books, historians, all that.

[Skadi listens with interest, though at least tries to keep in mind the fact that Bronach is the newcomer and not herself. It's only fair to answer more of her questions than bury the elf woman under a mountain of her own. At mention of hunting, she smiles.]

That was my life, as well. Hunting, climbing, fishing...the gods provided for those that helped themselves, and those who listened. Anyone who didn't would not last long in the Frostbacks.

And aye, the Dales fell several ages ago. I don't know if you're immortal like some of the elves who have crossed over, but the elves of Thedas live only as long as the rest of us. No one who lives now was around for that, and tales are all they have of that life. I understand, a bit; my mother is a skald, and she keeps alive our heritage in the hold.

What did you climb? [There can't be graht-oaks, there can't be anything like Falinesti but she says climbing and another life peels itself back before Brónach's eyes.] And what gods, Skadi not-a-Nord?

[But ah, they're talking about the span of her years now. Maybe she looks a little rougher than she should but stand her next to a human woman pushing forty and see who looks it.]

Not immortal, not after Lorkhan tricked the gods to take that from us mer to make us like men but longer than that. Longer than you. If you guessed my age it'd be wrong; a century is easy, two isn't that hard, three means a mage. [Here she sits, not even halfway through the first and so much seen, felt, done, lived.]. You even have skalds. If I walked into your home it might be like a rift never spat me out.

[That gets a shrug out of Skadi, who puts away the rest of her mead.]

It sounds like there's just enough in common to be confusing. I can't envy you that, but at least it's not completely unknown to you, aye? And two, three centuries...Lady. It's said that elves used to be immortal, until humans came from across the water and then they started to sicken and age just like everyone else. I don't know if that's what really happened, but as it is now, war and Blights can make quick work of us all.

[Grim, but true.] I've climbed tall cliffs, sometimes for fun but it's also one way for Avvar to settle disputes. When there's no clear path, we have tests and trials dedicated to our gods. The Test of the Lady is a race to climb a rock face between two competitors, each of which represent a party or claim in the dispute. If a claim is outlandish, a Thane has the power to ask a warrior to bear a handicap in the test, such as undergoing the Test of the Lady with stones strapped to their back. So, most make damn sure their claim is a legitimate one before asking for a Thane's intervention.

As for gods, a lot of them vary from hold to hold, but every Avvar reveres at least three; Hakkon Wintersbreath, Korth the Mountain-Father and the Lady of the Skies. Hakkon is the Lord of War and Winter, and we prefer to raid and wage war in winter, when our resistance to cold gives us advantage over the lowlanders. His father, Korth, is the eldest and strongest god and everything found in the mountains stems from him. The Lady is goddess of all above Korth's domain, of birds and even the wind itself...and the dead. Instead of cremating our dead like the Andrastians, we give our people sky burials. Corpses are dismembered and offered to the Lady through her messengers, the birds. When they come, they carry the soul to the Lady of the Skies. The body, unneeded, is gone.

All of us know how it happened; Lorkhan the Trickster tricked the other Aedra so they'd give up their divinity. Including the Ehlnofey so the Altmer, the rest of us mer - you ever meet a Dunmer, if one of them are cursed enough to come through one of these, ignore what they say about Lorkhan, their name means cursed ones - so that was that. Lorkhan tricked the rest, we live longer, men think something different and call him their great hero and get upset if you say something different. [Men do that a lot. Fuck things up, get pissy when everyone points out how much one of their things fucked something up. She would like it to stop because the Lorkhan thing is basically a huge sum of the root of the Thalmor thing but yeah. Enjoy that Skadi, someone who knows exactly why her ass isn't immortal.]

Oh. Oh I thought-- we live in trees. Tall trees, I went to Skyrim and they didn't have trees like my trees. What's your Thane then? [No she didn't choke when she heard that, she isn't a Thane of nine fucking holds back in Skyrim nope not at all.] So in this test, what happens if one or both of the people fall from the weight of the stones and die? Is your Lady saying they're both fools and she's no time for them?

[Listening to other people talk about gods is easy. Brónach's been around strangers since she left home, heard all their prayers out of their mouths, picked up the differences until it gets to the part about the dead where she ca't stop herself from drawing her body away, some part of her pulling tight. She'd expected something like how draugr happen, shrouds and barrows. Not this. Not the way her stomach lurches.] For the birds. And the body being eaten-- [no hesitation on the word but the word has to be said until she isn't sure what she's saying other than she wants it to be said, wants it out of her mouth, out of her head, wants Skadi to do something with the word that she's said.]

Aye, eaten. [Skadi repeats that calmly, easily.] It's one more reason the lowlanders dismiss us as heathens, call our ways blasphemous. But we feel that the Lady is owed her due, and that's how it's given. When lowlanders think of burial, they think of earth or fire...mostly fire. For us, air is the element that feels right.

[That her body will one day be given to the birds and her soul to the Lady is a very comforting thought, one that she quietly worries will not come to pass if she falls in battle among the Inquisition. Will the others honor her ways?]

Our thane is the leader of our hold, the arbiter of disputes, the one who negotiates on our behalf. They guide the gods in deciding who is worthy and decide which test will settle the dispute. [Her lips quirk in a wry smile.] If they die from it, then yes, that could show the Lady's -or Korth's or Hakkon's- disfavor with them. We live our lives according to the signs the gods have given us; if we lose the favor of one or more, they make that known. The Frostbacks is no place for the weak or the foolish, or those who don't pay them the respect they're due.

[Letting that sink in, she then gives in to her own curiosity, switching the subject back.] Why are the Dunmer so cursed? What part do they have in all this?

[Good to know. Maybe...maybe that won't present too much of an issue if her own way of dealing with the dead is done even if that isn't the same exactly. It's keeping a pact. It's-- it eats a hole in her sometimes but there's a long history, it's stitched into her and she is bosmer same as this woman is what she calls Avvar.] We have ways that they say are-- strange. [Perhaps the only way she can be political, did Delphine despair of her? Of sending her into the embassy in finery that rubbed her skin wrong? To play nice with throats she might have torn out with her teeth?] Never to harm a living plant. The Green Pact forbids it, relaxed for some loopholes, restrictions but outsiders see things differently don't they?

[If she has to stay with a kill it would be easy to lie. To drag it away. To remember where and come back later. Lightly armoured means light on your feet moving swift and silent with the shadows as Nocturnal favours her.]

I asked since Skyrim has nine holds and each hold has a thane but they can appoint the same person to be thane for services and deeds [no one has any judgement they're all fucked] it's just an important person. You get a housecarl to protect you, your things, sworn to carry your burdens and all that. [What a sliiiiiiiiip. But she does manage a laugh at the bit about the gods because well, sounds about right for people who'd strap fucking rocks to their backs.]

So...shit, remember how I said we all have our gods? They were convinced to abandong the customs and laws of the Summerset Iseles and follow a prophet in an exoodus, and they started to worship three Daedra . Then where was a war over religion because that always happens? And the dwemer disappeared at some point. Someone important died either from his wounds in battle or being murdered by hist three closest allies and because they either used tool to become gods or murdered him, it made the Daedra Azura curse them; their skin turned to ash, their eyes red. Before they were called the Chimer but after that, the Dunmer. Eventually Red Mountain erupted and most of the Dunmer fled to Skyrim as refugees, if they're in a place called Windhelm they've got a shit deal, there's one bit of the city they get to live in there and I hate that place. Some of the Dunmer started to go home to rebuild too after the eruption but there was an invading Argonian force.

[So yeah they're pretty cursed but that's what happens when Lorkhan's Heart and the Tribunal are involved so y'know maybe don't fuck up that hard?]

Ashen skin, red eyes...lady, that's a stark change but I wouldn't call that a curse without all the rest of that shite. The deal they have in Windhelm have sounds a bit like the elven alienages in lowlander cities. I've only seen the one in Kirkwall, but it's a depressing dead-end sort of place. And it's not even rock-bottom for standards, I'm told a lot of them are just the same. [Skadi shakes her head, blaming the Chantry once again. They could never just leave well enough alone, and her people were fortunate only because of the harshness of the Frostbacks, where few others wanted to go.]

A housecarl for a thane...some of my people would no doubt consider it 'soft' for someone to do the protecting and carrying for you, but I could see others making use of it. My thane, she's old and weathered but still fierce. The person foolish enough to suggest it to her would likely exile themselves just to get away from her glare. [She chuckles, remembering how the thane's fierce glaring could cause grown warriors to freeze up. Entertaining, really.]

So, what are the loopholes to this pact of yours? Does being tossed into a new world count?

It came from Azura. It was a curse. [Azura of dusk and dawn, holding aloft moon and sun in either hand; Azura had spoken to her.] They get in at least, Argonians don't. Argonians get to stay outside the city, same with the Khajiit most places so-- [It could be worse.

It could always be worse is the thing and she doesn't know how to explain that to a human because humans walk so much of their world knowing their place, overly sure of it, so ready to say 'no, this is how it is' and it sticks in her throat every time.]

They're a walking, talking suit of armour. Noisy. Clanking along. No matter how good the fit most people are loud striding about in armour but it's the Jarl who rules the hold in the high seat, stewards, thanes, housecarls, it's a whole production. Some more useless than others. [Not like that in Valenwood but she'd rather not.]

Anywhere outside Valenwood there are fewer restrictions. Living plant. Mushrooms aren't plants either so that's fine. Some might eat raw fruit that falls from trees since it fell. Honey, dairy [hence the cheese] and insects.

What in the Lady's name are Argonians or Khajit?

[They don't sound like more elves, maybe the equivalent of qunari or dwarves? Or something else more interesting.]

Heh, I wouldn't mind the 'sworn to carry your burdens' bit, but I travel light and fast. Or as fast as one can with a greatsword. [Her lips twitch with some amusement at that comment about Jarls.] I take it you've met your share of the useless? Though no wonder, if they're burdened by all that. The sound more lowlanderish than I'd thought, all that has to make them soft.

[She nods thoughtfully at the diet loopholes, not grossed out by mention of insects.] You'll find plenty of all that around. Deep mushroom is an especially easy find, though most use it for alchemy ingredients in potions and the like. And if there's one good thing about being in Nevarra, it's that the kingdom is a crossroads between northern and southern goods so we'll find plenty of each. You'll not be lacking.

No beast races. Very tidy. Argonians are covered in scales, lizard looking folk if you're being rude, Khajiit are cat people but some look more like cats, others more like people. [No orcs today she can't.]

Some are harder than others but the high king died, there's a war, Imperial army there, the Thalmor. Dragons. [People have agendas and no one bargained on all of that at once so it's a mess that she avoids by just skipping civilisation for the greater part.] I had a few I didn't mind travelling with but they were hunters or just as light as me.

With coin that can't be spent unless I find a forge and melt it down. [Not actually her worst plan.]

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FIRSTFALL RIFTER ARRIVAL

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