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
The child has been through too much.
(He moves without a word to support Maglor, one arm wrapped around his shoulders.)
Yes, Finno is my keeper. (His eyes shine the faintest bit.) Join me, Kano, in this foul prison. Our cousin is a cruel dictator.
(Or as far from as you can get. However he clearly does not like the idea of his foster-son being secretive or ashamed.)
Elros has nothing to hide. He is free of our taint.
no subject
I don't think I've punched Oropher, although I have thought about it once or twice, so we're good on that score!
[ Pause ]
Although I can't promise to behave if he calls me Thingol's heir or makes snide insinuations about my upbringing. I like Uncle Celeborn, but Oropher ... not so much. I don't think Thranduil and I ever met beyond in passing.
As for my lineage... [ He shrugs ] Elrond and I are almost as famous as you are, at this point. I don't think there's any hiding it.
no subject
If you think it might help, cousin, I will speak with him. But, I admit I had done my best to avoid him.
no subject
[To Maglor] I can handle the matter for now, though I ask that you be on your best manners in the meantime. And refrain from speaking of the Oath, as well. We must face many troubles in this world, but the ghosts of the Kinslayings need not be among them.
[To Elros, in particular, but to everyone else as well.] None of us are famous here, though. And that brings me to my other point. Elves have not faced kind treatment from Men in Thedas. And they have diminished in other ways beyond that- not least, they age as Men do.
There are Men of elven descent, Elros. But many of the Men here believe taking an elven spouse akin to taking an animal to bed. You can imagine what they think of those of mixed blood.
[And on that topic there's a hint of his anger in his voice, because while most things about those in power in Thedas are terrible how dare those bastards slander people like his niece.]
no subject
Diplomacy, Elros. (That's as strict as he can be. Isn't it frightening?)
I think it is safe to assume that all Elves on Arda are doomed to suffer in one way or another. No matter their demeanor, we should have some pity for them.
(He smiles down at Maglor, holding him safe and secure with his free arm. If he had one more arm, Fingon would find himself trapped too!)
Cousin, if you think sleeping on the ground is new to me, you are sadly mistaken. (His amusement fades further at the mention of the Oath. He had repeated it in Thranduil's presence - a way of showing his sincerity - and he regrets the effect it seems to have had on Fingon.) Finno, we are the ghosts. If you do not fear us then you do not fear them.
(His nose wrinkles.) As long as we stay as one, we have some protection against their barbs. I do not care if they call me knife-eared or a...rabbit? That is rather comical. But if they move beyond words, we need to support one another.
no subject
[ He retorts cheerfully, but the smile fades to a thunderous scowl ]
They what.
[ Can he punch these people ]
no subject
He scowls, listening to the stories of how poorly elves have been treated here, and the names his family has already been called. True, they've been called worse. He doesn't have to like it though, right?]
...Nelyo, if they have hurt you, or Finno, I want to know it. And who. I will not stand by while my family is attacked, regardless of what Thranduil might think. [...he doesn't think Elros needs to be told he's included, but he gives his foster son a pointed look as well.]
no subject
I have never feared you; I never shall. But you and Makalaure have enough troubles to be dealing with without all the Inquisition knowing our story. [For now, at least, Fingon thinks the Inquisition the best of bad options for them. He'd rather not endanger their access to its resources and information if he doesn't have to.]
Sometimes it does. [Fingon wasn't there, so he'll cheerfully leave Elros to judge. Here, though...
damn it, they do deserve a good punching don't they?]The Inquisition will tell you not to react when you hear those comments. That these are frightened and ignorant people, and that all you will do is frighten them more and make them angry on top of it.
[A sigh.] It's not an invalid point, from their perspective. They have to concern themselves with the politics of these realms. If you want my advice, though... don't neglect your judgment, Elros. But there is no reason to let them think you are ashamed of who you are.
[Sending a small smile to Maglor; no, silly, you are not becoming invisible. It's not healthy.] I am technically your king, remember? It would be my duty to protect you, even if you were not family.
[Shaking his head] I haven't been harmed, you need not fear. And the worst thing to attack Russandol was a sea monster.