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

Galadriel | Tolkien | OTA

[laurenande]

1. The World Is Changed
Galadriel opened her eyes and then, without pause, felt she had opened them again. The world, once clad in ancient stone and the high, whipping mountain cold, was replaced by a new, dimmer version of itself. What was memory faded and what was real came into hard focus--the light drizzle of rain tumbled from a dreary grey sky, the hard packed frost was replaced with thick, cloying mud, and the relative ease of life in Skyhold was dispelled by the sharp splinter of pain up her arm. Disoriented and weak, Galadriel lifted her hand toward the rift on reflex--she drew on the power of the ring, but the power of the ring was no longer with her.

The ring--

Galadriel's vision drifted still, yet she couldn't bring herself to focus on the rift. She twisted her hand in the air and stared, in horror, at the space between her fingers. Her skin was alight, glimmering as brightly as it ever had, a beacon against the dark sky, but there was no ring upon her finger. Apart from the mark that marred it, her hand was bare, and her horror mounted as she stared. The world was lost to her as shock and panic siezed her heart and, in her negligence, she failed to notice the demons that fell from the rift and rose around her.

It was bare moments before she was torn from her reverie; a terror's claws came down, raking across her back and gouging deep into her side. She drew a sharp breath, or tried, as the air was knocked from her and, all at once Galadriel was cast to the ground. Haloed against the rift, two terrors and a slew of shades drew close and set upon her.

[OOC: You can do this option with just Galadriel or with both Galadriel and Haldir! If you want the Galadriel+Haldir option please tag into Haldir's thread below!]

2. Much That Once Was Is Lost

The combat was done and the haze of it, the energy of panic and fear, of violence and pain, had all but faded. Now, only the pain remained. Galadriel gripped her mid-section as she leaned against the wall of the farmhouse. Her gown gaped at her hip and below her breast, torn to shreds where the demon had raked its claws through the fabric and her flesh. The white silk was stained a deep, disconcerting red, from neckline to where the hem was wet with muck. Only one of her sleeves remained brilliant white, but the way it shone now was macabre and ghastly. She was pale, but her radiance had not dimmed, she was lit from within with the warm glow of dawn and the cold glitter of the stars, the blood across her flesh was like spots of shadow.

"How has this come to pass?" Galadriel wondered aloud, her voice slow and groggy, distant with pain and bloodloss. In her hand she holds a silver brooch--an eagle clutching an emerald of appreciable size and clarity. Green light spilled around and from the piece of jewelry, but it was not the strange light of the fade, nor did it seem to illuminate much of anything beyond the haze of cold that hovered in the air. She peered at it and her expression was ready to crumble, either to tears or rage it was hard to say.

3. Caravan

Nevarra was unknown to her, but she was given little choice. She lacked the resources to locate Nenya by foot and now she lacked the strength to use her power to search it out. She required assistance and the only assistance she knew of would be found with the Inquisition.

She traveled slowly, often with Haldir at her side, and while her wounds were closed she was far weaker than she could ever recall being. Of the Quendi in Thedas she looked most restored, her light burned as brightly as it had ere the Trees rose above Valinor, but she lacked the power of Nenya to bolster her and the toll of using the Elessar fell heavily on her.

Her dress was in tatters, she certainly hoped there was some acceptable level of fashion in the land they traveled to, she would have to find a new one in short order.

1 Haldir OTA

[hallabackdir]

Haldir’s shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears, but he was frozen as he watched the green creature rake his claws across Galadriel’s back. Her cry cut through the battle noise like a knife, and rage consumed him. Sword drawn, he charged at the creature, cutting it down with a growl. He hacked into it again, and then a third time to be sure it would not rise again.

He sheathed his sword quickly as he reached out to Galadriel, but could only watch as she crumpled to the ground. The cuts were deep, mortal even. His eyes fixated on the red blood cascading out of the wounds. Despair strangled him with a lover’s touch as he fought back tears. A cry ahead of them brought him back to the battle, and he moved into position in front of her. Anything that wanted to get to her would have to get through him. He would prevent her death as long as he could.

He slung his bow out from behind him, quickly nocking an arrow and drew it back. With a release of his breath, he let arrow fly, and taking pleasure in the satisfying sound it made as it found it’s mark in the head of one of the monsters slithering towards them. His left hand shook as pulses of pain rippled from his arm throughout his body. With another growl, he tried to push that to the back of his mind. His aim must stay true.

Another arrow nocked as a horde of ghouls charge toward them.

[arlathvhen]

“Lady Galadriel!”

The scream rips through the air, surprised and horrified. Following shortly after it is an arrow, magical lightning dancing across it, aimed at the demons approaching Haldir. It hits one of them, and the lightning arcs, hitting the demon as well. It’s not enough to one shot the damned thing, but it leaves it crispier than it was before.

Beleth is both equal parts surprised to see Galadriel appear from the rift, and terrified to see her fall right afterwards. There’s another elf there at least, defending her. She doesn’t know who the man is, but if he’s keeping Galadriel safe, than she’ll fight alongside him. It’s not easy, picking through the field to get to them, but Beleth hurries, taking breaks only to fire more arrows teeming with lightning at the demons.

“The rift! The green glowy...thing. You need to close it, or more of them will come. Use the hand with the shard!” A quick gesture is done with her own hand to demonstrate, as she reaches the two. “I’ll cover you.” It’s agonizingly hard to only give Galadriel a quick glance, but the priority has to be saving her.

And this other elf, too. She’ll save him, as well. You’re welcome.

[laurenande]

The scene was strangely familiar to Galadriel and, dazed as she was, it took her a moment to realize why. This was how she had entered Thedas the first time except the elf who saved her before--he was not Haldir, he was Dalish. The very instant the thought crossed her mind, Beleth's voice pierced the din and Galadriel turned to watch her part the crowd with deft, murderous speed. She gives her instructions as the Shades move to strike. One is felled to Beleth's arrow and another two to Haldir before it is through.

"Haldir!" Her voice is uneven and breaks as it stumbles through the pain in her side. Haldir has no skill in weaving fate, but he is quick and clever and follows instructions as well as any elf she has ever known. He will manage it if she explains.

"Use your left hand, pour your will into it and grasp the rift. If you pull when I do, we may close it and be free from these things." Sindarin was easier than common and fell from her tongue with far less effort.

She lifted her hand toward the rift and ground her teeth against the pain in her arm and the pain in her side; already her dress was turning from white to crimson. It took all of her focus to grasp at the edge of the rift, but she managed it, even as heavy cold spread across the lot of them. The terrors shrieked, the Shades hissed, and this new foe let out a wail as it froze the rain around them.

[hallabackdir]

Breathing through the pain, Haldir did his best to mimic the actions his lady did from the ground. His hand felt as though it were on fire, but he persisted. He moved toward Galadriel, attempting to give her with as much cover as his body could provide.

He struggled to grasp rift, as Galadriel had called it, but it eluded him for a few moments. He bit his bottom lip in frustration and then focused harder on it. Finally, he caught it by the edges, and he watched as the monsters and spirits around him slowly absorb into the rift. He heard a concussive pop come from the rift, and a few seconds of silence fell over the area.

Haldir immediately knelt in the mud next to his lady, looking at carnage once more. Tears streamed down his face for the first time in a thousand years.

“Forgive me, Beloved Lady. I failed you. Forgive me.”

He reached out to touch her, but retracted his hand at the last moment. He had no right to comfort her now. He would not leave her to die alone in this place. Unsure of what else to do, he started to sing. A lament he’d heard often in Lorien. His voice did not do the song justice, and his emotions cracked through some of the notes. But, he would have her pass while hearing the songs her people. He pushed through as best as he could.

[OOC-For anyone who is curious about what the lament sounds like]

2

[serannas]

The world has changed a great deal since last Galadriel walked it, but one thing that hasn't changed is Ellana's devotion to her. Gone but certainly not forgotten, Galadriel touched Ellana's life for only a brief time, but made it wholly better with her wisdom, strength, and kindness. Seeing Galadriel now, she feels like she's stepped into a nightmare, because how could any harm ever touch this person who so often reminded Ellana of Mythal herself?

Rushing over, Ellana takes Galadriel's hand in hers. "Mellon nin! We need to get you to a healer."

[laurenande]

Galadriel's gaze listed to her hand, to where Ellana gripped it, and tracked up to the woman's face. She stared for some time before she recognized the face of the elf beside her. Her fingers curled around Ellana's hand and something in her composure snapped--her breathing, already shallow by necessity increased pace and she began shaking her head in a small but ever growing motion.

"No, Ellana, no," Galadriel said and turned a livid, almost accusatory stare back at the brooch in her hand. "We cannot leave without it, I will not leave without Nenya."

[serannas]

It would be useless to try and change Galadriel's mind when she appears in such a mood, but perhaps the blood loss isn't making her think clearly, so Ellana takes a healing grenade from her belt. She's never been much of a healer herself, so she comes prepared.

"All right, we will search." She breaks the grenade on the ground to let its healing mist work on her friend. "But it'll be pointless to look if you collapse from blood loss first. Please, give this a moment to work and tell me what you remember when you came back through. Maybe there's a clue; something you didn't notice at the time with demons everywhere, but it'll help us find it." Because she doesn't want to leave a powerful magic ring on the ground for anyone to find any more than Galadriel does.

[laurenande]

The fumes that rose from the shattered pot were pungent and numbing and Galadriel's expression turned with distaste as they distracted her. Her panic was not so easily forgotten, however, and she twisted, as far as she was able, to peer at the muddy field. Her expression was one of anger and dismay in equal parts.

"I awoke as I first did, disoriented and adrift, but it was far worse this time," Galadriel explained with a bitter sort of speed and certainty. "I am untethered from waking now, this is a dreadful dream, and the power to change it has been stolen away."

She looked back to Ellana, almost desperate for understanding.

"It is mine to protect; I have never removed it, nor would I. It was stripped from me and I cannot permit it to become lost. Not here, not anywhere."

2

[tar_minyatur]

A gasp and then a tall figure comes running over.

"Aunt?!? What happened? I mean, beside the obvious..."

[laurenande]

To say that Galadriel recoiled was to say that the sky was blue; it was true but a vast understatement that bore hours of explaining nuance. She stared, in shock and confusion at the face before her and, once she realized who this was not, her shock increased.

"You live," Galadriel announced sounding both amazed and vaguely aghast. She leaned in as she spoke again and the ripple of pain that bolted through her was marked enough that pain danced across her face and in her tone. "Elros?"

Iluvatar worked in strange ways, it seemed.

"A demon, it caught me unaware--I," she paused and glanced at her hand, the Elessar mocked her with its presence. "I will live, I expect."

[tar_minyatur]

"Well, yes, for quite a few years yet, I hope! Elrond would never let me hear the end of it otherwise."

He raises an eyebrow at her surprise. "You must be hurt worse than you are pretending to me, if you are uncertain as to which of us you are speaking to - you haven't mixed us up in years."

Careful hands reach for her.

"Let me see?"

[laurenande]

There was no guile in his tone, and no bite to his words. They were not dead and truly he was who he claimed. Legolas had spoken of a time beyond hers, as had Samwise Gamgee--could this simply be the reverse? She peeled her hand away from her stomach. The wounds wept sluggishly into the haphazard bandages wrapped around her waist; she had ignored them in her shock and even now they felt distant.

Even Galadriel couldn't say why she reached out to him, but she did. She hesitated a moment, uncertain if she wanted to truly know if he was real, but in the end her hand settled on his shoulder. He was solid and, now, he bore a hand-print of her blood.

"Truly, you are here--how strange this place is...I am gladdened to see you, though I fear I could use your brother's aid far more at the moment."

3

[castintoflames]

Whilst traveling, she might spy a tall figure with hair the color of fire and copper. He knew of her presence - he knew too that she was suffering - and as much as he wanted to alleviate her discomfort, he dared not approach. Items would be left within easy reach of her whenever the caravan paused to rest, but the one responsible was swift.

He was most assuredly Elven - and not an Elf that called these lands home. Or this world home. Few were the Elves of Arda who possessed hair like the forge's flame - and he was certainly not a woman or a twin.

Yet his efforts went awry when he sought to bring her a blanket. He was having to become accustomed to using his right hand again - and it existing at all - and he set the cloth down rather clumsily, knocking over a kettle of water. Cursing quietly in Quenya, he tried to right the mess quickly.

[laurenande]

"I know you are there."

Her voice was heavy, rough and throaty from the weight of sleep--sleep now disturbed by his fumbling. There was little inflection in it, but her tone cleared as she opened her eyes and turned to regard him. Here, they were pale reflections of themselves, but she could see well enough in the dark to make him out.

"Cousin."

Galadriel unfolded her arm and beckoned to him, tiredly, with her unmarked hand. The Elessar had restored her skin to its full glory, but there was a weakness to her actions; the brooch burned too hot for her, now, and she had little to bolster her strength.

"Come, do not dance around me any longer."

Her expression was painfully neutral as she stared at him from her cot.

[castintoflames]

He felt a stab of guilt that he had awoken her. There was also the heavy, familiar weight of fear, sitting like a rock in his stomach. Waking her was dangerous; it meant she would know him for himself and all the deeds that entailed.

Maedhros straightened and stepped over to her cot, kneeling down once he reached it. She was as lovely as ever - a fierce, proud beauty shone all about her - but her fatigue worried him.

"I did not wish to disturb you on an already arduous journey." he lifted the blanket to lay it over her, frowning, "I am sorry for not finding you sooner. Were any of our kin more successful than I?"

3

[seawanderer]

Galadriel is a bright light, before, now, always. Maglor's spent most of his time so far with his brother, or cousin Fingon, or his fosterson Elros. But not always. Sometimes her light distracts him and he slips away, eventually.

He can tell she's wounded, but isn't sure he dares get close enough to see if her injuries have been tended. So he follows at a distance, and sings to try and bolster her strong spirit. Even if his music here has been affected, and doesn't hold quite as much power as it does on Arda.

But perhaps even offering a song of goodwill and hope will help? Even a Feanorian can hope, sometimes. Even one as broken in spirit as Maglor has become, and as thin in body- nearly Faded.

[laurenande]

Galadriel had, in her time, sung a great many songs while walking. In her travels it was common, even in Thedas she tended toward old Quendi songs, but she had never had overmuch skill with singing. Her daughter and granddaughter were both far sights better than she when it came to song, and beyond them the old bards remained--it had been long enough that she had forgotten the lilt of one of the most masterful. At first, she hardly recognized the song was being sung, soft and distant as it was it felt more like memory than reality.

It took her longer than she would admit to realize what was happening. Her years had made her far sharper and more attentive than she had been in her youth and such violations rang across her fea like striking a bell. Now, distracted and exhausted as she was, Maglor's song was able to float across her mind and lift her from the bare state she'd fallen into. When she finally realized what it was that eased the pain in her limbs and helped glaze the turmoil in her mind, she was equal parts thankful and livid--but there were precious few who could manage this feat and fewer still who knew such songs.

It cost her dearly to find him, without the power of the ring the price of such actions was steep, but she paid it. Her heart told her where he stood and, among the crowd traveling in the caravan, she was able to turn and spy him. Her eyes locked on his at a distance and, without uttering a word, she spoke to him.

That she could do as much meant that he was no dream, no phantom conjured by the Fade. She was uncertain if she was gladdened by this fact.

It is dangerous to play old songs here, cousin, too many linger still.

She arched a brow as she peered at him. He did not look as she recalled, but she had not seen him before he disappeared. He was diminished, moreso than even she, but it was still hard to recall that she had some fondness for him. There was no tone to be had in her voice, but it felt dispassionate all the same:

Come speak with me or vanish once more; I will have no part in preserving distance, not here.

[seawanderer]

He doesn't make it easy for anyone to find him, hasn't for many many years. But his family has always managed, if they want to find him enough. If they know he should be there, or discover he's near.

Maglor's heard a few things, stories in taverns, and had known some of his kin yet lived. Galadriel, Elrond, he knew of Elros' descendants. But he'd kept away, to avoid tainting them further.

...But he can't do that here. Even the short amount of time he's spent here, he's learned that much. So when she finds him, and catches his gaze to speak mind-to-mind, his shoulders slump a little and the song fades at her caution.

He smiles faintly, rueful, and shyly answers just as silent.

Life is danger, dear cousin. But the Lady of Light still shines as bright as ever.

Maglor slowly slips through the crowd parting them, wondering at why she hadn't just told him to go away and leave her be. He would, if she asked it of him.

We are not alone here.

2.

[utulien_aure]

Nothing remains of the monsters which had fallen from the rift, but no battle is truly complete until the aftermath is dealt with. One last comb of the area is needed, a check for wounded members and any confused new guests to Thedas who may have wandered out of sight.

With barely a scrape of his own from the battle to worry about, it's easy for Fingon to fall in with those searching. The ruined farm houses, are as good places to check as any- and one in particular catches his eye. There's a green light just visible from where he stands, and there's something strangely familiar about it...something worth seeing for himself.

Of course, when he arrives there is far more than green light worth seeing. The name- her old name, he remembers later she prefers the new- slips from his lips in shock.

"Artanis?"

[laurenande]

The voice is so sudden and so terribly familiar that it jars her senses. She turns from her hand and stares, with mounting horror at the elf who is suddenly so near. She does not flee, that has never been her way, but she does peel her arm from her midsection and stare at the tacky blood that shines along it.

"Have I died?" she asks, of her arm and of the middle distance before her. She glances sidelong at him again and the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes began slow tracks down her face. It could not be--she had so much yet to do.

[utulien_aure]

“Best keep that question to yourself, cousin. It would upset your admirers here terribly to hear you could not tell the difference between Thedas and Mandos.”

Fingon moves forward, tight-lipped despite the joke. He’s suspected his own fate for some time- Maedhros’ silences speak volumes to those who’ve learned to listen- but the confirmation her reaction brings is no particular joy. And he’s noticed the scarlet stains of her gown, marking the wound he supposes prompted the question. That needs to be examined, and by a better healer than him.

Shaking his head, he gives her a reassuring smile. “And I can hardly have you dying now. How would I ever explain myself to your brothers if I let that happen? Now is there anything I can do about that wound of yours?”

2.

[thunderproof]

Adalia isn't a stranger to mortal wounds — she was once skewered by an orc's javelin, and carries a scar on her abdomen to remember the event by. Blood, and the sort of distant disorientation that comes from the lack of it, is nothing new to her.

Still, when she comes upon the farm house and finds an elf with such a terrible wound, she can't help the momentary revulsion and fear that overcomes her. That is... that is a lot of blood. That is so much blood. Did the demons coming from the rift do this? She had almost been — oh, gods —

Now is not the time. Steeling herself, Adalia rushes over to the elf, hands out. As soon as even her fingertips touch the woman, a cool energy pours through her, starting from her shoulders where Adalia made contact and traveling down to the gaping wounds in her sides. The spell does some to heal her, but not enough — the bloodflow has stopped, but the wounds haven't closed all the way, and any motion sufficient to reopen them would have disastrous consequences. It's an easy decision, then, for Adalia to draw on her own energy reserves, pouring all of her power into healing the wound the rest of the way. When she's finished, the wound is closed, the skin where it had been pink and slightly warm to the touch.

It is at this moment, and this moment only, that Adalia realizes that she's essentially just accosted this woman without even so much as a hello. Cheeks flaming red, she pulls her hands back off the elf's shoulders and looks up at her face.

"Hi! Sorry, I was — I wanted to help. I hope I helped. I'm sorry I just touched you, it's how the spell works but I didn't — Sorry."

[laurenande]

Galadriel was so entranced, so entangled in the shock and horror of losing her ring, that she did not notice the woman approach her, nor did she hear the rush of steps as she charged to her side. It was only once her hand settled firmly, grasped her by the shoulder, and her power poured into her that Galadriel's attention redirected.

The sensation is overwhelming at first, and floods across the whole of her. An icy trickle replaces the sharp throb of pain, the dull tremors of weakness that spread through her limbs. She can feel her side mending and the sensation of cold and growing flesh is startling but not unwelcome. Once it is over, she is uncertain how to feel, or what has transpired--or even who this woman is.

The woman backs away, her hands held up and her face aflame, and Galadriel is unbalanced for the second time this day.

Galadriel looks at her own hands, at how steady they hold, and then back at the woman who had, quite effectively, accosted her with magic. Distantly, she realizes that she should thank her, that she has done her a great favor, but when she speaks, the conflict in her mind and in her heart spill over. Words of gratitude, however reflexive, are instantly drown out by the hitching gasp that heralds a deep and wracking sob.

She weeps then, for fear of what is, what has been, and all of what will come to pass. She covers her mouth with her hand to mute the sound of it, but it is a futile thing. She can no more stop this than she can prevent the sun from rising in the morning.

[thunderproof]

...oh, hells, that's not what Adalia expected at all. For a moment she's paralyzed by — fear? shock? guilt? some mixture of all three — and then she's reaching out —

and promptly drops her hands again, because that had been such a terrible idea when she did it just a second ago. The aborted movement turns into Adalia nervously bouncing on the balls of her feet instead, looking around desperately for literally anyone who might help more than she can.

"I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to make you cry, please stop crying, I'll never touch you again! Promise! Cross my heart, hope to die, all that, 100% will never touch you again if you can just please stop crying?"

How has she fucked up so bad so fast?