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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"It will be help enough. Here, take this and wear it as you aid me." Galadriel reached out both hands and affixed the Elessar to Elros's chest. At once the ichor on his clothing began to slough off and away as he was restored.

"It is a gift from a dear friend and it will grant you the hands of a healer. I am to weak to bare the strain of my own healing, but you are not so injured."

He blinks at it.

"Oh. That's interesting. Useful, too! Is it another relative's work or someone I'm not actually related to for a change?"

He flashes her a grin, trying to distract her as he goes about redoing her bandanges.

"I should hope so! The day demons can get the better of me I'll.... well, Elrond would yell a lot."

"Celebrimbor's work, he is the son of Curufin," Galadriel recounted, albeit a bit tightly. As Elros began his work and the Elessar elevated him, her shine faded to a dull glimmer. Her dress was grimier, her wounds more horrifying, and all the strain fell heavily upon her features and limbs. She looked wrung out, even by human standards, and shot him a fragile smile as he rebound her wounds.

"And he certainly would," she agreed, but with a touch of hesitation born from trying to recall Elrond in his youth. "How did you come to be here?"

"Ah, I liked cousin Celebrimbor. One of the few who didn't treat Elrond and I like fragile glass."

Elros hums. "Haven't seen him since he left Lindon to go east! You did too - but Armenolos will be ready for visitors soon, so I hope you will visit!"

He carefully rebinds her injuries, whispers the old healing songs Maglor and Maedhros wracked their minds to teach them.

"Like everyone, apparently by falling out of the green glowing thing back there."

There was something deeply jarring about listening to him speak of the old world, and it was the old world, even by her reckoning. Seeing him here, speaking as though everything had not been turned to ash in their hands, was surreal in a way that was difficult to explain. The pain from his work was almost a boon, despite the ancient songs he murmured as he worked.

Between his will and the Elessar, her sounds closed beneath the bandages. She would be restored come the next dawn.

"I see, and have you been here long? I have walked these lands before and I heard no word of you."

"Really? No, I only just got here. Inconvinient timing, to say the least!"

He looks at her worriedly.

"You really don't look well. Should I see about getfing a proper healer?"

"A healer cannot assist me further," Galadriel told him and, after a beat, recalled who he was and softened somewhat. "But thank you.

"My weariness will pass with time, I think. I have done much and rested little in my long life, I must change that."

One he is done she reaches and gently removes the Elessar from his shirt. The light returns to her as she does, restoring her, but she feels the strain of it as she settles it back on her gown. Still, she will not give it up--it is merely a tool, a hammer to Nenya's forge, but it is a tool nonetheless.

"A clothier would not go amiss, though. I fear I am now under-dressed even for travel."

"If you say so, aunt!" Elros looks somewhat doubtful, but he's still so young, really.

"I can lend you my cloak until we can find something else."

She all but marvels at his youth as they speak. His readiness to believe her, his sincerity and open concern, it is such a departure from dealing with Elrond. They had always been different, of course, but several thousand years certainly threw their differences into sharp contrast.

"You have my thanks, Elros, and you may call me by name if you wish."

Several thousand years would be enough to jade anyone, even one as kind as Elrond - but Elros is not even at his first century yet. Still at the age where he's aggressively friendly at everyone, as if to spite the trauma of his early years and the whispers of his upbringing.

"Feels weird." He opinions. "But if you say so! At least we are of a height, so my cloak won't look too odd on you."

Galadriel takes it with grace, or some measure of it, and nearly manages to drape it across her shoulders. Unfortunately, the motion is a bit abortive as it requires her to lift her hands above her head. It is a poor action that pulls on wounds just barely closed and she halts mid-sweep.

"I will not refuse Aunt but, by rights, I am a mother of your brother as well. It is a confusing relationship we now share, but such is the way of the Eldar, in time." She lowers her arms and holds the cloak out to him.

"If you would assist me, please?"

"How does that....oh. Ooooooh. Don't tell me - my brother married in?"

He needs an Elrond to tease right now!

Obligingly he reaches to help her with it.

"Yes, to my daughter Celebrían," she replies as he helps her to fasten the cloak around her shoulders. The bite of the cold is less with it on, but the weight of it is suddenly very marked.

"I would that you could meet his children, his sons are the very image of you two."

"Children" he says in wonder. "Oh, that's such good news. I had not heard...he hasn't sent any word to me."

"Elladan and Elrohir, his sons, and a daughter, the fairest that ere lived, named Arwen," Galadriel says. Despite her exhaustion, she was always willing to speak of her grandchildren.

"They are a delight to me, though the boys caused...cause much mischief."

"Three! And it sounds like his sons carry on the family tradition of trouble well! But...you speak as if this is something long established, and I am certain my brother would not long keep this news from me?"

Galadriel looks upon Elros with some pause, then, and considers what to tell him. Once, someone had told her of a dear death that had not happened, but it is another matter entirely to tell someone of their own death. He is mortal already, but such things still give some pause.

"Yes, for several thousand years," she says and her smile is sad. "You would not know them, will not know them, for they were born into the Third Age of Arda, long after your passing."

".............Wait, how long did he wait to get married?"

This is important, okay. He needs this information to mock uh, that is, encourage his brother properly when he gets back home.

"It was year 109 of the Third Age...I believe he was three thousand?"

So, quite some time, but Galadriel herself cannot comment too severely on his waiting. Celeborn and she were not the least intimidating in-laws and Celebrian had been an exceedingly charming young woman.

"........he waited several thousand years?!? Oh dear. clearly, I will have to speak to him when I get home."

"I believe they knew each other for little over three hundred years before they were wed, it was a very...trying time. Had my husband not traveled abroad, I sometimes wonder if they would have ever met, but it matters not."

"Three hundred years" Elros groans in mock dismay.

"I don't care if there was another war on, you just don't make a lady wait that long!"

"You do when you are trying to impress my husband." Galadriel corrects with a wry smile. "Be easy on your brother, he could not go too far from home while he courted her and he loved her dearly."

"He's my brother, I'm pretty sure it's my job to be hard on him." Elros sniffs but he relents.

"Tell me about her? Do I get to meet her?"

"Celebrían was my dearest, my very heart, and she shone like starlight. She was her father's daughter, in temperament at least, and was quite good for your brother. He shone brighter when he was near her and longed for her when they parted."

Unfortunately, while Galadriel is always fond to recall her daughter, doing so for more than a fleeting moment carries the risk of plunging her into grief. In this instance, it manages to sadden her with more speed than it usually does, and her face falls.

"You shall not meet her, unless perhaps she comes to these lands. She sailed long ago and well after your time."

FIRSTFALL RIFTER ARRIVAL

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Whoops typos in the last tag.

/pats me too

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