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

[castintoflames]

The burden that rested on his shoulders now was perhaps easier to bear now that his body wasn't such an unholy mess. His right hand was whole, his scars were healed to the point of practically not existing and the pain he had grown accustomed to since he hung from the Thangorodrim was no more.

Yet, inside, he was the same and that meant he had a long journey ahead of him.

"Thranduil may have mentioned you." his expression darkened and he shifted uncomfortably, "I do not think them hopeless. The insults they endure sicken me. I have no tolerance for unfound hatred - or hatred in general." he added the last bit softly knowing it might be at odds with the Elf he had been.

"I am glad to not dream, cousin. Each time I rest without a vision of the past, I wake with a prayer of thanks."

[laurenande]

"Ah, then you are more fortunate than I," Galadriel said and her gaze was heavy. "For sleep and dreaming are unfamiliar to me still, and I have seen you many times in my dreams. Your brothers and father still linger in my memory."

She drew a deep breath and reined in the anger that tried to settle in her chest. There was little room for it now, she was so exhausted she could barely bare the weight of consciousness. It was fortunate for Maedhros, if nothing else.

"But I am a creature of those times, I admit it, and a relic can never truly be separated from their source." She considered, then, asking if he had any of them, the gems that haunted Arda and shaped the world for an Age, but she let the thought pass. She did not want to know and, moreover, the loss of her ring was still to near. It would not do to speak of power and lost things.

In her resignation, her expression waned into something sad but relaxed. She had not the energy to read his heart, but he was not entirely himself and that was... at least for the moment, enough.

"Come, sleep here so that I do not wonder when next you will stumble in and knock over my things. I am too tired and stretched too thin to speak in veiled statements any longer."

[castintoflames]

"Kano and I were forced to do it often enough. Grief, battle and old wounds made it impossible to continue down this road or that one endlessly." Maedhros had hated those moments of absolute quiet almost as much as hated the moments filled with the shouts of his brothers, "I have been transformed within and without by molten fire. I see clearly where I erred and while I cannot say the Oath does not hold sway over me, I am much freer in mind, body and heart than I was when I was last by my brother's side."

The falling, the burning, the agony of his body being eaten away with the Silmaril clutched in his hand had, in a way, been a purifying experience. When he had dropped into the sea, it had felt like a, rather violent, rebirth. So she needn't worry as much on his account; it means much to him that she speaks to him in the first place.

"Rest, Artanis." he stretched out beside her cot, blue gaze warming, "I shall not wake you again." and he would make sure others did not either.