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
He rubbed his hand again, thinking of the pain he must have experienced in that moment. To have lost everything to find them….And then to have felt he had no other choice than death once he had it. Such things should not exist.
“Did you destroy it then?” He breathed. “They are destroyed?”
no subject
"One is destroyed. I have not asked Kano what he did with his, but his hands..." he grimaced, paling, "They bear the same marks of rejection. He would not have been able to keep the Silmaril on his person and since he no longer has a home..."
Maglor must have gotten rid of the Silmaril somehow, somewhere. Perhaps in the sea.
"The last one can be seen above us all, worn by Eärendil the Mariner."
no subject
“Such things should not exist,” he said as much to himself as he did to the other. He ran his hand across his face again.
He looked back up at Maedhros. Studying him yet again, hoping to figure out what he should do. What he should say. What should he say?
“I suppose my own failures do seem slight in comparison....”
no subject
"I concur." he loved his father, but he knew Fëanor was a rash, dangerous and oft irrational Elf, "The intent behind them was not foul. Atto was proud. Too proud. And far too quick to anger." he felt fatigued speaking of pride and anger.
Those qualities were rife in his family. They were literally the fools that flew too close to the sun, thinking they would never be burned.
"Your trials are no less important or heavy than my own. All we can do is live our lives to the best of our ability."
no subject
"I...have been known to let my ire get the better of me, myself," he sighed. "But, I know very little about pride."
He risked another look back up at the elf through the corner of his eye. "What sort of life will you lead now?"
no subject
There were likely few who could hold Maedhros's gaze without flinching or looking away. What he had endured, what he had become had altered his very soul. If he had not leapt into the fire, he might have suffered the same fate as Fëanor.
"Do not know it. Stay humble." he turned to gaze at the fire burning not far from them, some of the light catching in the copper strands of his hair, "I choose to be a guardian and a warrior if need be. I give my life to protect others."
no subject
Suddenly, a gurgling growl erupted from his stomach. His whole body stilled as he closed his eyes and let out a silent curse. His his face got even warmer.
no subject
"You need sustenance." he rose to gather some stew, bringing a full bowl back and holding it out as a sort of peace offering, "What will your Lady do if you allow yourself to weaken?"
no subject
He placed a hand over this stomach, and then looked at the stew.
"Is that what this noise means?" He asked looking back at him. "My body been different since my arrival here. It fights against me at every turn. It also has been making that noise for....quite some time."
no subject
Since his foster-son had become one of the race of Men, he thought it best to learn of them quickly and well. He too had felt the pangs of hunger and fatigue, but he at least knew their origin. Unlike Haldir, he had spent centuries feeling...ill. Morgoth had left a lasting taint upon him.
no subject
Acting more bold than he had right to really, he reached over and gave him a soft squeeze on the upper arm to try and rouse him from whatever visions he was lost in.
"Thank you, my Lord. I will not let myself weaken." He let go, and then moved to retrieve the pack of supplies they had given him. He pulled out the rough wool blanket and offered it to him.
"They gave us all manner of supplies. I don't know if you have any, but please take mine if you need. It's the least I can do."