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

[seawanderer]

It's eerie, how much she always seems to know, and to grasp. But part of him is relieved he might not need to explain it all. She's lived it, the long Ages of Middle-Earth.

"But perhaps we do not need to fight alone. I have been told I must continue, and so I will." There is a certain exhaustion to him, pulled close like a cloak or in his own shadow.

"Through many Ages," he answers softly, mindful of listeners. He does not know these others just yet. Perhaps he could cloak their words, but there is something strange in the magic of this world. "To the end of the Deceiver," that much he figures is safe to say, but he watches her closely.

[laurenande]

She nearly laughed, then, and the beginning of it pulled open her injury at her side. She coiled forward and pressed hard against the bandages and it was a moment before she could continue walking again. Haldir's cloak would be stained before they arrived in Nevarra.

"Then we two are the eldest to walk the world, the last surviving relics of our age," Galadriel tells him. "And you are elder still, for I have not yet lived unto his ending; the potential looms before me still."

She is less mindful of listeners than he is, but only because so few in this world even comprehend the concept of a dark lord. Sauron has no spies here...but he is, perhaps, not the Dark Lord they should be concerned of. Morgoth was not without his influences, but Galadriel would not suggest assailing that evil until she has reclaimed her ring.

"Continue if you will, Maglor, but there are none who can demand it of you. None know better, nor draw from experiences greater than ours, and we are too long-lived to listen to simple requests." She held out her hand then, the one that did not grip her side, and beckoned to him.

"Are you strong enough that I may lean on you?"

[seawanderer]

Concern flashes through him at the obvious pain and he starts to step forward to offer a shoulder, but stops. She might not accept it, even with all that's been said and not said, done and not done.

Maglor quirks another faint, wry smile- at least she sees some humor in the whole mess. "You have much left to see, cousin." He tries for some reassurance.

"There are three who could command me here. And all three have at the least implied they wish me to continue, and so I will obey their wishes." But the hand she stretches out to him, and her request has him close the last distance between them and offer a shoulder and supporting arm.

"I will not fall."

[laurenande]

"A promise then," Galadriel hums and with, perhaps, less reservation than she should have employed, leaned against him. It was not a delicate maneuver, but one meant to hold her weight. She walked for a time in silence, but eventually it had to be broken, and she did so in old Quenya. It was a language that even her kin from Middle Earth would be hard pressed to understand at speed.

"Be wary, cousin," she warned in a tone that was half whisper and half spoken. "The old notes of discord linger in these lands. Darkness stirs where they echo and their song is poison to this land. It is the lingering vestiges of Morgoth and they spread as a disease.

"One day I will scour them from the very earth, but I cannot do so just yet, so take care."

[seawanderer]

He echoes the hum, almost amused. Almost. Maglor makes sure she's steady as they keep walking, slowly following along the caravan. He's content to let her set their pace, physically as well as what they discuss.

Only long habit helps him from starting in surprise at the old language that falls still so easily on ears. So he was right. Even with what warnings he's been given, and what he's seen himself, hearing it from another who has seen about as much as he has assures him he's not just been imagining more enemies around the corner than there are.

Instead he smiles, though his gaze remains steady and understanding even as he pretends her warning isn't a warning at all, but a simple statement between kin. Who better to ward off darkness but one so bright as Galadriel?

"Yes, cousin, I did see the strange stars. I wonder if music has been made for these...A project, perhaps?"

[laurenande]

"There are servants, slumbering with the song inside them, and they wander freely," she added, her tone lighter than it should be as she switched back to the common tongue of these lands. "Wardens, I believe they are called. Grey or otherwise.

"A project would be...a kindness I think," she agrees and, at once, is thankful that Maglor is present. It is a conflicted feeling, that, and she is uncertain how to parse it out--but she is glad that, of all the people in this world, there is finally another who will heed her warning with the gravity it deserves.

[seawanderer]

"Ah, I see," he hums. "Have you been here long?" He dares to offer an attempt at a gentle, reassuring squeeze, though he's mindful of her healed wounds. He might be a kinslayer, but it has been a very long time since those days!

Maglor's also somewhat conflicted. On one hand, he's happy to see his cousin. On the other, she is yet in danger, and he'd protect her as much as she'll allow. He raises a brow at her. "Is there a story behind that kindness?"

[laurenande]

"Only the span of a breath. I lived here for a year's time and then I vanished, now I have returned," she answers him, thankful for the reassurance, however unnecessary it might be.

"While I walked this world before I saw much suffering," she explains with a sigh. "The state of the elves is grievous, the kingdoms a scattered farce, and all the while they linger beneath the looming shadow of Morgoth.

"I offered to spare a servant once, to burn the Blight from his blood and slay the man who poisoned him, but he declined. It will devour them in the end and all they will know is darkness.

"It would be a kindness to end such things, I expect."

[seawanderer]

"Then you know more than I!" He responds, tone light. "That will help."

Maglor hides the frown at the less-than-good news on the state of the elves here. "We have lived in Shadow before. We can only do what we can, if we are to survive it here. And stay true to each other."

He quirks a smile. "But you already knew that."

[laurenande]

She offers him a long look; his enthusiasm is well meaning but largely unhelpful. Still, as a bard, what more did she expect from him. She smiles and inclines her head as they walk along.

"Indeed. Let us hope the road is short; I daresay I cannot abide much more walking."