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.
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"My dear cousin-aunt has never made any secret of her thoughts on her disreputable side of the family. I'm sure the yelling match will be suitably epic. And probably entirely silent so that no one else can hear!"
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"On the very rare occasions we had outsiders in Lorien, they often found her particular forms of communication to be concerning. It is immensely entertaining to see their progression of confusion. I'd often try and pick out who it was she was having silent conversations with. Usually it was fairly easy to guess."
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"She has never been one soften words for those she knows are strong enough to hear them. I know not if it is a result of her abilities, or just a long life of experiences. But, I appreciate it none the less."
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"All this family drama is too much to keep up with!"
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He shifted his weight from foot to foot nervously. "It does shed some light on my own family's dynamics. Maybe I should have tried harder to mend the rift between us. But, at the time I just found the whole thing inconvenient."
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"But unlike me, you're immortal, with time to be able to fix things, on one side of the sea or the other, depending. Take my advice and don't put it off - it just gets harder the more you do"
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"None of that." He scolds.
"'Never', as the saying goes, is a very long time. And how do you know if it is the last ship or not? You're Eldar. You have time. Learn to build one! It really isn't that hard, I should know."
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But he thought on what he said, realizing the wisdom in it. He was right, of course. He had nothing but time. He didn't have to remain stagnant, and if he ever did get back to Arda, he could apply himself to get back to Valinor. It gave him hope at least, that maybe his future wasn't so bleak.
"Be weary of any ship I build, my Lord. I have ever been a poor craftsman. Other than small carvings of animals and the like while on post, I was quite lacking when it came to creating anything." He chuckled and gave a half smile. "But I see your point."
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"You could ask for lessons?" Elros suggests. "Even if all the elves have sailed, and I doubt that, Men build good ships too you know - if not so elegant!"
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"Possibly. But I think you severely overestimate my skill." He thought about how it would look, him coming into doc in Valinor in whatever monstrosity he would be able to create. They would likely not let him into port.
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"Maybe! But maybe not. You won't know til you try, after all."