WINTERMARCH RIFTER ARRIVAL

[faderifting]

WHO: New rifters & their rescuers
WHAT: People fall out of a rift and get attacked by stuff. This time, not everyone makes it.
WHEN: Wintermarch 11
WHERE: The foothills of the Vinmark mountains, somewhere between Ostwick and Markham.
NOTES: The arrival log is open to all. Solas was (as always) able to alert the Inquisition to the general area where the new rifters would be arriving so people could be sent to pick them up.

I. ARRIVAL

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, you wake with a jolt when you hit the ground, though at least it's reasonably soft. You tumble down onto a grassy knoll, a grey and chilly day in a piece of countryside that would be entirely unremarkable were it not for the rift that brought you here, and you, and the other beings that have accompanied you. There are other people finding their feet after a similarly sprawling exit, and there's a monstrous, horned beast with too many eyes and electricity rippling down its arms, tall, spindly creatures with gasping mouths and too many eye sockets that immediately advance on you and the people lying around you, and beyond them, flickering, ghostly wraiths that begin to throw bursts of green magic that saps anyone hit of energy and strength.

If that all weren't enough there's also a narrow splinter of light in the same sickly green as whatever brought you here, now glowing out of the palm of your left hand. It aches, a bone-deep pain that gnaws even through all the distractions. Given how many other things there are to take in, it may take some time for anyone to notice that one of the people to stumble out of the rift has not gotten back up. But nothing can be done for him until the demons are no longer trying to kill everyone present.

II. AFTERMATH

With the demons dispersed and the dust settled, there's time to regroup—for the new arrivals to collect their scattered belongings, for anyone who was injured to seek a healer or healing salves as needed, and to deal with the man still lying where he fell from the rift.

He isn't moving at all, in fact, just lying face down, and it's strangely difficult to focus on him. If you look away you may find your mind skimming over him entirely, no time at all required to simply forget that he's there until you look again or someone else calls your attention back to him. Which is especially strange because he should be a very striking fellow, extremely tall and quite broad, with gaudy gold and purple attire, some sort of robe fringed with fur that looks metallic but is soft to the touch. When he's turned over there's also the way his bangs and his eyebrows have been braided together into an elaborate netlike pattern over his forehead, which really ought to be more memorable. It's currently matted to clammy skin, as is all of his dark hair, drenched in droplets of bright pink sweat. His eyes are closed, and he will remain firmly unconscious despite your best efforts.

[ ooc | No attempts at healing the unconscious rifter, magical or otherwise, will have any visible effect. What's done with him is up to your characters. But we assume they'll bring him back with them instead of leaving him in the wilderness to die, so please make sure to let us know if that's not the case. The rifter is not an apped character or a canon character. We'll provide more information in a few days, but if you have questions in the meantime, you can ask here. ]

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i

[mactears]

Something behind Chloe lets out a high-pitched shriek--literally the stuff of nightmares--but before the demon can spring forward from its crouch and pin her beneath its spindly frame, it is tackled bodily to the ground by a wolf-dog.

For a few taut seconds the pair scrap intensely, before the bloody fight is brought to an end abruptly by the arrival of a man astride a quarter horse who doesn't need to dismount to drive his sword through the demon's head. A quick tug of the reins sees him wheeling the horse around to face Chloe.

"Are you injured?" Loghain calls out; his horse gives her head a toss, eyes rolling at the stink of blood.

[tagartist]

If she wasn't dead, she was convinced she was about to be, and it was why her only instinct had been to sort of duck down and protect her head with her arms, like that would totally stop the demon from ripping her apart (spoiler alert: it wouldn't), but the whole attack never came. And instead there's a dude and a horse and why did everyone have a weapon but her?

There's a large tear in her jacket, she's pretty sure she fucked something up when she fell because her wrist is still killing her, but considering that she could've just been a lot worse, she offers Loghain two thumbs up, even if she looks less than thrilled with the circumstances. "Never been better, Lancelot."

[crowncitizen]

An arrow flies from somewhere behind them, nailing one of the wraiths in the head. Or what looks like a head, anyway. The demon dies with a screech, dissipating into the air. Prompto runs up from where he had hunkered down to fire, bow at the ready as he warily eyes the rest of the demons. The big one especially.

"I'll give you a hand with this," he shouts to Loghain, notching another arrow. "Is she okay?"

[mactears]

"Never been better, Lancelot."

He has no idea what that means, but in his experience, those coming through the Rifts often spout nonsense while they're struggling to regain their bearings. Regardless, the girl looks as though her near brush with death has left her uninjured.

"She's fine," he calls out to Prompto as he arrives. Still wielding his sword, he swings a leg over his saddle and dismounts from Sooty's back, giving a quick clap to her rump to send her galloping away from the combat before the pride demon can advance on them. In a general's cadence, he says to Prompto, "We'll flank him--cover us."

'We,' apparently, refers to Loghain and the wolf-dog who, at his whistle, begins to prowl just beyond the range of the pride demon's vicious lightning lash. Rolling his shoulders once, Loghain approaches the monster head on, shield at the ready.

[lightninginabottle]

'We' should probably remain a reference to the man with actual armor and the combat dog with actual fangs, and not necessarily be expanded to include the nearly-naked dwarf who comes running up with his considerably smaller shield, but Janzik has just a bit of a personal stake here in whether this battle succeeds. He might as well try to electrocute enough things to improve the odds.

"Right there with you," he pants, with an ironically over-formal salute. "You know, in a manner of speaking. I'll be back here with this guy." He jerks his head toward Prompto. The mace, despite the white knuckles with which he clings to it for dear life, is decorative.

[crowncitizen]

"Got it." Prompto nods to Loghain, readying another arrow to let fly. However, before he can, someone else shows up, someone who's... not nearly as armored as he should be, but then, if he's a rifter that's not really his fault.

He lets the arrow fly, nailing one of the spindly demons in the face that was slinking towards Loghain. With a glance at the newcomer, he says, "Can you keep an eye out for those green, skinny looking ones? Then I can focus on the floaters and the big guy." And while also keeping Chloe and himself safe. "Just watch the ground, they like to leap up from holes they make in it." It's not fun, let him tell you.

With that said, he backpedals towards Chloe. "Here." He pulls out a dagger and hands it to her. "We'll do the heavy lifting, but if one gets past us, use that." Better she have something to defend herself with, just in case.

[tagartist]

It's almost like watching a movie or some game play out in front of her, something that felt not quite real and disconnected. More people joining in to fight a creature that shouldn't exist and she just stood there, not knowing how to move, right up until Prompto is suddenly backing up towards her and it reminds her that this isn't a film and this is her life somehow. That or a really, overly detailed nightmare.

Daggers don't make her anymore comfortable than knives do, but she goes to take it when handed, trying to keep her hands steady by gripping the handle a little tighter than maybe necessary. "Thanks. Pointy end goes into the other guy, right?" She's joking. Really.

[mactears]

The dwarf's arrival earns him a double-take from Loghain, but the pride demon doesn't allow him time to express anything other than a grunt of acknowledgment before it launches its attack. "Be mindful of its lash!" That is the warning he manages to shout to Janzik, before he's forced to hurl himself to the side and out of the path of the whip of lightning suddenly flung their way.

[crowncitizen]

"Something like that." Before he can say anything else, Loghain shouts out. The lash is far away enough from them, but it still worries Prompto that the demon might turn its attention over where he is, near Chloe. So he puts some distance between him and her, and fires off an arrow at the demon. It sinks into its shoulder, but it doesn't slow it down much. Instead, it forms a ball of electric energy into its hand, before blasting it towards Prompto. He dives out of the way, the attack narrowly missing. "Watch for that, too, whatever it was!"

[lightninginabottle]

"Oh, boy." Well, it's good to know in advance that he'll need to take a different tack than he was planning to. For all he knows, trying to fry this thing with electricity will only make it stronger, and there isn't a damn thing the storm spirits can (or will want to) do about it.

Fire it is, then. There's not a whole lot that won't burn when you set it on fire.

"Let me just--" There's no time for an array of totems, no point to half of them right now anyway, but he reaches into the sack he's dragged with him and slams one dirty little red-painted drill bit into the ground, lets the machine attached to it chug away in a cloud of diesel fumes, just for good measure. Now that he knows he's got fire's attention, he raises an arm with a vulgar-looking gesture to call it down on the demon without any other visible intermediate step--no fireball, no bolt traveling between him and his target, no stream of unbroken flame, simply an up yours, pal motion on one end and spontaneous burning on the other.

It sets exactly one of the pride demon's arms alight, and nothing else. "Oh, come on!" Janzik wails.