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faderift2018-01-11 09:45 pm
faderifting) wrote in faderift2018-01-11 09:45 pm
WINTERMARCH RIFTER ARRIVAL
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.
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. ]
no subject
No. No, no. Come on. There's no need to be like this. I'm sorry if I offended. If my reputation precedes me, I can explain--
Maybe that's where the mistake lies. He tries to take care and be more formal in his addresses to the healing spirits, when he's simply not on comfortable enough terms with water to let himself slip and be casual, but he hadn't been thinking, and water is by nature sensitive. But its complete silence now is damning, leaves an ache in his gut to match the one in his hand, and he doesn't know what he's done wrong, or how to fix it, or where to start.
The fuck, he thinks almost belatedly, do dwarves have to do with anything?
"Then your record remains untarnished," he says, "because I ain't either fuckin' one of those."
no subject
Despite finding nothing, Anders sends a wave of green Creation magic through the guy just in case.
"Oh good. I do like having an untarnished record. What are you, then?" It's maybe not the most polite question, but he'd like to know how far this guy's delusions might go.
no subject
But it had been such a strange question to ask--'can dwarves do magic where you're from?' Where can't they? Willingness might be an issue, but not ability. Nobody he's seen on this battlefield so far looks like anything but a standard-issue human, but neither has he ever seen demons like this on Azeroth. Or Outland, or anywhere Outland once was.
"I am a temporarily-empinkened goblin," he says, examining the greatly-extended reach of one bare arm, "and a Stormcaller of the Earthen Ring. It's a good gig. All of it." He intends to make it so again, and keep it that way.
"Why would we even be having this conversation if I were a mage? I'd have been out of here and back home with real clothes on ten seconds after I woke up in this frozen shithole, if I were a mage."
no subject
Anders sits on his heels, fairly certain that there's nothing that can currently be done at the moment for the man in front of him except hot water bottles, blankets, and a cart. Now he can turn his attention to the Dwarf and try to figure out what he even says.
"If you're not a mage, why were you holding your arms out like you were expecting magic to happen? What was the thought process there?" It seems a decent start.
no subject
It isn't magic in the same sense, any more than paladins call their powers of glowing self-righteousness magic (and boy, do they ever get offended at the suggestion that it is.) But it's magic enough to be worth the comparison, if only as shorthand for a concept too long to explain.
"It's supposed to be easier than this. If the spirits have you on their shitlist, of course they're not gonna answer. I just...didn't realize they'd be such a tough crowd here."
He still doesn't know where 'here' is. The last of the battle's adrenaline wears off, reminding him that he's still standing on a muddy winter field with nothing but a few shredded scraps of linen standing between him and public indecency, and his hand is beginning to hurt and hurt and hurt.
no subject
"How... Wouldn't..." Anders takes a moment to find better words, or at least words that might suffice. "If one wants magic to happen and uses magic, especially if they're working with spirits, how are they not a mage?"
This guy, whose name he doesn't even have yet, is likely in for a very steep learning curve. It's not what he'd expect from someone who already knows about magic.
no subject
It's not that he doesn't want to explain himself, as much as anyone whose beloved profession and almost-religion intersect would want to expound on it at length. But it's hard to do that through numbed lips and chattering teeth, and he's not sure he can quite feel his feet when he tries.
"I'd love to chat about this. Really, I would. But if I'm not already flashing my balls at you, one wrong move is gonna do it, and this is not the kind of first impression I like to make. Don't you have a blanket or something? Aren't you supposed to be the welcome wagon?"
no subject
"The literal wagon has blankets, yes. But here, while I get it for you." He summons a fire at a safe distance from man on the ground, confused Dwarf, and himself, before heading to the wagon to grab winter garb for the guy, and blankets for the still-out dude, before returning.. "This should help."