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. ]

Comments

ii

[ichaer]

"Isn't that the bloody understatement of this Age."

The voice comes from a woman, scarred and in armor marked by griffons. Her sword is drawn but she is seemingly busy clearing it of blood and muck before sheathing it once more and her focus landing on the pair of newcomers. For a moment, she almost frowns because Chloe looks young... probably not much younger than her but still young and utterly out of place in this world.

Quickly enough her focus turns, eyeing the man with furrowed brows and moving to kneel near him. Her fingers find a pulse but she can't help the confusion that likely continues to bleed over her features at the sight of her odd hairstyle and pink (was that really pink?) sweat beading on his face.

"Not wounded, are you?" She asks suddenly with a glance over her shoulder to Chloe. Meanwhile, she shifts and seems to begin remove a few items from the pouch attached to her belt and laying them on the ground.

[tagartist]

There's a tired laugh in response, because well - she's right. She didn't have a strong enough word for whatever this was, in all honesty, but bullshit was definitely coming up a bit underwhelming. She looks up at the woman as she approaches, eyes glancing over her armor, her sword, the blood on it, and she swallows back what is either intimidation or another wave of nausea, because damn she is not used to seeing that in the slightest. Horror movies and video games was one thing, but all of this is just... too much.

At some point she realizes she's staring, though, and she lets her eyes focus back on the guy who needed way more help than she did. She watches as the stranger pulls out the items, not responding right away out of curiosity, or maybe it's still shock. It's up in the air.

"Uh - no. No, I'm good. I mean, not good, but - I'm - I'm not hurt." Yes, way to talk smooth in front of the lady, Chloe. Getting tongue tied was supposed to be something she'd gotten passed with Rachel, but apparently not. "Which is more than I can say for this guy, I guess. He's not - like - dying, is he?"

[ichaer]

For what it is worth, Ciri at least offers a smile that softens her features considerably when Chloe confirms that she is unhurt. It was one less thing to worry about given that the rift could very well open and spit Maker knows what else out before they had a chance to tend to the wounded properly.

Or as properly as possible because this is... odd.

"Good to hear," she says with another crooked smile. "As for our new friend here... doesn't look like there's any immediate danger. No blood, no visible bones but rather suspicious pink stuff. Not normal for me but perhaps normal for him? Or weird Fade shit which is another wagon of trouble."

[tagartist]

"That sounds comforting," she grumbled, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Weird Fade shit sounded like it could sum up literally everything right now, even if she didn't have the largest grasp of what was going on in the moment. It all sounded like some weird story, a dream that maybe came from eating meat that was slightly bad or whatever that old wives tale was. She did feel pretty nauseous...

She at least had no intentions of touching him to find out if it was just normal sweat or some kind of weird magic thingy.

"Are there people who can help him? Or do you just... leave him here and hope he wakes up on his own time before the thing reopens?" She said it with a tone that showed she was really hopeful it wasn't something she had to personally deal with. She was happy to just leave him there, if she were honest, but saying that out loud sounded sort of heartless.

[ichaer]

"Welcome to Thedas," she says with a tired sound. "You'll get used to our sort of comforting rather quickly especially considering you're already carrying a piece of that weird Fade shit inside you."

She does have a lot of thoughts about the shards and their holders especially when it wasn't just the Rifters suffering with them. Nevertheless, it did not make anything about it especially comforting which certainly seemed to be the theme of the hour. Thankfully, Chloe's question gets her to focus back on the young woman though admittedly it is with furrowed brows.

"We've got healers nearby that can do more than slap a poultice on him and call it a day." She admits, beginning to gather her things and lift her head to whistle seemingly at nothing. "And I'm not rather fond of the idea of leaving someone to possibly get eaten by a bear or a demon," a beat. "Or a bear demon."

Shit. That would be awful but the appearance of a black mare padding along toward the trio helps Ciri not focus on the thought of bear demons.. "Right then, I hope you'll be coming along back to camp too?"

Don't be a hero, Chloe. Don't linger out here with the bear demons.

[tagartist]

Chloe stared down at the faint glow in her hand, the pain still radiating outwards the way she'd expect it to when something foreign had been apparently forcefully shoved inside. She balled her hand into a fist quickly, rubbing it against her jeans, trying to refocus herself onto what Ciri was saying. Healers, bears, - bear demons?

"... Just in case I didn't already think this place was terrifying." She feels sick. Maybe the bad meat theory is holding up after all. "I uh - I'm totally not staying out here if there are fucking bear demons. I can't even hold myself up against regular demons. I'm not suicidal."

[ichaer]

With Kelpie trotting closer, Ciri works on hefting the guy onto her shoulder and then onto her horse with a huff of annoyed air. Maker be damned, she needed to work out more or apparently lift more unconscious dudes with pink sweat. Rolling her shoulders, she reaches for her saddlebag and removes something that is tossed Chloe's way as she turns back to the girl.

"Keep a hand on that for now," she says taking her mare's reigns and beginning to lead her along. Ciri's random gift might not be so different considering it is very clearly a very sharp dagger. "Might come in handy if we run into anymore trouble or those bear demons."

[tagartist]

A decent person would've gone to help her lift the unconscious rifter onto her horse, make sure she didn't strain herself or that the guy didn't fall. Unfortunately for everyone, Chloe wasn't exactly what one would call decent even in the best of circumstances. She instead watched with some interest (strong girls are hot, okay) and only vaguely noticed when she tossed an object towards her. Which was why it hit the ground with a thunk, barely missed when she had tried to catch it once she'd registered what was going on.

Bending over to pick it up, she swallowed a little roughly, fingers gripping the handle. More blades. Great. She felt a nasty knot in her stomach, but quickly covered it up with her best tool; sarcasm. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure this'll scare off something that sounds that fucking scary."