DRAKONIS RIFTER ARRIVAL

[faderifting]

WHO: New rifters
WHAT: People fall out of a rift, get attacked, and discover that they are trapped and alone.
WHEN: Drakonis 10
WHERE: A snowy pit.
NOTES: This month, the arrival log is CLOSED to new rifters only. Don't worry, there will be chances for everyone else to meet (and help!) them soon.

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. At least in some worlds.

In this world, you wake with a jolt when you hit the ground, soft for an instant and then bone-jarringly hard. You've landed in a pile of loose snow, beneath which is more snow, frozen solid, and all around you are walls of more snow, tinted by the shifting green gash in the air. There are other people finding their feet after a similarly sprawling arrival, and then emerging from the rift in your wake are a number of hunched, greyish creatures in tattered robes that shuffle about, keeping their distance as they send sharp spikes of ice flying toward you.

They're accompanied by floating beings with too many insect-like arms, and creatures that seem to emerge from the ground like plumes of magma, their fire causing the walls to drip and turning the ground beneath your feet treacherously slick. There is also one giant scarecrow, nearly twenty feet tall, and with giant scalpel blades for arms. It is dressed in a tuxedo, a fine bolo tie, and a cowboy hat, and accompanied by five normal-sized scarecrows in matching suits and hats. Needless to say, they are not friendly either. There are many of you, but even more enemies.

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, and seems to call your attention back to the rift.

II. TRAPPED

After the first few waves of demons are defeated (there will be no more scarecrows), there will be a lull long enough to regroup and take stock of surroundings. You appear to be at the bottom of a deep crevasse, the walls stretching high above your heads. The space is only about 20 feet wide at its center, but nearly fifty yards long, tapering narrower at the ends, with the rift located near the southern end. There is no exit, no cracks or tunnels leading away, and no hand or footholds in the sheer walls. There are some animal bones scattered about, but no evidence of other living creatures. There is also no evidence of other people, here or above you.

Luckily, the rift has spilled out a great deal of crap along with you and all the demons. There is a gigantic cake several feet tall half-smushed into one wall, its ten tiers delicately decorated all in white fondant, with whorling patterns and flowers made of frosting. Each layer is a different flavor, ranging from the mundane (chocolate, vanilla, carrot) to the bizarre (strawberry & pickle, spicy lemon olive, red velvet mackerel). There are also some actual mackerel, a heap of live fish having spilled through the rift and scattered about the crevasse during the battle, along with bundles of dried (but now soggy) cornstalks.

You can see a narrow patch of sky above and sunlight does filter down to you, for the few hours of the day that there is any sunlight at all. Given the reflection off all the snow and ice, during those daylight hours it is pleasantly bright, though tinted a bit blue (and green by the rift). Unfortunately, daylight only lasts about eight hours, and it is frequently cloudy, which leaves the crevasse dimly lit, as if in a perpetual dusk. At night it will be utterly pitch black except for the rift's eerie glow. It's also very cold, with temperatures remaining below freezing during the day and well below at night.

III. LOST

Whether with magic or creative ice-pick improvisation, scaling the walls of the crevasse is not impossible—but there is minimal reward for the effort. Fully exposed to the wind, it's colder on the surface than in the crevasse, and on the third day there's a whiteout blizzard that reduces visibility to twenty feet for hours. Even when the weather is clear, though, there's not much to see. The land above is a wasteland of ice, snow, and wind, without visible vegetation or landmarks other than monotonous gentle hills. The only disruption to the landscape in any direction is about a hundred yards north of the rift, where spots of color and piles of snow mark what is, on closer inspection, an abandoned camp.

Whoever was there before built low walls out of packed snow to block some of the wind and dug enough snow caves to sleep a dozen people, though a few have since caved in. There's no food—there was food, before, but overturned crates and animal tracks suggest the area is not as devoid of life as it looks—but there are thick fur blankets and sets of boots or outerwear. More than a dozen, in a variety of different sizes. Almost like they were expecting poorly-clothed company.

Maybe someone was coming for you. Maybe they'll be back. Or maybe not.



[ ooc | The rift will continue to spit out demons at semi-regular intervals. After the rifters defeat the first couple waves of demons, the pace of these reinforcements will slow—instead of a few minutes, it may be a few hours until the next batch comes. It is possible for your characters to close the rift themselves, but because they have no idea what they're doing it will require trial and error to figure out how, and all (or near enough) of them working together to succeed. This should take at least two days to manage.

Other than the stuff described in the post and the inventories everyone arrived with (as approved in your apps; please don't suddenly remember some other useful things in your characters' pockets) there is nothing in the crevasse except snow, ice, rock, and animal bones. But don't worry, we promise we're not leaving your characters all to die. Your characters have arrived in the Sunless Lands, and the Inquisition is on its way. When the mod plot post goes up this coming week, it will include a prompt to rescue all of you. Until that time, please refrain from RPing elsewhere in the game and enjoy this exclusive opportunity to bond with your rift-mates.

Your characters will be alone for approximately five days IC. Please keep them from wandering off too far, since that will make it implausible for the Inquisition to find and rescue them and then you won't get to play in the game. If they would insist on trying, you're welcome to use adverse weather, ice collapsing into other caves beneath them, or whatever other natural obstacles necessary to stall their progress. ]

Comments

[periastron]

ARRIVAL
Doctor Alexandra Karahalios is having a shit of a day.

She had, for the record, fallen asleep at work on a Saturday night, which was a pretty decent summary of what her social life was like. She’s dressed in her white coat, name stitched over the pocket, and a stethoscope hangs around her neck. The veterinary attire is in stark contrast to the top she’s wearing, which appears to be a cartoon t-rex and the slogan SUNS OUT, GUNS OUT across it. Given the temperature, it is perhaps not entirely appropriate.

And as she attempts to lurch to her feet, she’s slapped in the face by a fish— And then another. Slapped in the face with fish, underdressed, and very, very confused, Alex picks up one of the fish, and hurls it back in the direction from which it came, which is—

A glowing green thing in the sky (which the fish misses, incidentally.)

“Oh, fuck me.”

Oh and fuck each get stretched out to around two or three syllables instead of the more conventional one. That accent might be a little different from those generally heard in Thedas, or even from the rifts. Straya mate, etc, in all its broad, twanging glory. “This can get fucked.”

And there’s a little koala joey clamped onto her shoulder, but she’ll get to that in a second.


TRAPPED i - injuries, anyone?
“Hey, you need a hand with that?”

Unlike her initial lack of poise, calm, and pretty much anything in that spectrum, Alex sounds gentle now, as she nods towards the injury.

Her white coat is buttoned closed, although she has a koala joey tucked into a sling across her chest under the coat and packed with some straw to try keep the little warm, as she crouches down to talk to the injured stranger. Sure, this was weird as hell, but there’s still a job to do, even if doctoring people is a little beyond her general expertise. She can figure it out.

The other thing the scarecrows were useful for, at least, was materials. She’s got the white shirts to hand for ripping into makeshift bandages, if need be.


TRAPPED ii - hunger pangs

She’s staring down the fish, packed into the ice to keep them fresh as long as possible, and chews the inside of her cheek.

“Yeah, uh. Who else is hungry? And… maybe has matches, or something?”

Water could prove to be the bigger problem; she’s not sure how they can heat the snow up, and eating snow as is could be dangerous out here. Heaps good, bloody ripper.


TRAPPED and/or LOST idk whichever basically BODYHEAT PROMPT

At some point she said it - maybe it didn't need saying, since they were all capable enough to sort out the prior shitshow. We need to all stay together. I mean, literally, stay group together, rotate who's on the outside. Keep everyone together and warm.

Her breath is misting the air, and she's still kind of mad about it - partly because it's summer back home, and partly because anger at least means she's still kicking.

"You what I really miss, right now? Hot showers. I'd feel a whole lot better about snuggling up to a bunch of strangers if I wasn't worrying about smelling gross as."


WILDCARD?

Trapped - i

[coiledscales]

Alacruun didn't come out of the fight unscathed, much to his chagrin. He'd been caught by one of the shards those creatures had been throwing and there's a nasty-looking cut on one of his arms. He's staunching the blood with one hand, lips pressed together and brow knitted in concentration. Healing magic is not really something he does, so the offer of help isn't dismissed out of hand.

Of course, he's also six-foot-eight of qunari, so reaching up might be a bit of a struggle until he sits down.

"I would appreciate it," he says, "I'm afraid I can't do much for my own injuries."

Wait, does she have something in her coat? Weird.

[periastron]

Let her live, she's only 5'2".

Despite being faced with someone that very much looks like the kind of figure her Yia Yia would point to in paintings and describe as a devil, Alex doesn't let it faze her. Not right now: if they live through this, then she'll start yelling some more about how fucked up this all is.

"Well, step into my office." She gestures to a not totally unsheltered spot, which given their circumstances, isn't as completely underwhelming as it otherwise would be. "Might need you to take a seat, but, so I can get a better look at it."

She is lacking medical supplies, but she has her stethoscope. Not sure how well that'll work out with someone who isn't human or an animal of some kind, but she'll figure it out. "Do you remember what specifically caused it?" She assumes it was during the, you know, battle with monsters.

[coiledscales]

If he could change his size, he would (for his own purposes, not hers). He seems absolutely nonplussed about all of this. Maybe he's used to this nonsense or maybe he's just silently screaming on the inside about how everything is not going according to plan. Alacruun makes a noise of irritation, although it's also almost something of amusement.

She has spirit.

"Sitting is probably a good idea. I'm not quite sure you could reach..."

So saying, he settles down onto the snow. It's cold in this body and he's not sure he can do much about that. At least not for a good while longer. He gingerly removes his hand to let her get a better look, brow furrowed.

"I believe it was one of those little gray things throwing shards... ice? Was it? I didn't actually notice until after the fight was over."

His erstwhile doctor has some very strange clothing. Or at least he thinks it's strange.

[periastron]

"Adrenaline can be like that." She's got a few scratches she can't quite account for, either.

Reaching for the stranger's arm, she handles it very gently, carefully, as she examines the size of the wound, if there's any signs of inflammation or infection.

Normally her preferred tools to have to hand would be disinfectant, proper materials to patch up that weren't dubious in how clean they are. Granted, they look clean, and preventing risk of blood loss is the priority right now, but it's not the equipment she'd want to use, usually. Her brain is supplying other less helpful information: cold reduces circulation, cold make skin healing more difficult, the bandage can't be so tight as to limit circulation but it also needs to do its job—

She sets it aside. She just has to do what she can. With a smile, she offers: "Sorry, should've said - I'm Alex. I'm gonna take a crack at wrapping this up."

[coiledscales]

"You may call me Alacruun," is the smooth response. To his credit, he doesn't flinch much when she examines the wound. The cold is a bit of a numbing agent and - well. He's never liked showing weakness, really. So he takes the little twinges of pain. He's fortunate it's not a very deep wound, honestly. The muscle seems to be mostly intact, so it's unlikely to be permanently debilitating.

It's just incredibly inconvenient when they're sitting in an ice-cave in the middle of nowhere.

"Please, proceed. I'm sure you know far more than I do about this sort of thing..."

He'll take advantage of whatever help he can get.

[periastron]

"Nice to meetcha, Alacruun." Aside from, you know, everything about it. Alex pauses, rolls back the sleeves of her coat a bit more, and rubs down her arms and hands with snow. Again, not idea. Doing this too many times could just make her numb and her fingers not too effective, but not having gloves and not washing her hands just feels wrong.

"So, I got a couple questions. First of all: do you have humans wherever you came from, and if yes, do you know if your body works roughly the same way theirs do? Anatomy-wise, anything like that?"

It's a big ask, she realises. In all fairness, a lot of humans back home might know the names of things, without being able to say much at all about what stuff actually does, short of consulting google or wikipedia. "We don't have all the stuff I'd normally use to hand, but I'm gonna take a crack at climbing outta here sometime soon, and maybe if we're lucky we can track down medical supplies to do a better job of cleanin' it."

[coiledscales]

Alex has a surprisingly sharp mind for someone who's been spat out of a portal and is now attempting to medically treat someone she's never met from a species she's never encountered. Alacruun approves of that, a brow arching slightly as he cranes his neck to get a better look at what she's doing. Unfortunately, he's not sure he can really answer her question to her satisfaction. Not that he's going to let on to that.

"We do have humans where I'm from, as a matter of fact. And I believe that these bodies are similar enough, at least when it comes to this sort of injury, that you don't need to worry too much..."

Not that he knows that for sure, but he's making an educated guess. Good job, Alacruun.

"I appreciate the effort, regardless. Better than letting it fester..."

[periastron]

It's an improvement, at least, on when she tried to throw a fish at the portal.

"Okay, heaps good."

She keeps going back and forth on whether trying to wash the wound down with snow will help - they're far enough from the battle side that there's snow crisp and undisturbed, but while it was enough to wash down her own hands to try and get them a bit cleaner, she has hesitations about it going in an open would, especially when she doesn't have an effective way to hand to heat it up to at least be water. Alex chews the inside of her cheek, but they don't have a lot of time to dwell on it, potentially, and she pulls from her pocket some material she tore down into long strips earlier, and starts to bandage the wound. This, at least, she knows how to do.

"And, hey, things are already weird enough here. Better than finding out some weird lava monster is attracted to the smell of blood, I reckon."

[coiledscales]

Heaps good. There's one he hasn't heard before. He shakes his head, trying to categorize that particular bit of slang as she carefully begins bandaging the wound. It takes all sorts, he supposes. He's not about to complain about her slang when she's patching him up, in any case.

"That would be unfortunate, wouldn't it? I'd have a whole pack of them on my heels, all trying to cut me in two. Fortunately, I do have my usual repertoire to fall back on, but ideally I'd like to get in a bit of rest before more of them show up. If more of them show up."

He glances at their surroundings with a huff, "Then again, this is the least conducive place to rest that I've ever seen."

[periastron]

Just some fair dink, true blue Strayaisms.

"Let's keep our fingers crossed."

Her focus is primarily on making sure she does a good job of bandaging, but as she continues she asks, "what's your usual repertoire, then? 'Cause, I gotta be honest, I'm not sure my usual repertoire of catching weird things and putting them outside applies real good in this situation."

I mean, for one, they're already outside, but she's more thinking that this is the next level.

trapped ii

[aenseidhe]

Iorveth's loathe to show any of those here what he has in terms of supplies. Not only are they strangers, but the majority of them are humans, and the world he's from, that means Iorveth himself is markedly the expendable one. However, a hungry mob is likely more to be worried about. It takes a long few moments before he decides if he wants to help the woman who'd mentioned matches yet.

That time he spends salvaging, gathering anything that looks like it could catch flame off the monsters they'd slain, building a small pile in his arms, before he makes his way back over to her. For a long, silent half a minute, he stands in front of her, expression blank, considering. Meeting kind humans is like the worst kind of guessing game. How much of a push will it take before they sell you out? What do they want for their kindness, and how much can you afford to repay it?

In the end, he seems to decide it doesn't matter, and drops the pile of kindling in front of her, before he starts at digging out a hole in the snow - something of a fire pit. Arranging the items, he pulls flint and tinder from his pouches, some work going into getting the fire started, but once it is, he finally speaks up.

"Cook as much as you can before it burns out. Safe-guard the stock and share it, or we will have problems."

[periastron]

"Mate, where do you think I'm gonna run off to to hoard the soup? Pretty sure sheer numbers means I'd have to share even if I was being a shit about it."

Her smile is bemused, but well meaning, even if there's an edge of sarcasm in her tone. She's trying real hard not to be a dick about this whole lost and possibly dying in the snow scenario, but she's looking as rough as all of them.

No matter what, she watches carefully how he does the fire. It's been a while since she's done anything like that, and even then - matches, not flint. "We got enough to worry about without bein' dicks to each other, yeah? I'll take care of this."

[aenseidhe]

“You’d be amazed what the desperate are capable of.” And the selfish, and the prejudiced, he doesn’t say.

Iorveth doesn’t necessarily mean ‘don’t hoard it for yourself’, but also ‘make sure all of the people here get some’. Not just the valuable ones, or the necessary ones, not just the preferred ones. He’s watched over a hundred years of nonhumans starving in poverty and food shortages, afforded only the scraps, if that, while humans gorge themselves. They are always, always, the first to be cut from the equation.

There’s two horned men and another at least partly elven woman here. He wants to be certain they are all given the same allowance of rations.

“That we do. Let’s hope all of us feel the same, and remember it when food becomes short.” People afraid for their lives start to shift their morals around to survive. He supposes he’ll know the merit of these humans once they get to that point. Until then, this woman is afforded the benefit of the doubt, something Iorveth’s loath to do most of the time.

[periastron]

She has faint ideas of desperation, but in this context, some of her experiences feel a lot less dire then they did when they were unfolding. She swallows, and nods. "Maybe amazed ain't the right word for it."

An agreement, though, all the same. And as for what will happen when the food runs short?

It's hard not to think Donner party, or Alexander Pearce, but she is going to keep that particular nightmare fuel to herself for now. No need to go giving people ideas, yeah? No need to start panicking. (Part of her is definitely panicking, and she exhales shakily before clenching and unclenching her hands, shaking them out, and getting back to work.)

"Hopefully—"

It's hard to say that and not feel moronically naive. And yet there it is, that idealistic, hopeful heart beating away, no matter how much she'd like it to be a little more cynical, safer. "Well, hopefully help will come before it gets to that."

[aenseidhe]

Disappointed, disgusted, enraged. Any of those would apply as well, but he doesn't add them in. The woman gets the point.

When food runs short, Iorveth knows (at least in his world), the nonhumans would go starving first. Then perhaps their corpses could feed the others. He wouldn't put it past humanity to resort to practically anything to keep themselves alive, dignity or no. That's how parasites and viruses work, after all. We aren't going to share that part with the human woman either. Iorveth doesn't need to be giving anyone reason to make sure he dies first.

"Hopefully. We'll at least get ourselves out of this pit before that comes."

It's just a matter of scaling the walls, which he's confident he can puzzle out. They have enough in the way of materials here around them now.

[periastron]

The one thing she can do now, can make progress on, is getting this broth going now that the fire has some purchase. At least they have plenty of snow, though she fully intends to boil it before dropping their precious resources in there. It's not perfect, but fingers crossed it'll be starving or dehydration.

"I wonder if um, any of the metal from them big scalpel things could be worked into hooks, somehow. Got the horse and the chicken to worry about, but. Maybe carving... steps in?"

She shrugs, a bit hapless. "I'm not a great tactical mind for that shit."

[aenseidhe]

"It'll be an eternity before we can carve stairs big enough for the horse to make it up." Iorveth looks up the massive size of the ice walls. Something this big, it could take a week or so before they reached the top. They don't have that kind of time if resources are going to last.

"Better we find a means to get us up, then see if we can hoist it." If they can acquire or make something rope-like enough. Or get Kylo Ren to magic it up there. Though, really, he doubts Kylo has the reach to the top of the cavern, else he'd already be up there himself. A problem they can work out once they get to the top.

"The knives we can likely use as climbing hooks." Which means people are going to have to do some rock climbing, but it's likely either that or freeze to death down here, so Iorveth is guessing they'll get on board once that realization hits.

Bodyheat

[mousquetaire]

D'Artagnan is less concerned with how they smell than how the pyre of bodies smells, in all honesty. It's going to be a long time before he can get rid of that. He's imagining a hot bath right when Alexandra talks about showers, and it makes him look up, curious.

"None of us smell like roses today, Mademoiselle," he says, and then lifts his chin. "Bathwater is what I miss. As soon as I can, that's where I'm going. Right now I'd take the shower too, whatever it is."

If it's hot and clean, it's good enough for him. He seems relaxed enough as part of the crowd, though the truth is he is cold. He has a fur blanket wrapped around him, on top of his own clothes.

"A good bottle of wine wouldn't go amiss, either. Even a bad bottle of wine. Tonight I'd take it."

[periastron]

"Shower is like... it's a different type of bath. Standing up, just water flowing over you. Bonus means that you aren't soaking in the dirt, like you do in a bath, but baths you get to sink under water. Maybe have bubble bath. Maybe add fancy oils or something."

So far as company goes, this one doesn't seem so bad. Truthfully probably most of them wouldn't seem so bad, but they're stuck in a bloody ice tray, so as much as she's trying to be a little more personable than usual, she's still pretty sure they'd all be glad to never see each other again once this is done.

Still, she huffs out a laugh, odd as it sounds layered over shivering. "Wine's fancy. I'm more of a rum girl."

[mousquetaire]

D'Artagnan leans his head back against the wall, while it gets filled with strange notions of baths with oil in them. He wonders if she's from somewhere exceptionally rich, and then she says wine's a fancy drink, which

"I'd take rum, too. Anything to warm us up. Your shower, I like. Bathing with oil seems a task fit for the King, and I'm quite sure he wouldn't share."

The very idea. At least he's amusing himself. Smiling, he lifts his eyebrow at her.

"Where are you from? Not my Paris, I know that much."

[periastron]

"Not Paris, no. Always wanted to go, but ain't gotten round to it." There's, briefly, a wistful sort of smile on her face. She might never get to Paris, now, if this cold doesn't let up, if she doesn't haul her arse back home somehow.

Still, King. That gives her a bit of context for when he might be from, as she chews the inside of her cheek. Yeah, sorry mate, France has been a republic for well over two hundred years, now. There's no good going into that right now, she suspects.

"I'm from Australia. Well, by way of Greece and Iran, on my mum's side." A moment where she frowns, and attempts to clarify, "Persia?" That might be a more recognisable name. "Anyway, Australia, it's this big ol' place south of the equator that was colonised by the British in the eighteenth century. Lot of shitty things happened."

A moment of thought. "What year is it, where you're from?"

[mousquetaire]

Iran, indeed, had made him frown. Persia sparks a light of recognition in his eyes, as does Greece. That explains something of her looks. Her accent remains exotic to him, and her tale is even more so. A far flung Southern land colonised by the British? It's not out of keeping with their character in his own day, though their focus - everyone's focus - is on the colonies in the west, not the far south. It seems there's more to be discovered. He considers for a moment, before lifting his shoulders.

"1630. Somewhat before the eighteenth century. The colonies I know are in the Caribbean. A lot of terrible things happen there, too, so they have that in common. I'm d'Artagnan, of the King's Musketeers. What's your name?"

Perhaps he should have asked for that from the start. How strange, to be sharing such intimate quarters with complete strangers. Ordinarily d'Artagnan's only in that position when he's on a mission. He dearly wishes this was one of those times.

[periastron]

"Holy shit," is her very eloquent reply, and because they seem to be making introductions, she offers her hand to shake. Maybe its stupid as, doing that. Maybe just because they're in the fucking wilderness doesn't mean there's an excuse to be a rude fucker. "Alexandra Karahalios, of... I'm a veterinarian. In 2017."

She looks, for a moment, like she could roll her eyes at herself for being weird.

"Musketeer, though, that's heaps cool. That's real hero stuff, yeah?"

[mousquetaire]

D'Artagnan takes her hand, but raises it to his lips instead of shaking. Manners work somewhat differently where he's from.

"It's my pleasure, Mademoiselle Karahalios. I'm still grateful for what you did for my horse."

That being his understanding of what a veterinarian is. As for 2017, he has no understanding of that. It seems like a world away, which is coincidental, since they actually are a whole world away. As he straightens again, he gives her a wry smile. He can't help thinking that Aramis would love to be having this conversation. Musketeers and their heroics? He'd play up to that to no end.

D'Artagnan won't be quite that bad. But he'll play it up a bit.

"There are some who'd say that. I grew up thinking it, dreaming of serving my King. The truth is, we're soldiers, but there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Which makes all of this -" He gestures, vaguely, to the snowy world around them. "-somewhat unfortunate. I need to return as soon as I can. Wherever we're going, I hope it's somewhere with real answers."