faderift | DRAKONIS RIFTER ARRIVAL

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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jang nods at Newt. "Yah, the Civil war, been going on for almost 20 years. Particaly thanks to your government, they're propping up the CSA. If not for them, the North would've beaten them a long time ago." Jang seems to think for a moment and then shrugs. "Course, when the dead on a battlefield start to get up after and attack everyone, it does put a bit of a wrench in the trying to stop it."

Jang grins at Newt when he seems to be embaressed by his wand. "Never actually saw someone use a wand before. Very...Fairy-tale of you. What seems to be wrong with it?"

"Twenty years?" Newt repeats, shaking his head in disbelief. Back home, from what he remembers of the little Muggle history he knows, he recalls that the Civil War hadn't endured for so long. That it has in this woman's world, with help from his own government, is rather bleak. "I'm sorry," he offers, unsure of what else to say. "That sounds...truly awful."

Both of his eyebrows arch at that.

"That...rather seems like that would slow things down considerably," he agrees.

"Wands are how most people perform magic, where I come from," he explains. "Though the especially skilled don't require them, wands help channel and focus our magical energy." He sighs, shoulders sagging a bit. "It's temperamental. Sometimes it works. Other times, it backfires. Sometimes it does nothing at all, or just emits useless sparks. And every time I use a spell, I feel tired after, much more than I should be, even for simple spells."

Jang gives a bit of a shrug. "War's war. Awful no matter where or when it is. And yes, the dead getting up to walk is bad, but the...other things are worse." Jang looks around the snow and gives a bit of a shiver. "Just hope there's no wendigoes here..."

Jang gives a nod at his explination of wanded magic. "Intresting...We don't do that were I come from, we have to...lets call it barter for power to fuel our spells. Can be tricky, but when it works, it works quite well."

"It sounds like you had a lot to deal with, back where you come from," Newt nods. He entirely agrees that war is war, and that it's awful. It's hard not to agree, when he's almost certain that his world is on the brink of it.

"Barter for power?" He tilts his head curiously. "Like a day at the market?"

That is interesting indeed. And requires, he imagines, quite the skill to be able to make such a trade work in one's favor.

"Barter may have been a bad term. More like...wager. Betting bits of power, playing cards to win power from Manitou, that sort of thing." Jang flexes her fingers, and a deck of cards appears in her hand. She gives it a flourish, fanning out the cards and then they all vanish into nothingness.

"It all gets banked, and I use that to fuel my powers. Less consistent than relying on your own personal power as you do, but it has it's upsides."

"And Manitou is the one you win the magic from, or give the magic to, given the outcome of the game?" Newt asks. He can only imagine how dangerous such gambling could be; what if you don't have any magic to barter with? What then do you pay with? Your life?

His eyes follow the cards as Jane first flourishes them and then makes them disappear, eyes widening in the process.

"Upsides, such as?" He asks, curious. "What happens if you don't have magic to barter with?"

"Yah, the Manitou is what we gamble with. As for upsides, well, if I Lady Luck was with me, I could be flush with winnings, have power to spare. Downside, if things take a turn, I could be a bit lean, not have as much energy to put towards spells."

Jang pauses for a moment at his final question. "Oh...Well, there's always something to gamble with that the Manitou wants. Bits and pieces, of course, no one goes all in with something like this. Well, no one who wants to keep ahold of themselves."

"Sounds like a risky situation," he says. "That keeps you on your toes."

He considers that. "And you were lucky, the last time you wagered?"

He hopes so, because another slew of creatures seems to be approaching them now. He grips his borrowed sword tight, getting ready to battle once again.

Jang pulls up her sword, ready to face the next group of creatures. "Um, no actually. It's not working for some reason. I'll look into it more when we're not being attacked, but for now, it's plan B."

"Right, well. At least we're not alone in that," he observes, steadying his own weapon as the creatures approach. "Misery loves company and all that. Our magic working correctly would save us a lot of trouble."

He swings his sword, the blade piercing a particularly vicious creature. He tries not to think about how tiring using a sword actually is.

"Plan B is better than nothing," he agrees, not bothered in the slightest when a spray of the creature's blood lands on his face.

"You're telling me, if my magic was on point these creatures would be smoking twitching wrecks and we'd be home in time for tea."

Jang moves forward, lunging at a cultist, stabbing the sword through it's chest. "Always have a backup plan I say, Always know an escape route and never get backed into a corner."

"Now there's a thought," Newt says, a dreamy expression flickering on his face. "Tea. Warm, wonderful tea."

It's only been hours since he's had anything warm to drink, but, already, trapped in this cold hell, fighting an army of vicious creatures, his imbibing of such a drink might as well have been in another century.

"A very solid philosophy to have," he agrees as he slashes his sword at another creature, though he barely scratches it. He swings again, this time finding his mark and rendering it unmoving and bleeding on the ground.

"Surely these things must get tired sometimes?"

DRAKONIS RIFTER ARRIVAL

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