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]

"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."