faderift | DRAKONIS RIFTER ARRIVAL

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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. ]

Threaded | Flat

She fought her way over to her sestra, once she realised she was there. The roar of the nightmare crystals above them, the rush of devils around them, have her blood rushing. It is the sight of Sarah on the ground that makes her heart rushing come with fear rather than just exhilaration.

For Helena’s part, she’s wearing what might be recognisable as a very old fashioned wedding dress, ground length, covering her arms and chest and buttoned at her neck. It is also covered in blood. Dry blood, fresh blood, black smears of demon ichor. It is splattered across her face, as well, and turns some parts of the blonde, wavy mass of her hair stringy and heavy. In her left hand there is a bloody knife, and she stands over Sarah, head canted to the side.

“Sestra.” Her accent is thick, and her voice rasps over the word; she looks like an angel, collapsed in the snow, twisted up with a white sheet and little lights.

To her credit, Sarah moves to stand up at the sound of Helena’s voice, but her body and her brain aren’t cooperating, and she manages only to prop herself up with one hand before slumping back onto the ground. Her vision is spinning and her body feels too hot and full of static, like she might pass out if she moves too quickly. But they need to be up and out of here, clearly.

That would be infinitely more possibly if not for the strange creature glowing red and orange that just rose up through the snow. Helena snarls.

( ooc note: Sarah & Helena will be tagging separately after the starter. Helena may attack folks, so feel fre to sling me a pm to lmk if you are/are not okay with that possibility, or if you’d like to chat about fight and injury times. We’ll both be doing separate starters for stuff after the initial fight. )

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?

Edited 2018-03-11 00:05 (UTC)

I. The Arrival

Sleep is not new for Alacruun. It's what he does when he isn't poking his followers or trying to harass Adalia or borrowing osmeone's body. There isn't much else to do in his prison besides sleep and wait and curse the fools that trapped him there. He's used to dreams as well, although the one about falling is a bit new. When one can fly, it isn't often that one dreams of crashing to earth - you've inevitably experienced it more than once or twice in real life. Everyone trips. Everyone falls. His mind is still grasping for a reason when he's jarred back into full wakefulness by the jarring thud of his body into something cold and wet.

Yes, his body. But not the right sort. He feels... small. Like when he's ridden along in someone else's body or when he went traveling in his younger days. He can instinctively feel that there are bits and pieces missing, that he's not taking up enough space. He gasps aloud and Alacruun scrambles bolt upright. For a moment he glances down at himself, trying to get a grip on where he is, what he is - black-grey skin and - yes. Horns. Bigger than he'd normally mold himself to be, too.

Not that he has much time to consider that, because there are things and other people and he has to react. Has no choice. Especially since they're throwing spikes at him and he has the distinct feeling that if he dies in this body, he dies for real. He scrmbles out of the way, still feeling disoriented and a bit out of sorts, but there are others like him.

Good. Maybe he can use that.

He raises his hand, sketching a complicated gesture in the air, voice deepening as he speaks something in a sibilant, hissing language. There's a small 'pop' and a sickly green ray of energy seems to jump from his hand and strike one of the creatures. It doesn't quite stop it, although a section of its flesh seems to start to blacken and decay.

That should have done more. And he feels... drained. That's not right. He takes another step back, ducking as another jagged shard sails past him. He needs something bigger than that-

"A little help?"

Acting helpless might get him some attention from some of the others while he racks his brain for one of his more useful spells.

III. Alacruun of the Antarctic

Getting out of the hole had been relatively easy. So had finding the camp. The problem now was that he was stuck in the middle of nowhere and apparently couldn't turn back into his terrifying self. Which meant no easy way to fly. Well, he could try for a bird with his polymorph spell, but who knew where they were? The sun is bright, glinting off of the snow and ice that stretches out to horizon around them and Alacruun murmurs a low curse as he picks his way through the wreckage of the camp. Someone had been waiting. Possibly for them, although he wasn't quite sure about that. They'd had the good sense to try to build a shelter, but they'd all gone... somewhere else.

Not that he cared much about them. They certainly hadn't done anything to make him care. Although they'd left behind clothing, so that was thoughtful of them. Alacruun can be found rummaging through the wreckage of the camp, doing his best to find some fur boots and warm clothing that might find on his frame. A qunari is not small, after all.

His arm aches and he's not entirely sure why. Although he's reasonably sure it's something to do with whatever magic has infected his left hand. Nothing he can think of has managed to actually do anything to it, so he's left it alone. For now.

"Do you think they'll be back?" He asks another of the recent arrivals, sounding oddly detached, "Or do you suppose they've already perished in this wasteland?"

Wildcard

Alacruun can also be found trying to carve out a place for himself, either in the crevasse or in the wreckage of the camp. Or possibly hoarding what little food there is. He may also be asking questions! Will happily use brackets.

Edited 2018-03-11 00:03 (UTC)

I. Arrival

Newt hadn’t planned on sleeping; the ship has only left New York harbor a mere two hours ago, give or take. But he settles into his cramped room, third class; he sits to take a moment to catch a breath. That ‘moment’ turns into his eyes fluttering shut and his body slumping against the thin wall by his bed.

He finds himself dreaming almost instantly. He’s at Hogwarts, with Leta, Sebastian, and the Jarvey that would ultimately serve as the root of his expulsion.

The memory barely flickers before Newt finds himself in an odd combination of a dream; a Christmas party at his family’s Hippogriff farm. He’s wearing his Hufflepuff robes, the ugliest Christmas jumper he owns, covered in red and brown stripes, old trousers covered in holes and tears, wooly blue socks, and brown boots. In his right hand, he holds his wand. Above him, Credence lurks, the Obscurus writhing in a thick, dark, and destructive smoke.

Newt suddenly finds himself falling.

He awakens with a sharp gasp, the ground cold, soft, and hard all at once beneath him as he grits his teeth, his hand trembling where it grasps his wand. He wears the clothes from his dream, which is lucky, considering that he feels the drop in temperature keenly through his layers. He blinks, staring up at the sky above him, trying to make sense of what’s just happened. What appears to be a gaping wound in the sky glows green, a green that reminds him all too well of the green light of the Killing Curse.

Of course, Newt realizes that remaining on the ground renders him even more vulnerable than he already feels. He picks himself up, gripping his wand tight. And just in time, it would seem. He doesn’t get the chance to process the fact that he seems to be surrounded by walls of ice, or the sudden shard of green in the palm of his left hand, nor why that same hand suddenly aches; creatures of the sort he’s never seen before approach, and they appear intent on harm.

There are grey creatures in tattered robes that shoot ice, floating beings who resemble insects, and creatures rising from the ground like magma. To say nothing of the giant scarecrow figure with blades for arms.

Newt shifts his shoulders back and brings his wand forward, beginning to duck and swerve as ice shards aim in his direction. He aims his wand and shouts, landing one Stunning Spell against one of the creatures shooting ice. But the next attempt misses, and the one after that only causes his wand to spark pathetically. Spells he tries to cast only in his thoughts do not work at all.

“Merlin’s Beard!” He lets out a long breath. He has no idea where he is, or why he’s here. But even as his magic misbehaves, he isn’t about to give up.

II. Trapped

By the time the creatures depart, Newt is even more exhausted than when he first fell asleep on the boat. He sustains a few minor injuries, scratches on his face, and marks on his arms that will likely turn to bruises. He aches from the cold, though at least the fighting has helped to keep him moving and warm.

He lets out a breath as he cautiously makes his way around the hole he seems to find himself in, some sort of crack in some sort of structure of ice and snow. Above, if he tilts his head just right, he can catch a brief glimpse of sky, covered in clouds, giving the space where he finds himself a dim glow. He is hesitant to try another spell, given how unreliable his magic has become and how much it seems to drain his energy here. Still, he’d like more light to see with.

“Lumos!” He says, his voice raw and cracked from his previous efforts. Luckily, the end of his wand lights up.

He moves slowly, taking inventory of his surroundings. Out of all his adventures, after nearly being put to death in New York, this might be the direst situation Newt has ever found himself in.

So when he sees the cake on the nearby wall, with his stomach practically growling in his ears, he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and grab a thick piece, all but stuffing it in his face. He doesn’t even register the flavor as carrot.

III. Lost

It takes Newt two days and considerable effort to make it out of the crevasse. With little magic and sheer determination, after delays of especially slick patches of ice and abrupt bursts of snow, he finally pulls himself out of the crevice in the ground.

He is dizzy, exhausted, and weak. His clothes torn and dirty, covered in the remains of the creatures he’d help fight and the bits of food he’d been able to get his hands on. Said hands are raw, almost pulsating with ache. But he managed to make it above ground, and that feels like an accomplishment, he thinks.

Once he recovers, which takes a good deal longer than he would like, he takes to exploring. By the time he makes it to the site of what appears to be an abandoned camp, he is so grateful for the sight of thick blankets and other things with which to keep warm, he nearly cries with relief.

He doesn’t stop to consider that this could be a trap as he rushes over to claim a pair of thick gloves and a jacket for himself.

arrival.

That's not right... ( Chance murmurs, rubbing his head as he pushes up on his knees. Snow slides out of his hair, falling back on his hands before rolling back to the pile below him that he's just fallen off.

Still dazed as he wakes, all he can think of is how cold the snow is beneath his hands. It wasn't snowing in Faerûn when he'd gone to sleep. Plus, he'd been in a bed. A really warm, cozy bed that he now missed desperately. He was staring at the snow, past his own hand, when something else started to prick at the edges of his attentions.

Why is his skin... grey? Ish? He tilts his head, charms clinking slightly on his horns as he looks at his hand. Maybe he's just that cold that his skin is... grey. Is that right?

The sound of crackling behind him grabs his attention. The room he's in comes into focus further, the green creating a strange glow that almost makes him think he's still dreaming. He hopes he is, because the creatures that swarm the area as others start to pick themselves up off the snow are really not comforting.

He reaches for his lute, trusting it's close and being grateful when his hands close around the familiar neck. He climbs to his feet-

slipping seconds into his rise.

He falls, glancing back at why he's having such a struggle standing. Things feel different down there, and seeing human-esque feet attached to the ends of his legs make his eyes go wider. )

That's really not right.

trapped.

( The task of leaving the crevasse has seemed simple enough to Chance at first. He had recently learned a handy spell that was perfect for this sort of thing. Yet, every time he tried to teleport, he simply moves a few feet in front of himself. It's quick and jolting, and more easily cast than his usual spell, but it still leaves him disoriented. Enough that he stops trying to access a spell that seems to be on the fritz.

A few days into the escapade, Chance finally trades the magic for two daggers he doesn't really use that frequently. He'd been reluctant, as he has little experience climbing and he's already been struggling to adjust to his new body. Beggars can't be choosers, though.

The effort to leave the crevasse takes him hours with just the daggers for help. It leaves him exhausted when he finally pulls himself over the edge. He lays back, chest heaving as he takes a good amount of time to rest after the effort. He can't help but think his extra mass made that whole experience harder than it should have been.

When the group finds the camp, he's only too happy to settle and rest. He has nothing to offer on how to proceed, though. He's too unsure of anything to even try to suggest a direction. )

Does anyone recognize anything about where we are? ( He licks at his dry lips and pulls his blanket tighter. ) Or have any thoughts at all how we got here? Maybe that's just as useful to figure out?

wildcard.

( open to any other prompts during the days spent waiting to get out/be saved! )

Edited 2018-03-11 01:21 (UTC)

I. ARRIVAL

Waking up to danger isn't something that's new or novel for Six; she's a trained soldier and she knows what to expect from being jolted awake when you expected to be sleeping. There's a rush of something a little like panic before the adrenaline kicks in and she reaches down, grabbing the greatsword that had tumbled out by her feet, fingers wrapping around the hilt and lifting it up. There's no hesitation as she shifts her body weight and moves to run into battle - none, at least, until she hits what looks like a physical roadblock, her eyes widening as she reaches for a power that just isn't there anymore.

It takes her by surprise and there's a moment where she just doesn't react to a bolt of ice heading her way, but she's soon moving again, lifting her sword into her hand and rushing, trying to take down anything that she can. It's clear that she's practised with her weapon and knows how to use it, but she fumbles a little as her natural patterns are interrupted by the fact that she's trying to rely on something that isn't there anymore. She overcompensates with her strength, swinging the blade down with a scream of rage that seems incredibly intimidating.

Whatever there is that attacks her, Six goes for it as well. If someone looks like they're in trouble and needs some help she races to their side, not bothering to stop once the trouble is dealt with - not even to introduce herself. She's in full fighter mode, only calming down when it looks like there's something like a victory on the horizon for all these strangers.

II. TRAPPED / LOST

The lack of light doesn't do much to bother Six; she can still see, and it's enough for her to move around and grab her things, her pack, a wrapped up item in a cloth, and then she's moving to gather the mackerel for something to eat. It's a complete mess, and her frustration is clear as she walks around and tries to see if there's something - anything - that can be done to try and get them out of here. There's nothing that seems capable of making any kind of fire, so she does what she can to end the lives of the fish and put them to one side in case anyone else has any good ideas, and then she begins to investigate her surroundings.

Even at night, Six moves around as though she can see clearly, and any flicker of light makes it seem as though her eyes are almost glowing. Anyone that seems to be particularly cold gets the offer of her bedroll and blanket, and she makes herself useful as a form of guard as best she can; she's tired, yes, and feels completely and utterly out of her depth, but her dedication to whatever remains of her duty to her God keeps her going. There are people here, she thinks, that need someone to look out for them, and until they're somewhere safe she simply cannot relax.

Despite offering help to people, she's not particularly vocal and doesn't say much to anyone unless spoken to first. She shivers, having given up her blankets to the others, but keeps her head high as best she can despite the dip in temperature. She explores and pushes herself; when she finds signs of people she does her best to follow the tracks - but hits the roadblock all the same. There's no pressure on her to stray too far from the group, far more focused on making sure they're kept safe, especially in the dark with vision that might not be as strong as hers.

III. WILDCARD

( As you like! )

Arrival

The landing that wakes Kylo Ren from his fitful sleep has him immediately on the defensive. The green light shining above him had immediately brought him back to his dream - of the light of a blade hovering to strike him. This was no blade, of course. It was larger and so too were the creatures ready to lash out at him. He looks around and takes in his surroundings, the snarling monsters and the snow that fell around him. They were a contrast between the chaos and the peace that nature brought. The monsters were dangerous while the snow offered only cold stillness.

He scrambles to his feet, reaching for his weapon of choice. His lightsaber remained unresponsive in his hands despite his attempt to ignite the blade. It normally crackled to life at the slightest gesture but he was met with no response whatsoever. A monster approached him, blades reaching out to cut him. Without his weapon he had only the Force. Reaching out, he wills the bladed arm to detach from the beast. It would make a fine weapon. When it finally soars into his hands the monster howled at him, anger twisting it's features.

He might not have his trusted lightsaber but he was far from defenseless. When another approached him he swung outwards with a practiced ease, sinking his blade into the creature before drawing it back to strike another blow. This repeated over and over until another approached, be they friend or foe.

Trapped

Having no alternative but to suffer this place further, Kylo was glad to be without monsters for a moment. He was left curious about the fish, holding one of the live ones up by the tail as it flopped and swayed in his hand. There was no water for it to survive off of. It would now become his meal, should he find himself hungry.

For now he casts it aside, letting it flop uselessly in the snow. He didn't need it. What he needed was to leave whatever this hellish place was. He looks up, seeing the gray sky above the dimly lit crevasse. It was cold enough that he could see his breath and feel the early sting of a chill against his skin despite wearing layers of clothing. Not a good thing indeed.

"You. Where is this place?" He turns to the poor soul nearest him, a command in his voice that made it clear he was not asking nicely.

Lost

Upon reaching the camp, Kylo relaxes. The trials endured up to this point left him physically weary and only slightly injured. He wanted to rest. This camp would do well enough, though he now regrets not trying to bring as much fish and other food with him as he could. Being cold, tired, and hungry, was making for a very surly Kylo Ren.

Should anyone approach him, he had every intention of giving them a sharp look that clearly said "back off" unless it was with food and warmer clothes. Once he has a moment to put his feet up he does, grabbing a thick blanket and covering himself in it as much as possible. It was better than nothing.

I. ARRIVAL;

[ a lime green, horsed-sized chicken falls through the rift first. iorveth is somewhere behind it - 6 foot plus worth of unhappy, one-eyed elven criminal freedom fighter, flailing his arms and falling onto a pile of squawking nightmare chicken. or just normal dream chicken? depends on your perspective. ]

Sheyss— [ A hissed stream of curses in a foreign yet elegant sounding tongue pour from him, as the oversized poultry panics and launches the man off its back, fluttering its useless little wings trying to get away from, well, everything. let's ignore the chicken for now, the face full of snow Iorveth gets is plenty enough to convince him he isn't sleeping anymore, and the screeching of demons refocused his attention on a more immediate problem than 'what the fuck is this monster chicken'. it's easy enough to tell what creatures here are enemies and which are, if not friendly, at least others in the same shitty boat as him. crazed, violent demons are nice and simple that way.

it's nice warfare and combat are a second nature to Iorveth by now, easy to slip from what the fuck to battle ready in as long as it takes to pull himself to his feet, take his bow from his back, and notch an arrow. For the first several waves of monsters, he stays at range, sniping at what weak points he can see the other rift delivered combatants suss out, using the distance to survey the area they've landed in - try to make sense of the situation and how it happened.

But, his quiver only lasts for however many arrows he has. He'll have to go retrieve the ones used if he wants to fire more. so on the fifth or sixth wave, his swords come away from his hips, and the elf weaves and dodges between the creatures, carving away at them with a graceful kind of brutality. the demons only keep coming, slipping from the rift, no matter how many they slay. ]

Do we have a Witcher, or a mage? [ Iorveth shouts out to the rest of the party, voice carrying over the fray. ] Someone destroy that fucking thing - we can't keep this up forever!

II. TRAPPED;

[ either they've finally figured out how to close the rift, or they're in one of the lulls between attacks, but the rifts have had some time to breathe, and Iorveth some time to collect his arrows from the piles and piles of demonic corpses. the others have started to salvage, and he's concerned himself with the large, scalpel looking arms the scarecrows have. the lime green horse-chicken has finally recovered from its panic attack, taking to clucking around as it follows iorveth to and fro, much as he shoves it and pushes it and tells it to shoo. ]

I hope they go into a hunger craze and decide to roast you. [ He tells the chicken, as it tries to peck at his shoulder, a gloved hand shoving it's stupid, freakishly colored face away. Weird ass bird. He's not so concerned about the food issue - there's plenty of fish littered around, thanks to the portal, and he knows he has flint and tinder in his pouch, along with the nuts and berries he always keeps on his person. tugging a few berries free, he pops them in his mouth, while looking over the metal blade laid out in the snow, and the monster it's melded to. that can be fixed.

pulling one of his swords free, Iorveth begins to chop at the arm, where the blade meets flesh, sawing it free until he can tug it away. Dragging it over to one of the walls, the idea he has starts to become a little more clear, as he javelins the thing into the icy side of the cave wall, the crash of it causing his chicken-bro to squawk loudly and skitter away again. glancing back to it, Iorveth squints his one good eye. ] Cry baby.

[ reaching for the part of the scalpel still exposed, Iorveth tugs on it, pushing down to test the weight, before leaping up to stand on it. seems to hold. Great, now he just needs to do that a few million more times, and maybe they'll see the top of this stupid crevasse. Come give him a hand. Or ignore him, like he's ignoring all the rest of the organizing and assisting and such going on around him. ]

III. LOST;

[ by the time they reach the abandoned camp, Iorveth's realized he's stuck with these people for a while. it isn't that they're particularly obnoxious or difficult people, it's just that they're people he doesn't know, and thus, doesn't trust. getting this far alive means they're at least capable, but they aren't the scoia'tael. they aren't geralt or saskia or zultan. and they've still learned fuck all for what the ever loving hell is going on right now. besides that they'd all fallen asleep in worlds much different from one another's. iorveth may not have been talking much, but he's been listening closely.

and, the chicken is still here. it's taken to reciting what sounds like laws of the Witcher's Code in Elder Speech - the elegant sounding language Iorveth likes to mutter curses in. thus, he's named the thing 'Geralt' and since it seems determined to stick around him, assigned the job of feathery pack-mule. the rations they managed to carry from the crevasse are strapped to the thing, and should any of the others seem too injured, tired or weak to walk, he'd allowed them to ride the chicken's back. the bird doesn't seem to mind, anyway, and if it does, iorveth really couldn't give less of a crap.

once in the camp and huddled together in one of the igloos, iorveth takes to breaking up a few of the crates left behind for firewood, using the flint and tinder from one of his pouches to light up a fire and start one of the big tunas saved from the crevasse roasting. ] We let it cook up a good stock, then put it out. We've enough clothes and furs to keep warm besides - save the firewood in case we're here a long time.

[ once morning hits, he'll be bundling up and going out to scout (with Geralt, the chicken), taking arrows to stab into the snow and leave a trail to lead him back to camp. ]

IV. WILDCARD;

[ idk idk hit me /o/ ]

i. trapped
The fever that was with her when she fell through the rift doesn’t last more than twelve hours, and then it breaks as suddenly as it came on. Sarah supposes she should feel lucky for that, though it’s looking like she might have recovered only to slowly freeze to death with a bunch of people she’s never seen before and her feral twin. She could just give up and resign herself to it, but Sarah’s never been the giving up type.

She’s got herself wrapped in the white sheet and white Christmas lights that came in with her—no idea how they’re staying lit, not that it wins the weirdness gold ribbon after fire demons, but still—and has the rest of her “supplies” nearby, except for the picture of Kira, which is tucked safely in her pocket. A lot of the teapots that fell in with her have been crushed, but some are still okay. She figures they can use them to carry some water, if they can start a fire and melt some snow. And if they can’t start a fire, they’re fucked anyway, so it doesn’t matter. The only other thing she’s got is an empty piece of plastic tubing, the kind used in hospitals for blood transfusions and the like. No clue how it could be useful to her here, but she’ll keep it just in case.

And now she looks around at this group of strangers, each occupied with their own survival, and wonders how the hell she got here. How Helena got here with her. And more importantly, how they’ll get out. She’s loathe to ask for help, but in this situation it might be their only shot out of this frozen hell.

“Hey.” Sarah’s not addressing anyone in particular, just whoever who might be nearby. “Anyone got matches or some way of starting a fire?”

ii. lost
Climbing out of the crevasse makes Sarah want to cry. Seeing what’s out there—what’s not out there, really—once she’s at the top makes her want to scream in frustration. She does neither, but mostly because she’s too bloody tired to do much of anything. Even walking to the abandoned camp seems too difficult. (She does it anyway. Of course she does. She wants to live.)

Once inside the walls and out of the worst of the wind, Sarah grabs up one of the fur blankets. She is fully planning on crawling into one of these snow caves with Helena and not letting anybody else join in, because what does it matter if one of these randoms freezes to death a little sooner? Look, there are two types of people, and Sarah is definitely the type of person who looks out for herself first. In fact, if she catches anyone else eyeing up her blanket, she gives them a stare and mutters, “Piss off.”

I. Arrival

Jang coughs, the snow burning her eyes and whipping at her duster. While it worked in New Orleans, it wasn’t as good for the cold winds of…Canada? Maybe Alaska, but she had just heard stories about the frozen wasteland. The other figures came into focus, laying on the ground, some dressed very oddly when her attention was grabbed by a thrown ice shard flying past her face.

“Everyone, get down, incoming!” Jang took aim on the nearest robed figure and brought her hand around, casting a blast of energy at the robed figure. However, to her great shock, nothing happened. No magic, no blast, nothing. She couldn’t even feel the presence of the demon in the back of her mind. This was a very big problem. But it was a problem for tomorrow, today’s problem was staying alive. She draws her rifle from her back holster, aiming at a figure and pulling the trigger.

The gunshot sounds around the canyon, and the cultist falls to the ground, blood staining the snow. Cocking the lever-action, Jang hears a roar, turning around and seeing the huge scarecrow looming over everyone. “Now you I recognize Corn Stalker! Everyone, I’m gonna need some help here!”

II. Trapped - Day 0

Jang moves through the detritus scattered around the ground, looking for anything useful. “Does anyone here have anything that’ll start a fire? We need shelter before we die of exposure…” She begins to gather the cornstalks and bits of the dead scarecrow, getting it in a pile ready for some flint and steel. “Or food…or clothing. I don’t think we’re set up to survive in this kind of weather for long…”

III. Trapped - Day 1

The next day, Jang seems to be in a much better mood. She’s calmer, seems more assured and less worried. “Ok, good news everyone! Anyone who’s hurt, I’ll be able to help them, if you’re not against magical healing. Can’t help with food though, not my field.”

IV. Lost

Jang looks over the windswept plains, trying to see any sign of life. “I don’t know where we are….I thought Canada had more trees, we must be crazy far north.” She heads over to the piles of fur clothing and the dug-out snow shelters. “Someone knew we were going to be here though. Don’t know if they wanted to help and got killed, or if they just knew where and not when. We may need to set up a hunting party.” Jang pauses for a moment. “Unless we’re still good eating that weird fish that spewed from that green tear in space. I don’t know about anyone else but that makes me a bit nervous.”

“Not to be dramatic,” Alex says, addressing the group in the snow shelter, as she holds up her left hand and the unsettling green light glowing from it, “but does anyone have any idea what the fuck?”

Edited 2018-03-12 02:27 (UTC)

The crevasse is a deep gash and is not easily navigated. Fishing the bodies out is no small task but, fortunately, among the scattered materials in the abandoned camp, there is enough rope to reach down to the bottom. Whether or not magic is an easier solution, it's hard to say, but it's comforting to have a good solid rope available.

Dragging up the cornstalks, bundled and damp, is the first step and they dry slowly spread out over the snow. Once they're...well...not sopping wet, they can be stalked and used as tinder for the pyre. They won't burn as well as wood, or as hot, but they should hopefully be enough to get those corpses burning.

The corpses are a bit more of a challenge to fish out, but everyone here has nothing but time. The glimmering rift below is disconcerting but, thankfully, it seems stable and quiet. Hopefully it will remain so.

(Start a thread with your character retrieving stuff from the bottom of the crevasse, or piling up to start the fire, or tossing bodies on the fire if you want! Or we can just do a dogpile group thread, that seems to work nicely.)

The morning arrives, and the Jang starts to get ready to head out. "Alright, anyone who's coming, get ready, we've got a long day ahead of us." Getting outfitted in furs and cold weather gear as best she can, she looks out over the white plains.

"Keep that fire going, worst case, we can use the smoke to find our way back, hopefully. But I'd rather not let it come to that."

(Anyone who wants to join the scouting expitidion, join in, we'll just be going out for a while, seeing what's around.)

It's been a long and tiring day in the scouting group, with little to show for their efforts, Newt thinks. They'd ventured out, trying to find anything - food, other resources, other people, etc. But alas. The barren, frozen space seemed to go on endlessly, no matter in which direction they'd turned.

Newt attempted magic on several occasions along the way. Sometimes it worked; others it failed terribly. And, as usual for this strange, new world, it drained him of his energy.

He's exhausted by the time they make it back to camp, just a little after evening falls. He unfurls the blanket he'd brought with him on the scouting mission and bundles himself up next to the fire in camp, next to the others for the increased warmth through the nearness of their bodies.

Of course it's awkward; Newt barely knows these people, and such proximity to so many people in general makes him anxious. And yet, they have no choice, really. Not when the cold drops to such temperatures after dark and they hope to live until morning.

"I suppose there are worse ways to end a day," he mumbles. Even Newt isn't certain if he's speaking to himself or to others. He holds his blanket tightly against him as he tries to keep his eyes open.

Threaded | Flat

ARRIVAL - HELENA + SARAH - one thread only, up to three more people? :]b

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Newt Scamander