Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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faderift2018-03-15 11:48 pm
faderifting) wrote in faderift2018-03-15 11:48 pm
Entry tags:
- ! open,
- kostos averesch,
- { adalia },
- { alacruun },
- { alexandra karahalios },
- { anders },
- { araceli bonaventura },
- { arohaerd },
- { audra hawthorne },
- { beleth ashara },
- { bronach },
- { christine delacroix },
- { dolores abernathy },
- { ellana ashara },
- { gareth },
- { helena },
- { herian amsel },
- { inessa serra },
- { iorveth },
- { korrin ataash },
- { kylo ren },
- { leonard church },
- { loghain mac tir },
- { maedhros },
- { marisol vivas },
- { mel"sparkleprincess"ys },
- { morrigan },
- { nari dahlasanor },
- { newt scamander },
- { rey },
- { sarah manning },
- { six },
- { skadi iceblade },
- { thor },
- { yngvi }
OPEN ↠ HEART LIKE ICE
WHO: New Rifters & Inquisition Members
WHAT: A journey south to make new friends and kick some ass
WHEN: Drakonis 15-25
WHERE: Sunless Lands
NOTES: Violence and language assumed. Warn for anyting else. OOC post.
WHAT: A journey south to make new friends and kick some ass
WHEN: Drakonis 15-25
WHERE: Sunless Lands
NOTES: Violence and language assumed. Warn for anyting else. OOC post.
The Sunless Lands are not, in fact, sunless. This time of year there can be as many as eight hours of daylight, some of it blinding where it reflects off of snow and ice that stretches from the southern edge of the Kocari Wilds as far as anyone can see, broken only occasionally by rocky masses of land jutting out of the snow cover or barren tundra peeking out in patches where constant, unforgiving wind has pushed it aside. You'll be traversing this span primarily on foot—there are sleighs, too, pulled by hardy dogs, but they're carrying essential supplies rather than spare people. The only way to get a ride is to successfully feign passing out.
Beyond the dogs, the area isn't devoid of native wildlife: white fennecs hunt rodents underground, and a herd of excessively fluffy wild druffalo is seeking out whatever vegetation it can find. But hunting down a meal or two early and preserving rations for further south would not be a bad idea, because the further south the team travels, the more inhospitable the terrain grows, and the less life can be seen. And sometimes not much of anything can be seen, when clouds roll by and burst with snow thick enough to halt progress entirely for hours.
The nights are cloudy as often as clear, but when they are clear the sky is split by green and purple ribbons of light.
I. THE RESCUE
Two days' journey south, the monotonously icy horizon is broken by something new: smoke rising in interrupted puffs, an intentional signal. Someone is out there. Chances are, it's the rifters, with or without their first group of intended rescuers. But there's no way to be sure. And approaching with caution is wise either way. Rifters have strange powers (and strange personalities), and they've been out here for days now, dealing with demons and Maker knows what else on their own. For all anyone knows, they could be the reason for the rescue team's disappearance. Orders are to approach carefully.
Then, once contact has been made and initial concerns have been allayed, make sure those poor people have something to eat, and try to figure out where their original rescuers disappeared to.
II. THE STORM
After the rifters are recovered, there's still the matter of the red lyrium mine to address. Another two days' journey south will put the group within good range of the mine: not so close as to be seen, but close enough to be able to get there in a couple of hours as needed.
Halfway there, however, in the middle of the day, progress comes to an abrupt half when the darkest clouds yet gather suddenly on the horizon and barrel down on the group, bringing with them a glut of snow that reduces visibility to only a few feet and wind that roars so loudly you have to shout to be heard. Magic can help some with heat, but the storm shows little sign of quickly abating and with hours of deadly cold conditions to deal with, digging in and getting cozy for a few hours might be the most feasible solution for everyone.
III. THE VILLAGE
Shortly before the point everyone is aiming for—one marked by an enormous stone carving of an owl, several times taller than a man, that's inexplicably been left by the ancients in the center of the tundra—something else appears not far to the west. On closer inspection, it turns out to be a circle of low-sitting animal-skin tents pressed down into the snow to protect them from wind, rocky fire pits, and abandoned sleighs. Overall, it's a cross between camp and village indicative of a nomadic group that's staying a while but not forever.
It's empty now, with a coating of snow on most of the structures that indicates it's been at least a few days since anyone was here. Closer inspection reveals personal belongings inside the tents, including toys and clothing belonging to children—and, in many tents, chunks of red lyrium in the center or beneath the skins that form the beds, each piece emanating heat. They probably thought it was safer than fire.
Wherever they went, they don't come back while the Inquisition is there. But the activity does get noticed. A few hours after arrival, enormous white bears apparently moving in a pack come within a hundred yards of the camp and pace at a distance, watching the interlopers with wary interest. Some of them are wearing collars or harnesses decorated in the same style as the tents. For enough food, they may come closer, and they'll turn out to be abnormally tame.
IV. THE BATTLE
The red lyrium mine that Corypheus' followers built when their operations were crippled in Emprise du Lion is nestled in an icy canyon, with massive scaffolding built up the sides of the cliff and too many cages to count, though few of them hold living prisoners anymore. It's a massive operation, but one that's been crippled by its distance from civilization. It's sparsely guarded compared to its size, and other than the cliffs, it has minimal natural protection. The enemy has magic-silencing Templars, enormous behemoths, and a chained white-furred giant, but they are clearly not prepared to be attacked.
Ahead of the onslaught, traps are set and any surviving prisoners are evacuated under cover of darkness. Everyone else sent to fight either creeps down shortly before dawn, rappelling quietly to avoid notice in the dark, or waits at the top for the first surprise strike to provide enough distraction for them to descend more openly. If anyone has been particularly nice to the bears (see above) then it is entirely possible they'll allow themselves to be ridden into battle.
Once their presence is known, their orders are pretty simple. Destroy it all. Leave no one behind and nothing worth returning for.
Fire is a good strategy. Red lyrium doesn't do well in heat.
FIRST CONTACT
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Reinforcements, or a threat, but at this point, even a threat might be welcome compared to freezing to death.
She jumps down, and starts wading through the soft blanket of snow to try and make her way closer. She cuts a potentially underwhelming figure - just a couple inches over five foot, wrapped up in some furs, with a white coat peeping out underneath.
"Hey," and her accent might sound a little strange, unfamiliar. Does Thedas have Australian accents? It does now. "Took you dickheads long enough."
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They don't hustle much when it comes to approaching, but Dolores can't find it in herself to mind much. Despite how warm it is, the first thing she does once they've been spotted is drop the tarp over the fire and start piling snow over it. The stench has gotten into the very core of her and the sooner she can move away from it, douse it and forget, the better.
It takes around an hour for the fire to finally smother itself out--good riddance. It takes a while longer than that before the caravan arrives, and when they do she sags with such relief that she nearly faints. She settles for dropping down into the snow, sitting and resting her arms, and smiling at anything and anyone around.
She'd always liked the newcomers but she can't recall the last time she'd been so very happy to see any one of them.
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Maybe that's part of his problem, honestly.
Still, he is not prone to self-reflection. And he's had enough to do - helping to collect food, fighting off the occasional demon that comes wandering through the rift. There's little else to do besides, but when they realize that yes, someone is coming, it's an intense relief. He won't have to eat frozen corpses or try to find his own way out of this desert. There is something out there that isn't snow and ice. This isn't the elemental plane of cold.
Not that he lets any of that relief show. Instead, he's standing in the snow, blanket wrapped around him and examining the newcomers as they come in to their makeshift camp.
"You certainly took your time," he says to the first newcomer who gets anywhere close to him. The glint of a smile adds a touch of teasing to it - or menace, depending on who you ask.
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Iorveth | The Witcher (new rifter)
[ setting up tents in a snow storm is not the easiest task. Thankfully they manage it, and iorveth only barely puts together one big enough for Geralt, the lime green, horse sized chicken, to fit in. Perhaps the bird has grown on him, or perhaps he just doesn’t want to upset Helena by letting it die.
Odd, that he’s concerned about some human woman’s feelings about oversized livestock. Perhaps Geralt (the non-chicken Geralt) really had rubbed off on him some. Or Saskia, or some combination of the two.
Regardless, he’s now stuffed into a small tent with a giant chicken, warm enough thanks to the bird’s fat and feathers and natural ability to incubate (maybe Geralt is a hen? Who knows ), and anyone else wanting to share this tent with him is just going to have to deal with the limited amount of leisure space, and cuddle up to the chicken. It doesn’t bite. ]
THE VILLAGE;
[ There’s an eerie kind of dread that hangs on Iorveth’s shoulders as they approach the village, only increased when they step inside and brush the collected snow off the tents, fire pits and crates. As if it’s ash instead. An echo of the camp they’d first found, but the evidence of children makes it that much more tragic. Foreboding, with the red crystals they find - this lyrium the rescuers seem to be on about. Iorveth doesn’t touch it, only watches it warily from a distance. ] Just as the first camp was. Like they simply got up and walked into the storm...
[ The assessment is interrupted by a loud squawking that Iorveth’s come to recognize as his chicken-horse losing its shit at something. Which could be an approaching demon, or could be a pillow falling over. Either way, given the setting, he rushes out of the tent he’d been investigating with some others.
What he sees is bears. Many big, completely white, bears. A first for Iorveth, who’s never been to lands that might have things like polar bears. One of these bears is sniffing at the chicken’s fat, feathery butt, only hopping almost playfully along after Geralt the Chicken as it screeches and attempts to run away. He keeps his distance, expecting that chicken is about to save the rest of them from becoming a meal, given it looks like a better, easier meal, but the bears don’t seem to really be giving chase, outside of curiosity. Only peering at them from a distance.
He watches the herd of bears for a time, crouching down like he’s trying to look less threatening, and avoid startling skittish animals. Watching more closely, it’s easy to see the harnesses and cloth decorating some of the bears. Tugging out some of the slabs of fish meat they’d cooked, he shuffles closer to the chicken, a hand in the bird’s fluffy side, the other holding out the meat. ] Please don’t eat that. I need it.
[ he tosses out the meat, remaining crouched where he is, letting the bear sniff at it. ]
PRE-BATTLE;
[ traps is something Iorveth knows well, even if the terrain isn’t as well known. They’d been a chief source of food, as well as stupid humans wandering into the forest for hunting - animals or scoia’tael.
They set up bear traps around the perimeter, but at the easiest points of exit and entry, Iorveth starts to set the igniting ones, carefully stringing wire and setting matches to combusting powder. If anyone tries to come for reinforcements, or anyone tries to leave, the explosion will alert the rest of them. ]
BATTLE;
[ More of the tinder was trailed out through the camp below, lines leading to the tents or weapon stacks. He start the fight off with those - an arrow dipped into a torch’s flame, then fired off to hit the line of tinder directly, from the top of the canyon wall.
The fire travels along the lines and catches to the tents, making bonfires of them and the people inside. The panic that ensues after is distraction enough to draw the attention away from the canyon walls, and the fighters descending them. He’ll continue the onslaught, loosing more flaming arrows into the other tents, setting their roof tops alight. The enemies below scramble to toss snow on the fires, but it’s time wasted as the Inquisition troops draw closer. When the first group of them hit, making chaos out of the confusion, Iorveth holsters his bow, taking one of the repelling ropes in hand to speed his way down, no real caution in the descent.
Nearly at the bottom, the elf commando launches off the cliff wall, springing up to land with his feet punched into a Templar’s back, twin swords burying between soft spaces of the lyrium crazed man’s collar bones. Blood splatters as the blades pull out, Iorveth making an aerial kind of spectacle in vaulting a flip back from the dying man to find his footing on the ground.
He looks like he’s enjoying this murdering and chaos thing way more than he should, but at the very least, he’s clearly good at it. Thankfully, the Templar’s magic nullifying does nothing for someone who has no magic abilities to speak of. ]
pre-battle
She'd have been curious no matter who was doing it, but elf rifters are always of particular interest to her. It's a strange comfort, knowing that even outside of Thedas, they endure. And, occasionally, even prosper.
That's a fine trap. Are the explosions wired to go off when the bear trap is triggered?
[ Even as she asks, she keeps an eye on the canyon, bow in hand and ready. The bow itself is clearly magical in nature, with little trails of electricity occasionally dancing across the length. Despite the weapon, there's a definite look of nervousness as she scans the area that will soon become the battlefield. ]
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the storm.
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The village
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the storm;
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battle.
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battle;
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pre-battle
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village
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storm
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CLOSED TO WREN | post first meetings/pre storm
Helena was too cautious to simply trust.
That is why she waits, not, wrapped in the blanket and furs she has from the supplies. One blanket was laid downand then the other, and she climbed between them before camouflaging her hiding place with snow, and she waited.
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She lingers; Ashara's in the thick of it, and a friendlier face than steel and chain. If there were ill among them, they'd know by now. It would have spread,
But what of the searchers?
She peels off her helmet, watches the last them of them go. If the elf seems aggressive — another tall one, there's the bloody luck — it's the qunari that give her greater pause. It doesn't take an active imagination to picture the twisted hulk of pride in place.
A sharp breath out. They yet speak fractiously, couldn't hold the line upon a murderous lie. What, then?
She stoops to a knee, better to examine the fresh grind of tracks through camp. A gloved finger grows damp as she estimates size. Small, or small enough. An unfamiliar tread, a foreign make. Might have belonged to any of the women. (Four, she thinks. Five? There'd been... five.)
There are more than five sets here.
"Fuck," She mutters, to herself, to the Inquisition's vanished faces. "Where did you go?"
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Beleth Ashara
[ This was extremely worrying. Beleth had been one of the first to start inspecting the makeshift village, and the more she sees, the less she likes it. The personal belongings left about mean that wherever the villagers had gone, they hadn't intended on it being long-term. And yet, the snow hinted that it was.
The deadly cherry on top of it all is the red lyrium. Beleth kneels down inside one of the tents, and cautiously examines the crystals. ] Just hope I don't get accused of smuggling it again. [ It's a low mutter, as she picks one up from under a bed. Said a little louder: ]
They had no idea what they were dealing with. Those poor people.
III.b
[ To say these bears were big would be the understatement of this age. She'd thought that the grizzly bears in the Hinterlands had been large, having half a foot on her when on all fours. These ones were...bigger. Way bigger.
Beleth does not attempt to tempt the bears with food, instead observing them from a distance. A safe distance. Others may be braver, but they aren't as snack-sized. ]
Did the villagers really keep them as pets? I suppose they would make good security, but--I can't imagine trying to ride one.
IV.
[ During the battle, Beleth stays away from the bulk of the fighting. That doesn't mean that she doesn't participate, of course. A large boulder has proven an excellent perch, and from there she fires her electric arrows into the fray.
Each one takes time. She has various vials, from which she pours foul-smelling liquids onto her arrows. She gets on one knee, lines up the shot, and lets the arrow fly. It may not be a quick volley, but each arrow hits its mark or close to it, with a clear impact. Electricity dances across her bow and the arrows, and each one that hits its target sends a harsh shock to them, shortly followed by the poison she's put on them.
It's careful work, that takes her full concentration. Which is probably why she doesn't notice one of the red templar knights approaching her from the side. ]
III.a
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IIIB
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II, which is not on your list.
hdu
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IV
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Jang carefully enters the village, looking for any sign of life. All she can find though is as if the whole village got up and wandered off. No sign of a struggle, no dead bodies. Of course, that could mean everyone is hiding or that someone hexed them to wander off and follow.
The chunks of strange crystal are something though. They give out a strange warmth, and the light and shifting colors of the crystals are very interesting. ""What's this stuff...Seems rather useful. Heat without fire and in a handy portable form. Why isn't everyone carrying it? Seems to me it'd be invaluable here."
IV. The Battle
Jang isn't one for frontline combat, but the chance to get in quietly seems to be right up her alley. It's what she does after all, sneaking and saving the prisoners, getting things ready for an ambush. The only thing to be sure of is who else is going to be sneaking in. Jang starts to make plans, talking to anyone who would have intel on the guards and anyone else who would be sneaking in, just to make sure they don't overlap.
III
"It is red lyrium. Extremely dangerous. The longer you are near it, the more you become obsessed with it, and prolonged exposure will cause it to start growing inside you. We must destroy it."
Re: III
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IV
Re: IV
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Kylo Ren | Star Wars (New Rifter)
The fire they had made burned long enough that it was surprising. Kylo had thought for sure that it would wither out within hours, and yet it had lasted long enough for help to find them. He wondered if the smoke clued them in. There would be time for questions and guesswork later.
"So help finally came." He observes, feeling them in the life that swam around him in the Force. Relief swept over him, warming him against the chill. They were saved at long last. Whoever it was that had come for them was here to save them.
Kylo kept off from the rest, observing once their help had come. He had begun to doubt it even would, until they showed up. He didn't want to trust them, didn't want to let his guard down. They might not be monsters but he knew people. He hadn't even been able to give the people he had been with for the last five days a reason to trust him, preferring to distance himself from them too. It felt safer to do, than to risk finding himself with a metaphorical stab in the back.
Though their energy in the Force was benign, he had immediately withdrawn upon feeling the familiar pulse in the force that had been Rey. He'd seen her but evaded her after they briefly acknowledged one another. However, just because he and Rey were avoiding one another didn't mean he could evade the others so completely.
He would have to resign himself to it eventually and offer thanks for saving the group from continuing to reek of the burning dead and from freezing to death.
Closed to Rey - Snowstorm
The snow and wind whipped at his face, despite his trying to keep it covered from the elements. He tried to stay with the group as everyone sought shelter. All of this only made him feel restless and irritated, as the promise of escaping the cold was still further from his grasp. He only had himself to blame, agreeing to go on their search for the red lyrium - whatever that was. He listened to the explanation given but none of it seemed real, still.
What was real was finding himself curled up from the storm with that familiar light of the Force pulsing like a heartbeat not far from him. Rey. He hadn't wanted to talk to her then and he wasn't sure if he did now. The betrayal he felt still hurt him, something she surely could feel in the Force as it curled around him like a protective safety net, the darkness swirling around him like an endless storm to match the one outside their shelter.
"You're here too." A cool observation as he looks at her. She was bundled up nice and tight, wearing goggles to protect her eyes and everything. She reminded him of the bits he had seen in her mind not too long ago, wearing her gear made for scavenging.
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It had been easy enough to avoid him in the hustle and bustle of making sure all the new rifters recovered from their ordeal, and then they'd been on the road. The snowstorm, however, made things a little complicated. She was keeping such a tight hold on her connection to the Force to avoid the possibility of him getting into her mind that she hadn't noticed he was the other occupant of the shallow cave she and Padawan had sought shelter in.
She's warm enough in her bear fur, winter coat, scarves and layers. She fully intends to sit in silence until the storm passes, even keeps her goggles in place despite not entirely needing them. The lenses of an old stormtrooper helmet which she'd once stitched into fabric to make the goggles saw fine in the dim light, but it makes it easier to avoid making eye contact.
Then of course he speaks to her, and she turns her head, regarding him through the safe shield of her lenses. Padawan's tail thumps gently against her side, the large dog curled up with Rey under the protective warmth of the bear fur.
"I am. I've been here a long time."
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eyyyoooo
comin' at me for more?!
yarr!!!
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Gareth
[ Well, this sucks.
Gareth isn't a pampered mage anymore, ignorant of the outside and all it entails. He's managed winters out in the wilderness before, aided by his magic. But that only gets you so far, and Gareth has found the end of it. It's here, in this tent, while the storm howls around him like an angry beast, eager to sneak in and end him for good.
Some knowledge proves useful, at least. He's dug about two feet into the ground of the tent, the dip significant enough to provide a bit of extra shield between him and the elements. Magic helps, as it always has, as Gareth carefully takes fire and melts the bottom of his little hole, then opens the tent flap to let the storm in. Luckily, it doesn't take long for that melted snow to freeze into a solid floor of ice, and Gareth closes the flap as soon as it's done.
Any tentmate may be confused by the results of his efforts, but it does serve to make the inside slightly--slightly--more tolerable. ]
IV.
[ Destroy everything. It's a good plan. Solid. Hard to mess up. It's a plan that Gareth is familiar with, and one that he's happy to partake in.
Red Templars. He deeply appreciates them, in a way. They were once Templars, but these are ones that he can kill without anyone making a fuss about it. The task is undertaken with great enthusiasm--perhaps a little too much enthusiasm, if you squint. He darts around the thick of it with a spell that leaves a firey path in his wake, and switches between a variety of destructive spells. Fireballs, lightning, a stone fist emerging from the earth. He's been tasked with leveling this place, and he aims to do exactly that.
If any of the Red Templars have attempted to silence him, it doesn't appear to take. But maybe they just suck. He certainly seems to be adept at attracting their attention, far more than a mage normally would. But he also seems to throwing out a lot more spells than he normally would. Maybe it has something to do with the strange amulet around his neck. ]
II
"G'day," she says flatly, with a two-finger salute of her rave hand, leaning into the tent. "Having fun there?"
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Newt Scamander (Harry Potter - New Rifter)
“Bugger,” Newt says when he focuses on the dark clouds gathering in the distance. Another storm, most likely, or so he would assume, knowing his luck ever since arriving here through the rift.
“Bugger,” he sighs as the snow starts and the wind howls, halting the traveling progress of the group. He’s in much better shape since being rescued, having since been clothed and fed, but the rough weather makes him feel as though he’s still stuck down in that crevasse, caught between the ice and the whims of nature.
They begin to set up shelter, and Newt does his best to help, not the least of which to keep himself moving.
He’s tired still, so there’s really little he can accomplish with his magic beyond providing a light as he settles into the tent with the person who happens to nearest to him.
“Bugger,” he says again, teeth chattering, as he clambers into what blankets they have and inches closer to the unfortunate companion stuck with him until the storm passes. Said companion will find that Newt curls around himself, all angles, his knobby knees and elbows sticking out every which way.
He shivers and settles in for what he expects will be a long and cold span of time, figuring to himself that he ought to be used to it by now.
III. Village
The first thing Newt notices once they reach the village is how empty it is, even before they begin searching through the cluster of tents. Abandoned sleighs lay useless around the camp and snow blankets the structures in such a way that it seems apparent that no one has been around to dust them off in some time.
Newt explores, studying the belongings of the tent and how utterly sad they look, left on the floor and about the tent. He shakes his head. Chunks of something or other radiating heat catch his eye; there seems something magical about these pieces, the way they seem to have replaced the use of fire in keeping the previous inhabitants of the tents warm.
Newt’s attention, however, is truly caught hours later, when he notices the polar bears watching them and gradually approaching. Ever a lover of beasts of all sorts, Newt makes his way over to the creatures, some of which wear collars or harnesses that match the style of the tents. He smiles, though he manages to restrain himself from reaching out.
“Well aren’t you beautiful, the lot of you?” He says softly, wishing he had something to offer the bears in terms of food.
IV. Battle
Over the past few days, Newt has had his fill of battling. The irony doesn’t escape him now, that, after he told Tina Goldstein he’d meant to have a ‘quiet life from now on,’ he’s wound up embroiled in fighting for his life and for the lives of others. He’s also tired, still, from everything that’s happened; he isn’t entirely recovered to his usual amounts of energy.
He keeps to the edges of the battle, for the most part, helping where and when he can. With his magic so unreliable, he mostly uses it for distraction, though, just as often, he winds up getting in his own way as much as he provides trouble for anyone else; he nearly curses himself with Body-Binding Curse.
It seems to Newt that he’s left one adventure behind for another.
IV
It is massive and powerful, and it just seems to retching—
And that is how Herian found herself tackling a man who had not yet spotted the monster approaching from behind, managing only just to keep them both from being covered in a foul, red liquid that the creature vomits. It isn't blood, but a liquid form of the dangerous red crystals around them.
"My apologies," she says, going to haul the stranger up. "I am afraid we've an adversary to see to."
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Alexandra Karahalios (new rifter)
"Hey, now." Alex was shocked to see the polar bears, and then delighted, and has slowly spent the last little while drawing closer, interacting with them. All the moodiness and bite that she can exhibit when talking to other people seems to disappear when she's interacting with animals - she holds out her hand, and one of the bears smooshes its snout against it, drawing out a quiet laugh. "This makes about everything else that's happened totally worth it," she says to the bears, gently running her hand down its neck.
"We should probably check those harnesses aren't rubbing you raw, but. Seems like whoever put them on you might've been gone a bit. You okay with letting me check?"
This is fucking awesome. Bears! Bears that you can approach and not die!
BEARS. "You're a charmer, aren'tcha?" The bear is nosing at some fish that she has, and she hands it over very willingly, as she starts to check around the hardness to make sure the bear's not suffering for wearing it for too long.
III b - MORE BEARS
HELLO, yes, Alex is standing in front of a seated polar bear, the white bulky form towering over her, and very carefully cleaning an injury on its leg. It is very tame, but makes a sound and tries to pull its paw away - she stops, speaks to it gently, and gradually is able to start cleaning the wound again.
"Don't worry, mate, we'll have you right as rain in no time."
III c - MAYBE BEARS LATER but for now red lyrium
She's crouched down in one of the tents, looking at the red crystals curiously. "I bet if someone touches that, this is going to turn into some Cave of Wonders bullshit," she says to no one in particular, or possibly to the koala inside her shirt. "Everything is lava, rocks are falling, you have touched the forbidden treassuurrrreee." A dramatised, comical growl, as she stares at the crystals.
They're warm though. The wonders of magic, probably, though being Alex she can't totally resist reaching for a stick so she can poke at them, to see if the effect is the same to poking glowing coals in a fire.
CLOSED TO CHANCE.
It's before the battle, and Alex knows in advance that she is probably not going to be helpful. For one, there's magic everywhere, and for two, she's bloody exhausted. She has contented herself, instead, to sitting with one of the bears (bears, guys!!!), back leaning against the big beast as she slowly wraps up bundles of bandages.
She happens to look up, and recognise one of her fellow rifters. Guy who said he wasn't human, back home, though his name evades her for a second - tiredness, she figures. "Hey," she calls out. "How you holdin' up?"
WILDCARD.
Whatever, wherever, I want to thread together.
IIIc
"That's red lyrium. It's toxic just to be around, let alone touch. If you're cold, I can make fire...away from that."
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Herian Amsel
The Heart of Rage burns brightly in her hand, the gnarled ahead of the stave engulfed in flame. The red lyrium emits heat that almost seems to come in waves, like the rolling of the tide. It feels like it could burn her alive, and for brief moments the lyrium seems to warp and twist before her very eyes, before returning to normal once more. (The staff, she knows. These strange visions seem always to come when she holds her staff, and yet, she is uncertain, even as the fire burns fiercely.)
Control. She just needs to exercise better control.
— option a: battle/magic dampened.
The downside to doing battle with red templars? They are still templars. On the one hand, that means they were once men and women who lived to serve, either through choice, or because it was the only life they had ever known. To question orders was to question the Chantry and the Divine and the Maker. Did any of these people wish to become what they were now? Had they walked willingly towards red lyrium and its power, or had they been men and women who followed orders in the belief that they were performing the sacred duty that rested on their shoulders and was to keep Thedas safe?
Following the orders of consuming lyrium was not the same crime as following orders that condemned the innocent, even if she struggles with things she has seen, things that she has done for the sake of duty. (The forest, a voice haunts her. She should have done better in the forest.)
In this moment it does not matter. The hilt of her Spirit Blade hangs at her side, but a fearsome blade with a biting chill to it and a icy blue glow is in one hand, and her staff in the other. She wields the staff skilfully, striking a templar swordsman in the throat and spinning it around, sweeps him from his feet with a crack to the ankles, before twisting and raising the sword to block another’s blade.
A third approaches, vicious hooks of lyrium that have grown to overtake his arms.
— option a: battle/magic is go.
Lunging forward, Herian stamps her foot on the ground as one of the giant, towering beings that were once templar knights lumbers forward. The form now twisted and monstrous, more lyrium than flesh, it seems impossible that anything would remain of the person they once were.
As her foot hits the ground, there is a quaking in the immediate vicinity, flames bursting up from the ground about the
horror, as she swings her spirit blade low to strike at its legs.
Another is moving in her direction from behind her.
— option b: lyrium destruction.
TLDR she’s casting a shit load of fire spells
CLOSED - FOR SARAH.
Herian is not a grand cook, nor is she particularly good at welcoming. The first is well and good, when there are others assigned the task of meal making, but the latter is a problem she is attempting to work on. If nothing else, for the sake of the Chantry Relations project that demands she become a little less useless at diplomacy. The rifters, though, are people she has a certain fondness for. Cosima is one, obviously, but they seem a people displaced and lacking common ground who are (for the most part) doing their best within a totally foreign world, trying to save a place they have no obligation to. That means something.
It is one of the reasons she is on this mission (albeit having brought a lot of paperwork with her), and why she has been handing out servings of stew and rations to those in need of it.
She wanders towards a woman with dark hair from behind, a steaming bowl in one hand, and a heel of bread in the other. "Here. This might warm your belly."
Her accent might be mistaken for Irish or Scottish, by someone not a local, and she stands with a sword hanging at her side, dressed in dark robes beneath a fur-lined cloak.
OR WILDCARD for non-battle starters, bc I am deeply lazy.
option a1?
He's lost sight of his kinsmen, but he's not particularly worried. Fingon and Meadhros can look after themselves. He's found Herian, though, and although it's not as if she needs him either, he can, at least, make sure she doesn't have to watch her own back. He wields the massive longsword one handed - and in his left - with a shield in the other that he uses as much to ram as to block. He doesn't bother to be pretty - in a battle there's no time, and these battles he's at a serious disadvantage. He takes one of the hooked arms off at the elbow, spinning past, and then rams his blade into his enemy's side as he falters. It's always risky doing that, as the blade might catch on a rib and stick, but Aranruth was forged to cut through things far harder than bone, and he's not sure what more would kill these once-people.
ah yes it seems i mangled my own system and forgot to relabel
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b
sorry for the slow reply!
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Alacruun | New Rifter
As relieved as Alacruun is to have found out that he's not going to die out here, he's less pleased that he's being dragooned into helping with some sort of pointless mercy mission. Still, he swallows his objections (for the moment) and follows along with the rest of the caravan. They have the food (and fuel and warm clothing). He can't really object, especially since he has no idea where they are or where to go to find more of it (aside from a vague "back in that direction"). He is darkly pleased when his pessimism is justified as a storm closes in on them. Less pleased that he's stuck in the middle of it, of course. There's really only one alternative.
"Dig!" He has to yell above the wind, but he's obviously used to commanding - or at least demanding. He's working with his hands, which feel basically frozen, as he tries to scoop out a shelter in the lee of the wind. The snowbank is solid, at least, and shouldn't collapse on them anytime soon, if they can get a snowcave hollowed out.
III. The Village
The village does not interest him overmuch, although the mystery is in itself intriguing. His mind is working on that problem with what little information he has when he stumbles upon red lyrium in one of the tents-slash-huts. Instantly, his eyes narrow in interest and he settles into a crouch next to one of the pieces, eyeing the mysterious substance with unabashed curiosity.
"Now - what is this?"
He murmurs that aloud and then, louder, over his shoulder to anyone passing by, "This is interesting - come take a look at this. What do you suppose it is?"
Wildcard
Alacruun will only reluctantly be dragged into battle and will mostly go along to keep an eye on one or two people he has an interest in; otherwise, feel free to find him in camp and poking his nose into things he shouldn't be.
III
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Carver Hawke
As a Fereldan, the cold hardly bothers Carver so much. Granted, it's a bit chillier than even he's used to. Just a heavier coat and some gloves, and he's good.
He feels it in the air, the way it suddenly grows heavy. He looks to the west, and his stomach drops at the forming dark clouds. That looks... bad. Really bad. "Quick. We need to get to cover."
There's barely enough time to grab the gear and find a suitable cave for shelter. The wind picks up within minutes, and Carver's cheeks sting from the biting cold. By the time they're situated inside, his hair's a disaster and even he's shivering a bit as he struggles to get a fire started.
Glancing outside, he scowls. "We might be here for awhile."
III. The Village
The sight of the abandoned camp stirs up unease. There's too much left behind for it to have been intentional. Naturally he starts looking for tracks, but it's half-hearted. The snow buried them days ago. At least he can cross that off before moving to the village proper.
He frowns. No signs of an attack, seemingly: no blood, no bodies, and little if any destruction. It's peculiar, to say the least. Until he walks into a tent, and sees something red glowing below one of the furs left behind.
Immediately his expression hardens. He knows that glow. Not wanting to touch it, he grabs a discarded hunting spear and lifts up the blanket with the tip. "Shit," he growls at the sight of the lyrium. "If they were around this long enough... the best thing we can hope for is to find these people and put them out of their misery."
IV. The Battle
Of course he's in the thick of it. Where else would Carver be?
A) For the most part, he's taking on the bigger guys and keeping them off the squishier people. Especially the mages, seeing as they're surrounded by templars. He swings and throws himself at the templars, knocking them off balance to give the mages a reprieve. Despite the templars' monstrous appearance, he remembers they used to be people once. "Have we ever met a templar who isn't a colossal prig?" he once jokingly asked Marian. The words haunt him in a strange way here. He does his best to make the deaths quick, if they allow it.
His sword connects with a templar's side, sending them to the ground with a heavy slam. "I got this one. Do what you need to!"
B) Now, the behemoths, on the other hand... they're a little rougher. They roar in rage, swinging at him as Carver rolls out of the way of their attacks. He strikes at whatever bit of flesh he sees, but they're almost entirely lyrium. It's nightmarish, to say the least.
The behemoth slams his (its?) hand into the ground. Everything shakes for a moment before red lyrium bursts through the soil, narrowly missing Carver. The impact still knocks him to the ground, leaving him to scramble out of the way of the behemoth's fist.
III
She has no idea what the Red Lyrium is - why would she? - but the overall reaction to it is so negative that she's wary and distant. Carver's growls catch her attention and she moves forward, adjusting the strap of her greatsword before she frowns, considering how best to approach a topic without seeming like a complete idiot.
"It's magical." That's one way to start. "What happens if you are around this for too long? What are the consequences?" She needs to know, to be prepared for whatever they're going to be fighting next, especially with her powers ripped from her from coming through the Rift.
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Arohaerd | D&D OC (New Rifter) | OTA
B. BEARS
C. BATTLE
D. CREATE YOUR OWN
B is for BEARS!
"That could be it," she says softly to announce her presence. "I doubt the people living here were used to the sight of so many others trudging through the snow. If their scouts spotted us on our approach, I don't blame them for taking off." Tentatively, she extends a hand towards the bear to let them have a sniff. Who knows what it will make of an elf? "Then again, maybe they left for some other reason."
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d is for dragons!!!! hover for translation.
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d'Artagnan | The Musketeers (New Rifter) | OTA
B. VILLAGE
C. BATTLE
D. CREATE YOUR OWN
A
( Alex, fortunately enough, was trying to move supplies when the storm hit, and barrelled in here with some wheat bran. And, after the last week, she has embraced preparation (or paranoia) to ensure that her koala joey always has access to fresh veggies. If he's going to be a freak of nature that eats anything, she at least wants him not to be totally carnivorous - that way weird folklore nonsense lies. )
Listen, I'm a vet. We want to make sure your mate there is good and warm on the inside, push some extra energy into him with some feed, and water that's not too cold. Do you reckon we can safely build a fire in here?
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Helena
After making a most wonderful first impression, Helena has been kept largely in shackles, sometimes under supervision of her sister, but sometimes not. She does not seem terribly perturbed by the situation. There is food, water, warmer clothes.
one.
It's possible to happen upon her when she is still largely bloody, and dressed in a blood smeared, ichor stained wedding dress with alarming slashes in it, blonde mass of hair made stringy in sections with dried blood. The blood on her hands, though, is fresher, and she smiles if people look at her for too long.
two.
Or perhaps its when she has been cleaned up a little, still wearing a green parker with fur around the hood, but at least wearing clothes that are fresh and no longer reeking like—
well, like someone who was covered in blood and unable to wash for over five days.
She is ripping into meat with her teeth, holding the bone with both hands, and looks up at whoever strays too close. "Get own food. This is mine."
WILDCARD.
2
"Not interested." He tells her, head tilting as he adds - "And what would you have done if I was? Launch into another fight and end up left behind in this icy hell?"
Girl, your self-preservation skills need some serious work on the dealing with people side of it. When its Iorveth tell you your people skills suck, you know you got problems. His voice lowers, enough that the passing others won't overhear. "Behave until they take us somewhere survivable. Then slaughter however many you want."
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solas
[ Solas, as one of the mages brought along, tasks himself with doing what he can to manage the cold of the oncoming storm. He's able to help to at least clear something of a campsite for the growing group, moving around as he gives aid where necessary, pitching tents and using his magic to create veilfire for flames. It's not as much as could be done had they more resources, of course, but being caught off guard has meant that they need to make adjustments as best they can.
Once most of the arrangements have been drawn up Solas retires to sit in his own tent, the opening held aloft so that anyone who might want to speak to him is welcome to slip in and join him. What is clear is that he seems to be preparing for something, no matter who he may be sharing with that evening; his bedroom is arranged in the back, out of the way, and it doesn't seem as though he's expecting to spend much fo the night tossing and turning.
It seems as though he expects to lie in one place for hours and not move. Odd.
Anyone who is struggling with their new Anchor shard would likely be pointed in his direction - if it aches or feels uncomfortable he is more than happy to welcome the stranger inside and begin to do what he can to ease the pain. ]
THE VILLAGE.
[ When they first arrive, Solas spends an awkwardly long amount of time examining the Owl that marks the spot their company was moving toward; he seems to be considering it, what it means, and eventually draws some parchment from the backpack he always has with him to draw down the shape of the being. Only then does he move along into the ruins of the village proper, likely long behind anyone else who had made their way forward already.
It reminds him a little bit of something long left behind, memories of a ruin to the north that doesn't bear thinking about. These people were clearly nomadic and he's loathe to go out of his way to pinch or pickpocket whatever remains of their put together home; it seems a little much, especially without knowing their fates or who might survive. Instead, he moves around and examines the structures, the belongings, the toys - and that seems to leave him a little sadder than before, as if it's affected him more than he had imagined.
What he does find, however, is Red Lyrium, and he's quick to move away from any buildings that house it and urge others to do the same. It is too dangerous for anyone, no matter what experience they have with the stuff, and he's a force to be reckoned with - soft words turn into something more firm as he guides people elsewhere, ready for someone more capable to take charge of the crystals.
For what it's worth, he stays a rather guarded distance from the polar bears, watching them but doing nothing that might entice them to come and nudge at him in any way. ]
THE BATTLE.
[ Creatures with Red Lyirum flooding them is not exactly old news to Solas, but it has been some time; he hasn't engaged in any kind of battle or warfade for a handful of months, but he does his best not to let it show. He slips into the fight with ease, standing back with any other mages who might move forward to stand at his side, draws his staff and preparing himself to fight.
During the battle itself, Solas can be seen casting spells, mostly as a kind of protective force - people might feel his barriers settling over them or see a blast of ice trap an enemy that was getting a little bit too close. He moves around the edges of the field to make sure he can reach as many people as he can, but he doesn't engage too much with the Templars one on one - he knows who would lose and he's not prepared to put himself in that position, not if he can avoid it. ]
the village
Well... at least the lyrium's not in a sea monster this time?
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the morning after the storm breaks.
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Rey
The scavenger in Rey wants to pick through the village, find anything of value and hoard it, use it to help with their survival. Of course, she for the most part refrains, through she does poke around the village all the same, Padawan a steady presence at her side. She's trying to stay busy, and when she sees the red lyrium crystals being used as heat sources in so many tents, she finds that there's plenty of work for her here.
She makes herself useful by utilizing the Force to move the crystals out of the tents, lifting them carefully and stacking them up outside to be destroyed. Maybe what's inside the tents can be safely gone through after that, but she knows better than to touch the crystals.
Padawan supervises this work, sitting well away from the danger zone on Rey's orders, ears pricking and head turning towards anyone who comes near her partner as she works. Rey glances up, her focus not wavering as she holds her hands in front of her, bringing out larger crystals with care.
"These need to be destroyed. I don't know what these people were doing with them, but if we find them alive they can't come back and keep using these for heat."
iv.
Rey is a force to be reckoned with in battle, and she has an odd ferocity as she fights. She wields twin blades of light, brilliantly blue and humming as she cuts through red templars. She's fast, and has a mabari at her side tearing at anything that she cripples but doesn't kill.
That is of course until she gets backhanded by the giant. She'd turned into the swing and clipped the creature's hand with one of her blades, but she's sent skidding across the ground, dazed by the impact. She still holds her lightsabers by sheer will, but they are extinguished as she attempts to blink away the stars swimming across her vision. Padawan stands over her, growling as templars advance on the downed scavenger.
III.
He can't help but stop to watch as a young woman seems to make red lyrium float in front of her outside of a tent, as though by magic.
Newt makes his way over, cautiously and curiously.
"Is that magic you're doing?" He asks, watching her and the way she moves her hands to guide the red lyrium.
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iii hella late
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Fingon
[He senses the storm before it arrives- a half remembered fear brought to life, barreling down upon them. Fingon winces slightly, but he isn't surprised. This place had already reminded him too much of the Grinding Ice.
He copes as he once did, in the Sunless Years when all his people knew was cold: he sings. Light and heat he coaxes into the snow about them, into his companions, into his aching fingers. And as they bunk down in the worst of the storm he works- an awl in hand, stitching fennec hide into more mittens and hats. It's best to be prepared for the worst- the sun may lie beyond the storm's shadow, but until the sky clears they are not safe.]
The Battle
[Fingon climbs down in the pre-dawn hours, the darkness no hindrance to his sharp Elven eyes. Nor is it one to his aim: his arrows fly out, minë, atta, neldë, and one by one a Templar crumples to the ground. Some of them shriek as they die, some are just wounded for now. But none of them, he knows, will live long past dawn.
Near the bottom of the pit, the screams of the guards grow louder- panicked and furious, as they step above their fallen comrades and know their own deaths will follow. Fingon exchanges bow for blade and pictures the prisoners, the living ones with haunted eyes and the corpses whose only salvation was the Gift of Men.
I will enjoy this, he thinks savagely, as he leaps the rest of the way down the cavern walls and hurls himself into the fray.]
Battle
Aranruth gleams coldy in his hands as he throws himself at their enemies with a whoop.
"Lacho calad! Drego morn!"
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Storm
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Storm
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Kain
The snow comes on fast and sudden. Kain is stubborn enough to keep pressing on until it's absolutely certain that there's no chance of finding their way. It's just too heavy, coming down much too fast. Cursing under his breath, and wishing he was anywhere else, he starts digging, hoping he can make something of a shelter for the time being. Of course, it's definitely a problem that he can't see any of the others at the moment.
"Hello? Anyone!?"
The Village: OTA
While they're searching the village, Kain moves back one of the tent's flaps, revealing the lyrium inside. "I know the lyrium team may want to examine this... but I'd rather see it destroyed."
There's a sound nearby, something large lumbering close. Kain is immediately on alert, sword drawn as he takes a defensive stance. He watches as those bears approach in the near distance. Oh... that's... not good. But strangely, the bears themselves aren't attacking as expected. "What's going on here...?"
The Battle: OTA
As the battle picks up, Kain is right in the thick of it, taking full advantage of his enemies' attempts to take him down, turning their blows on him against them with his Reaver skills. He's focused right now on one of those behemoths, growling as his blade smashes into it, raining bits of red lyrium all over. But while he's engaged with that behemoth, the giant is storming closer, its heavy footfalls shaking the ground as it approaches...
That's when the bear emerges. It comes in quick, growling as it slashes its claws at the giant's foot. Kain gasps in surprise, astonished, but wasting no time as a swift plan of action comes into his mind. The bear is one of the harnessed ones... how could he resist? So Kain scurries over... to mount the bear the moment he's close enough. It's a pretty exhilarating, dangerous move, but he's made it.
The Storm
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battle
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Fenris
Nope. Nope, nope, nope. That snow starts to come down hard, and soon enough, it's impassable. As Fenris starts trying to dig in and get a spot to set up a tent, he's finding a brand new source of rage: this snow.
Anyone stumbling into this general area will hear a string of Tevinter swear words seemingly coming from within a snowbank. Because, of course, that tent is already well covered, thanks to plenty of blowing and drifting alongside the steady snowfall.
The Village
"What happened to these people?" Fenris finally asks, as they're looking around inside one of those tents. He picks up a small doll, eyeing it speculatively, before tossing it back down once again. The fact that there's no trace of anyone, and that they left so much behind is... troubling. "If something- or someone- took them, scared them off perhaps, then this threat must be still at large..."
There's a sound of a commotion outside, and someone starts shouting something about bears...
The Battle
Destroy it? You don't have to tell Fenris twice. He's eager to smash his sword into the enemies, of course, taking to the battle with his the usual feral ferocity. He fades out and glows when he needs to activate his powers, becoming a wraith-like form in the midst of all the fighting. Whenever he comes across any of that lyrium, he gives a heavy downstroke to smash it to oblivion.
The Battle
"Get on!"
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village
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Storm!!
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for nell.
—so that’s a likely explanation for the expression on his face, when he stalks up to whatever campfire she’s nearest to. There’s ice in his facial hair and eyebrows. He doesn’t need another excuse to glare. He doesn’t need any excuse to glare.
But he does have one. He tosses a rabbit down—a white hare, currently dead—and opens his mouth to complain about rabbit bites, and then
does not do that.
There is a bear.
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"Why are you throwing rabbits at me? Or-- I'm sorry, should I say lions? Are you here to impress me with your hunting prowess?" He is literally never going to live that down.
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closed to nell;
Here, at the mine camp they've laid siege to, it's more like the militia Saskia had scraped together; human helping elf helping dwarf hold the line and watch one another's back. Or, given they're the offensive party in the battle, boosting one another further toward victory, carving a path through monstrous abominations covered in red crystals. The order was to let none live, complete and total extermination, and while he might not like the idea of taking orders from some unseen commander, this is the kind of thing Iorveth excels at - the cruel violence of war. And he's really needed some stress relief of late.
In battle, he looks nothing like the graceful, composed picture most imagine Elven warriors to be, toggling between a bow that frankly looks overkill as hell to be pulling out in a melee, and the twin swords at either of his sides he wields quick and ruthless, weaving between bodies and cutting viciously at the gaps between armor plating (the Nilfgaardian Wars taught him the anatomy of heavy armor well), severing limbs if he can manage it, or at least ripping through arteries and tendons. He does, however, keep a strict mind to lay of the battle around him, finding a Templar engaged with another Inquisition warrior (or approaching them from a flank), sweeping behind to slice against the unprotected backs of their knees. Or, making his way to an Inquisition fighter that doesn't seem to be handling things well, either from injury or inexperience, cutting into their fight to forcibly take their place, then give them a literal swift kick to the ass, with a sword pointed back towards the rear of the fray.
Knowing what Solas had advised him of early on, Iorveth keeps a particularly close eye on the mages that stray too close to the Templars and their dampening abilities. Sorcerers are an invaluable thing in a battle, he knows, whether or not he's that fond of magic - it's simply the truth. Should one come under too close of a threat, there will either be a barrage of arrows coming from somewhere close by, or this six freaking foot plus tall elf hacking into their arm at the shoulder, or all together decapitating them. Very sorry for any stains received by this. ]