Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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faderift2018-04-11 12:45 am
faderifting) wrote in faderift2018-04-11 12:45 am
Cloudreach 9:44 Rifter Arrival
WHO: New rifters & their rescuers.
WHAT: Welcome to Thedas.
WHEN: Cloudreach 10, 9:44
WHERE: Amaranthine
NOTES: This is the arrival log for all new rifters, open also to current characters who would participate in their recovery. New players can also assume everyone survives and arrives back in Kirkwall within a couple of days, but please note there will be a brief quarantine period when they won't be permitted to leave the Gallows, to get them up to speed while ensuring they're not diseased or otherwise going to kill anyone, before they're set loose on the city.
WHAT: Welcome to Thedas.
WHEN: Cloudreach 10, 9:44
WHERE: Amaranthine
NOTES: This is the arrival log for all new rifters, open also to current characters who would participate in their recovery. New players can also assume everyone survives and arrives back in Kirkwall within a couple of days, but please note there will be a brief quarantine period when they won't be permitted to leave the Gallows, to get them up to speed while ensuring they're not diseased or otherwise going to kill anyone, before they're set loose on the city.
You were asleep—whether deeply or fitfully, falling unconscious for the last time in a pool of blood 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 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. In some worlds.In this world, bathed in the light of a flare of too-bright, greenish light you will find yourself hitting mossy cobblestones with an unforgiving smack. You're alive, and you're fine, except for the narrow splinter of light the same sickly green as whatever brought you here that now glows out of the palm of your left hand. It aches, a bone-deep pain that gnaws even through all the distractions.
Above you is a shifting, crystalline tear in reality; beyond that, gray clouds and a sea breeze, framed by the high walls surrounding the city you've landed in. There are people on the walls, some of them armored and armed, all of them briefly and collectively paralyzed by the sight below.
Don't let their terror go to your head. It's not you that has them intimidated, nor is it any of the humans (or Qunari) who are sprawled out on the ground around you, nor is it the assortment of unfamiliar—to them, not to you, perhaps to you it's very familiar—junk that's spilled out as well, most notably some flaming metallic debris and a giant wooden cross.
It's the beings that are coming out after you, almost as if in pursuit. Two are drifting, spindly things with six spidery limbs in addition to grasping skeletal arms, eager to grab hold of anyone who comes too close and fill their field of vision with swirling darkness and corner-of-the-eye glimpses of whatever frightens them. Several more most closely resemble trees, perhaps, with half-melted squids for heads—which might not sound particularly scary, fine, but their ability to dive into the ground and resurface anywhere with rasping screams helps on that front.
All of these things would like to kill you, and the people around you, and the people on the walls, and perhaps the other people screaming and scurrying into taverns and shops for cover. But you're not alone. Out of those same taverns and shops come people who do seem to know what they're doing; many are wearing a symbol that looks a bit like a hairy eyeball being pieced through by a sword, and at least a couple of them seem to know what they're doing. Almost like they've been waiting for you. In fact, exactly like they've been waiting for you.
AFTERWARDS, the grateful citizens of the City of Amarenthine might provide a drink, a meal, or a place to tend to wounds before everyone sets back toward Kirkwall. It's not a long trip, but one that requires boarding a ship to cross a narrow sea. It will be a rough, stormy journey, but there won't be any demons.
Resa | OC
A sharp, jarring pain wakens Resa, and her eyelashes flutter open, sleep-fogged brain trying to comprehend what's happened. For a few moments, there's a hard, cold fear in the pit of her stomach--had Fiachra found her? But this was...not his base, and these were not his people.
And those monsters were certainly not his. They were no fae, no sentient creature, it felt like. Each had a single emotion that emanated from it, single-minded in intensity and nearly overwhelming. The sizable amount of fear radiating from the crowd around her only made it that much worse. What the fuck was going on?
There's something in her hand. Resa turns to look at it--a mixing spoon. She'd been having a dream involving one, but that meant--a quick peek into her purse confirmed it was filled with noodles. Great. Wonderful. She couldn't have dreamed about mace, or a taser, or some kind of weapon. But it is what it is, and Resa slowly rises to her feet, spoon in hand.
The next time the fear demon tries coasting to her, she smacks at it with the spoon. The demon is utterly unimpressed, but it probably would be if it weren't, you know. A demon.
II. After the fight.
Well, this sucked.
The fighting over, Resa's had time to take stock of the situation. She's currently camped out at a table in the tavern, a drink sat down before her. Mead, or ale, or whatever they drink in old timey places. Which is where she is, apparently. An old timey place. Which would be hilarious, if it wasn't happening to her. And her glamour is gone, that's a thing. The lack of it out in public makes her feel naked, but while people are certainly staring, it's probably because she just fell through a hole in the sky.
Thoughtfully, Resa takes the mug, and eyeballs it. "I'm taking a wild guess here and saying Starbucks is off the table, now. Jesus, how am I supposed to survive without frappucinos." It's the least of Resa's worries, but it feels better to complain about the minor luxuries than to start trying to truly wrap her head around what she's lost.
i
He runs at it from behind, running then his sword along its back, and it screeches with some pain and moves. Which is what they ought to do. He offers the woman a hand. Bubblegum hair? Nice. "C'mon, let's try to get you somewhere safer!"
no subject
Church's grasping hand seems a much smarter choice, so she takes it with a quick nod. "Safer is good. Ideal, actually. I'm going to take a wild guess here and say we're not in Kansas anymore?" At least she hadn't called him Toto.
no subject
Church tugs her along. There's more cover, here, and more people to help distract the demons, so he rounds a corner around what looks like a shop building and hopes their fearsome friend has lost them for a moment. "Stay close, I can protect you." Man, that almost sounded heroic; he's getting better at this.
no subject
She's pretty sure this isn't Missouri.
"Well damn, aren't you just a knight in shining armor?" That's a joke, because whatever hell on wheels she's landed it, apparently it was part of a ren faire, or reenactment, or--something. There is one thing she notes as she obligingly skids around the corner after him, easier to note with their hands so close, and no demon currently trying to murder them.
"So, uh. Our hands are both fucked up, and mine didn't used to look like that." She takes a moment to rub the palm where the creepy glowing green sliver is, frowning at the dull pain. "I get that we're kind of on a time crunch here, but can you tell me if this is going to kill me, or turn me into one of those B-rated horror movie monsters, or what."
no subject
"It's not gonna kill you, or like, at least it's not gonna kill you for a long time." The revelation of 'these things might slowly be killing you' is still kind of newish. "Anyone that falls out of a rift in spacetime has one." If he didn't have gloves on, his would be far more obvious. "Or sometimes native people get them, randomly, I'm not sure how that works. You can do some cool shit with them, not the least of which being closing the spacetime rifts. You'll um. You'll just get used to the pain, but we've got magic and salves and shit that help."
Church leans to peek around the corner and quickly ducks back again. "Welcome to Thedas."
no subject
What she does do is smirk, and let out a huff of a laugh that would have been a little heartier if she weren’t currently in the middle of a clusterfuck of epic proportions. And speaking of which:
“So, we’ve got these spacetime rifts, that people can just pop out of, like some shitty sci-fi tv drama. And it gave me some weird hand scar that isn’t going to kill me right away—which is cool, I guess—which I use to close spacetime rifts and keep more people from tumbling out.” She mulls on this for a few moments. “Well. Pretty sure I’m tripping major balls, but I guess that isn’t going to solve the monster issue? So. Immediate problems first, the fact that I’m probably going to wake up in a Denny’s dumpster tomorrow, later.”
I
"I don't say this often, but perhaps you'd better stand behind me."
At least he's a qunari. That makes him... biggish.
no subject
She's never actually seen a qunari before, but fae come in all sorts of different shapes. He controls lightning too--and doesn't have a problem using it openly. He looks like the kind of fae who would work for Fiachra, and the whole thing smacks of his machinations. It puts her on edge, but the man is willing to put himself between her and the demons, and she's not apprehensive enough to refuse a meatshield.
There is one question that springs to her mind, though she waits until she's safely behind him to ask. "Hey, thanks, but--Um. Are you just...going out like that? Like, um. Yourself? Is your glamour on the fritz?" Magic can be a weird, mysterious thing, and can occasionally have hiccups--just like technology, really.
Still. Either he's got some people who can make humans forget anything inconvenient, or he's going to get in a lot of trouble with the courts.
no subject
Why did he agree to come along again?
"This is the form that this world decided I was going to wear while I was here, that's all-"
no subject
A quick glance around, at the other people fighting demons—who are all starting to look the worse for wear, no thanks to Resa—and then back to him. “There are humans here. Like, they’re gonna see you. Your true form or not, I think they can puzzle out that you’re not one of them.” Maybe she got lucky with the magic here, only shifting her so that her glamour became her true form.
And then there’s the lightning bit, which is really cool—way more advanced summer court stuff than she can wield—but also very not mundane. And flashy, to boot.
no subject
He doesn't have the time to elaborate. There are demons and he hisses underneath his breath as one angles for them. Why is he doing this? Why is he fighting for someone who he doesn't give a fig about? Long-term planning. He clears his throat and straightens arms flung out as he speaks another smattering of words in a strange tongue and extends his hand with a gesture - a sickly flash of green light dances between him and his target and it slows as a portion of its flesh begins to simply rot away as if being eaten by an infection.
Not enough to kill it, though.
ii
"I'm so fucking glad you know what Starbuck is. You can join me and Cosima and Church's special club of people who understand modern references." A moment of pause, and she scratches her jaw. "We could try work out how to make some kinda bastardisation of frappucinos, I reckon. Might make a bloody packet in summer."
Yeah, banter is easier than dealing with real shit. She points to the chair at the table. "Mind if I join you? I won't be offended if you'd rather I fuck off so you can process on your own."
She can, sometimes, be considerate.
no subject
At Alex’s question, Resa gives a shrug, and gestures to the chair in question. “Go for it. ‘S not the first time I’ve had to process crazy shit. Nothing else was quite this crazy, but I like having people around.” There’s a pause, and she offers a hand. “You can call me Resa.”
no subject
She's grateful, if only because talking to someone new will make her feel marginally more useful. She largely was brought along, she suspects, in case any animals turned up. Claiming the seat, Alex takes another sip of her drink, and then— pauses. Because the person opposite her looks younger than she expected on first striking up conversation, and that's an unhappy thing, to think of someone so young getting thrown into this shitshow. With a little exhale, she sets the glass back down.
"I reckon, truthfully, that they'd be all about it being the Starbucks Club. And if they ain't, we can twist their arms to pull 'em round to it." And, a little sounds, "I'm pretty sure there's coffee, but I'm also pretty sure it's heaps more expensive than back home. Needs to be traded about, I guess."