Cloudreach 9:44 Rifter Arrival

[faderifting]

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.

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.

Comments

[castintoflames]

"I'm glad to hear it." he flexed the fingers of his scarred hand, trying to relief the ache, "I cannot complain."

Eru knew, Maedhros had once been far worse off. He had been missing a hand and scarred basically from head to toe - and all of that had happened before he had fallen into a fiery chasm. His journey through death - he suspected - and a Rift had granted him the body he had once possessed - whole and unscathed. He was a true Prince - once King - of the Noldor again. At least physically.

He returned the bow by inclining his head respectfully.

"I am Maedhros and if you have encountered other Elves of Arda, you can count me as either kin or akin to them."

[hello_there]

"Maedhros," He said, almost as if trying to remember something-- and he was. Had anyone ever... no, nothing new comes to mind, except for the pale, noble faces of those he's already remembered, "Indeed, I am a friend to Lady Galadriel, and Lord Thranduil. Though, I can only hope they remember me."

He has no idea what Maedhros will make of that, from a newly arrived Rifter, and not one in anything resembling his own world's clothing. But then, the robes were hardly distinctive, except to those who knew the Order already.

"I am-- My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi," And then, belatedly; "A Jedi Master."

[castintoflames]

"Then I hope you can consider me a friend as well." for he had nothing truly against his cousin or Thranduil, though both of them had plenty of reason to detest him, "The Lady Galadriel is my cousin." whether she wished to acknowledge it any longer or not.

"When did you encounter them, may I ask?" he wasn't about to call anyone a liar. Time operated oddly and there were other worlds besides. He had gotten used to the idea that anything was possible.

"Forgive me, but is that a Lightsaber?" he had an eye for weapons and another Rifter had introduced him to the swords, "Well met, Master Kenobi. Allow me to offer you a ride to the city?"

Not far from them stood a large red hart, waiting patiently.

[hello_there]

"Thank you," He replies, polite as you please, "It seems I've missed a great deal. Last I was here, there were only two Elven Rifters, that I can recall."

He doesn't count Legolas, Thranduil's son, because by the time Obi-Wan's memory of Thedas had ended, he'd already been gone. Obi-Wan follows Meadhros towards the proferred hart.

"Yes, it is-- have you met other Jedi here?"

[castintoflames]

"Then our number has grown, though two dear to me returned home not so long ago." Maedhros had mourned the loss, but life always goes on. Relentlessly.

"Jedi...? I am not sure. Must you be a Jedi to wield such a sword?" he lifts himself onto Rúnya's back, motioning for Obi-Wan to mount too. The hart can handle them both without much effort and they will cover more distance this way.

[hello_there]

"No... No, of course not," Obi-Wan replies, a little hasty in his retraction, "But Jedi have always done so. And most who have, are Jedi."

Though that is, inevitably, in the past. But for a moment, before Maedhros had anwsered him, Obi-Wan had felt the clench of hope in him, sudden and bright and traitorous. It did him no good. Obi-Wan mounted the height of the hart's long back with thoughtless ease, still thinking, and only belatedly remembered that he ought to carry his half of the conversation.

"It's called a Lightsaber."