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

[wolfslayer]

[it will take several minutes longer than usual for willem to notice that his giant hair is the subject of the man's attention. he's likelier to observe nothing at all right now, re: being drunk. and only slightly less likely than that, optimistically, he might attribute iorveth's appraisal to something more positive and flattering.

but right now, he's just peering hazily at the elvish man.]

That doesn't sound very good at all, [he decides, presently. he takes another swing from his cup anyway. whatever. if he's doomed, etc.] Fuck. Is there a cure?

[aenseidhe]

[ The assessment's not really positive or negative, just curious. Things Iorveth hasn't seen before. People he hasn't met. Well, he might like it a little bit, but that isn't being displayed on him as of yet. ]

For puking over the side of the ship? Yes. Don't get on the ship.

[ which means you'd be staying here instead, which you probably don't want, so just tough it out, buttercup. ] Or at least sober up before you do.

[wolfslayer]

[willem's eyes widen for a moment. his mouth moves, abashed. he might actually be thinking about staying put because a curt stranger told him so, his eyes falling guiltily to the ground. but then said stranger sort of lets him off the hook so--]

Oh I can probably do that, [he says, brightening visibly.] Just upchuck somewhere, wash my mouth out, have something with quite a lot of bread in it. Very kind of these local folks to be offering us food. Though it's probably because they feel sorry for us, we're trapped here in another world and probably will never get home.

[he manages to deflate himself right out of his momentary optimism. but then he blinks. brightens again. at least he now knows someone who knows what to do!]

What's your name, sailor?

[aenseidhe]

[ child, what the fuck, why are you excited about vomiting? Iorveth's nose wrinkles somewhat, not wanting to be anywhere near this human child when he starts tossing up his victory dinner. That doesn't seem like a great idea either, but whatever. ]

Best to do so just in that order. [ puke, wash, maybe bread. maybe wash again. gross.] Doubtful. We're useful to them here, they're glad for us closing the rift.

[ and they don't give a flying fuck for what it costs the rifters personally. ]

Iorveth. I'm an archer, not a sailor. [ he knows fuck all about boats, just that being drunk on them while in a storm is not fun for you stomach. ]

[wolfslayer]

[better to puke on land than sea, is willem's thinking. or it would be his thinking, were it not for the fact that he is too drunk to think about much very clearly at all. solutions aren't always painless, he knows. but at least he isn't throwing up on iorveth right this moment.

instead, his attention is very thoroughly snagged on a remark about midway through iorveth's share.]

We closed the Rift? [mind you, at this point, newt has told him a thing or five about it. but he'd been getting increasingly drunk at the time. and it's one thing to be told that by a handsome young wizard who seems to have a remarkable amount of personal magic besides. it's another to be told by a cantankerous-seeming elven archer.] You personally? What? Did-- people like us fucking open it?

[he's actually. getting a bit hot under the collar now. his eyebrows sunk drunkenly down toward his eyes.] Some cunt fucking around with dimensional magic, their weird, kitchsy lime-green hand tattoos. What fucking gives!

[aenseidhe]

More accurately, we closed the Rift. Those of us who've practiced at it before.

[ the older Rifters, but these rifters will soon learn the ability for it as well. but this kid is already jumping to eight different inaccurate conclusions, and Iorveth has to suppress the urge to slap him. ]

No. Stop. [ talking. stop talking, he means. wait. ]

We do not open them. A demon by the name of Corypheus caused them, and we are merely a biproduct. Given the nature of our shards are the same as the rifts from whence they came, it grants us the ability to interact with them without harm, as would come to the natives of this land.

jk apparently i can still post this comment even though i got my ass booted til next month :);;

[wolfslayer]

[willem is vaguely aware that he escaped a slapping. that's not any kind of, bring it to the popo with concerns of physical assault kind of instinct, that's just, he's warranted many slaps upside the head in the past. and he's suddenly aware that he was incredibly far off base.] Oh.

[a beat.]

That's still an incredibly grim story, but it's nice to know that I can trust my fellow people who have got these green cracks in their hands. ['trust.' yes, that's a leap. but it's just like him, to want to patch things over with another, and also do a rather shoddy job of it. he clears his throat.] Thank you. I suppose I will look into learning how to use it. Or see if there's something around that can make money while involving somewhat fewer killer demonic infestations.

oh no oops ;;

[aenseidhe]

[ to be fair, Iorveth's slapped a lot of people, not all entirely deserving of it. But good job, Willem. ]

As much as you can trust any stranger, I imagine. We've not much choice in it, as straying from the main cluster of shards brings agony and eventually death to the shard-bearer. May as well do something with the shards while we're here.

[ but as far as he's seen, no one's gone out of their way to be horrible with them so far, so maybe Willem's more on base about it. Iorveth's ever been a cynical one. ]

You'll have shelter, food and pay from the Inquisition for employ with them and assistance with missions. The natives, however, look wary on those brought from the rifts, as the other things emerging from them have been demons alone. I'd stick with the Inquisition, were I you.

:));;;

[wolfslayer]

Death? [willem repeats. he immediately raises his hand again to look at. that seems extremely serious; the least good fine print.] Oh. No, I knew that. I just was trying to drink myself into forgetting, I think. [thanks, newt. thanks, chronically irritable elf, from whom all the news sounds profoundly more alarming, but maybe that really is the difference of drunken states. we're all in this together, for better or worse, and almost certainly: worse.

the inquisition. he closes his hand again, and then pats down his voluminous hair. an anxious tic.]

All right, [he says. then he hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking to iorveth's ear-tips, then to his face.] I think-- I've seen native people who are a bit like you... [he doesn't want to be an elf racist okay so he isn't going to name races.] Any chance you've seen anyone about that looked like me? Maybe people talking about-- celestial ancestors and all that. Shagging angels? Immaculate pregnancies that got a bit smutty just right in the middle.