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

[mousquetaire]

[ D'Artagnan can't help smiling. He doesn't laugh, though. ]

Everyone has their first time. I grew up in the country, away from anything like this. I know the feeling.

[ He leans on the railing beside her, letting the wind ruffle through his hair. They're both going to be a mess when they go inside. He doesn't mind that. ]

Kirkwall, where we're going, is on the coast. Follow that water out, and you'll hit the ocean eventually. Do you like it, most importantly? The sea air seems to suit you, Mademoiselle.

[pati]

( are we really talking about your first time, d'artagnan

Kara hasn't thought too far ahead about how her hair will be after this relaxing breeze blows it into a tangle worse than it already is.

Something he says, though, gives her a brief pause. )

Mademoiselle? I think you might have me confused with someone else. My name's Kara.

[mousquetaire]

[ D'Artagnan laughs. His habits are hard to forget here, particularly since the Orlesian element of the community still understands them. He shakes his head. ]

It's how I address young women when I don't know their names. I'm d'Artagnan, of the King's Musketeers of France. It's a pleasure to meet you, Kara.

[ He inclines his head just a little, not quite a bow but close enough to it. ]

[pati]

( Oh. ) Like sir or ma'am or miss. Got ya. ( She nods her head. Maybe a bit awkwardly cause this dude is super fly and she's super not. )

So is a musketeer like a guard, then? Do you actually guard a real king? ( Oh yeah, mannners. ) And uh, nice to meet you too d'Artagnan. ( Her city accent is a little thick on his name, not quite as elegantly spoken as he puts it. )

[mousquetaire]

Ma'am is short for Madame, I believe. It's quite English. [ He pauses, looking at her, and taking her accent into account. ] You're probably not English. Ignore me.

Yes, I guard a real King, or at least I did in my own world. [ He says that with no small amount of irritation. He has a whole life, and a duty in that world, and he's just been plucked from it. ] I need to return to him, but as there's no way to do that for now, I'm doing what I can.

What of you, where are you from?