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

[gotyourselfapilot]

Poe knew they just met there's no way he would ask about where he got his information from. He could easily talk around if needed. Try to warm the natives in speaking to him or others if needed. That charisma is high based and he would be helpful to anyone. "Have you heard of anyway of leaving from here?" He needed to ask, maybe there might be many answers to that question.

"Well, I'm going to need a lot of training in things. My knowledge is from a place with high advance technology. A place where it's main travel is flying. Although you can find yourself walking endlessly on a desert planet if you don't have a speeder or another way to travel." He makes a small gesture with his hand while giving a partial shrug with his left shoulder. "Blasters is what I'm used to. Not what I've seen being used against the demons or your bow."

The branch can be made into something useful and weapons are needed in this world. If they are to fight the demons. Poe knows that much, he also knows resources can be limited. He's lived in that life for sometime with the Resistance. Not long, but enough to know where his limitations can be. It's mostly what you can get no one else is helping them.

"I would rather they defend themselves against a threat than not be able to. I've seen what a threat can do to a whole village of innocents that don't know how to fight." That may have been back in his home world but he's sure it could happen here as well. "I guess we have a deal when it comes to the branch and the bow making. I wouldn't know anything about that myself. My skills are in other things."

[aenseidhe]

“Not intentionally, no.” While the answer is vague, it’s the most accurate. “Rifters simply disappear back into the Fade at times, with no prior warning, and no evidence of how.”

Just there one moment, gone the next.

‘Blasters’, he says, and Iorveth has no fucking clue what he’s talking about. He isn’t a fan of advertising his ignorance, though that’s likely unavoidable by now, but still, he offers a short nod, rather than stating which parts he understood and which he didn’t, before moving on.

“Seeing it doesn’t always mean much to anyone.” There’s always witnesses to heinous crimes, especially the social ones, the racists, the prejudice. People being beaten in the streets, imprisoned for no reason, lynched. There’s always someone watching, but never anyone doing something about it. Poe suggests he’s different, but Iorveth’s always been of the ‘I’ll believe it when I see it’ persuasion. “Good you recognize it, at least.”

So, there’s that. He mentions ‘deal’, and Iorveth squints at him, walking back through the conversation and trying to recall if a price had been stated anywhere, or if this is just a phrase. Seems more the latter, and he nods, picking up some rope he’d collected to start lashing the pieces together.

“What manner of skills would those be?”