faderift | RIFTER ARRIVAL: Justinian 9:44

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RIFTER ARRIVAL: Justinian 9:44

WHO: New rifters & their rescuers.
WHAT: Welcome to Thedas.
WHEN: Justinian 12, 9:44
WHERE: East of the Hundred Pillars and Perivantium.
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 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, hanging suspended in the air, is a shifting, crystalline tear in reality. It's the same color as the mark on your hand.

Beyond it, the sky is a clear and black, with stars that won't show until the rift's blinding light has been extinguished but two moons visible now. One hangs above you, beyond the rift. Another is lower in the sky, cut by the jagged line of mountains on the distant horizon. There's nothing in between to obscure the view or to block the steady, warm wind from the east, which isn't howling or whistling over the flat expanse of land so much as gently humming. Not gentle: the ground beneath you, which is more rock than sand. Further to the east there are dunes; here, the land has been stripped by the wind. It is nonetheless indisputably desert, with low, shrubby foliage and the earth beneath the rocks cracked and sun-baked.

But this isn't really the time for sightseeing.

You aren't alone here. There are other people on the ground around you—humans, or at least humanoid—with matching green marks, and an assortment of junk that might be familiar or might be very much not. Beyond them, forming a crescent ring around one edge of the rift's light, are a dozen wraiths, each capable of shifting between elements and hurling blasts of damaging magic. There's also a swarm of large buglike creatures determined to eat your teeth and three ghouls in suits chasing one rifter in particular.

All of these things would probably like to kill you. But you're not alone. In the dark beyond the rift's light, a group of armed and armored people swiftly descend on the scene. Many are wearing a symbol that looks a bit like a hairy eyeball being pierced 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, it's only a short hike to an Inquisition camp in the greenery where the landscape begins its shift into plains, where everyone can patch up any wounds, have something to eat, and ask what in the void is going on here. But don't wander off. In the dark beyond the campfires there are other hazards: prowling wildlife, scavenging bands of darkspawn, unfamiliar lands and no map to guide you if you don't already know where you're going.

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Six takes it upon herself to stand guard most nights, if only because she thinks that she needs a little bit less sleep than other people. She's trained for a very long time to keep herself able and fit, and standing guard was one of the jobs that was given to each of her mercenary group in time. She expects that many of these new Rifters are going to be confused and on edge, especially with the swarming of the new people from the Inquisition proper; it's a lot to get used to.

She spots someone looking tense and frustrated as she sits by the fire. It makes Six frown, just a little, and compassion steals her just a little as she pushes herself away from her spot before she moves over and hovers nearby. Maybe she doesn't look like the most pleasant of person with her sword on her back and her armour settled around her, but she doesn't think she looks terribly threatening either - at least, she's trying not to look threatening.

"Do you need any assistance?"

This knight is different, to the one she had left sleeping in a bed in the depths of the Thames' river slums. To the ones that hunted her. The ones she warred with until the streets of London ran thick with smoke and blood.

But it is a knight nonetheless if she knows anything of the images she saw in English palaces and houses and chapels. Enough to make her back go stiff, in pride rather than fear. A refusal to back down from anything, no matter how and when it occured. They had never turned their hands to her, not in service, not until -

Galahad would be well. Tesla and Devi could see to him if she could not.

Because maybe she wasn't the most pleasant either. Silks and blood, gold and scars. She didn't know how to run from the fight with the green ghosts and the little blasted teethed things. Her veil showed no more than the lower part of her face freely, her eyes just barely seen through as she held the edge of her veil between her first two fingers and thumb.

Then slowly - she nods. Bowing her head solemnly, a woman of position out of sorts to being exposed. Or more exactly, she had fought so long, and was so alone for so much of it... it is strange to simply have it offered and accept it. "There is a bite, I cannot reach it."

The image of a stiff, carefully managed posture is one that Six recognises. She holds onto it herself more often than not, stoic and careful and managing her outward appearance to give the image of strength and stability. She had never allowed that to falter in public, only allowing herself to be weaker and more fragile when she was alone or trapped away elsewhere with Adalia - and even now it's difficult, even in front of her sister. Strength was all she had when everything else was stripped away.

It helps, at least, that deep down Six knows she has a good heart. Sarenrae would not have come to her otherwise, would not have allowed her to be blessed with the gift of her strength, for her to transform from a soldier to a Paladin under her touch. Her devotion would not be repaid if she was cruel or filled with judgement; it is a good thing that she is kind, because Six can imagine the kind of monster she would be if she was anything but.

Shaking her head, Six offers a small smile, a barely-there lift of her mouth.

"Would you allow me to look at it?" She doesn't think she looks particularly threatening, but sometimes Six is incredibly unaware of herself; that she is tall, above six feet, with muscles and weapons that would make some people weep to carry. She still pictures herself the small, sad girl struggling to carry her first weapon, finding it difficult to lift the metal with her own bare hands.

"Or I can find you a healer."

There's another beat, another measurement, before Lakshmi bows her head in invitation. Lifting a hand to beckon in her in. Perhaps more elegant a gesture than she really feels with all the ornamentation, each finger stained a dark brown than her skin as it is with the henna dye. The rings that make her move slowly, carefully.

"I do not think it bears troubling them. It stopped bleeding a while ago, it simply just pulled in the walk enough to cause a mess."

Never mind, it would be a waste of resources once she got some time alone enough to heal this without prying eyes seeing her own magic. Which suddenly, seemed, very common compared to everything she had just witnessed.

"But it feels... dreadful." It's a ventured piece of levity at this knight she has found company. Imagines that as much as a warrior might put some off, a woman dressed in silks and gold as off-putting.

Six moves forward slowly, dropping her sword into the ground with a quiet thud. She's a little awkward, moving in her armour and dressed up for guarding and fighting, but she can still shift and drop down to a knee to look at Lakshmi's wound properly. She's seen enough bites, scrapes, burns, broken limbs and the rest to know how to handle this, at least, which should do until they find a healer to treat it properly.

"It would be best for them to look at it some point if only to avoid infection. Wrapping it will keep it clean, but we should make sure you are safe as well."

Reaching into her pack, she brings out a small cloth and some bandages, beginning to clean the wound carefully with water from her waterskin. Only then does she move to wrap it gently, fingers and touch gentle despite her size and her stern nature and countenance. She doesn't seem to react to the way that Lakshmi is dressed or speaks, at least; she just nods.

"Tell me if it is feeling better."

She takes the time while she talks to reach for the long braid that had fallen over her shoulder. Fishing out the now well and truly tangled pearl and gold pins. Dropping them into the lap of her skirts as she goes. Working from the bottom up in little tugs to work them free from the black strands of hair.

The only sound she makes until prompted is a inhale of breath as she stops in her fiddling to lean herself forward, making sure to hold still for her. It goes deep, holding her breath within herself when she feels fingers come close to the edges of the wound, the faint sting. But she refuses to make a sound for it.

Then she lets it go, her head turning to look over her shoulder, back at her. It's then, mild as it is, that she gives her a brief, far more at ease, look. "Much, my lady."

Six is gentle, moreso than she probably needs to be. She's used to soldiers, used to men who would rather sit stoically and pretend as though they're not in pain; she never felt the need to be particularly gentle, to be soft and kind to them. More than anything else she felt as though she had to prove that she was not going to be kind to them, that she was as tough as they are, that she could be just as dangerous, even in healing.

It isn't the case anymore. It's been many, many years since then and she feels better for it. She can allow herself to be gentle, she can allow herself to be softer with people, especially with strangers who she doesn't know. Perhaps this woman would be tough enough for a less gentle hand, but why risk it? Why be cruel?

"I am no lady," she smiles, a little, shifting and moving to settle down at her side. "Just Six."

Predictably, under the blood, there are scars. Older ones, far worse than this but she says nothing of that either. Just like blood, they were more one thing to be dealt with. They were both women, she reasons, she has no reason to feel so out of sorts over something as little as this.

"You are not a knight?"

Its curious, rather than put off as once the work is done, Lakshmi straightens up. Flicking out her dupatta to rearrange herself. Draping the material back over her hair, then down, hiding her face away.

It's not as if Six doesn't have her own fair share of scars. There's a reason she never wears thin shirts, a reason why, even now, she tucks herself away and hides behind armour and leathers and fabrics. She doesn't want anyone to see her worst moments colouring her skin, the shape of a sword that almost cut her in half.

"Not of this world," she shakes her head. "I was a Paladin in my own world, which is something similar, perhaps." She had been treated as a knight in the tournament, she supposes, but she had never felt as though she was particularly knightly. She simply... Is.

It had been a long time since then, at least in her mind. Years.

"The knights here are more akin to protectors and policing. I am not related to them."

Her mouth opens, brow furrowing as she is for want of something better confused. Looking at her with a utter perplexity about what she had understood. True enough she was not even born European to completely understand, had only the stories that she had learned from better, younger days, or on the road from taverns, travelling folk...

"Is not a Paladin just... A French Knight? They served... Charlamagne, did they not?"

"Not in my world."

It doesn't surprise her that the word has more meanings than it does to her. Six knows 'Paladin' as someone who works for their God, as someone who has been blessed with that divine power, who had made an Oath in response to that gift. To others... It simply means a knight, something akin to it, something far more prestigious than she had ever reached for.

"To me, a Paladin is someone in service to their God, given powers through an oath."

"Definitely sounds like them." she mutters it mildly. But leaves it be, she didn't exactly have the best track record with Knights, whether they were French, English, blessed by God or something else entirely.

"And does your God bless you for your oath?" is probably the more important question. Some kind of blackwater of their own, perhaps.

It doesn't seem as though this woman likes the paladins of her world particularly, but Six cannot comment on that. She can't compare herself to anything she doesn't recognise; she can't compare herself to a world that she has no knowledge of. It would do little more than make her appear incredibly foolish.

"She does, at times. She has given me guidance and gifts as I grow stronger."

She stays quiet, watching her. Did Galahad once believe like this? When she had met the man, he no longer did. Had not for centuries. Angry, tired, a wall between him and all else in the world.

At least until she had not let him block her out as well, whatever else she might say, she blinks it away. Lets her expression soften, warm, however mild that is. "Honour to you, then, blessed one."

Knights, she most definitely has a low opinion of. ( Especially of the one she was fond of - the idiot. Did he not know what he did to her, as he laid there, half dead, as she dripped honey and water into his mouth so he might breath deeper, watch the life come back into her skin. ) "May you serve her and your duty well."

May she not become as Lakshmi knew, may it for someone else, be a better life.

Six knows that she is incredibly lucky; she knows that she has been blessed to have Sarenrae speak to her, cherish her, offer her gifts and power and support. The fact that her God had helped her finger her way towards her sister, had saved her after the worst thing that had happened to her, had done all these things... She feels blessed in a way that she cannot express and she wonders if anyone can truly understand.

Her fingers lift and brush over the amulet she wears around her neck, stroking over the metal there, the soft symbol of Sarenrae that she keeps with her at all times. It takes her a moment to respond, but when she does it's with a nod of her head.

"Six is enough, please. I do not ask for any more than that." She doesn't like the idea of being held higher than anyone else, of being put aloft in any way; she's nothing special because of the choice she made. She's still just a woman fighting for the people who are unable to fight for themselves, who need something a little more.

"I do what I can and that is enough."

"If only that was always true."

She smiles, politely, and then waves it away. Old woman's miseries had no need to ruin the goodwill of the young. Life would do that, all by itself. But Lakshmi lifts her hands. Palm to palm and below her veil, bows her head. Greeting.

"I am Rani Lakshmi Bai. Rani will suffice." Not half so humble, but she wears it better than any other trapping, anymore.

"It is not true for everyone. I wish it were so."

Six shakes her head. She knows that the world is not as kind as it could be, even as she works hard to help make it so. Sarenrae asks for redemption, healing, to guide people to the light - and that's what she wants to offer to others. An alternate path, something good, something better.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Rani." Six bows her head in lieu of a proper bow thanks to her sitting position. "Welcome to Thedas."

"I would say I am honoured. But I have not a true wit how I am here, and nor do I wish to be."

It's sighed, her head bowing a momentary lapse in that stiff composure as she works a hand against her back of her neck. Pushing at tense muscles. The frustration that she can have no privacy to heal herself builds as the wounds ache. Not just these, but the ones so old. Though that was hardly anyone's fault, more to blame to her paranoia in that regard.

But she does very much, wish to leave.

"I did not, the first I woke here. I've learned to adjust, but it does not make it easier, being far from home."

That and the Anchor binding her, the uncertainties, the awkwardness and the attempts to fit in... None of it works in their favour, even if she is from a world that is very similar to this one. She knows she is an outsider and is treated like one, and that's something that's never going to go away. At least she can live with it.

"I am sorry there is not better news."

"I will make the best of it, I always do." A sigh. Loathe, loathe as ever to do it. Miserable in her helplessness. Furious as that makes her, she can do little now since her initial ire over it all had cooled.

To that, there were more important matters. "Do you know much of the politics of this place?"

"A little, but not a great deal." Six is still learning herself, hand in hand with her sister, in a way. Adalia is far more involved in politics than she is, but she is doing what she can to learn and understand. "But if you have questions I can try to answer them."

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RIFTER ARRIVAL: Justinian 9:44

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