RIFTER ARRIVAL: Justinian 9:44

[faderifting]

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.

Comments

[shri]

That - far more pleasantly - surprises her just as much. It didn't matter if he knew who she was or not. For men to hear a woman and soldier in the same sentence tended to shock them, utterly, and not in the impressed way he just had expressed.

( - Well, no, that was not true completely, there was nothing but awe in Galahad's voice when he learned who she was. He had never doubted her ability to fight, no less, to kill. )

So she clears her throat, carrying on. "Yes, well." She smoothes her veil's edge. "That does sound like a Penny Dreadful or some of Stoker's drivel." But it was not as though those stories don't hide a glimmer of the truth of them. Something the aristocracy would rather pretend only existed in books when their people were torn limb from limb. "But I would be lying to say it is not unfamiliar. These demons... are there Half-Breeds and Purebloods among them too?"

[motherfucking_ghost]

"No?" He furrows his brow at the question. Purebloods and half-breeds sounds like some Harry Potter bullshit. Or some elfy bullshit. "No, that's not a thing with these demons. They're just...demons. Uh, the way I understand it is, they're spirits from the Fade that've just gone bad somehow. Do you fight shit like this already back home?"

[shri]

"Demons, no, they live in tales, vanquished perhaps thousands of years ago or never existed at all, I cannot rightly tell."

The way that myth mattered and did not matter. Of foul many faced creatures like Ravana, stealing away Sita, or the armies of Asura's that fought under Lord Ganesh's commands.

"I fight... you may know them as Lycanthropes. Vampires." She swallows, and it is a palatable effect to her. Even their name makes her want to spit it out before she swallowed the sound. Reviles her so deeply.

Granted, that she sounds probably insane doesn't factor in, at least not yet.

[motherfucking_ghost]

"Whoa, you come from somewhere with vampires and werewolves?" Someone doesn't know about that one quest with the werewolves and the elves, shh. "That stuff's...y'know, that's Stoker's tales, that sorta thing. Where I'm from. Only in stories. Shit, though, that's rough; those can't be easy to fight against." With the kind of weaponry and technology that she must have had. He'd like to see a werewolf go up against a repeating plasma rifle, no need for silver there.

[shri]

When Nikola Tesla makes your weapons? The possibilities were dazzling.

"No, it is not. Especially when knowingly or not, they are backed by the United India Company and thus the military power of the British Empire." It's all teeth, hated and sharp, gritted out for the wars she had faced. And lost. Her scars that are under the blood. Here hands that were calloused with the effort of holding on so tightly. To weapons, loved ones, homelands and her life, "Not that they need such armies. They make a powerful enough one of their own."

No one, no one tell her. It will end so badly. "Will I armies of the same here, fighting for this... Inquisition?"

[motherfucking_ghost]

"That's...really fucked up. Like really fucked up. How do you even control vampires? Don't they live forever until you stake 'em in the heart?" Or garlic? Holy water? Crosses? He's not Christian enough for the latter two, damn it.

"The Inquisition's forces are made up of a whole lotta different people from across the world. We've got humans, elves, dwarves, and qunari--the people with horns, I promise you that they're not demons. We've got people who can sling magic cuz they were born with it. And we've got as many opinions as we've got people, so things can get hectic. But no vampires, no werewolves, no demons."

[shri]

"The controlling is easier, apparently, when you are a member of parliament as a vampire, and in the House of Lords no less. Ear to the Queen of England, I'm told." A pitiful picture. A corruption that spread like disease. But still, she smiles, polite and sweet, easy as could be. A demure little turn down of her eyes like she is coy and playing with him. "A stake? No, or at least, I have not tried it. But I find shoving a grenade down their throat works perfectly well."

Still - she nods, assured for the moment. She will take it for what it was, because how could she do otherwise. It was always possible he could be lied too, as mislead as Galahad had been. But time would tell on that.