AUGUST RIFTER ARRIVAL

[faderifting]

WHO: New rifters, rescuers, and anyone else
WHAT: New arrivals are collected and transported to Kirkwall
WHEN: Mid-August
WHERE: Southern Tevinter, then the Gallows
NOTES: This log contains prompts for the ARRIVAL and RECOVERY of new rifters, which are closed to new rifters and to the characters involved in the catacombs escape/rescue team in the Tevinter plot. It also contains a new QUARANTINE prompt that is open to everyone.

Comments

THE ARRIVAL — closed to new rifters and catacomb escapees/rescuers

[faderifting]

I. RIFT

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, they say that. Not in this one.

In this world, bathed in the light of a flare of too-bright, greenish light you will find yourself hitting water shallow enough to stand in, but not to sit or lie down in, running swiftly over smooth stone and sediment. You're wet, but 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 gray with rain-swollen clouds—a summer storm, not yet breaking, accompanied by a strong wind and the occasional rumble of distant thunder. The river you've found yourself in is wide and clear, with a village on one bank, and a long dock that indicates the water at times runs deeper. But there's limited time for sightseeing. You aren't alone here. There are other people in the water 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, sinking beneath the water or washing down the river away from you. And beyond them, where the water runs deeper, two massive six-eyed monsters are getting their bearings as well. When they do, electricity sparks in their hands. Getting out of the water would be wise.

Fortunately, someone else has thought of that: a group of armed and armored people swiftly descending on the scene in borrowed row boats, ready to pull you out of the water. 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.

II. RECOVERY

By the time the rift is sealed and the last of the demons dead and dissipated, the storm has broken into a deluge that swells the river against its banks and speeds its current to the point of hazard. But the village is there, and the locals invite everyone indoors to recuperate and wait out the rain. They're curious people: Tevinter, but poor, with only one mage among them, and very few visitors from the South, let alone other worlds. Grateful, too, for the intervention. They press food and ale on anyone who will take it. But despite their hospitality, lingering isn't wise. As soon as the rain slows, it's time to leave.

There is a lot for the Inquisition to explain, so maybe it's lucky that it's a very long walk, back to Kirkwall. Along the way anything from the rift that was lost to the sweep of the river might be found in the water, snagged on rocks or tree branches or caught in a sharp bend. The wilderness is interrupted periodically by villages and cities in the distance, but despite the signs of urban civilization, nights are spent in tents, tucked away from the road, avoiding too much contact. It's half because of the unrest, half because traveling with a handful of unacclimated rifters requires some caution—hopefully someone will explain that, too.

[pyrazine]

I.

[She doesn't really remember her dreams, most of the time. She's accepted that as a part of the exhausted sleep that comes from work; in the favela she used to dream in soft and lilting amounts, catching sleep in the narrow mattress that was her bed, a sibling pressed in on at least one side of her. In Minas, they keep her too busy, and dreams are a luxury for the lazy.

So it's not a surprise that when she drops into the river, she has literally no idea why she's wearing a headdress for Carnival. There are feathers everywhere, it's almost three feet tall on its own, and despite the rough landing she is still sporting it on her head when they (whoever they are) fish her out of the river. She is more interested in the monsters, and that's why she turns to the person next to her.]

That looks-

[Whatever that looks like is lost, because in the pocket of her extremely comfortable jeans (purchased for 50 reais from the shittiest store in Belo Horizonte) is her cell phone, and it fall out of the pocket with an unceremonious thud. She dives for it but might not be quick enough to get it first.]

Fucking whoreshit-

[The swearing is smooth. Where the fuck are they?]

II.

[She's being careful, and she thinks that Aluisio would be proud. Usually she shifts at least three or four times a day, either to sleep (napping is so much better as a wolf) or to avoid the heat or cold, or because she gets less tired, it's easier to cross distances as a guara, but she hasn't done that at all here.

She wants to get her bearings first.

The people are curious and kind, there's food and beer, and they're walking now to somewhere called Kirkvall (her Portuguese consonants are not helpful here).

But still, she's not all without instinct. It takes a bit before she slips away from camp - not too far - shifts, and takes a long, lengthy piss, making sure that anything in the area (including blunt human noses) know that there is something predatory nearby. It smells a bit like skunk, musky and strange. But more than skunk, it smells very strongly of pot, and the smell lingers slightly on Luana when she shifts back and slinks back into camp.

Hopefully no one noticed her disappearance.]

[whiskeyandbrimstone]

I. "Come on!" Jang reaches down in the water and gives her a hand, pulling her towards the boat, waving another hand at the masses of feathers. "Um...What's with the headdress?" After depositing her in the boat, and hearing her swear at the huge demon, she gives a slight shrug. "Suppose you're right, we got bigger fish to fry than colorful birds. Come on, you got a weapon of any kind? Any magic at your disposal?" She speaks with what Luana may recognize as a western accent, a bit of a southern drawl mixed in. She sounds like a cowboy, which is very odd in this place.

Jang takes a knee in the boat, a hand of cards seeminly appearing in her hand as she flings them towards the creature. They burn with a greenish yellowish light and slam into it, not seemingly doing any damage, but getting it's attention without a doubt.

"Hell. I think we may be in trouble."

[pyrazine]

Luana is still disoriented, reaching up to tug at the feathers on her head, squinting at the person in front of her. What the hell is going on? She stares when the cards appear in her hand, and when they glow-

For the love of god.

Luana wrestles the headdress off her head - it's a task, because those things are designed to withstand being worn during some intense dancing - and checks what she has on her person. Her phone is the immediate source of relief, oh thank god, when this is done she can call Aluisio and he can come pick her up, and her figa, that's good too. Okay.

She looks at Jang again, this time her upper lip rising a bit. Everything smells terrible. "I don't do that magic shit. I just got here, does it look like I have any weapons?"

Maybe that's unfair, but she's also in an understandably shitty mood.

[connorrk800]

He determines that his condition is adequate, given the circumstances. Having a human body is more difficult than he could ever have expected, not that he had ever given it a moment's thought. He was a machine. That was all, and how humans managed was not his concern.

So long as he keeps focused on what the others are doing, he can ignore the panic thudding in him. In this way, he is getting by with eating when they eat, resting when they rest. A few people seemed to notice his child-like mimicry, how he seemed to follow this one or that one like a lost puppy for a time, but didn't make a big deal out of it.

When he sees the young woman return to camp, he realizes the meaning of the odd sensation he had been experiencing for the last few minutes. He all but runs off past her into the woods, as if he had been waiting for a restroom stall she had just vacated. When he returns, he looks paler. His eyes are like saucers as he sits down again. Slowly.

He looks over at her, making eye contact sheepishly, keenly aware of how he must have drawn attention to himself this time. "Hello. My name is Connor," he says forcing a smile.

[pyrazine]

Luana looks at this guy, who looks weird, but not for any reason that she can put her finger on. He doesn't seem like a spirit, because they're all laughs and sly glances, or, when they're serious, they look like they can and will fuck you over. Maybe he's a spirit from somewhere else.

Oh.

His name is Connor.

Luana takes a breath. He smells new. She can't pinpoint what that means, but maybe it's that everyone else doesn't smell new. Jesus, she wishes Aluisio were were. Not for the first time. Fuck. So she should introduce herself too. "I'm Luana," she says, raising her eyebrows. "Have a good piss?"

[rathercommon]

Where'd you go?

[ Apparently, Luana wasn't so lucky. Kitty eyes her with open curiosity. She's sitting on a rock, her legs extended out before her, her head tilted slightly to the side. There's no hostility or suspicion in her manner, just a sort of chatty ease. ]

[pyrazine]

[She raises both eyebrows. Kitty smells like-

Herbs. And Kitty, because everyone has their own smell. It's good to be able to register these things.]

To take a piss. We're missing real toilets here.

I.

[lil_lion]

Anduin tears his gaze away from the strange battle downriver when he hears someone shouting behind him... He turns and is surprised to see a strangely dressed woman about his own age fumbling for something. She's the first person he's seen who isn't wearing armour.

He walks over to her, casting a curious glance back at the battle as he goes. "Are you uninjured?" he asks.

[pyrazine]

She's still sputtering when he sees her, thrashing until the headdress comes away from her head, and she looks like a girl with wet hair and a wet ass and a phone held aloft out of the water. "What?" she snarls, and then looks up at this boy. Is he cute? She can't tell, and it doesn't matter.

"Take the phone! Take the phone before it gets wet!"

[tofindthesun]

RIFT

He is-- falling, and that is something of a strange sensation, for an elf.

Legolas remembers the festival preparations, wandering around the city of Gondor to see all it had to offer; and, as elves do, he dreamt of the same. And in his waking dreams, he carried wine and berries with him, because that's what you do when resting after a battle, right. Snack on fruit and wine and nuts in fine party-wear.

Anyway, he tripped, and now he's wet. Luckily the wine is still okay, he'd been mindful enough to keep it from crashing to the-- into the very, very shallow river? There weren't any rivers this shallow in his recent memory. And elven dreams do not usually involve.... falling out of a city and into a river.

It is, ultimately, the pain in his hand that grounds his thoughts. Did wounds normally hurt in dreams? Had he braced himself wrong during the landing? He was trying to keep the wine from spilling. But a look tells him that, no, it's not an injury. It's something else. And something like that something else is also above him, and that is-- Oh. That.

That has him scrambling through the debris littering the river, trying to get out of the water as fast as he can. He can't say he understands water + electricity = bad, but he definitely knows that lightning = bad. Getting as far away from it as he can sounds like a good idea.

And if he happens to come across someone having a bit of trouble, he'll give them a hand too. Mostly he's trying not to die. Fighting doesn't even cross his mind. Seeing as the only thing he's got right now is a jug of wine.

RECOVERY - river-watching, road-chatter, camping curiosities.

Legolas has surprisingly managed to spill only a few drops of wine throughout the whole ordeal. And knowing know what those creatures were capable of, he imagines he'd have lost a lot more than drops if those people hadn't arrived.

He thanks the villagers for the food and ale, although after tasting it he mixes in some of his wine to make it a tiny bit more palatable (when no one is looking, of course). Takes his meal under the eaves of the building closest to the river to water the deluge flow, almost violently, washing away the rubble. He thought he recognized some of it as cobblestones from the roads of Gondor.

It helps to calm his mind. And gives him a million more questions to ask, when things seem a little less life-or-death.

On the road, he's digging out soggy crushed nuts and squashed berries from his pockets and tossing them into the bushes. Shame to waste them, but soggy nuts aren't. Really. Appetizing.

"..It is a strange land," is what he will say to anyone who looks like they'll be close enough, for long enough, to strike up a convo. Rifter and rescuer alike, both on the road and during camptime. "The sounds. And the sights."

...

"And the swill." More chipper. Is it forced? Who knows.


((ooc: action and prose are both fine!))

RIFT

[lil_lion]

Most of his armour is intact after Anduin has dragged himself to shore, all but his heavy pauldrons and helm. He walks toward the battle in a muddled haze. He had thought he was dreaming of father, of drowning, suffocating in his failure to rule wisely and bring peace. Now he finds himself once again on a battlefield...

Trying to make sense of it all, he looks back into the river and spots a bright figure in the waves. They seem to be making their way to dry land too. He looks around and immediately spots an upturned tree, probably a victim of recent storms. He artlessly hacks at a sturdy branch with Shalamayne, its centre still burning like a miniature sun.

"Father wouldn't mind," he reassures himself. Anduin hurries back to the shoreline and extends the branch toward the man in the river. "Take hold, friend!"

[ooc: Shalamayne is the result of two elven blades accidentally merging magically. It's an asymmetrical sword with two blades and an orb of pure golden light in the centre. It is up to you if Legolas would intuit its nature, since Elves in Anduin's setting are only loosely inspired by Tolkein's.].

[tofindthesun]

((ooc: thanks! i don't think he'll sense anything magical about it, except maybe 'hm. fancy shape.' since magic doesn't work much the same in tolkien.))

He doesn't hesitate to grab the extended branch; the rocks are slippery and the rubble loose, even for someone with exceptional balance. Pulling himself in is a bit difficult with just one hand, but doable.

"Thank you," he says once he reaches shore. Strangely enough, he's already feeling some strain on his body, or else he'd have said a lot more. Although to be fair they did just more or less fall out of the sky. "I hope it is not a burden on your blade, to do the work of an axe."

It looks strange enough to be something unique; perhaps a commissioned piece, like Anduril, or Sting. It is glowing, after all... sort of. Fancy. Interesting, for its shape, but Legolas has little attention for weaponry in the best of times. He's more concerned with the battle in the water, and whether more of those things will show up.

"Do you fight with them?" He can't tell if they're all acquainted or not, and this man at least seems set for battle.

recovery

[swordproof]

This isn't the first time that Six has been around new Rifters; she does what she can to be there when most of them are brought through and it was happenstance that made her have a place amongst this particular group of arrivals. She can remember her own first time in Thedas, being trapped in the cold of the north, making acquaintances with all the other newcomers. It was difficult; being around so many new people was enough to make her feel uncomfortable, despite her instant urge to protect and guard them.

Now, she feels a little more at ease and she is happy to move around, to speak to any of those that seem to be seeking company. She's quite tall, even compared to most of the rest of Thedas, over six feet and with her greatsword on her back and her armour strapped on, a dog at her heels, she certainly looks as though she ought to fit in with most Fereldens.

Walking by, she hears someone speak to her and turns her head, curious before she offers something of a smile.

"It is very similar to the land I am from," she says in reply. "Is it different from your world?"

[tofindthesun]

"The woods I am familiar with, and the valleys between forests. Yet I cannot recognize many of the plants that grow here... And it is very quiet." He's not sure how to explain 'I can talk to plants' in so many words. Instead he reaches out and brushes the tips of his fingers against the shubbery with a dip of his head. "The scenery is the same, but that which makes it cannot compare."

...But the dogs are definitely better here than he remembers. That's a good dog. He's two seconds away from being distracted by dog.

"And I have never seen a creature like that before. The one with the many eyes, that could wield lightning like so. Or--" He holds up the hand with the shard in it, holding back a wince. "Or this."

Rift!!

[aenseidhe]

They'd gotten the message halfway through their journey towards Tevinter that there would be a Rift on the way, and Iorveth hissed some curses in his native tongue, because that's just what they needed on this ridiculous trip. But none the less, he's there, and thankfully this batch of rifters seems smaller than some of the others have been, and it's only two (albeit massive) demons to contend with.

Some of the other experienced rifters head for the rift to seal it, and Iorveth pulls a complex looking bow free, starting to loose arrows that thud into the creatures' many, many eyes. As he passes behind Legolas, he grips the back of the man's collar and yanks him up and clear from the water, because he does understand water + electricity = bad.

It's only once he's cast a glance back to him to make sure he landed on his feet than he notices his ears. Oh, good, and elf. Thank you jaysus.

"Elf!" Calls one elf over the noise of the storm to the other. "Can you shoot?"

He's going to assume yes, and he starts pulling a second bow from where it's strapped to his back, something old and ornate looking, with a chill to it when it touches the hand, because it's imbued with a frost rune. Which will make the next command make a lot more sense once Legolas fires it (feel free to yoink some of his arrows).

"Aim for the water by it's legs."

bold of iorveth to assume all elves in fancy clothes know archery

[tofindthesun]

Legolas catches the bow with a sputter, because the water is cold and he is wet. Only one of those is a new sensation right now. Actually, this bow is abnormally cold too, so that's even more strange.

He pipes out a "Not without arrows," and then, of course, yoinks some of the arrows the other man (elf?) has.

After testing the tension on the draw, he aims. The first arrow hits the water between the legs of the closest creature, and the second one strikes its face not long after. Without knowing how strong the creature is, he doesn't know if an arrow to the knee leg would impair it, but there's not a living thing that likes an arrow in the eye.

[lil_lion]

I.

Demons had shredded the airship, plunging his father into the frigid waters off the Broken Shore. Reports said his armor weighed him down- they found his pauldrons sometime later. Somehow, he had burst through the waves. No, he didn't drown that day. If he had, then his tomb at Lion's Rest would not be empty. Anduin dreamed of it now, a vision not entirely unexpected after the calamitous siege of Lordaeron... He calmed his panicked heart.

"It's just a dream. I must be dreaming that I am father because I fear I cannot be the king he was, that I am drowning because I have failed them all..."

But the panic continues; it intensifies. Finally he opens his eyes. Anduin gasps and coughs up some of the water that had flowed into him as he lay in the river. He struggles to find his footing on the slick stones.


II.

There were so many strange things to take in that it was frankly unsurprising to see Reverence casually come to him from a copse of trees along the riverbank. He rides the warhorse, trailing the train of his rescuers as they head to their base in a city called 'Kirkwall.' Anduin is pensive and more withdrawn than is usual for him. The thought crosses his mind that he will need to meditate once he has found some lodgings with this 'inquisition.'

With an effort, he pulls himself out of the whorl of his thoughts and focuses on his surroundings and the people at his side.

I.

[aenseidhe]

Here's this new rifter muttering something about dreams and kings and fathers, sitting in a river that's about to be shocked full of electricity, while wrapped up in metal like a little royal burrito of death. Not that Iorveth knows what a burrito is, but you get the idea.

Human flesh smells super bad when it's burning, and he'd really rather not spend the battle trying to fight off the odor, so with that in mind (and maybe some loose moral compulsions), the elven archer darts forward, grips the back of the boy's shiny gold pauldrons, and bodily yanks him from the water just before a surge of lightning skitters through it.

"That sword won't do you any good with this beast." Iorveth tells him as he catches his breath, hauling the boy up. Hitting an electrified thing with metal is a terrible idea, son. "Either use a ranged weapon, or find a big stick."

Or, just stay there on the sidelines. He'd rather not have to explain to the Scoutmaster why they let some teenage boy get fried fresh out of the Rift.

Re: I.

[lil_lion]

"You have my thanks, Champion," he says once he can string words together. The man looks like he could be one of Shaw's elite although the armor he wears is peculiar, unfamiliar. His bearing reminds him of Lor'themar's people more than his own SI:7 forces.

Anduin sheathes his sword, heeding his advice, then looks to the distant battle, the huge creatures advancing on a small force of fighters in similarly unfamiliar armour. "Are those creatures remnants of the Legion?"

[connorrk800]

I. Connor stands on the river bank and stares at the battle taking place downriver. He's shaking slightly. After what seems like an eternity, he looks himself over. He's drenched. Normally that wouldn't be a problem- it ... shouldn't be a problem. But he's shaking and he feels sluggish and stiff. His mind is especially slow, foggy. Something is broken in his left hand. A strange green light pulses from it and his sensors are sending him confusing information that seems like... pain?

He brushes his hair back, shaking some of the water out of it. As his hand comes down again, he notices abrasions across the palm. They're slight, probably caused by his fall into the river or subsequent scrambling to get out of it.

But the fine lines are red where the skin has been scratched away. Gingerly, he presses his finger against them. It comes away spotted with red.

[OOC: Androids bleed blue, so he's going to freak out about this just a *little*. ]

II.

[OOC: Connor is basically sulking at a table at the inn, stubbornly refusing to believe any of this is real. Change his mind. :D ].

[whiskeyandbrimstone]

II. Jang sees Connor sitting at one of the tables, not talking, not looking around, even in curiosity. She heads on over and slides across from him. She looks at him and then down at the table, and begins to shuffle a deck of cards.

"So...What's your name? I think we picked up your brother or something as well...Where are you from? Clothing looks...nice, but a bit different than where I'm from. I'm Jane."

The cards keep on shuffling while she talks, almost like she's doing it without thinking, just to give her hands something to do.

[rk80051]

I.

Connor's running simulations and processing information while in stasis mode. This is what he usually does when there is no need for him, which tends to happen particularly at night while most humans are asleep. He's been doing it less recently, now he has realigned himself primarily with Jericho, who are all androids. But it still happens, and after turning deviant, he finds it a useful tool for processing the emotions he's not used to having.

And then the simulation... somehow slips out of his control.

He's falling, and it seems almost familiar, like something he's preconstructed but that never came to pass.

When he finally lands, there is a cacophony of sounds, and he is submerged in water. His systems are all going haywire, and he's not even receiving any error messages, just sensations, and he's completely overwhelmed. He doesn't know which way is up, something in his chest is wrong, and it takes him a moment to even realise what it is. It's wrong because it hurts, it hurts, which is unprecedented in itself. Connor has never hurt before.

It must be pure instinct that allows him to find his footing and stand upright, gasping for breaths he's never had to take before. Everything is noise and light and pressure, pain and confusion, and his mind doesn't even work the way it's supposed to. It's as if someone's ripped out his thirium pump regulator, he's having difficulties even processing what's going on around him.

He's finding himself breathing hard, shaking, his movements sluggish and inaccurate as he tries to steady himself and take in his surroundings. There are a million metaphorical alarm bells and error messages going off in his head at everything that's happening, and there seems to be no sort of logic in what he's seeing -- people, boats, armour, and something tall he can only describe as some sort of creature.


II.

After the initial crisis has been dealt with, Connor keeps to himself. He doesn't eat or drink anything in the tavern - that's still an unfamiliar concept, even if his mind is telling him that logically, it is necessary and it might help.

He's having trouble even just adjusting to the main basic concept that's undeniable and overwhelmingly true: he's human now.

Then add to that the fact that there are many other central concepts he's going to have to adjust to. The unfamiliarity of his location, the different level of technology, whatever this thing is that's lodged in his hand... To outsiders, he might appear to be in shock. Which, honestly, would be an understatement.

Here we go.

[connorrk800]

I.

He's still shaking, blunted, detached as he stands on the shore just observing what is happening around him. Idly he wonders if these malfunctions would approximate the condition of 'shock' in humans. His attention is drawn by a disturbance in the river he had just crawled out of. He steps back from it suddenly before his mind can register why. Yet another illogical response; his systems were having a lot of those at the moment.

He squints when he sees another Connor struggling to right itself in the waves. For a moment, he does nothing. He doesn't move. Doesn't react in any way. Inwardly, he calmly assesses the situation. It probably takes longer than it should; an observer would feel his hesitation awkward. He looks down to where he remembers seeing an accumulation of driftwood and seizes a long, sturdy branch. He walks over to the shoreline and cries in a steady, strong tone: "Connor!"

ii

[swordproof]

"Two!"

There's a young dog that runs around, almost as if he's about to run into Connor's legs, but the sharp shout is enough to stop him before he gets into a position that the man might trip over him. He turns his head and waits for the woman to come over to him, and she's quick to bend down and pick him up into her arms; he's large, but it doesn't seem to be too much of an issue for her, considering the bulk of her own muscle.

Moving a little closer, she shakes her head, frowning for a moment before she pets the dog's head and places him down, where he sits immediately at her heels.

"... Are you well?"