RIFTER ARRIVAL, Bloomingtide 9:45

[faderifting]

WHO: New rifters, rescuers, and anyone else
WHAT: New arrivals are collected and transported to Kirkwall
WHEN: Mid-Bloomingtide, 9:45
WHERE: The Amaranthine Ocean, near Denerim, and Kirkwall
NOTES: This log contains prompts for the ARRIVAL and RECOVERY of new rifters, as well as the subsequent QUARANTINE period. All prompts are open to anyone.

I. ARRIVAL

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 green light, you plunge into water—or, more accurately, you are suddenly in water, but there's no splash. It's as if you were always there. But you're alive, and the sun above is bright enough to orient you toward the surface, if you can swim. (If you can't, someone will be with you shortly.) And once you can take a breath and a moment to evaluate your condition, it will be apparent that you're unharmed, 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.

A ship is anchored only a short swim away, and a boat is already being lowered to the water. The sky is bright blue, with scattered, fluffy clouds; the water around you is equally blue, with gentle foot-high swells, scattered with any buoyant belongings that may have arrived with you. Those that don't float and aren't in your hands already are on the sandbar beneath you—not too far to dive for, if you need them right away, but waiting a moment might be best. Because between you and those belongings is something bright green, obscured by the waves, and around you, a number of skeletal figures in tattered, sopping-wet cloaks are rising up above the water.

The bad news is that these figures would like to murder you with ice. The good news is that, in the process of flinging freezing energy at you, they may create floes and paths of solid ice large enough to support your weight. The even better news is that you aren't alone: the rowboats from the ship, quickly approaching, are full of people—humans, or at least humanoid—who are armed and armored, ready to intervene on your behalf, pull you into the boat, and supply you with a sword if you need one. At least a couple of them seem to know what they're doing. They've been waiting for you.

II. RECOVERY

Once the rift is sealed and the last of the demons dispatched, there's time to breathe, to fish your stuff out of the ocean, and to retreat to the ship. Your first nights in Thedas will be spent sailing—but your rescuers brought plenty of food and clothes in various sizes, and the sailing is smooth all the way back to Kirkwall.

III. KIRKWALL

Kirkwall sits perched on, below, and within the black cliffs surrounding a harbor. The Gallows sit in the center of that harbor, on a rocky island occupied almost entirely by a massive fortress. Despite everyone's best efforts at removing statues of slaves and depressing murals, planting more greenery in the stone courtyards and gardens, and removing unnecessary bars, it still has the lingering aura of a prison, or a place where something terrible has happened, or both.

Still, it's home for at least the next few weeks, because new rifters are quarantined in the Gallows on arrival. They're given rooms with everyone else and permitted to wander the grounds freely, but not to leave the island fortress to explore the city. It's for their own safety, someone will explain—there are social mores they may not understand yet, people who would like to kidnap or kill them who they must learn to be wary of, writing that may or may not be unfamiliar and a thousand places to get lost—as well as everyone else's, but as long as no one exhibits any signs of contagious disease or a propensity for murdering civilians, it won't last very long.

In the meantime, they'll be gathered together or taken aside frequently for talks on a number of issues considered vital to their success, or at least their basic survival, from a quick overview of Thedosian geography, to an explanation of the war against Corypheus and this organization's place in it, to a breakdown of the local currency. The newest rifters have arrived in the middle of an upheaval: there's a new Divine in charge of the Chantry, Thedas' major religion, and the organization that's currently housing them is in the process of separating itself from the Inquisition. It's okay to be confused.

There is also a seemingly endless list of don'ts. Don't touch red lyrium. Don't touch lyrium at all. Don't approach darkspawn unprepared. Don't put anything covered with odd black film anywhere near your orifices. Don't deal with demons. Don't use magic in the streets unless absolutely necessary, or else the locals might panic. Don't mouth off to nobles. Don't wander too far for too long, if you insist on wandering at all, or the anchor in your hand will become unbearable. Don't forget that you're guests—frightening ones—and making a good impression now may make all the difference in the future, when the war is over and someone has to decide what to do with this collection of Fade-touched strangers.

And don't forget, when you are allowed to leave, that the last boat back to the Gallows is at midnight.

Comments

III. Baths

[overharrowed]

[Julius is tall and fair, on the lithe side. While he isn't built like a fighter, with a towel around his waist a few battle scars are apparent, with a serious scar on his left shoulder the most prominent (and likely the newest, for all it's healed). The clothes he retrieves are neatly folded robes, which Steve may or may not yet have the context to recognize as those of a mage.

He glances over, taking in both the struggle and the anchor shard. It's not much of a jump to:]

New arrival, then?

[His Ferelden accent probably reads English; his tone is amused but not unkind.]

[murrika]

[ despite pretty clearly having the body and build of a soldier, there aren't any real or bold scars on steve's body - most things healed too well to leave one. anything remaining likely predated his serum. julius' collection goes unnoticed for the first several moments, as it seems steve's somewhere in the middle of realizing he's put his arm through a laced seam between panels rather than a sleeve hole.

he's extracting it as his head raises to meet the person who speaks up nearby, flashing an only slightly sheepish half-smile for the comment. ]

That obvious, huh?

[ he can normally dress himself like a grown ass adult, he promises. as for the robes, his eyes glances to them, but it doesn't bring up "mage" so much as it does "monk" for him right now. ]

[overharrowed]

[Julius' smile grows a little.]

One learns what to look for. Do you want help, or shall I leave you your dignity and gamely pretend I saw nothing?

[It's a genuine offer. For all he doesn't have a rifter's exact experience, he knows what it's like to be thrown headfirst into a situation without preparation, and he remembers the bruises to his pride that resulted.]

[murrika]

Not sure how much that dignity'll be worth if I walk out of here with my shirt on backwards or upside down. [ is it even possible to put a shirt on upside down? steve feels like he would accidentally find a way, right now. so, that meaning: ]

I'll take the help.

[ save him from himself. ]

[overharrowed]

Certainly.

[He takes a moment to quickly don his robes, or at least the first layer, with the ease of a man who grew up in dormitories. It's not so much modesty at work as the fact that he can more confidently keep both hands free if he's not in the towel.

That done, he comes over to evaluate the scope of the problem.]

I'm curious, how do clothes fasten where you come from?

[Since the laces seem to be the main issue.]

Maybe best to start again.

[murrika]

[ look, there's panels involved in this medieval stuff and he's not sure if this is a fasten in the front or the back thing, he misses tshirts with tags to tell you what the back is.

as for modesty, well, steve does him the favor of not watching him while he's changing, because that's weird, but he also spent a lot of time with military guys in boot camp and trenches. dudes getting naked in front of him doesn't bother him. either way, he's grateful when julius comes over to help him out. ]

Well, that one's a zipper and some velcro. [ a nod towards the suit currently drying out. ]

Don't think you guys have those yet here.

[overharrowed]

I'm absolutely going to investigate both once we sort you out, with your permission, [he says, mild. As he rights the garment so at least they're working the right way up, he adds,]

I'm Julius, by the way. And if it makes you feel any better, a few year ago I was suddenly tossed into the outside world after living my life in a literal tower, so I made a vast array of embarrassingly mundane mistakes. I've just had the luck to never see most of the people who witnessed them again.

[murrika]

Steve. [ he follows up, by way of introduction, leaving the garment in his new friend's hands to manage. ] Good to meet you, Julius, and thanks for the help.

[ but there's a furrow in his brow, going over the talk about living in a tower. ]

I'm guessing this wasn't a Rapunzel situation. Was the tower set up a personal choice? [ he's new, can you tell? ]

[overharrowed]

[He works on the laces, making sure they're all where they need to be, rather than tangled or excessively loose.]

I'm afraid you'll have to enlighten me on Rapunzel, but no, not a personal choice. Has anyone spoken to you about mages yet?

[He doesn't mind doing it, he's just trying to gauge exactly how far back he needs to start.]