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

kirkwall

[swordproof]

[ It is not difficult for a warrior to notice another, especially when there are newcomers to Kirkwall. Six is learning that herself; she stands out, standing as tall as she does, pushing above six foot even without her full plate armour, bulky and too thick looking for an average woman. It might make her feel out of place and uncomfortable, were she someone else - but it does not. She has learned to accept herself, even with the bristle of her own pain coming hand in hand with it.

Spotting Brienne is easy enough and she only hesitates for a moment before she steps over. She's in her full armour now, her greatsword strapped to her back and her hair tied in its bun, her gaze set before she offers a low, careful bow. A proper knight, almost, in heart if not in name. ]

Greetings. I have not seen you in the Gallows before.

[ Her own hand sparks with a familiar anchor shard. ]

[servility]

❰ if six had hesitated even a few moments longer, brienne most certainly would've spotted her. a tall woman in armor, a certain sort of familiar if not quite a kindred spirit. (brienne doesn't presume herself kindred to anyone, really. she isn't sure that's a fate she'd wish upon them.) but instead, brienne only notices six once she's stepping toward her, and she scarcely has time to straighten up properly before the woman drops into a bow.

the bow is returned, of course - then she straightens again, one hand loosely clasping the other behind her back. ❱

I arrived three days past, Ser. ❰ though this would certainly be the only other woman-knight brienne has met, 'ser' seems to fit and she'll offer it until corrected otherwise. ❱ Through a rift out at sea. ❰ 'rift' is definitely not a term she's yet accustomed to (at least in this context), but you wouldn't guess it by the flow of her words. all the while, she's regarding six with a carefully-tempered sort of intrigue. ❱

[swordproof]

[ Six doesn't do much to hide, even in the middle of the Gallows; at this point, most people know her from her comings and goings, from her training and her prayers. There's no point attempting to disguise herself. She is Six, the strange Rifter with a God no one knows and powers that reappeared - that is more than enough for most to begin to avoid her, even if they aren't strict Andrastians.

Her smile, at least, is friendly enough, watching Brienne with a nod. ]

I have been here longer than a year, now. My name is Six. [ Said with the feeling that she is used to people questioning the strangeness of it. ] I am happy to help, if you need it.

[servility]

❰ that may be enough for most to avoid her, but brienne has heard no such rumors and wouldn't put stock in them if she had. she's hardly religious herself, and she's already had a taste of the prejudice many here in the gallows seem to feel toward those who've come through the rifts.

six - that's what she calls herself, in a tone that preempts the majority of brienne's thoughts on the matter almost before she's able to have them. 'six' it is, then. in return: ❱

Brienne of Tarth. ❰ force of habit, really. it's not as if 'tarth' is meant to mean anything to this woman. ❱ I'm not sure what help I might need, to be honest. I'm still telling myself this isn't a dream. ❰ her prevailing fatigue hasn't helped matters - between the fight at winterfell and the subsequent dream of fighting at winterfell, she spent much of her first day or so here in a bit of an exhausted haze. ❱

[swordproof]

[ At least there is something familiar to be found in this woman; she has met few who match her in height and strength and it's almost reassuring to see someone that is so like herself. Six had been absent of it in her own world and not given much of the same here in Thedas; she feels like a singularity who has found some kind of pair, a match. Perhaps this lady knight would enjoy a spar.

Head tilted, she pauses, watching for a moment. She will not quest what 'Tarth' might be - a Rifter's world must be different from her own and from Thedas, at least in some way, and it will likely be a place or a region she could never hope to recognise.

At least this is something she can offer support with. ]

It will feel that way, at least for a little while. The people here are most accommodating, kind and supportive of those brought through the Rifts. I can imagine that you will soon make friends who will guide you.

[servility]

❰ brienne isn't sure what to make of the similarity, to be honest. of addressing someone too different to be genuinely familiar but too like her to truly be a stranger. either more similarities or more discrepancies will certainly appear the longer they converse. brienne's not entirely positive which she'd prefer.

despite herself, the 'i can imagine you'll soon make friends' has her exhaling something like dry humor, the corner of her lips twitching slightly. ❱ I'm hardly one to be sought out for friendship. ❰ but... ❱ Allies, perhaps... If there are any to be found in a place called 'The Gallows'.

❰ which there very well might be! it's just... not a terribly reassuring name. ❱

[swordproof]

[Growing accustomed to Thedas is not something that Six had imagined, at least not herself; she had come here and joined up with her sister, but she had never thought that she might be able to survive or manage this. At least the world is no so different from her own - Faerun is more akin to Thedas than some of the other places.

Shaking her head, Six almost smiles. ] I am sure that you will make friends. You have already made one. [ Meaning herself, of course, before she looks around.

Well, the Gallows doesn't sound terribly inviting, but... ] There are many people who live and train here. There will be many people.

[servility]

❰ and for all their immediate similarity, here arrives a clear difference: brienne would never presume to be someone's friend. she learned far better than that when she was a child.

not that the presumption is unwelcome on this occasion. the slight curve of brienne's lips becomes more of a genuine smile now, albeit a brief one. ❱ That's good to know, on both accounts.

[swordproof]

[ Six has always been a little eager; it was almost beaten from her in childhood, but being here in Thedas, with people willing and able to gain her friendship... It has allowed for that familiar enthusiasm to resurface once more.

Softening, she nods her head. ] Please, do not forget it. [ And, then - ] And if you need someone to spar with I am willing to offer myself.

[servility]

❰ brienne was eager, once. but the world was cruel then and it hasn't gentled since.

that doesn't mean she plans to reject any lack of cruelty, however, and she's certainly appreciative of six's offer. brienne nods, saying: ❱ I'd be intrigued to see how styles of combat differ between our worlds. ❰ 'our worlds', what a foreign phrase to roll from her tongue, but it's hardly the first time she's said it today so it won't be foreign for too much longer. ❱

[swordproof]

[ The world has not been kind to Six; dark and dangerous, it has tried to twist her heart from her. Only her faith kept her alive, the promise of her sister, something that had brought her more strength than she had ever imagined.

Lifting her head, she offers a soft smile. ] I would be glad for that. Do you have any magical experience? I will limit my own if that is something that concerns you.

[servility]

❰ fortunately, her talk with young mathias prepared her for others to speak of magic so casually. so when six asks of magical experience, brienne shakes her head slightly. ❱ None personally, no. Is it common here? To fight with both weapons and magic? ❰ it's good to know what to be ready for. ❱

[swordproof]

Common here, yes, and where I am from. There are trained soldiers such as Templars and Grey Wardens here that have unique powers. I am a Paladin. [ Six smiles softly. ] I did not have my powers until quite recently.