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faderift2019-05-12 08:30 pm
faderifting) wrote in faderift2019-05-12 08:30 pm
RIFTER ARRIVAL, Bloomingtide 9:45
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.
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.
no subject
the wink earns a dry chuckle-breath, and she's certainly noting the name 'aveline', though it isn't ringing any bells to brienne so far. 'kirkwall' is - the woman in the rowboat mentioned kirkwall as the nearest town, though the semantics thereof (and how it relates, positionally, to winterfell and the rest of westeros) are still a bit hazy.
one thing at a time, though. for now, he's gotten the chestpiece unhooked from the one on her back, and she's pulling it off to set it on an unoccupied patch of stairs. ❱
You have my gratitude, ❰ she says, meeting his eyes a moment to ensure her sincerity comes across (in case the relief permeating her tone isn't enough), then: ❱ You're the second to mention 'Kirkwall'. Am I to assume we're no longer in Westeros? ❰ or rather, that she's no longer in westeros.
after a moment, she glances down to eye the tunic-like padding she's still wearing, then opts to shed that layer too. there's a normal daily-wear tunic underneath, one last layer before her smallclothes, and at least this one is thin enough to dry at a decent speed. ❱
no subject
[He steps back to give her room to continue changing, choosing to lean against a tree and keep her company.]
Kirkwall is the city-state we're headed to. It's our group's base of operations.
[Anders jerks a thumb back in the direction of where they'd helped fish everyone out.]
We want to stop those tears that keep spilling demons into our world. There's more to it, but that's about a thousand years of history and even people who love history don't want to wade through that much all at once.
[He's smiling as he says it, but there's a serious note to his tone.]
Very long story short, there's an evil force in this world pulling people like you into our world as demons spill out, and that force would like to kill and rule all life in our world. Perhaps at the same time. I'm not entirely certain of the order of that.
pardon the wait
❰ as much sense as being dragged through a rift into another world, which is undeniably what seems to have occurred. ❱
no worries!
[Now the smile's matched in his voice.]
Seeing as that's what they are and we've nothing else to call them. Those specific ones were Despair demons. They're not the worst of the lot; that probably goes to some sort of pride or rage variation. There's a whole introduction speech and pamphlet once we get to Kirkwall, the awful city-state we're based in and heading to, but do you have any immediate questions? Oh, and I'm Anders. Anders Howe.
no subject
And I'd care to know what sort of 'awful' we're sailing into.
❰ seeing as he very deliberately introduced kirkwall as 'awful', she figures it's fair game to ask. ❱
no subject
It's known as the city of chains, as it has a history of pain and suffering. Slavery, captivity, a special amount of suffering for my people in particular, and a disaster stemmed from a desperate attempt to save lives.
[Anders shrugs.]
It's a long, sordid history that's multiple hundreds of years old. Some of it is personal. It's also cold and muddy most of the year this far south; I much prefer the warmth of the North.
ugh i am SO SORRY this is so late, feel free to ditch it if you'd prefer
regardless, she follows it up with the mildly amused: ❱ It will be interesting to get used to a North that isn't layered in mud and snow.
No worries!
[he clarifies, holding up his hand for a moment and letting it be encased in the soft green glow of creation magic before it's gone.]
Until a few years ago, the law of the land was that mages be locked away as curses, dangers, things, from the moment our abilities showed up. We've fought for that to change, but the people in power would still benefit from controlling us so there may be fighting again. Not that I want more conflict, but it would be worth it for freedom.
[He sighs as he stretches.]
One day maybe you'll see the Northern lands. They're fairly well occupied right now by enemy forces.