MOD EVENT ↠ CREEPY CRAWLERS

[faderifting]

WHO: Everybody
WHAT: Weird shit comes to Kirkwall Riftwatch earns its keep
WHEN: August 20-22
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: OOC post! Random creature generator! CW: creepy crawly animals and the combating thereof.

I. KIRKWALL

The first Fade-touched creatures are small—they must be—because the first signs that something has gone wrong aren't swarms of oversized pests stomping through the streets, but a half-day of unexplained fires in Lowtown and Darktown, splotches of mysterious ice on the walls despite the heat, and the sudden simultaneous electrocution deaths of two dock workers standing knee-deep in water.

Rumors that mages must be to blame don't have an opportunity to get louder than whispers, fortunately, before the first pack of double-sized, fire spitting nugs is startled out of hiding and runs through the city, squeaking wildly and singeing walls.

By nightfall, it's become an invasion: rats, nugs, bats, deepstalkers, some oversized, some aggressive, all exhibiting unusual abilities. The City Guard—already overworked due to the traditional rash of crimes that often accompanies a heatwave combined with the caffeine-related unrest—does its best, but by morning the pests have reached Hightown and begun scorching curtains and leaving trails of poison slime through gardens and the Provisional Viscount sends a formal request for aid to the Gallows. It has a seal and everything.

II. DARKER THAN DARKTOWN

The old mines that Kirkwall was built around and on top of are only heavily populated near the surface. Beneath Darktown's shanties and encampments, the mining shafts narrow into passages too cramped to easily live in, twisting away from any natural sources of light and down into the black rock until not even dwarven and elven eyes can discern anything in the dark. At first, it seems cooler underground, as one would expect. But the air stagnates and the humidity rises and at times it seems that the deeper one gets, the hotter it is.

The tunnels aren't entirely deserted. Signs of activity litter the paths, along with skeletons—some animal, but also some human, dwarven, or elven—and detritus, discarded rags and broken pottery, and a whole collection of dolls made of bundled twigs. The smugglers and reclusive Darktown denizens who travel this deep are difficult to come across in person, and prone to attacking first if cornered by anyone too clean and official-looking, but now and then they can be seen disappearing around corners or heard whispering from side passages.

Navigating the mining shafts is fairly straightforward, most of the time. Widening passages and upward inclines are the way out; narrowing passages and downward inclines are the way in. If fire and glow stones fail, sending crystals cast a faint light that's enough to keep anyone from being completely blind in the depths. But there are still passages that turn back on themselves, downward tunnels boarded over with bridges that have begun to rot, tunnels half-flooded with Maker-knows-what, steep drops—and the occasional stampede of Fade-touched creatures, more and more frequent closer to the rift.

Close enough, the jet-black stone walls begin to reflect green light, and then the tunnels open up into a wide open space full of damp, briney cool air. And demons.

III. THE RIFT

It's just a rift: the usual split of churning green, so bright in the dark that it's nearly blinding, hanging over standing water in the center of a wide-open chamber, patrolled by the usual demons.

But once they're dispensed with, and the rift closed, the chamber is something more unusual. The standing water is salty—coming in from the sea, at least in part, never deeper than the knees (or waist, maybe, on a dwarf) but populated with a few small fish, and the stone around it is covered with deep mushroom, ghoul's beard, and a few sprigs of rare felandaris. Beneath the overgrowth, there are signs of architecture, dwarven columns and crumbling statues of dragons in the Tevinter style.

Beneath the water, the floor is carved with a design not unlike a glyph, and also not unlike the pattern of Kirkwall's streets. The Veil is so thin that a sneeze could have torn it open.

Comments

at the rift.

[swordproof]

Six is used to demons, of a sort; they usually come in the form of the undead, in the form of those who had been brought back by a God or a Cleric of some kind, something that must be put to bed so that it might be given a chance at redemption. Sarenrae had guided her in that and she looks for it back in return now, to find a means of giving peace in this world she had been brought into without pause nor hesitation.

Greatsword drawn, she wastes little time in storming the Rift, twisting her arm to bring it down on the head of one of the creatures. It blazes with the fires of divine blessing and she almost yells as she kicks it from the end of her blade, hair already beginning to stick to her face with a mix of the water and her own sweat, fighting as hard as she is covered in her armour.

Thor is almost unnoticeable until she sees the earth spike and she stops, breathing hard.

"Thor!"

[thorndergod]

Her voice catches his attention and a glance shows him her in full glory, fighting with fire and blade.

"Six," he calls back, pleased to see her. Thor sidesteps so he can fight a little closer to her. Not directly next to her, she needs room to swing her sword and he needs it for his staff and hammer, but in enough proximity to lend her a hand if something happens... and so that she can lend it as well if he's the one who slips.

"It is good to have you here." His voice is warm. "It is good to fight alongside you. Shall we?"

A small platform of earth juts up, crude and unfinished but enough to knock a demon off its attack path. Thor smashes down on its head with his hammer and grins up at Six.

[swordproof]

She's well aware of the size of her blade; it's made for her, for her height, her bulk, and she carries it with all the strength in her arms. It's one of the things that has made people wary of her in the past, intimidated by the nature of the power she seems to have, the tightness of her face and the sharpness of her gaze - which is not something she has always wanted if she is being frank. Sometimes, Six wishes she could simply... Be.

That is not important right now, however; for now, she has to do her best to defend the people against the creatures coming from the Rift. Her fire lasts longer here than it ever did in her home and she thinks she must thank her shard for that, for granting her strength to guide the power Sarenrae had given her.

"Yes," she agrees, almost immediate, her own tone softening as she speaks with him. She moves to the next demon and repeats her motions, slicing down and tearing an arm off before she pushes, sinking her greatsword deep into its neck. There are still so many more and she heaves a breath, gazing forward.

"Are you wounded?"