Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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faderift2020-01-19 06:04 pm
faderifting) wrote in faderift2020-01-19 06:04 pm
Entry tags:
- ! mod plot,
- bastien,
- derrica,
- ellis,
- gwenaëlle baudin,
- james flint,
- julius,
- kostos averesch,
- marcus rowntree,
- matthias,
- petrana de cedoux,
- val de foncé,
- wysteria de foncé,
- yseult,
- { athessa },
- { ilias fabria },
- { joselyn smythe },
- { leander },
- { lukas },
- { marcoulf de ricart },
- { octavian sokolov },
- { sister sara sawbones },
- { tony stark },
- { yngvi }
MOD EVENT: WINTERMARCH WINTER MARCH
WHO: Anyone & Everyone
WHAT: Winter adventures as Riftwatch heads up into the Vinmark Mountains to do some work for (Provisional) Viscount Bran of Kirkwall
WHEN: Throughout Wintermarch and early Guardian
WHERE: Vinmark Mountains
NOTES: OOC post
WHAT: Winter adventures as Riftwatch heads up into the Vinmark Mountains to do some work for (Provisional) Viscount Bran of Kirkwall
WHEN: Throughout Wintermarch and early Guardian
WHERE: Vinmark Mountains
NOTES: OOC post
Still-Provisional Viscount Bran has received a number of requests for aid from communities in the Vinmark mountains outside Kirkwall. He wants to keep them happy so that they continue to pay taxes to Kirkwall and don't become problematically independent or allied with some other state. But he also doesn't want to deal with this shit, and the City Guard isn't really equipped to go tromp around the mountains in the winter. So he has asked Riftwatch to deal with this, casting it as a shared danger (if any communities were to break away, they'd be more vulnerable to enemy collaboration, or hampering travel through the passes, and things like that) but if necessary will imply that Riftwatch's refusal would weigh unfavorably against the decision to allow them to remain in the Gallows for free.
This work isn't done at the exclusion of all else--other normal (and especially high-priority) work continues. Any work that isn't especially time-sensitive may be postponed, and otherwise agents will simply have to forfeit their free time and fit this work in on top of their other responsibilities. Something for people to complain about while they're tromping through the snow.
It's not a long trip back and forth to the Gallows, so people can come and go if they want, but Bran has also agreed to allow Riftwatch the use of the Viscount's hunting lodge, a rustic mountain retreat traditionally used for hunting parties, which happens to be in a roughly central location. As Viscount Bran is both Provisional and profoundly not the sort of man who holds hunting parties, the lodge has gone unused for some years now, and Riftwatch is bringing in its own supplies and a skeleton support staff to man the place for the duration. Those traveling up in the first group will have to help escort supply wagons through snowy, muddy mountain roads, unloading casks and crates into the cellar, and pitch in cleaning, making minor repairs, and generally getting the building set up after a decade of neglect.
The lodge is organized around a central hall with a massive fireplace, and a small library and study that will be used as offices shared between those visiting. Up the grand wood stair is a mezzanine level that looks down on the hall and leads to three corridors, each with a couple rooms. Rooms will be shared by groups of 2-4 people, the exception being the two suites generally reserved for the viscount and his wife, which will now be assigned to whichever of the Division Heads are in residence (and if there are more than two at a time, then to whichever Division Heads win a coin toss or something). Each room has basic furnishings, heavy and rustic, and its own fireplace. Bathing facilities are communal, provided by natural hot springs pools. While these are outdoors, there is a roof, and there is also a small springhouse alongside for changing, as well as a separate sauna.
The stables contain a number of sleighs in varying states of repair, which can be signed out for use. They're often the best way to get around this area in winter, and can be pulled by a team of Vinmark Goats, a big-horned shaggy breed of unusually massive mountain goats that are often used in place of ponies in this part of the world. The Viscount had a herd of them, which has since run more or less wild on his land and will need to be rounded back up for use.
There are a few communities with different problems, spread out some ways apart through the mountains:
- ICE RIFT: The village of Erith has been plagued by shades and despair demons, which can be traced to a rift that has opened under the thick mid-winter ice of the frozen lake just outside town. Trying to get at it from above would mean cutting into the ice and fighting off demons while underwater and very likely freezing to death in minutes. So instead they'll need to traverse the ice caves beneath the lake to reach it, which will be complicated by the nature of shades, which leech off the energy of the livings' psyche, causing confusion, fatigue, and fear.
- SNOWMONSTERS: Cragfield has been cut off by an infestation of what's only been described as "snowmonsters," that have been harrying travelers around the village or anyone who strays too far from the edge of town. They will prove to be some unknown variation of giant, even more aggressive, though a bit smaller and nearly covered in white hair. They have some resistance to magic, especially ice magic, and one seems capable of using ice magic, if crudely. They can be tracked through the forest and picked off a few at a time, or traced back to one of their lairs, usually in a cave or tucked into a rock formation.
- THE GRIPPE: Galssop has sent an urgent request for healers to help combat a particularly virulent strain of the illness many in Kirkwall are suffering. Most of the town has fallen victim to it, including their only healer, leaving the rest without care. Complicating matters, reaching the town in winter (especially while transporting supplies) requires traveling up the frozen Wye river, using skates and iceboats. The villagers there will be wary of magical healing, and Bran as urged trying to use non-magical means of healing first if possible, though he and the sick will ultimately come round to the necessity of using some magic rather than see dozens die.
- THE GRINCH: Lerwick's trouble is a young man who recently inherited Touraigle, the fortress above the village, and who firmly believes that Lerwick is also his inheritance. When the Mayor of Lerwick refused to enforce Lord Bertrand's taxes, the lord's guards ransacked the town, helping themselves to most of its winter stores, among other things. Riftwatch diplomats have been asked to help entreat the lord to be reasonable and return what he took. But the road up to the castle has been blocked by a combination of overzealous defenses and weather, forcing all visitors to climb a treacherous hill of downed trees covered in ice and the occasional, possibly-frozen (if they're lucky), booby trap.
In addition to these specific issues, Rift Watchers can expect to encounter the usual Vinmark winter hazards: unpredictable weather, hungry animals, bad roads, scarcities, and so forth. Once news of their presence in the mountains gets around, they may be asked to take on similar small problems for others, like dealing with wildlife issues, helping search for a missing child, rescuing a hunting party trapped by a minor avalanche, etc. There are also basic chores to keep the lodge running that will always need extra hands, like chopping firewood, hunting down dinner, safeguarding supplies on their way to and from Kirkwall, and so on.
no subject
He goes back to looking ahead of them. Rocks and dirt and snow and ground. The crunch and trudge of their footsteps is the chief sound, when they aren't talking. It isn't a bad thing. Certainly will mean that they'll be able to hear if any massive beast comes stomping along.
"Tantervale," he adds anyways, more helpful now that his joke has been made. "For a bit, at least. Not near long enough to have been made Knight-Enchanter."
There's a little sarcasm in it. Matthias' paltry attempt to cover up how badly he wants to ask more. Once he'd thought he'd like that title for himself. Wasn't a dream that lasted him long. And now he's here, Forces assistant, member of Riftwatch, rebel mage that ought to be dead--but the shine of that title's not worn off entirely. Ought to have, maybe.
Their way is guided naturally by the rock. The caves are carved out like the hollow eyes of a skull. Small, at first. When Matthias spots a likely larger one, he scuffs to a stop.
"There," he says, low, his attention narrowing again, "that one's bigger, d'you reckon."
no subject
He's been to Tantervale. He's read their letters, scrolls and scrolls of paranoia, overzealous and overbearing — reports, demands for assistance, thin diplomatic shade thrown at the Chantry's "moderation". Shit's probably accurate. The path into the cave is lined by high rocks, just wide enough for a small giant and uneven enough to make footing a challenge. Lukas braces one hand against cold stone as he steps up alongside Matthias. His free hand disappears briefly under his coat and emerges with a very solid, very dull steel hilt — no blade, yet.
"Big enough," he says, tone matched. His boots are unavoidably loud on the rock as he moves to the front and approaches the cave, but he's quiet enough. There's enough light to know that any threat's deeper back, if there is one. A quick check of the ground reveals scattered rocks, thin mud. A bit more near the mouth of the cave. Any tracks are too slight for an untrained eye to catch.
"We could send a spell in," he suggests, mild. "See if it flushes anything out."
Pros: not fighting in a cave. Cons: accidentally murdering some nugs, probably.
no subject
He casts about, examining their surroundings. The rocks that line the path they took in grade up to craggier bigger boulders that make a wider border, patchy with hardy moss and snow. Weedy saplings have taken root here and there, seeded and planted by indifferent winds. They won't provide much cover, and the boulders have only a few handholds that will make scaling most of them difficult--but they won't need much cover for long, if their quarry is within the cave.
"One of us sends in a spell and keep well back but visible--and the other keep out of sight," and he points out one of the shorter boulders beside the mouth of the cave, "up there, maybe. A weak ambush'd be better'n nothing, right? And when the beastie comes tearing out, all on fire, he'll be looking at whichever of us is brave enough to stand ground against him, over there--"
And he points back the way that they came, the path scuffed with their passing. He catches sight of that tell-tale hilt when he grins around at Lukas this time, and his heart does a little flip-flop in his chest. Stupid. He shouldn't care. He still, absolutely, cares.
"D'you reckon you've the balls for it, serah? Or do I get to be the target?"
no subject
"Get out of sight. I'll see if anyone's home."
Disappointed look aside, that's approval. It's a good plan. He waits for Matthias to get into position before turning back to the cave, still dark and quiet, and lifts his free hand to draw out a flame. It's barely a candle to start, and it's held there as he takes a few curious steps forward. The light reflects off of the ice further in, but it's still empty — and it's still going, shadows obscuring the end.
That changes quickly when he lets the fire go properly, drawing back and casting forward like a hard throw. Heat threads through the air from nothing, casting the walls in an explosive flash of light that's very fast until it's suddenly not. The flames hit something big, and for a second they drape over it like a sheet — then they start to die out, and the thing in the cave gives a loud, furious bellow.
Not a nug, probably. Lukas falls back a few steps, angling for the path. The sword ignites with a short snap of his wrist. The cool white light's nearly lost against the snow, the edges of the narrow blade crackling and unfixed.
"Get ready—"
The volume on the bellowing abruptly jumps. There's a loud crack as a club strikes the wall and swings out, sending a harmless spray of ice and snow out into the sun. The giant's a second behind.
no subject
And then: the giant.
Brutish, blunt, clad crudely in thick pelt and hide. Its skin has a greyish tint, and its knuckles--Matthias sees them, close, as the creature drags its club up aloft, mere feet from where he's pressed flat at the crown of the boulder--look hard as horn. Its face looks like a child's clay doll, thick features and a heavy brow. And its eyes--small, piggish, screwed in deep--haven't seen him yet. Matthias readies his spell, as the giant bellows again, its breath foul and stinking.
The giant bulls toward Lukas, and Matthias holds, counting down the seconds, his eyes on a piece of rocky ground just before Lukas. He will bloom a wall of flame there, before the giant can touch him. Three, and he can feel the fire itching down his arms, into his fingers, fevered and ready--two, and he's sweating already, warm in the cold, all that fire eating at him from within, ready, he's ready--one, and he lets the spell go, and flames seam and unspool between Lukas and the beast, high and rising higher.
no subject
It's difficult to tell whether the giant's even tried to stop. If it has, its weight and gangling limbs have betrayed it. Its mass bears it straight into the lashing flames, then its pace breaks; it swings wildly and throws its weight back, stumbles, back foot hitting the ground with enough force to shake another dusting of ice from the mouth of the cave.
Up close, the light's sticking to the club. The wet spots glisten, broken up by dry wood and clumps of hair. Blue sparks flicker as Lukas stops his retreat and pushes forward against the fire, condensing into thin barriers of ice as he carves a path through the spell to take a free shot. There's nothing subtle or graceful about his attack; there doesn't need to be, not when the giant's off balance and half blind.
The broad upwards swing is deep enough to sink half the blade into the rocks, the kind of flexibility you can't get with steel; it chars a black streak across them, snow snapping up into steam. The strike hits just above the obstacle of the giant's heavy hipbone to sink into soft gut, then up, up until it catches against thick ribs. It's a mistake — the cut's too deep. The resistance halts his momentum just long enough to stall his retreat. The giant's retaliation is reckless and not particularly fast, but it doesn't need to be precise or quick when the club's the size of a small tree.
The sudden release of the blade hits like an electric current. The air pressure drops. The sound's too sharp to hear, a disorienting silence that's almost too quick to register. The flames blow out in a rush of force that sends the giant back against the rock wall with a heavy thud. It's still on its feet, whether by its own merit or the support of the rock wall, but its lost its hold on the club — the force sent that out, too. Straight for Matthias' safe boulder.
no subject
But it is familiar, a burst of magic that pierces time like a stick to a bubble--everything first weightless and slow, then the blip that puts speed back into things.
Here is the club and here is Lukas, and here is the giant, and Matthias, and the boulder, and Matthias sees for a brilliant moment the strings of potential, like strings on a puppet, like he's tapped into some prescient something. Here is where the club could go, here is where the giant will fall. And then it happens, and he rolls to one side just in fucking time.
The club crashes down. Brutal weight and gravity make it hit heavy. Matthias would be a smear if he had still been there. He is just a little too slow to get fully clear of the residual impact. Rock splinters and shatters; gravel and debris the size of fists goes flying. Matthias throws himself flat and he's hit with a shower of it anyways. The biggest bit that catches him hits him in the shoulder, hard; his breath catches and something makes a sick snap under the thud but he's alive, it wasn't his brains that got dashed out. He makes himself roll, right over that injured shoulder. Stars go across his vision as a jolt of pain passes up and through him, but he's on his back now, pressed into the rough surface and the fallen gravel, and he's still holding his staff.
The giant is roaring, all agony, and there's a crash as it lashes out at its opponent. In Matthias' periphery he can see its club, still smashed into the boulder like a fallen tree. Matthias makes himself breathe in, and then out. He makes himself sit up, leveraging his way up with his staff, and dusty-white from shattered rock, with pine needles and snow and grit in his hair and smeared across his face and his cloak sticky with blood, he's back facing the battle, Lukas and the giant and the scene below.
is that a mbmbam reference
Not knowing is better, anyway. That surge of fear and uncertainty is all he's got after being winded by the reckless release of the blade, so he uses it. Focuses in an effort like claws sinking in, stoking it until it's bright enough to channel. The magic's too hot. The desperation's betrayed by the way it sears across his veins, pouring into the blade with a burst of light just as the giant stumbles and falls to one knee. It's a threadbare web of electricity when he starts the swing, cracking into sudden physicality as it strikes the giant's neck at an angle. It's lost its form by the time it breaks through the other side, but that's enough: the giant heaves an eerily late groan and slumps, gravity holding its head in place for one second, two, as the giant's weight sinks back onto its haunches and tips the balance. It slides to the ground with a loud thump.
"Matthias?" The shout's quick, tense. He can't make out the foot of the boulder from this angle — just the wreck where the club had struck. The top of a staff, maybe? He's already moving, striding forward to scale the small slope for a better look.
wink
He had pushed himself back to his feet just in time to see the raw power of Lukas' magic tearing through the meat of its neck. Even before the giant had gone down he had known that it was done for, and some of the adrenaline had gone out of him in turn, left him holding to his staff like a drowning man. His left arm has gone numb, no feeling below the shoulder. He leaves it where it is, doesn't try moving it.
"Here," he repeats, louder this time. He can hear the scrabble of Lukas' approach, and he tries to pull himself up so he looks at least a little less pathetic when the other mage scales the boulder and finds him. "Doing nothing but admiring your work."
a mONTH
He should've been more careful. The way the thought skips past guilt into anger is streamlined, as is the way he shuts a door in its face and focuses on what's next. The obvious injuries are small, scrapes and dirt — but he doesn't look well, by a long shot.
"I can see that." The door could be shut tighter, apparently; irritation at his own mistake slips through, gives his tone an edge. "What's wrong?"
a month ✨
"Nothing," he says, staunchly--but that's obviously a lie, so-- "Nothing I can't manage, I mean. Only my shoulder. We can go back and I'll get it seen to."
There isn't any pain to it, at least. Neither is there any feeling, and that numbness is likely worrying, but at least there isn't any pain, not yet. Adrenaline is likely to thank for that. And if he can make it even halfway back on adrenaline, he'll be all right. Maker, but he resents this feeling that Lukas has put in him. He hauls himself to stand taller against his staff, his jaw set.
"'Cause there's nothing to be done for it out here, is there. So let's go."
fOUR months ✨✨✨✨
He should've given the boy a warning. If he hadn't struck at the wrong angle, hadn't got caught off-guard, if he'd been less out of practice with real combat— it's a long list. But now that there's a new task and easy distraction, the tension's easing up, patience leveling off his tone as he cants a small nod towards what's left of the boulder.
"Sit down, we'll take a look."
Patient, but clearly still an order: he's already stepping in that direction as he secures the once-again empty sword hilt to his belt.
me waiting for 4 months: https://i.imgur.com/Oafi5qk.gif
"What, you're a healer?"
Forgive him for sounding weakly disdainful. He'd be fully disdainful if he could manage it.
HAHAHAHA
And, also fairly, he does know one spell — and there's more to healing than just magic. He reaches for Matthias' shoulder once he's settled, hesitating just long enough to give him an expectant look.
"May I?"
no subject
"Yeah, go on," he says. Suspiciously. He's been at the other end of healing enough to know that whatever comes next will likely not feel good.
no subject
There's no time for Matthias to second-guess (or get in a second suspicious comment) — just the immediate, careful bracing of one hand on Matthias's forearm to hold it steady, hopefully well away from the injury, before his other hand lightly palms the injured shoulder and applies some pressure to test the response. Matthias's, but also the tactile kind: something clearly out of place, a strange click, unnatural tension or give.
It's the kind of quick assessment that'd be easier without a few layers on, but the temperature's low and still dropping. He might've lied about sparing a few minutes.
no subject
"Do it," he says, tightly, "if you're going to do something, do it."
He keeps his head down. Under Lukas' hand, under the swathes of wool and linen and furs, the shoulder feels squarer than it should. Placed wrong.
no subject
"Try to relax." A far-fetched ask that translates, more realistically, to 'don't panic'. The offending hand's re-positioned lower on Matthias' upper arm to hold it fixed against his side, and the other shifts to take a light hold of his wrist and rotate his forearm out.
It's not the dramatic resolution Matthias might've been hoping for. Just a slow and steady twist, gentle as he can manage when it's inevitably putting stress on the wound. It's uncannily like turning a lock until you feel faint resistance and hear the tell-tale click — except this lock's got nerve endings.
no subject
At first he holds. But the twisting goes on, wrenches a grunt of pain out of him, from deep deep down. There would be no stopping it. He would stop it, if he could, but he can't, and he can't get away from the pain of it, white hot and slow and then, click, and that hurts too, Matthias actually gasps at that. Then it starts to clear. His shoulder still feels cloudy, and painful under that, the sick deep feeling of a bruise but by about a hundred. His sight starts to come back into focus and he spends a moment unscrambling himself, breathing, trying to get back together again.
After a few moments, he shoots a glance up at Lukas.
"Thanks."
Surly, but he does mean it. He's sixteen. What do you want.
no subject
"You're welcome," comes automatically, faintly amused. He straightens and offers Matthias a hand to help him up, and that's just as automatic — same as he'd offer any equal on the field, with little consideration for whether a surly sixteen year-old might want it. "Now come on. I'd rather not face the worst of the storm or the dark outside, if it can be helped."
no subject
The angle is awkward and he does the scrambly fish-dangling-on-a-line thing for a minute, boots scrabbling at the thin dirt and pebbles and pine needles that are gathered at the top of the rock. The instant he finds his feet, he lets go of Lukas' hand.
"Lead on, then."