[OPEN] FROM RIFTWATCH WITH LOVE: PART ONE

[unshut]

WHO: Everyone and anyone
WHAT: An abomination redecorates the Gallows.
WHEN: Early August
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Part One of FROM RIFTWATCH WITH LOVE. Will include some violence, some general chaos, and some light murderin'.

There is a man in a worn traveling cloak. He is dark haired, with sharp features dominated by a dark horizontal scar near his hairline, and later someone will describe him as having been soft spoken when he asked for directions.

But something in the Gallows' dining hall, with its unreliable population for the midday meal, must catch under his skin; he's found his voice again by the time he steps up onto one of the benches.

"Is this all of you?"

Someone nearby tells him to get his boots off the furniture, so the man climbs higher onto the table and is louder the second time: "Is this really all you are? A few people in a tower on an island?"

Heads are coming up. As his voice rises, he produces an envelope from his pocket.

"Do you think this is funny? Playing at being something, and telling people you can make a difference to them? You were supposed to be helping, but you're all just sitting here! Don't touch me"—to someone encouraging him to get off the fucking table—"You were meant to be helping us. You promised you would, and I told her I believed you!"

Hands are reaching for him. No, really, get off the table. You can explain what's wrong once you're down; you're with friends— The man jerks his arm free, snarling, "Don't touch me! You're nothing!" A stronger hand finds him then and begins pulling him struggling down. With a wrenched cry of, "Livia!" the man slips from the table.

A column of fire pours upward out of him like molten heat from a crack in the earth. It bursts so high that it scorches a circle on the dining hall ceiling, and burns so suddenly hot that it sends those nearest to him recoiling backward as their clothes catch. The fire licks again in random directions, in chaotic fits and starts of light and heat, and the thing that rises up again in the mage's place isn't really a man at all.

The rage abomination will ravage its way through the dining hall and prodigious Gallows kitchens, then out into the courtyard beyond leaving considerable destruction in its wake until finally brought down by Leander. In the charred aftermath, the following can be recovered from among the mage's belongings: a leather corded bracelet with a green bead woven in it (too small for anything but the smallest wrist), a functioning phylactery, and a letter from "Riftwatch" which implies a history of correspondence and familiarly refers to the recipient by name, 'Felix.' An investigation of Riftwatch's files will reveal the log of having received a message from a similar Felix, No Lastname six months earlier. The message itself is nowhere to be found among the Gallows records.

The recovered letter assures Felix that all will be well, and includes instructions to wait in the woods above the crossroads of a small Wildervale village.

'Help will be on its way. Good luck, and safe travels.'

Comments

Re: 2

[muckspout]

Edgard relaxes his nervous laugh and half grins at the man seated across from him.

“No, just-“ Edgard starts to say shook up, but swallows it down.

He fiddles with the dented cup.

“Got anything to fill this up? Stronger than water maybe? Toast to our survival? There’s just the one cup, so we’d have to take turns.”

Edgard looks directly into Ellis’ eyes while picking up the empty cup and clinks it together with his other fist, miming toasting. He raises his eyebrows.

[heorte]

The meaning is understood, and Ellis is prepared to disappoint on at least one of these fronts.

"Water," Ellis deadpans, before trying for a proper answer, "There may still be wine in the kitchens."

And Edgard will likely not be alone in seeking it out. The suddenness of all this violence and death had an effect.

"It's not how I usually celebrate," Ellis admits. An understatement. "But after this is cleaned up, you'll find a few with that same inclination to keep you company."

[muckspout]

Edgard nods and shrugs, still grinning and not averting his gaze.

“Water will do for now. How do you usually celebrate? Edgard, by the way.”

[heorte]

"Ellis."

Circumventing the answer of "I don't," he brushes aside a bit of soot that turns out to be a scorch mark across the surface of the table and shakes his head a little.

"I haven't survived something like this before," he says instead. "But I've heard stories of it."

Extremely bleak stories, but really are there any other kind when it comes to mages?

[muckspout]

"Well, Ellis," Edgard emphasizes his name a little. "I suppose you have a story now."

Edgard fiddles a little with the cup, but is determined to keep talking to this man.

"What is it you usually do around here? Aside from avoiding flaming monsters, that is." Edgard chuckles to himself.

[heorte]

The real answer: carry Wysteria and Tony's equipment.

But the technical answer—

"I am in Forces. In Kirkwall, that is mostly guard duty."

A bitter cut of amusement to that admission. A fine job they had done of that today. Perhaps if they had been faster to move, but even then, Ellis doesn't know what they would have done differently. The change had happened so fast. He hadn't been close enough to see if there had been a moment where a sword would have changed the outcome.

"Today, I assume we will be attempting to salvage our dining tables, and hauling out what's beyond repair," Ellis surmises. "But if you are injured, you needn't concern yourself with it."

[muckspout]

Edgard watches Ellis' eyes darken a little as he mentions guard duty. Edgard recognizes the signs of a man blaming himself, that's a path he's trod many times before. He drops the bravado, smiles a little kinder, and shakes his head.

"Not injured." He pats the table in front of him. "This one seems alright. I can help. You're not injured, are you?"

Edgard finds a pitcher of water to fill the cup up with and scoots it over to Ellis.

[heorte]

"I'm alright."

Ellis fits his thumb into the dent before he lifts the cup to his mouth.

"There are a fair amount of people who are in worse shape."

The sliding scale of "I'm upright and not bleeding, therefore fine" versus "I'm actually on the brink of death" leaves a lot of room for Ellis to occupy.

"They're usually better at welcomes," Ellis says after a moment, before clarifying: "Riftwatch."

[muckspout]

Edgard snorts, recalling all the people he's met today. The vast majority have been, if not openly hostile, definitely not friendly.

"Oh yes, a regular welcome wagon this lot has been. I think I'd rather let the abomination have a go at me than a proper Riftwatch welcome."

Edgard picks at his beard and then runs his hand through his hair. He shrugs relenting. "But, I haven't met many and you seem alright. I will take my welcome from you." Edgard waves his hand in rapid circles in front of him, overblown comic politeness. "Je vous remercie, Ellis."

Edgard laughs at his own joke and leans forward to pat Ellis on the shoulder.

[heorte]

A smile twitches across his face, even if Ellis doesn't fully grasp the humor. Orlesians. Who can really keep up?

"I'm going to see what's become of the kitchen," Ellis says, rising. "But it is good to have you here."

Is that not what they say to new recruits? Surely someone in this organization does proper welcoming. Not everyone sidles in more or less unremarked upon, as Ellis had.

"If you would like company later, I will be in this hall."

Probably cleaning up, but whatever. It still counts. They all had to eat somewhere.

[muckspout]

Edgard nods, recognizing the dismissal. Maybe not the joking kind. He stays smiling.

"I look forward to your company, Ellis. If you need help in the kitchens or anywhere else, you know where to find me."

Edgard grasps the dented cup he offered to Ellis, still some water left, and drinks deep finishing it off.