Allumin Etsija (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
voidtransport) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2021-08-16 09:29 pm
voidtransport) wrote in faderift2021-08-16 09:29 pm
Entry tags:
OPEN | Messages from broken bottles fall on black sandy beaches
WHO: Allumin and YOU!
WHAT: A fresh new rifter arrival & Quarantine time (+ A little bit after)
WHEN:Backdated to early-to-mid August (so he can partake in tourney time) just the WHOLE MONTH, really
WHERE: Vinmark Mountains, Gallows
NOTES: info page here and permissions/opt-out here - some spiciness happening in the bene thread
WHAT: A fresh new rifter arrival & Quarantine time (+ A little bit after)
WHEN:
WHERE: Vinmark Mountains, Gallows
NOTES: info page here and permissions/opt-out here - some spiciness happening in the bene thread
i. Arrival / early in the month (this ended up so long, i thank anyone who reads this) - to skip dream segment, go to (@)
It would come as no surprise to Allumin that his dreams would lean the way they do considering the events leading up to sleep, and it's a welcome break from his usual nightmares. It's actually probably better it wasn't his usual nightmares that brought him here filled with black sand and being hunted, but that doesn't mean the dream doesn't give him a measure of anxiousness regardless. Instead he unfortunately gets to relive the greatest hits of his Embarrassing Moments with Diabhall Minett, famous arcane architect and long-time crush. Learning that his curiosity and attraction to the man predated his void vacation and resulting amnesia from his brother's weary sigh as they saw each other again for the first time in 13 years is part of this wonderful collection as well. Great!ii. Courtyard, night
There's the lovely moment where he was pranked into drinking blood from a wine glass at a masquerade party... Finding the sketch he'd done of Diabhall from a lecture at the Observatory and how it had been tucked until the rug of his room and then later hearing from Diabhall himself that he'd investigated the room after Allumin's disappearance and saw the sketch. Of course, offering the man a funnel cake after a spontaneous encounter during the attempt to liberate his falsely imprisoned friend and fumbling in such a way that Diabhall ended up wearing powdered sugar and funnel cake as a result of his clumsiness. And then… the family dinner.
His brother's offhand joke about spilling mashed potatoes all over Diabhall, who happened to be a guest at the reunion dinner with his family haunted him that whole day and he'd hoped against hope that there would be none at dinner (there were). He did not, in fact, accidentally spill anything all over the object of his attraction but the fear he'd felt was so strong that now he gets to live with his brain being like "hey, but what if you had?"
He could be having nightmares about almost being killed by a professional hitman or the newly learned implication that he's probably a living tether of the void plane to the material plane and that may end up destroying him from the inside, but no. No… It's funnel cake and mashed potatoes, and his unfortunate butterfingers dropping them as he tries to give them to Diabhall Minett…
(@) And then it's not - or it is, and isn't - as something unsettles him from outside of the dream, like waking up to a spider crawling on your arm or something akin to it. The deep roar and rumbling of heavy footsteps on the earth beneath him however is definitely not a spider, and he snaps awake on the sandy ground of somewhere completely foreign to him with a plate of mashed potatoes to one side and a funnel cake on the other.
His little drawing of Diabhall is also here, drifting on the wind in an almost lackadaisical fashion, until… it lands on the chest of the source of what pulled him out of his dream. If it were anything other than what it was, he would be grateful. Unfortunately, whatever it is is big, very intimidating, and like no demon of the seven hells he's ever seen in books. Overhead, a green glowing mass(?) of some kind shifts and crackles with energy, and if he were of a mind to simply not panic he might theorize that it was a portal responsible for bringing him wherever he is.
He is not, in fact, of another mind at the moment though, terror plain on his face as he scrambles to his feet and starts to run from the towering horned creature and the foods of his embarrassment. He tries to pat himself down as he runs (thankfully dressed but not in what he'd worn to bed…?), trying to find his wand on his person in his panic before his hand meets the bag hanging from the belts on his waist. Oh, right, in his bag! He fumbles with getting it open to reach inside and fetch it while running, made worse by the way the ground shakes under the footfalls of the demon(??) behind him, the pain in his left hand (which has some Concerns of their own he can't think about right now), and enough sand to make traction on the more solid ground underneath tricky to find. After managing to get his wand out from his bag, he tries to stop and turn to cast something to distract, maybe slow the creature chasing him down for enough time he can at least find somewhere to hide until it's safe. What ends up happening is not so graceful as he'd hoped, sliding along the sand and falling over somewhat on his knees.
Oh boy, that thing is so close and so big and could probably crush him in one hand -- there's no time to scramble to his feet he thinks, so instead he just tries to cast something from his awkward and undignified position. He focuses on Snowball Swarm - maybe it would also kick up some of the sand in its flurry of snow and be enough to keep the imminent danger occupied to escape - and follows through with the incantation in Sylvan, raising his wand to gesture out in practiced fluidity the movements to cast it.
...
Nothing happens.
Oh no.
[The insomnia isn't new. He's not sure if that should be a relief or not, that it's consistent and familiar or that he should be bothered that he can't sleep. But, rather than dwell on it, he decides to borrow a couple of books from the library and go out to the courtyard to read under the night sky. The cool air helps him to feel calm at least, and reading is something productive he can do with his time if he's going to be awake anyway.
He gets rather into it too, his attention fully on the book for about an hour until he hears the cracking of loose bits of rock underfoot on the stone ground of the courtyard break the silence that he had become acclimated to that everything outside himself and the book was briefly oblivion. His head snaps up in alarm at the sound, staring directly up at whoever is the source of the sound. And then he sighs, an "oh" of relief carried on it out of his lungs.]
You startled me - sorry, is it too late for me to be out here? I can go back to bed, I just couldn't sleep, so...
[ If you prefer brackets over prose or vice versa and a starter is written the opposite of your preference, please feel free to switch to that! I have no problem following suit. Also, if you'd like a custom starter please let me know! I can be reached through this journal, at
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As Allumin gets closer to what he assumes must be the rift, the pain in his hand grows - the feeling like having a confused magnet that just so happens to also be electrified and maybe also on fire intensifies and radiates up his arm as he reaches up towards the crackling verdant mass above. He tries to focus the intent to close the rift towards it, hoping that this is enough and that he can keep steady through the pain.
What appears to be a beam of energy of some kind snaps together between his hand and the rift, and there is a cry of pain of his own and tears begin to blur his vision. His opposite hand shoots up to hold the other upward, to stop himself from following through just because it hurts.
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Only a few steps away he hovers just beyond the slope of Allumin's shoulder, in case the elf falters. Buckles completely. A last resort, yet not an oppresive one, now that the most immediate threat is passed.
He has never been a patient man, nor a kind one, but here the necessity of adaptation is too steep a mark: no rifter can be coddled and hold hope of survival. They are cast into the fire from their first waking second.
They will remain there until they perish— or vanish.
gab you may need to get some popcorn while you wait
The horrific sounds of the creatures that prowled its desert for prey.
One leg buckles under the weight of his own thoughts as well as the pain radiating through him from his hand. The loss of balance shocks him out of his thoughts, down on one knee now as he tries his best to hold his hand up and steady. His heart races in fear of what will happen if he cannot do this.
Hot tears rolling down his cheeks, he centers his focus again on the intention of closing the rift as best he can. Has he ever used a magic this physically agonizing before? He can't be sure, he thinks he'd be more accustomed to the waves crackling through his nervous system if he had. It feels like forever, but he can't tell if it's because his senses are thrown from overstimulation or because time itself is not right here. He has to do this, he has to shut it he tells himself.
The consequences feel dire if he does not succeed.
it won't fit under his helm, sadly.......
A brace, yet there is no balm to be found within it.
Time is of the essence. They cannot afford another demon slipping through. Not on their own like this, and the rift itself cannot be left intact without dire consequences for the region itself. Should nothing change in the next minute, Gabranth resolves to make his move.
But first, with a voice as sharp as a blade, he murmurs:
"Focus. It is no impossible feat."
u_u my condolences to him
He tightens his own hold on his other arm, holding up the hand connected to the crackling tear above them.
If he doesn't survive this, he cannot get answers either.
And somehow, greater than his desire to live is his desire for knowledge in such a way that this seems to make things clearer in his head. It's easier to find meaning and purpose through the pain, and he can more readily visualize his intention. This enables him to become just strong enough to actualize his vision.
The rift, almost swollen and radiating energy, snaps like a rubber band under too much strain, and shuts as if some eldritch throat just swallows it into non-existence. Without its connection to his palm, he practically falls forward and would have were it not for the armored grip upon him.
Allumin, breathing ragged, gazes at his hand in bewilderment.
thank u this is how he perishes
Still, his hold yet lingers. Cautious.
"Are you all right?"
leaves a flower on his grave
Could someone else in perhaps another continent be doing a similar kind of research to what he had been doing before? If so, how did he get roped into it? Luck? Some other reason that might be hidden in his memories?
Allumin, while all these thoughts churn inside his head, stands upright and turns to Gabranth. He tries to see if there's anything familiar in the armor he might recognize, something he might have read about or seen in a book but there's nothing. It just sure is armor.
"Where are we?"
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There is no question of that, not from where Gabranth stands: no Rifter, no matter who they are, are native born and anchored here. Whoever this stranger is, he is— just as Gabranth was— alien to this place.
Time will tell if he makes it his, before either death or the shard come to claim him.
“Do you know how to ride?” He asks, plated glove receding into the heavy silhouette of his own cloak. The sky overhead, now devoid of sickening green, is quickly clearing into a bright, cloudless afternoon, and it paints Gabranth all the more unsettlingly grim in contrast as he turns to make for the crest of a hill not far off.
Courteous manners, it seems, are not his forte.
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"I can, yes," he answers, following him upward to wherever it is that he's leading.
Now that the danger has passed, he puts his wand back away in his bag. Without the frantic nature of his arrival upon him, he can take into account what is within it, which is a modest collection of his absolute essentials and nothing more. All of his other books he'd had tucked in here, his spare paper, his magic ring he could tweak spells with? All gone. At the very least, he has his family ring - more for sentimentality than anything in a foreign world -, along with a few other things he'd be lost without.
It's not much, but it's a bit of a comfort at least.
finding a typo in my last tag why did I try to type words at 2am
Thankfully, the risk was worth it.
One foot in the stirrups, he already moves to take his seat in the saddle, not caring to wait for a response.
His hand is extended a moment later, armored fingertips outstretched in offering. There is only one horse, after all.
oh the worst :'( fwiw i didn't notice!
If it were perhaps a more charming sort of person the question might be playful or joking, but considering the seriousness of his rescuer(?) it is posed as serious and unsure. Would he just be left out here to fend for himself or die? It's hard to know for sure.
Enough thinking, get on the horse, he tells himself before gets too lost in his own thoughts, and hops up to sit behind Gabranth. There will be time for questions and answers but for now, it's better not to test the man's patience.
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The horse yanks briefly against tugged reigns, tossing her heavy head before twisting at last in the direction she's intended to go. Hoofbeats stern and digging into softer earth, slowly paced.
“But it would make this more difficult, were we to both be so incapable of it.”
Both, he says, and the implication that lies within might be clear as the sky overhead, now.
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In any case, it would be rude to express his surprise out loud probably. Which is why he does his best to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he tries to be a good and decent passenger, especially since carrying two people plus all that armor must be quite a lot of weight for the horse to bear. Tries, being the key word here.
"You seriously don't know how to ride a horse?" Ah, damn.
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By then, it will have been too long for Allumin to flee.
“But I am no deft practitioner. Such beasts did not exist within my own world— not as they are here. They were feral creatures, deadly. Sharp fangs, hooves hot as pure flame. You would not wish to ride one.”
And then, lifting his own gloved hand to show the open green of an anchor shard beneath a gash in the gauntlet.
“And it would not wish to be ridden.”
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"You can't tell me you never once considered it?" He cannot hide the mirth from his voice as he asks.
At seeing the glow through the small window through thick metal, he looks at his own hand again. At first, between it and his words it seems to paint a picture that 'oh, this man is also probably not from here, like myself' but then he also realizes that this man could have probably assisted with the Rift back there, as he called it.
His jaw clenches as he resists his frustration and the urge to ask why he didn't. Just think about how cool a flaming horse would be, he tells himself. Getting mad at the person who stopped you from certain death would probably not end well.
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“....not since I was a boy.”
Childhood delusions do still, technically, count— even if that childhood has been long lost.
“But as I acclimated to Thedas, so too will you, in time.”
This is reassurance. Be reassured, citizen.
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At the very least, he's not completely weak or totally unaccustomed to wielding a blade if so, but it would certainly be a disappointing adjustment were he not able to cast magic beyond his simplest of spells ever again.
As they ride, it is probably a good idea to take in what he can of the area to become more familiar, and he looks around to take in the highs and lows of the mountains around them, the fringes of trees out to the west, the coast in the distance, and also the silhouette of what appears to be a vast fortress in the distance - more the size of a town than a simple fort.
"Assuming the world, or maybe continent, is Thedas: where are we specifically within that?"
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Had it been Thedas that’d made the boy’s magic falter so, rather than nascent ability? The thought alone draws him briefly to reconsider— and then it is discarded. In truth, he has no right to pass judgment whatsoever.
Not yet, at least.
“We are on our way to a city known as Kirkwall. There, you will remain.”
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"For how long?" It feels like he doesn't really have a choice, although if he asked he'd probably be told otherwise but also frowned upon for implying any desire to run away.