MOD PLOT ↠ HOME FOR RIFTMAS

[faderifting]

WHO: Everyone (more or less)
WHAT: Rifter Show & Tell & Steal.
WHEN: Early Wintermarch 9:49 (forward-dated!)
WHERE: The Crossroads and BEYOND.
NOTES: OOC post. Please use appropriate content warnings in your subject lines.

Since Corypheus began opening the Gates, Riftwatch has been noticing pockets of instability in the Crossroads—crumbling platforms, paths newly blocked by rubble or broken bridges, sections where gravity has been shifted and altered in ways unusual even for the Crossroads, with new intrusions of green-tinged rock outcroppings or corners of temple walls. The barriers between the Crossroads, the Fade, and the world are thinning. It's a problem.

But more recently, Riftwatch has been made aware of an ancient artifact known (now; one hopes this isn't its original title) as the Sealing Stone, now in pieces scattered throughout the Crossroads, and the approximate locations of those pieces. If brought together and activated, the Stone may stabilize the barrier between the Crossroads and the other realms and may provide a model Riftwatch could use to reinforce the Veil elsewhere.

So Riftwatch ventures into the Crossroads to retrieve the pieces of the Stone. It's an intensive effort undertaken by large teams, due to the many now-familiar hazards of the Crossroads, the potential for encountering the Venatori that also use the eluvian network, and the need to cover ground as quickly as possible in hopes of finding the artifacts before the Venatori notice the increased Crossroads activity and come join the hunt.

It's not as simple as merely locating the pieces, however. Whenever a group of Riftwatchers get near enough to one of the artifacts, they're alerted first by the triggering of a sort of protection mechanism. In some cases—specifically, on teams without any rifters—spirits suddenly swarm from the metaphorical woodwork in numbers so great and with such hostility that retreat is the only viable option. The spirits chase the teams only as far as necessary to push them away from the artifact's location, then mass into a circling shoal, guarding the spot until they're left alone long enough to decide the risk has passed.

But for groups containing at least one rifter, something with the mechanism goes wrong. Or right, arguably. Rather than being overwhelmed by spirits, they instead find themselves abruptly engulfed by what appears to be a rift, opening suddenly and rapidly large enough to swallow entire masses of people before contracting again to lie in wait like a carnivorous plant for anyone else who comes too close. Those caught in its radius tumble out into what appears to be a new and unfamiliar world–for most. For one or more of the rifters in each group, it will be perfectly familiar.

The first group to encounter this effect will be one including Tony Stark and Stephen Strange, and will drop them and their compatriots straight into midtown traffic. Any groups attempting to travel to the same spot in the Crossroads to investigate the apparent vanishing—whether they have rifters with them or not—will find themselves drawn through the same "rift" almost as soon as they get within sight of the place, before anything can be discerned about their lost fellows. They will likewise emerge into Stark & Strange's United States.

Subsequent groups including other rifters will be seemingly drawn into their companions' worlds by the same effect. In each, Riftwatch will have to navigate local hazards and retrieve a distinctive lyrium-etched artifact, at which point the world will dissolve around them like a dream and they will find themselves back in the Crossroads where they began, in possession of a carved chunk of stone glowing with lyrium runes.

1 ↠ MCU Earth-199999

Alternate-universe Earth, New York and Los Angeles, 2012-2025, Tony Stark & Stephen Strange.

Earth-199999 is very much like contemporary Earth as we know it, featuring the same historic events, same nations, same conventions. For the average person, there is no difference, except that they know magic and aliens and gods and superpowers are all real and have been causing problems for a while now, with NYC as the hub for most of the shenanigans. MCU Earth has also made leaps and bounds in all science fields as compared to real Earth, although these leaps and bounds are not widely accessible, primarily exclusive to private organisations like Stark Industries, mad scientists, and the likes of SHIELD, but can range from interactive three-dimensional holograms through to biotechnology that turns people into supersoldiers.

It's commonplace to see or hear about criminals causing havoc in the streets with superpowers or gadgets, and crime-fighting vigilantes trying to stop them. The Avengers, as the world's first superheroes, became widely-known commercialised celebrities in-universe with merchandise, documentaries, book deals, and memorial murals to the deceased Iron Man.

Special Abilities: Everyone is nerfed to regular human, unless you want a sudden onset of mutant powers. 1 individual themed ability per character; like pyrokinesis, superspeed, superstrength, etc.

Arrival: One main rift opens in the middle of New York City, ejecting our rifters into midtown traffic… except thanks to Strange’s own multiversal mishaps, people in this world will seem astonishingly accustomed to this sight! Bystanders will be startled, but then the rifters will likely be dogged by strangers snapping photos and videos and tweeting about their arrival.

The Fade-constructed timeline will be a little off: the old Avengers tower and its penthouse is still standing and still accessible to Tony, and Strange will also offer up the Sanctum as a sanctuary, and these will be the main mission hubs while the team gets their bearings and tries to locate the artifact. In the meantime: relax, take in the sights, maybe check out a Broadway show, wrangle your new superpowers.

A secondary rift also opens up on Hollywood Boulevard, in case people want to do some helplessly stranded on Earth RP. Tony can very easily find out this has happened and go collect them, with various degrees of efficiency according to what people want out of that OOCly. As this universe will be available to explore for a few IC weeks, people can assume some degree of Stark-provided financial freedom for basics (i.e. clothes and food, burner phones, etc), and they can stay in the Avengers tower and/or the Sanctum.

2 ↠ Shifterverse

Original alternate-universe Earth, Midwest US, 2022, Jude Adjei.

Real-world 2022, but what if Shifters?

Special Abilities: All superpowers are unfortunately nerfed. However, everyone's a Shifter now. Your choice of animal. Enjoy.

Arrival: Everyone will arrive in Yellowstone National Park, which is wholly staffed and operated by Jude's pack, but... not in an area where tourists are routinely and happily welcomed. Welcome to the deep woods and canyons and plains, where Jude's pack has built their den for some several hundred people. Characters will immediately be found by scouts in fur and feathers, who will be guarded and curious, but not hostile. The wolves and ravens will greet the interlopers as equals, and if they aren't offered any violence, they'll be treated as guests. Hundreds of pack members live in a mixture of hand-built cabin homes and meeting places, portable tiny houses and various shared spaces. There is wifi, a greenhouse, lots of tasty food and warm clothing to wear. If they stay several days and prove themselves trustworthy, they might even start to see children out and about, and there's nothing cuter than a toddler who can become a wolf pup at will. (Mind the raven toddlers and the bear cubs. They're less cute.)

3 ↠ Tassia

D&D Original World, Loxley & Richard Dickerson

Tassia is an original Dungeons&Dragons inspired world, a single continent divided into four nations that is otherwise completely isolated from any other possible world beyond it. These nations are Lloryndell, Sylvica, Ifrin, and Promias, and at its centre lies the Cruxal, a university-city of diverse cultural influence.

While Tassia resembles Thedas in its day-to-day technology levels, including its anachronisms, it is more heavily laden with fantastical elements. Along with humans, elves, and dwarves, there are goblins, dragonborn, tritons, tieflings, sentient robots, bird people, centaurs, and more (https://www.dndbeyond.com/races) (but no qunari). There are many different kinds of magic users who wield their powers openly. There are shops full of magic items, potions, and spell scrolls. There are monsters of countless kinds that lurk just about everywhere. Most cultures in the material plane are polytheistic and worship themed gods from the default D&D (Faerun) Pantheon. Some smaller cults and individuals worship ancient fey, fiendish, and eldritch beings who dwell on the outskirts of their respective planes and may provide power to the exceptionally loyal -- for a price.

Special Abilities: You can choose to be a normal depowered person, but you are equally encouraged to take on magical abilities, whether you're a mage or not. In brief, you can be a wizard, whose magic comes from spellbooks and knowledge, a sorcerer, who have innate magical abilities, a bard, who draws their magic from music, words, and performance, a warlock, who has made a pact with a powerful entity in exchange of magical ability, a druid, who draws their magic from nature, and a cleric, whose divine abilities are gifted to them by a deity. (Other classes have magic too, but it might be easier to pick one of these major ones if you are unfamiliar!)

Rather than overthinking it, we recommend you pick whatever sounds fun to flavour your magic with, and then browse magical spells using classes as a filter. (Eighth and ninth level are off limits, and it may be easier to limit yourself further due to how many spells there are.) Given the temporariness of these powers, don't worry too much about how many spells you get or how frequently you can do them, but know that higher level spells (anything above fifth) can only be cast one or twice a day.

Your character may be Tassia-ised, in terms of their race, but in a limited capacity. All humans will stay human, but elves may adopt D&D traits like seeing in the dark.

Arrival: Rifts will open in the streets of the Cruxal. People will be startled by the sudden appearance of rifters and stand offish, but otherwise: they've seen it all before! No one will be calling the guard on you, unless you decide to start something, so please don't. Or enjoy jail.

The Cruxal is a labyrinthian melting pot built up in concentric rings around a massive central university and library. Goblins scarper among humans, elves, and dwarves in the street. There are tusked half orcs and horned, scale-clad dragonborn mixed in among more familiar silhouettes. This is a university town, but while a large portion of the population are students, academics, and staff, it is also self-sustaining, with taverns, shops, temples, brothels, residences, and marketways.

The university itself is guarded and degrees of entry closely regulated due to the school’s extensive collection of dangerous artifacts -- one of which just so happens to have gone missing last night. News of the theft has been suppressed, but every temple, tavern, and brothel on the outskirts of town is abuzz with the rumor. The entire corridor, they say, was scorched black.

Loxley and Richard won't be too concerned about herding everyone but can provide some coin as needed for inn rooms and food. They appear to have a near bottomless stash, at least as far as living costs go.

4 ↠ Sulleciel

Original fantasy world, Petrana de Cedoux.

What if magic was real and holy emperors still kissed the ring in Rome, until someone beheaded the fucking pope? Welcome to Sulleciel, and specifically to Lamor City, capitol of Lamorre and the seat of the Lamorran empire, ruled over by Empereur Marius IX and his consort, Empress Petrana Solene. A nation and empire in the throes, still, of great upheaval — think Versailles or Orlais, but lurching ungainly out of its dark ages into a theoretically more enlightened time, control of which is being actively fought in the halls of power and at grassroots levels of social influence. Power vacuums abound, thanks to the fall of the church and the rise of a conqueror who is less interested in ruling than he was conquering; women are still the often-illiterate property of their fathers and husbands, but now there are more alternatives to family and marital homes, and dedicated studies of witchcraft are being encouraged, with pilot programs across the empire primarily in those early sanctuary cities, figuring out how this is all going to work. Known for her efforts to lean on the scales in the people's favour Petrana herself is, in this era, rumored to be imprisoned; graffiti of her crowned likeness can be found in some places in the city, with the epithet ""la reine du malheur"".

Special Abilities: In Sulleciel, magic is a skill that may be pursued like any other — and there are those of more or less talent, as if someone were to attempt the violin, or swordplay. It is practised primarily through incantations and foci, with more elaborate spellwork for more ambitious results sometimes requiring particular items or a full coven to achieve. As magic is limited in Sulleciel only by the will, imagination and stamina of those practising it, no one coming here will be subject to any nerfs; all mages and otherwise magical or powered individuals will be able to use their powers as they're used to using them. In addition to this, anyone who is as magical as a chair-leg ordinarily can feel free to have a go at Sulleciel's magic — it's up to you if they have a knack for it or not. Simple spells like casting a light or telekinesis of small objects can be mastered by toddlers; a powerful enough witch or coven might be able to summon a thunderstorm and alter weather patterns, but ""can"" and ""should"" are different and it's generally advised that you try not to do a climate change.
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Arrival: The rift will open into a spacious, luxuriously-appointed tower on the grounds of the imperial palace but not visibly connected to it above-ground. It was at one point the sole domain of the previous arciduc's personal astronomers, but is now the primary residence and working space of the Queen's Coven. The Queen's Coven is a particular group of women, so named for having been among the first witches to come beneath the new regime's protection in the first city-state to bend the knee where Petrana was first installed as Queen Regent; they are private, secretive, and increasingly cut off from the power-struggles of the imperial court, having been actively distanced from the Empress herself by a variety of other players in the game. Both relatively prepared for sudden magical happenings and inclined to keep shit in the tower on lock, they will be prepared to pass you all off as "foreign witches, seeking our enlightenment" and see both you and the sudden access to Petrana as potentially useful in their maneuverings. Which will make moving around easier, but will probably be an active hindrance to getting where and what you need. An underground tunnel connects the tower directly to the palace, though there are also pleasant, covered pathways to walk across the palace grounds; guards at the main, above-ground entrance to the tower will inquire about movements to and from, and will be skeptical but limit their interference initially ... as long as they don't see Petrana.

5 ↠ Kalvad

Original fantasy world, Wysteria Poppell.

Kalvad—specifically the city of Somerset, the magic capitol of the civilized world—is a mashup of Regency Era and Industrial-Revolution-But-Magic! Nebulously England (with the serial numbers aggressively filed off). When in doubt, default to Jane Austen vibes. But if it seems fun to do some weird magic-powered technological advancements, then go nuts.

Kalvad is an imperial island nation ostensibly ruled by three kings, though they're largely figureheads overseeing an upper and lower parliament. The country has made itself rich and powerful by doing a whole lot of war and colonization. As historically one of the most magically powerful regions in the world, magicians have long been a vital tool in the empire's efforts to do both those things.

Unfortunately for Kalvad, the strength of magic in the world has waned considerably in the last 40 years. Where once Talent was rare but reasonably powerful, magic users are both becoming more commonplace and considerably weaker. Even older magicians and hedge-witches who once might have manufactured considerable arcane feats have seen some diminishing of their powers. A popular, but unproven, theory in academic circles is that those with Talent all draw from the same "well" of magic. As more people are born with the ability to tap into that resource, the less there is to go around. Resentment for those with weaker Talents among older generations of magic users is A Thing.

That said, increased availability of minor magics has kick-started a 'minor magic' powered industrial revolution. Parlor witches who perform small arcane conveniences are growing in number; minor charms and enchantments have become more readily available to lower classes. Meanwhile, the non-magical population is slowly being shunted out of their respective cottage industry jobs and into factories powered by great enchanted machines. The empire as the world knows it is clearly teetering on the brink of major social and political upheaval, both at home and abroad. The consequences of all this change just haven't quite played themselves out yet, though you can bet there are people rushing around in an attempt to cover their asses before they do.

Special Abilities Characters will be nerfed of any abilities they had in Thedas, but can be Talented in Kalvad terms or not. Any Talented character under 40 is likely to be able to produce only minor magics (think lighting fires in fireplaces, being able to heal minor injuries, and temporarily being able to enchant objects to do one specific thing). Anyone over forty can be a little flashier (think appearance altering glamors, temporary invisibility, transfiguration and significant healing). General magic flavor is: Brothers Grimm fairy tales and Arthurian legends, except that someone somewhere made all that weirdly pliable magic adhere to a strict ruleset. Easy, thoughtless channeling of magic is a secret lost long before the arcane powers in the world began to diminish. Now, all magic must be carefully and deliberately designed and constructed. The magicians most accomplished by Kalvadan standards are methodical and patient. Think clockmakers and mathematicians, not wizards on the side of a van.

Arrival: Members of Riftwatch will arrive through a rift and find themselves on the wooded outskirts of a sprawling city. Luckily, no one will witness their initial arrival. Even more convenient: once they've gotten their bearings and made their way into the city, they'll discover they aren't the only weird strangers in town (although they may want to strongly consider indulging in petty theft to make themselves stick out less—particularly as it comes time to infiltrate places). It seems that a sprawling months-long academic conference turned party turned cover for political intrigue and cold warfare has descended upon Somerset.

In the aftermath of what everyone is claiming to be a major military victory somewhere, delegations from a number of implicated countries have converged on the city at the invitation of the Kalvadan Crowns in order to share and demonstrate their various technical and arcane achievements. The World's Fair-like atmosphere has drawn a number of non-Talented tourists, scheming politicians, and cutthroat spies along with the legitimately academically and/or magically inclined.

While Somerset is something of a city of wonders by the world's estimation, it's still first and foremost a dirty and crowded industrial hub in a world that has yet to bother with paving all its major roads. The conference has quadrupled that effect, transforming it into a riot of sights, sound, and (often to its detriment) smells. At this point, finding a room and board in the city has become less a question of where you want to stay and more one of how many other people you're willing to timeshare a bed with.

Luckily, it doesn't seem like Riftwatch will be sticking around long. Some snooping around the of pamphleting/gossip will reveal that the artifact they're after is likely to be found in the grand exhibition hall, and that there will be an opportunity to get their hands on it that evening.

6 ↠ Abeir-Toril

D&D Forgotten Realms, Astarion

The D&D continent of Faerûn is loosely based on Eurasia—if it ran entirely on magic, was roughly stuck somewhere in the 14th century forever, and was filled to the brim with elves, dragons, gnolls, faeries, gods, demi-gods, and just about any myth (or mythological creature) you’ve ever encountered in your life. For the purpose of simplicity, everyone from Riftwatch is going to get plunked down in the titular Baldur’s Gate: the city is massive, it’s known as the jewel of Faerûn, and its cultures, districts, trades and pastimes reflect that remarkable splendor. Still, think of it like Kirkwall in that there are some pretty damn rigid socioeconomic divides separating the city via districts. QUICK GUIDE.

The Upper City is the fancy part of town where nobles (known as Patriar) and their servants live, and it also houses the city’s government and key recreational buildings. There are no bars, pubs, taverns or drinking halls. Anything rowdy happens behind closed doors, and if you don't have an invitation, you'd better look for fun somewhere else. Magical enchantments and lanterns make it beyond stunning at night to stroll through. Lower City is more varied: you’ll find taverns, shops, tons of entertainment and ample trade, as well as pirates by the docks (and their ships), and the harbor waters are absolutely gorgeous for sailing on calm days. Doors are shut and locked during nighttime hours aside from taverns, inns or gambling parlors. Visibility is also lower at night when harbor fog rolls in, particularly where poorer residents can't afford oil, tallow or magic every night. The Undercity stretches deep (and hidden) beneath both the Upper and Lower Cities: it begins at its most shallow within the city as sewers and along seawall cliffs as open-mouthed caves. The deeper you go, the worse it gets: undead catacombs, cultists, temples, blood sport and bloody magic prevail alongside monsters too dangerous to clear out. Outer City sucks. There's almost next to no law or order, and is inherently dangerous to explore. Treat it like Lowtown for the most part, and you'll be pretty smack on (slavers and actual kind impoverished poor included).

CULTURE: Baldur’s Gate is primarily run by humans, and to a lesser extent, elves. Other races aren’t really considered a foothold here, but they’re more than welcome in the city and treated exceptionally well with a few exceptions here and there (ogres, trolls, more ferally inclined goblins, etc). This is not at all like Thedas: someone more familiar with discrimination against non-humans, certain pairings and particularly mages wouldn't find it here. Most of the time if you dress nicely and carry yourself well, you’ll be well respected. Or robbed. Or both!

Special Abilities: Characters will be adjusted to fit D&D, and powers are optional for all. For D&D’s magic/power/race everything, please take a look at some basic classes.

Arrival: Characters will arrive via rifts torn into the Outer City, just along its riverfront sprawl. They won’t be too far from the city gates, but witnesses to the scene will be inclined to gossip and gawk, assuming everything from a freak magical incident to believing the new arrivals are wealthy travelers from somewhere far and exotic, who simply missed their mark in teleporting to the Upper City for sightseeing. Anyone wearing Thedosian clothes will be fine to go without changing— wearing something more modern or say, nothing at all for some reason, will definitely require staging some kind of Terminator II style clothing (theft) acquisition in order to fit in.

Ideally, the team will at least want to make their way into Lowtown in order to begin snooping around, but it’s a big damn city to say the least, and information is expensive. Astarion will help within reason, but being a vampire means that he can only afford to fund so much on his own.

Might be a good idea to do some fetch quests or live your best Adventuring Party life, because you’re all going to likely be here for a (time distorted) relative while.

7 ↠ Orphan Black

Alternate-Universe Earth, 2014; Toronto, Canada; Cosima Neihaus.

Real-world mid-2010s, but secret unethical biology/biotech experiments including viable human cloning in the mid 1980s. Carrying out such technologically advanced work is a combination of international organizations including a private research company, at least one paramilitary organization and a shadowy organization that oversees both. (Orphan Black also features minor differences from our world typical of its genre, such as plot-convenient hacking and variably competent law enforcement, but the cloning project and related scientific offshoots are the most salient differences.) Relevant to this plot in particular, the Dyad Institute is a private organization, considered ""fringe"" by the mainstream scientific community, devoted to research related to human evolution and biotechnology. Some of its many employees had connections to the ""neolutionism"" community, the members of which believed human evolution should be actively shaped by scientific and technological intervention. The organization was responsible for the project that created Cosima and her sisters roughly 30 years before in-world present day. Also at the moment they're jumping to, Cosima works there, it's complicated. (If anyone is familiar with the canon, we're jumping in circa season two.)
A tiny pinboard.

Special Abilities: None, you're all just unpowered humans. Sorry/you're welcome.

Arrival: The group arrives at what turns out to be a nondenominational winter party for a local school; there are some mild shenanigans as Cosima clocks that it's a school attended by children she knows, and more pressingly, partially overseen by their mother, who has Cosima's face. Cosima press gangs one or more other people into helping her hide her own face while negotiating with Alison to borrow her minivan. She shuttles the group to Alison's large suburban Toronto home, which becomes the FR group's base of operation. (It is perhaps telling that while Alison finds this frustrating, she and her husband Donnie do sort of roll with it also.) If desired/depending on how big the group is, Cosima could also stow some Riftwatchers with Felix, the foster brother of one of her other clones, who has a big artsy loft downtown. She is not against taking anyone to her place, but she's a grad student; it's not huge. Everyone who knows how to use a phone or can be trusted to figure it out with a tutorial gets a burner phone for convenience. (Perhaps additionally telling how quickly Alison gets everyone a burner phone. She also decorates the protective cases for them. No, it's not optional.)

8 ↠ The Last of Us

Post-Apocalyptic Earth, Spring 2038, Seattle, Abby Lasterson & Ellie Williams.

This world was ours until 2013, when a worldwide pandemic broke out overnight. A fungus (cordyceps) that had originally infected mainly insects adapted to infect human beings. Anyone bitten by an infected person or who has breathed in a significant or concentrated amount of fungal spores becomes infected themselves. Over a maximum of two days, they utterly lose their humanity and deteriorate into violent monsters, eventually sprouting spores and fungal plates. There is no known cure, and the only human being ever known to be immune is Ellie Williams. 25 or so years later, humanity has crumbled into various factions in a struggle to survive. First came the Federal (FEDRA) response, resulting in Quarantine Zones and martial law. Life in the zones is highly regulated, with work assignments and rations that often aren't enough to go around. Many citizens are forced to turn to crime just to make ends meet. Orphaned children become wards of the state and are trained to become FEDRA soldiers by the time they're sixteen.

Various civilian groups rose up to rebel against FEDRA, forming factions such as the Fireflies (rebels who recruited scientists in an effort to find a cure), and the Washington Liberation Front (a militia-minded organization who overthrew FEDRA in Seattle). There are other smaller groups such as the religious zealots called the Seraphites, or the violent slavers known as the Rattlers.

Few and far between are independent human settlements like Jackson of Wyoming, where small communities have managed to gain self-sufficiency and safety with tireless group effort and highly vigilant defenders. They bolster their numbers by welcoming peaceful outsiders and engaging in trade with travelers.

Living outside of these groups, people are largely on their own, vulnerable to packs of hunters, bandits and even cannibals that prey on anyone brave enough to risk travel.

The infected are an ever-present threat everywhere, and the world is a ruin quickly being reclaimed by nature. (cw: body horror in the link) See board for world aesthetic and depictions of the Infected.

Special Abilities: Everyone is a normal human here. No supernatural powers, no magic, no non-humans.

Arrival: Welcome one of Ellie and Abby's least favorite places: Seattle. The Space Needle is visible in the distance, so despite the advanced state of decay, it's actually recognizable. Except it's been bombed, and rotting, and nature's reclaimed it for the last quarter-century. This adventure won't be for the faint of heart; there are no home bases and no safe space to be had. All clothing, supplies, weaponry and food are things you'll need to find yourself. Everyone can assume they'll get a quick lesson in gun safety and a rundown on various types of infected. Multiple rifts will open, so feel free to appear anywhere in the city (even apart from others) but expect to find no native allies. The city of Seattle is embroiled in civil war between the Seraphites (a religious cult who rejects anything "old world" and scars their faces, called "Scars") and the Washington Liberation Front (a ruthless mercenary coalition, called "Wolves") and both sides will assume you're with the other group and attack on sight. Better pick up a brick.

Comments

world one: earth-199999.

[propulsion]

east coast arrival.

[propulsion]

In the strange, drifting liminality of the Crossroads, a rift opens like a star, vivid green and bright white. Notions of up and down disintegrate, irrelevant, but there is a sense of falling forwards as the Crossroads vanish entirely around you.

And high in the air above 42nd street, green light tears space apart, thick arms of lightning slamming into concrete. A car swerves, tires screeching, and a chorus of protesting horns immediately erupt before the sound of metal slamming metal detonates like a thunderclap as a yellow taxi cab brakes too slow and slams into another. Shouts of alarm and complaint ripple through the crowd of pedestrians, all motion grinding to a crowded halt.

The rift above glimmers in a familiar haze of suspended green light, a three-dimensional scar.

Dotted throughout the crowd, you will find yourself immediately lost in a sea of strangers, expressions of caution that begin to warm into curiousity, and hands hefting smartphones to record whatever it is you happen to be doing. Looking beyond them, there looms the impossible rise of buildings, of glowing light that ripples over screens or emanates from signage, and then further, the realisation that the sky is dusk-dark but the world around you is close to daylit.

It is overwhelming to just about every sense: sight, sound, and unfortunately smell, although perhaps Kirkwall can compete on that last one. Still, the scent of exhaust and pollution is a unique, acrid tang to the air.

It will take a minute or several for the confused knot of stopped traffic and excited bystanders to untangle, and even longer to start sheep herding, so have fun.

[ ooc ; start your own starters or threadjack someone else's, no tag order we die like men etc. feel free to get lost with a friend or assume you get shepherded to the Sanctum Santorum (to start with) courtesy of Tony and Stephen, eventually. ]

World 7 ↠ Orphan Black

[youwonscience]

[Starters in separate tags below, feel free to wildcard anything else you like in the weeks pre-heist.]

ARRIVAL

[youwonscience]

It's very charming.

They arrive in a large parking lot behind a school, which is filled with variety of tables and booths, and enough people that their presence doesn't immediately draw attention, though their clothes will draw some raised eyebrows in a moment. Some of the booths around them offer food and drink, others a variety of crafts, still others simple games. Piles of snow suggest that the lot was cleared relatively recently, and beyond the parking lot, a snowed-over field has provided space for well-bundled children to build snowmen and make snow angels. A group of about 10 children on the other end of the space is singing Christmas carols under an adult's direction, decently in tune though not very loudly.

For anyone from a world similar enough to this one, it is very clearly an elementary school winter carnival.

The real question is who will be the first to spot a woman with a familiar face, currently in the middle of a heated discussion with a man in a fleece vest who seems to be running the hot chocolate booth.

[No tag order, chaos reigns, though feel free to grab me if you want Cosima and/or her sister Alison anywhere in particular.]

World 8 ↠ Apocalyptic Seattle

[notathreat]

[Settings & starters will be in toplevels below; feel free to respond to any or create your own. You're not limited to the settings below either! Feel free build your own date in a sad apocalyptic mall or brush with death.

Keep in mind that nowhere has working power or plumbing. See here for world and mission details.]

ARRIVALS

[notathreat]

"Oh, fuck."

Ellie is the first to get to her feet, bow in hand as the smell of standing water, dust and rotting things reaches her lungs. She drags in a slow, loud breath as the street resolves around them.

She holds it. Nothing happens. No glow.

Of course.

"... stay right on my ass. Stick to cover. Whatever you do, do not let anything-"

Footsteps. Running. A loud, piercing shriek that's somewhere between human and animal. Ellie whips around, bow immediately up as something rounds the brick corner of a store and comes barreling toward them. It looks like a person, blood-smeared, discolored, wounded and rotting. It moves like it's forgotten it's wearing human skin, like it knows it has feet at the end of its legs.

Ellie's arrow catches it in the neck, and the thing drops, screaming, sobbing, drowning on its own blood before it finally goes limp and still.

"... bite you."

There is a horrible pause before another scream sounds, just around a corner.

[Feel free to have your character arrive elsewhere in the city and assume they meet up later. No tag order for this starter, only chaos.]

tony stark.

[propulsion]

[ Various starters for various worlds below. Feel free to hit me up for bespoke starters or wildcard me. ]

earth-199999. closed to wysteria and ellis.

[propulsion]

"This is it."

They are standing on a sidewalk across the road from a building that has been in their plain view for at least a few blocks now so Tony is being a little disingenuous, as if somehow, 'it' had only just popped into view. 'It' being the massively wide and far, far taller structure of what Tony still sort of secretly on the inside calls Stark Tower but has been renovated (had been renovated) to house more than only his ego. Look up and up and up, and an A for the Avengers is prominently displayed by the landing pad.

It's not an uncomplicated sense of nostalgia. To think that this was the simpler time, out of all of them that came after. "Home sweet home," Tony says, an obligatory finishing of the phrase, and he adds, "One of 'em, kind of. C'mon. Green means go."

Important street crossing rules. He stops short of holding their hands, but he will if he has to.

The lobby is large, glossy, marble-lined, a water feature, a tall ceiling and a reception desk, and a row of silver doors that Tony makes a beeline to. He has had some time to re-adapt his wardrobe, in a suit that fits in just fine with other sleekly dressed people that move around. A few glances dart Tony's way, an acknowledgment of presence that doesn't encroach beyond a couple of nervous smiles or polite nods, one or two Mister Starks that Tony breezes by—

More keyed into the two people he is with than he seems, probably, as he summons an elevator. Something bad's gotta happen eventually. The whole place starts melting, or the receptionist turns into a rage demon, or worse, that happens to the next person they run into.

Or it's all somehow real, time discrepancies or no. What a nightmare.

mobius

[favoriteanalyst]

[various world starters will be under here, eventually, shh]

mcu

[favoriteanalyst]

It's...an adjustment.

He's seen tall buildings before. Towers that go up and up, has seen glimpses of mansions and chantries reaching for the heavens. But an entire city that dares to scrape the clouds? Hoo. If he keeps his head down, if he ignores the strange clothes, if he thinks of cars as just horseless carriages, it's not the furthest thing from the bustle of a busy Thedosian city. Throngs of people shoving around moving to and fro. It doesn't take too long to understand the lights (that a lot of people ignore) at the edges of city blocks. And at least some of the streets have sensible numbered names to make it easier to move around, though others he has to try and memorize. (Bleecker Street is a very, very long street. Sure, the buildings have numbers, some of them, but it's still disorienting at times.)

He stays at the Sanctum, for the most part. It feels more like Thedas in a lot of ways. And the physical books are so familiar to him. Stark's Tower felt so alien, and being greeted by a crisp voice from somewhere he couldn't see was...just so strange, it gave him goosebumps.

That's not to say he isn't hungry to learn everything he can. Give him some instruction and some time with this 'smartphone' and this 'internet' of things, and pointers on the basics of modern life (you can just...have hot water any time you want?? there are so many ways to cook things?? let's not mention how the 'teevee' absolutely blows his mind!!), and he'll start getting the hang of things. Start learning. Never knowing where to start. Gets easily distracted by new topics.

Does he get lost for hours wiki-diving? You know he does. But also you can find him most times he's in the Sanctum pouring through ancient texts. A lot seem to be in languages he can't interpret, and a lot more than that are on arcane magicks that are interesting, but also strange, for it having nothing to do with the Fade. For the idea that truly anyone could learn it with enough practice.

(Does he try? Yes. He doesn't get anywhere. At first.)

Right around the 4th or 5th day, he spends the time scarce, in his room or generally out of the way. He doesn't say it, but seeing as it's been several days since his last fix of lyrium, he's waiting for the withdrawal symptoms to start. They never do. It's a miracle, and he's much more sociable after that scare.

Clothing is an interesting time. There are so many more options, and so many options without buttons or fiddly bits that his hands trip over. There are so many styles and materials and fits, and he doesn't need anything tailor-made. The end result tends to lean toward Vacation Dad in varying layers, so please, someone with a little more fashion sense, feel free to take him to 5th Avenue or something.

Food is a wonder. He's heard Rifters speak of some of these things before, but there's so much more, so many options, so many meats done up in so many ways. He doesn't know what Chinese is, but he knows he can't use the wooden sticks provided, but he can shovel noodles into his mouth with a flimsy fork in a container meant to be transported around. Meat on sticks is easy enough for him to grok. Coffee is just. available. everywhere. He has no idea how the costs translate given Stark has given them what seems to be an endless supply of credit to work off of, but apparently it's not extremely expensive to import. When he discovers soda, it's all over. This is his new favorite kind of drink. Catch him going through a box of Coke or Pepsi or Whatever Fun Soda Flavor He's Trying Now in an alarmingly fast amount of time. Like...that is definitely not healthy, holy shit, please slow down.

He stumbles on the NYC LARPers by accident, drawn on a walkabout toward the sound of fighting, and it excites him. And the nice young lady at the booth is then excited that he's got his own armor, because wow, that looks so good, it must've taken him a while to make! And then the nice young lady is less excited about his sword, because, as she says with a pained smile, the city of New York does not allow for the carrying of fixed blades over four inches long. Which is a disappointment. But he learns pretty quickly that this is all for show and for play. So...might as well use this opportunity for training, right? He can start teaching these people more proper ways to use their blades and shields.

There are whole sections, in libraries and bookstores, on psychiatry, psychology, therapy. When he discovers these words, when he discovers this branch of science, what he is just going to dub the art of listening, he's so happy he could cry. That people used to tip him in coin for listening to their problems, that he doles out advice, that he uses the Maker's gift of seeing people, is a thing? It's a real, viable thing? A real, viable scientific branch, with all the arguments and counterarguments and schools of thought, with job markets and education and everything? It's such a relief. He's going to eat up as much of that as he can. Maybe steer him away from Freud.

someone introduce him to fast modes of travel so he can experience other places and climes and also introduce him to jet skis just saying

wysteria

[heirring]

[Misc starters in misc places below. Wildcards and/or ditching brackets also welcome!]

↠ MCU EARTH-199999

[heirring]

i. hollywood city tour; (one thread, no tag order, ultimate chaos)
[It takes a map printed on a three way folded paper leaflet (acquired for free from a rotating wire rack among printed picture cards—Greetings from California!—and colorful sunglasses) and approximately two minutes of careful observation from a bustling street corner to reach the obvious conclusion: If they've any hope at all of finding their compatriots who fell through the rift before them, they will need to cover a prodigious amount of ground. The best way to achieve that is self evident.

The first attempts to flag one of the horse exempt wagons down prove fruitless (unless one is aiming to be cursed at or ignored), but eventually Wysteria manages to accost one of them as its paused in preparation of rounding a corner. A brief exchange with the startled woman behind the wheel suggests that if they want a ride around the city, then they should try over there—

Which is how Wysteria arrives behind the steering wheel of a brightly colored touring van, the vehicle's engine having helpfully roared to life the moment she set her hand there to steer it by.]

Whatever spirits conjured this place certainly are accommodating.

[Yes, that's absolutely the motivating emotion the driver on his lunch break will experience when he returns to find his van missing.]

ii. cell block tango; (closed to any lady accomplices + tony stark & co)
[The holding cell in the Hollywood Community police station can be crossed in roughly twelve paces. She knows this because one of the women sharing the room has been pacing up and down and up and down and up and down for what feels like the past hour.

Wysteria, quite content to sit on one of the benches built into the wall, is still absently rotating her wrist around. The mark left there by the handcuff remains faintly red, though the discomfort has more or less faded from it and the ankle to which the other side of the cuffs had been clapped once the arresting officer recognized Wysteria's other wrist as imminently removable.

How long has it been since then? Hard to say. There are no windows and no relenting of brilliantly bright overhand lamps by which to measure. Long enough for the plotting of a rescue attempt?

Maybe.]

iii. wildcard
[happy to also do ny stuff/hydra base shenanigans/bespoke starters; throw something at me here, or ping me on plurk/snag me on disco!]

Byerly

[bouchonne]

[ Starters to come! ]

general catch-all mingling

[bouchonne]

A spy is a spy, no matter where he finds himself. And so it is perhaps delightful, or perhaps obnoxious - depending on how you feel about the Ambassador - to find that he acquits himself rather well in each of these new places.

On Earth, in New York, he can be encountered in a coffee shop, sipping on a matcha latte, wearing an unbuttoned blazer over a dark t-shirt - looking like someone who's here to talk to you about crypto.

In Kalvad, he looks like an absolute bounder, mingling with the more opportunistic and disreputable of the scholars gathered there. Grinning, he might catch the eye of someone he knows and invite them into a discussion on magic where he's managed to convince the others he knows what he's talking about even though he doesn't.

Even in the shifters' world, he finds his niche - in this case, as a tiger laying lazily (and alarmingly) in a puddle of sunshine, massive tail twitching contentedly, massive paws curling in the moss.


[ pick a world, any world, and gossip about how weird it is ]

Bastien.

[cozen]

mcu earth-199999

[cozen]

A week, two weeks into this, there are times—mostly at night, lying awake in a funny-smelling bed surrounded by the constant unfamiliar hum of electricity and staring at his own newly superpowered palms, or looking out one of the glass walls at the sea of lights in the dark—when Bastien freaks out. Silently. Just a little.

But the rest of the time, he's fine. They're in a dream. Or they're not, but they'll make it back. Clever people are on it.

So in the meantime—he's hard to pin down. He's going somewhere nearly all the time. But when he isn't, he might be found in Tony Stark's enormous cloud-tickling tower, camped out on one end of an expansive leather sofa with his entire Alternate Electric Bizarro World Cool Things collection. It's mostly entirely unelectric books, political philosophy next to a comic book next to pulpy paperback fiction. But also a tablet, playing a constant stream of music with the visualizer on. And a box of Frosted Flakes. And a hoodie, stupidly soft in its interior and on its exterior emblazoned with BACK IN MY DAY, WE HAD NINE PLANETS, because at the time he found it nonsensical and therefore extra funny.

He is reading the books. But he's not immune to the siren call of a bright screen, either. So at any given moment he might have left the current book tented on his chest in favor of holding his phone close to his mouth and trying to carefully enunciate, "Can birds cry?" or, "Are mustaches stylish here right now?"—and then repeating himself, inevitably, when voice to text fails to fully parse his accent.

Or maybe he's found you near the entrance to the tower, brandishing a neon-bright home-printed flyer for a band called Spider and the Men that (judging solely by aesthetic) promises to be an utter cacophony of high-school pop punk. Not that Bastien knows that. "Hello," he says, "hi, this is right now. It's not far. Will you come with me?"

john silver.

[hornswoggle]

derrica.

[tender]

gwenaëlle / tassia

[tender]

The Adventurer's Guild had been host to a seemingly unending flow of well-armed individuals passing in and out of its front door. Derrica had been curious as to what goes on inside, but not curious enough to ask Gwenaëlle to detour inside rather than stake their claim on one of the listed tasks on the job board.

Between them on the wine-puddled tabletop are the torn pieces of a map. Well-marked, from what Derrica can tell. Once they assemble it, they might not have too much trouble following it, even taking into account the fact that they're strangers in this place.

At Derrica's throat, a pendant swings from a leather strap. It is warm, like a softly smoldering coal where it lays against her skin. It sparks when she draws magic to her, which is new and strange. She taps two fingers against it, turning a corner piece in her hand.

"We're only supposed to bring back what we find," she's saying. "I don't think it should be very difficult, if the hoard has already been abandoned."

ellis.

[heorte]

gwen / fifth avenue (earth-199999)

[heorte]

It hadn't been an argument, not really. More like a drawn out conversation, circling around a seemingly simple sentiment: no, Ellis can't spend the duration of their time here in his armor, in his gambeson, in his boots, it's just not—

There'd been discussion. Tony had been tapping at a slim glass pane when last they'd spoken, pictures flying up under his fingers, focused on the task at hand in the midst of all the overlapping protest. (Ellis had been quiet for the duration of this, because why get a word in edgewise when Wysteria was making her own case?) It was an ongoing squabble of a discussion, and it had ended with two diverging solutions, one of which sees Ellis trailing Gwenaëlle through this building. It's so clean, all gleaming white and gold and silver and screaming luxury that it makes Ellis' entire body itch with discomfort.

"This is excessive."

All of it. The idea of new clothes in general, these clothes in particular. Gwenaëlle is moving at such a clip that the protest might be lost entirely.

stephen strange

[portalling]

[ Open + closed starters will go below; lmk @ quadrille if you’d like to plot something specific, or feel free to wildcard! I’ll switch to match brackets or prose. ]

» earth-199999 (mcu); open.

[portalling]

It’s a bizarre trek south through midtown, with bystanders asking to pose for pictures with the arriving rifters (congrats, you’re all rifters now), but Strange eventually gets people safely to Greenwich Village.

The Sanctum Sanctorum is bigger on the inside, so it’ll generate extra bedrooms for anyone wanting to stay there. He’ll give anyone a tour of the townhouse, gamely and proudly, showing them around the building and ushering them to their rooms and telling them where to find the laundry in the basement.

His speech, true-to-form, is grandiose and a little melodramatic but entirely accurate: “The Sanctum Santorum is the greatest concentration of occult esoterica and mystical phenomena in existence. It should go without saying, but do not touch anything you see, except the floor. And be careful where you step. In this house, simply opening the wrong door could literally unleash hell on Earth. And that’s just the refrigerator. … Basically, don’t look at anything for long unless you want your eyeballs to melt out of your skull.”

After they get settled, he recovers the Cloak of Levitation which, unlike the version he wears in Thedas, is literally alive and can help him fly. There’s a sling ring back on his fingers, which means he can open portals again, back in his full power and his prime and showing off.

As the days go on, like at the Gallows, he can often be found in the library, poring over various magical locators with a globe slowly floating and spinning beside him. Seeing someone else enter, he asks aloud: “If you were an incredibly powerful macguffin, where do you think you’d be hiding?”

Late nights might mean a snack run together at the bodega, piling up on sugary desserts and chips, sandwiches and soda; or it might be nursing some tea or hot cocoa in the Sanctum kitchen if anyone else happens to be an insomniac, unsettled and having trouble sleeping.

Other options might include: touristy nonsense in the city, shopping for clothes, wrangling new superpowers if you obtained any, going to investigate bizarre local occurrences only for it to be yet another vigilante or criminal rather than the artifact. Or is there anywhere on Earth you’d like to visit while you’re here? Because, heck, the illusion goes forever and he can open a portal there with his sling ring.

Ellie

[notathreat]

Earth-199999 (MCU) | OTA

[notathreat]

↠ Avengers Tower

Perhaps surprisingly, Apocalypse Girl is one of the first people to find her feet in New York City. Despite prickling skin and the way she goes quiet, sticks to the edges of people's attention, she actually knows how to work an elevator. (Lance.) An escalator. (Cassandra.) How to order at a food stall. (Glimmer.) She even scrapes together some semblance of semi-modern fashion fairly quickly, with jeans and chucks and flannel, a denim jacket thrown over the top. She fastens her Riftwatch and rocket pins to the lapel.

If it weren't for the scars, she'd actually look like she belongs here.

What she still hasn't figured out is how to sleep on the luxurious mattress of the Avengers Tower. So she gets up in the middle of the night to wander down into the kitchen, possibly send the AI into a frenzy, accidentally hit the button for coffee and be so annoyed at the thought of just pouring it out that she curls up near one of the giant picture windows with a mug just to look out at the skyline.

And maybe someone finds her there, with an undrunk mug of black coffee by her feet, looking out at a still-living world so very close to the one she should've known.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asks without turning around.


↠ Titanosaur

The first place Ellie goes, once they get settled, is the museum. The American Museum of Natural History. She's got eyes on the space exhibit, but from the second they enter she can see the bones of something huge, a head peeking out from one of the exhibits. Eyes lighting up, Ellie speed-walks through the museum at a pace that has people getting out of her way to circle the giant bones.

"Holy shit," she mutters almost to herself. "I've never seen one this big before. Look, he doesn't even have a name yet." She points out the plaque. "I guess they just found this one not all that long ago in... some farm in Argentina?"


↠ Music

Second on the list is a real life music store. It was one of the few things they didn't really have back in New Amsterdam. Actual instruments were barely played, basically relics. But this? This is something she's dreamed about for years.

There's a huge smile on Ellie's face as she turns in a slow circle, looking at what seems like hundreds of guitars on the walls before her eyes fall on an amp.

"No fucking way," she mutters, and heads over to the amp to fiddle with it, plug the guitar in, then reverently strum one chord. The notes ring out (low volume, 'cause of the shop) but it still has her looking like Christmas morning.

"No fucking way."

Another chord, then- and it falls off-key, strange. Strain enters Ellie's smile, and she takes the strap off her shoulders.

"Wanna try?"


↠ Wildcard

Abby

[armd]

Skybridge

[notathreat]

It's tense, the climbing.

Ellie had seen plenty of the buildings in the distance, the ruined highways the Wolves used for their trucks, but the slippery rusted beams and the cranes and the fallen skyscrapers- they hadn't registered as a way across.

Mostly because they're so high up the ever-present Seattle fog actually obscured them.

They're not even there yet and it's fucking dizzying.

They've taken out a Scar patrol nearest the top, and now they're doing one last scavenging session for anything they can find. This area has effigies, graffiti, startlingly detailed paintings that haunt the fog. It's cold.

Ellie stands at one of the wide-open windows in the side of the rickety building, craning her neck to peer up at the still not entirely clear pathway above. Looks down at the endless city above them, and gets vertigo. This is higher than she flies on Artie, most of the time. She's good with heights, but this is still gonna give her nightmares.

Ellie pulls her cloak closer around her shoulders with a shiver, and heads over to Abby's side with a prybar in hand, to help her open one of the wooden storage barrels.

God, she looks tense. If she's scared, how is Abby coping with this?

"Why the fuck did you do this in the first place?" Ellie asks, slipping the flat edge under the wooden top of the chest, making space for Abby's hands between hers.

"This thing looks insane."

marcus rowntree.

[luaithre]

shifterverse.

[luaithre]

It's quiet, deep in the woods. Dark daylight, overcast.

And then peace breaks with a short burst of movement. Something small and quick scurries beneath underbrush, and something large and fast launches after it, a blur of white, brown, grey fur. Big jaws snap closed over a rabbit's arched spine, fangs sinking and bones snapping, bearing down until all motion ceases. A moment later, a timber wolf with a coat of muddy browns and greys, and ice-bright eyes, emerges into a clearing, the broken leg of a rabbit carcass held between his teeth.

He may or may not be hunting alone, but eventually he makes his way back to where a camp has been set up, dropping the rabbit nearby, and then slinking away towards one of the tents. Marcus emerges a moment later, dressed in borrowed garments—fleece, denim, boots—and the remnants of a smear of blood on his face that he's only mostly removed.

Suffice to say, he finds the pace and purpose of this world superior to the last.

Plenty of time is spent in his newly acquired wolf shape. He has heeded some warnings around the politics of empathy in and around the group, his also newly acquired ability to compel held in check. (You know, unless a reason presents itself.) But having already harboured appreciation for a good forest hike, being able to move through it with this amount of predatory speed and grace, with greater senses, is not an ability he squanders.

But the human element proves equally fascinating. Unlike the previous world, where Marcus had desired to learn approximately none of its workings, he begins to acquaint himself with this one. He asks questions of those that live here, of how they came to be and what they think, more inclined to listen than to share, although willing to do either.

Consequently, he also makes himself useful with whatever tasks they're willing to entrust him with. Dishes, first, after meals. The garden, the next day, pulling weeds. Eventually, he is demonstrably restless enough to be recruited on an errands run into town via truck, where helpfulness is interspersed with tentative exploration. They do not have the limitless funds of the previous world, but there is coffee at the gas station and quiet streets to explore that are not nearly so annoying as New York City.

In the days to come, Marcus also accompanies patrols, both as a wolf that roams its borders as well as a person who learns how to slot batteries into a radio receiver.

It is not only that he wishes to kill time while someone else figures out how they are to leave. It's not only that he wants to be helpful, although this is not untrue. It is that here, there are soldiers and teachers and caregivers, and he is certain they all have something he might learn.

loxley.

[charmoffensive]

tassia. ota.

[charmoffensive]

The Adventurer's Guild is as fine an establishment as any building on this particular street, a two-storied building that squares up just fine next to the other guildhalls and administrative buildings as its neighbours.

Rather than enter it, Loxley stops at the jobs board, hands on hips and peering at the fluttered pieces of overlapping parchment pinned to its surface, all with various degrees of legibility between them. "You see, this sort of thing," and he gestures to an advertisement that requests assistance in cleaning out a basement, with the generous offering of fifty gold as reward, "will get you killed, if you're new to it all."

If you've ever wondered what he meant when he said he was (or is) an adventurer, this is part of it.

He has, himself, gotten over the shock of his appearance. Silver qunari skin, strikingly, is now a deep golden-brown, sporting an unnatural metallic sheen that is only further emphasised by the grey-gold of his curling horns. Between the split of his coat hangs at ease a tail, ending in a bony point, idly listing back and forth behind him. His eyes, too, have changed—black sclera and golden pupils and irises, shining like pennies in ink.

He's also dressed better, suddenly, in a blue frockcoat with golden embellishment, a dense dark red cloak over top and soft silks beneath, layers of luxury that are striking in contrast to the more rough and tumble adventurers milling around the guild.

There are plenty of places he will point out around the Cruxal, although he does not give the impression that he is necessarily at home so much as having returned to a familiar city he's travelled to once or twice. Still, he knows it well, and can recommend certain taverns, brothels, gambling dens with deft ease.

Eventually, they will leave. They will go on an adventure.

The Queen of Gales is a beautiful airship, capable of cruising the sky by way of gravity-defying magical crystals and sails that spread like wings. Its crew are friendly but focused on their tasks, in general, and made up of a myriad of beings: a hulking half-orc who Loxley speaks to fairly regularly, a firbolg with bad posture, a young woman with blue skin and webbed feet who scampers up the ropes, but also plenty of humans.

And Captain Loxley, as he is apparently titled while on its deck, puts in his share of work, found often at the helm or looking over a variety of maps in his quarters as they fly east.

Beneath, the landscape quickly turns to dense greenery.

Upon landing, some days beyond where they have guessed the entrance of the temple to be, Loxley's finery shifts with a glimmer of magic, turning into more robust looking dark brown leathers, earth-toned garments beneath. He jumps off the last rung of the ladder from the airship with a hop, hand resting on the hilt of his rapier as he peers around the dense jungle wilderness they find themselves in. It's all as foreign to him, out here, as it is to anyone.

There's an ambush, at one point: a gaggle of lizardfolk bandits that manage to get the jump on them. Hissing, equipped with poison-tipped arrows and spears and claws that let them scramble up and down the thick-trunked trees that close so densely around them all. Loxley's fighting style sees him in the thick of it, boots planted in the soft jungle floor as a rapier wreathed in green flames slices and cuts and pierces.

At one stage, a lizardfolk gets a clean swipe across his chest, Loxley drawing his sword back to retaliate—but instead, his eyes flare as he hisses something in harsh, incomprehensible syllables, and from nowhere, fire spreads across his opponent's scaly chest, sending him thrashing and shrieking backwards.

The nights are no safer, and Loxley will volunteer for night watches, patrolling the campsite with eyes that gleam cat-like in the gloom.

[ ooc ; as always, feel free to wild card me if none of the above strikes you! ]

Gela

[sprent]

» MCU; open

[sprent]

As if the arrival itself is not enough to have to deal with, Gela seems to have developed a weaker sense of gravity? She's fine on her feet, feeling light, a little bouncy, and a single jump takes her much higher than should be physically possible: six, seven, eight feet in the air depending on how much she bends her knees. She gets the sense that she could go much higher, if she wanted.

"Excuse me!" She is taking the hand of the person nearest to her tight, thinking to use them as an anchor. However, another experimental jump pulls the both of them into the air, drifting, lagging at the point where their hands are joined. Gela laughs, wild, nervous, "What is happenin'."

Later, she seems to have developed the hang of it. It helps vastly that the fall back to the ground is slow, controlled, and soon she figures out how to account for the weight and drag of another person, bring them along. "C'mon," she coaxes, staring up. She's got her sights fixed on a very particular skyscraper that seems to tower above the rest... "I'm goin' up there. Come with?"

Even the mutant power isn't as strict a learning curve as the cellphones are. Gela struggles with all of it: the little buttons, the auto-correct, the screen that sometimes goes dark when she hasn't touched the thing for sixty seconds or so. Selecting any one contact is beyond the realm of understanding. The text goes out to everybody.

Where is the best place for 🍔
👍🍓
F odd

clarisse

[laruetheday]

marvelverse | ota

[laruetheday]

arrival (kinda) ((cw for minor self-inflicted injury bc we lack coping skills))

Probably just bad luck, for the first universe they end up in to be one so similar to the one Clarisse is from, at least on the surface. And in New York City, of all places. She has no time to talk herself down so she won't be disappointed, and by then it's too late. Once hope exists, it's hard to squash without definitive proof.

So maybe not the first day, but definitely the second, she disappears for a while. When she comes back, she's not visibly upset anymore, but it's pretty obvious that something has bummed her out tremendously. Oh, and a couple of the fingers on her right hand are bruised and swollen up, obviously broken on closer inspection. Knuckles bloody, too.

It's fine, this is fine.

tower (of terrifying food)

But you know what? She gets over that first, initial disappointment relatively quick, and decides that while she's back in a world full of electricity and modern media and (most important) shitty junk food, she might as well make the most of it.

Which is why she's got a sickening combination of food sitting in front of her: a PB&J, some cheese puffs (the curly kind, not the balls, we're not cheaping out here), a pint of rocky road ice cream with a can of whipped cream on the side, a jar of pickles, popcorn, a bottle of hot sauce, a huge container of Mountain Dew Code Red, annnd some orange juice.

"What?" she says to anybody who might be looking at her in a way that implies judgment of any kind. "I missed this shit."

wildcard!

world three: d&d (tassia)

[nonvenomous]

airship assault action - no tag order

[nonvenomous]

Most aboard were filed away fast asleep in hammocks and bunks below deck when a cry from the night crew went up: ”Riders!”

Now the airship is on fire.

A bubble of silence has enveloped the chaos, stifling spellwork and deafening all in the fray. But the blasting heat is real, and so is the winged creature crouched at the helm with a crewman in its jaws. It’s darker than the night sky, roiling with shadow where its talons splinter the deck and its wings blot against the stars. The neck is long, the teeth jagged, the eyes glowing pits sunk deep in over its skeletal maw.

Its saddle is conspicuously empty.

Passing out of the bubble reveals the quiet for the blessing it is: the shriek of another wyrm lunging through the flames chills the blood and twists guts sick with fear.

For those staying out of harm’s way below deck, a pair of small bare feet slap conspicuously down the ladder, quick quick quick, and deposit something heavy on the floor at its base, thump. The sphere of silence muting the worst of the combat overhead makes it easier to hear the source panting for breath as it tests the rasp and scrape of a flint lighter.

richard dickerson

[nonvenomous]

tassia - open

[nonvenomous]

i. nights watch

Watches are best kept in pairs.

The sizzle of seawater over sand softens the silence on nights they camp near the shore, surf rolling pale in the moonlight. Tree frogs trill in the foliage around camps pitched in ruins further inland, where greater cover affords them the convenience of low-burning cookfires crumbled now all to coals.

Some nights he stays close. He has maps to study and spells to prepare.

Some nights he excuses himself and vanishes for hours.


ii. speak with dead (one thread)

Within a day’s travel of the temple, the party has dragged a malison corpse off the beaten path and into a vine-cracked ruin. It’s nearly seven feet tall, armored, and hooded like a cobra. Three-inch fangs still flex in its jaws when they stop to prop it into a sit against a crumbling wall. Venom drips thick from the loose fork of its tongue.

“I can only ask three questions before the soul departs,” Richard explains, and pauses. The body has started to slump slowly over onto its side. “We’ll need to be selective.”

He waits for the corpse to settle with a soft thud to look over to whatever muscle is nearest in silent suggestion that they sit it back up and ideally do a better job of this time.


iii. you are no longer surprised (one thread)

They’re close enough to the ritual chamber for the movements of something massive within to reverberate through the passage walls, great slabs of stone carved in relief to immortalize scenes of sacrifice, worship, and victories past. Dick Dickerson is pinned under the weight of an abomination as thick around as he is tall, its jaws pulsing to pump venom in through the grip it has at his neck, his shoulder.

The floor beneath them is already greasy with blood, great clumps of shed snakehide swept all to one side by their struggling.

On the bright side, so long as its mouth is full of Dick it can’t call for backup.

iv. wildcard hmu in discord or on plurk if you want to discuss first

World 2 ↠ Shifterverse, Yellowstone

[foolsmakeitcolder]

[Info.]

Arrival | No tag order!

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Woods. Mountains. Grass. Trees.

There is no sight or scent or sound of human civilization. The wilderness is a sprawling endlessness around them, the faint scent of ash and cold, the distant caw of birds, the rush of a stream.

It is nearly silent for all of a second, and then Jude manages to draw a breath.

It starts in the distance. A single voice that snowballs into dozens.

Howling wolves.

The sound grows, a shattering volume that expands and shivers through the air as more and more voices add to the pack chorus. They are front of them. They are behind them. They are surrounding them. They are miles away. They are right there.

There are hundreds them.

Jude doesn't normally change in full sight of others. Now, he barely kicks off his shoes, the change racing over him with speed that's painful, cramps and aches through every bone in his body. The healing rushes in, bolstered by the hundreds of lights surrounding him like a milky way of stars.

A wolf once more, Jude throws back his head and howls, long and loud and joyful.

Every single voice goes silent to listen; and then they sing again, this time together.

There are no words by human standards. But what it means is obvious.

Welcome home.

---

It doesn't take long for the scouts to find them. The first one is a raven; wheeling in from the sky, holding something in her claws that appears to be cloth. She at first doesn't appear to be any different from a normal raven, but then it becomes clear that like Jude, she's massive, matching Jude's size in relation to a normal wolf. She wings in over them with a hoarse caw, swooping over to divebomb Jude's face. Without hesitation he leaps into the air, snapping with his enormous teeth. The other shifter croaks and flaps her wings in mock affront, winging back up into the sky over the group, then down into their midst.

She comes plummeting down, and as she does, she gracefully shifts to human. It happens in the space of a blink, and in a smoothly practiced movement, the cloth she was holding in her claws are resolved as a pair of joggers that she shifts directly into. The oversized sweater is second, but she's so fast at pulling it on that it actually preserves her modesty seamlessly.

She's pale where Jude is dark, about his age, with strong brows and a big smile that softens them. Like him she has no scars, and the lines of age are very faint.

"Strays?" she asks, looking over their ragtag group, and the longer she looks at them, the more puzzled she seems.

"Who are they?"

World 6 ↠ Abeir-Toril

[illithidnapped]

[ooc: info post located here!]

Arrival;

[illithidnapped]

[Here's the thing.

He doesn't know this part of the city.

Well— no. He does. But at a distance has always been the key phrase: so far within city gates for all his memorable unlife— so far outside them now, staring at an ocean that could be just like any other, subtracting the height-based view he once had. And while contrary to certain popular beliefs, new isn't always synonymous with bad.

Except in this case. In this case, it actually is synonymous with bad: muck so thick it tries to suck in any boots that touch it, air thick with the smell of charred meat, stagnant brine, suncooked piss and so much scalded tallow that if he weren't blinking against the blurring sunrise and its accompanying shadows or shifting flickers of enchanted candlelight, he'd think he was in Ferelden. But no. It's wet. And warm. Humid in a way that sticks to his skin, pushing his fingers up against one another for those first few acclimating breaths. Everything tastes sharper. Sweeter. More wretched, too. There's magic. He can feel it, thrumming hot beneath his skin while the rest of him runs cold, and slithering around it all— ]

—oh.

[Oh, soft on his mouth and on his tongue when he sees the distant spires dotting the horizon far, far away. Little more than specks, yes, but— something to be said for just how much home will always prove recognizable when you've spent two centuries within it compared to one lone year away.]

....gods above. Never thought I'd miss it so damned much. [Comes yet another half-spent exhale, rolling gently from sharp teeth. Spoken to no one in particular, for he isn't certain just whether or not he's alone this time— or worse—

His eyes dart towards the anchor mark's perpetual resting place, movement interrupted when a splash of passing channel water's displaced by rumbling carriage wheels, catching him just across the forearm: every bit of him taken to wincing and hissing through set teeth in an otherwise subdued fit that quickly runs its course.

But that's not why he freezes, no.]

—shit.

[From his arm's lingering redness, to the warming skyline, to the person closest to him— that's where his attention roams in perfect order: eyes wide and cattishly reflective, nothing said for a few pregnant beats, as if he doesn't know where to start.

What he settles on, is running.

To the nearest sloping roof and all its shadows, whirling back on jogging heels to tilt his head towards his would-be conversational partner (ie: you).] Sorry darling, love to stay and help you acclimate to Toril— really, I would, cross my savage little heart— but there's no time to explain, and you'll do just fine on your own, I'm sure. Probably.

[Possibly.]

Just— don't make any bargains, don't talk to anyone within yanking distance of their ship, don't trust any strangers outside the city gates proper, and meet me at nightfall in the Lower City, south of Manorborn— golden gates, can't miss them.

And—

[Another impatient hop, vanishing in the image of a bolting rabbit:]

Try not to die until then, won't you?

—

[ooc: Congratulations on reaching Toril in one piece! Feel free to threadjack here as a now stranded member of Riftwatch within Baldur's Gate's Outer City, or just make your own toplevels however makes you happy.

If you'd like to catch up with Astarion pre-city meetup, go ahead and assume that you've chased him down and found his hiding spot: a nearby clutter of cramped houses with almost impenetrable shadows cloistered between them. He'll be huddled there until nightfall, refusing to leave— otherwise, just have fun and enjoy D&D minus the table, snacks, and dice rolls.]

world 4: sulleciel.

[ipseite]

arrival.

[ipseite]

By the arrival in Sulleciel, or the very good masquerade of it that the Fade is presently doing, Riftwatch has some practise at this. Perhaps not quite old hat, but it isn't quite the shock to the system that it might have been — and, indeed, neither is Sulleciel upon first blush, the grand, high-ceilinged architecture of the aptly named receiving hall of the Queen's Coven not unlike the finest imperial buildings in Orlais. In the center of the room, a fountain perpetually spills over not water but what looks halfway between liquid and light in a twisting eternity loop, the structure supporting it made entirely of golden hands clasped and clasping in the shape of one enormous hand, palm open.

Petrana is not expecting to be so struck by it—

she holds herself so perfectly still, as if to release even an ounce of tension in her muscles might mean finding herself suddenly on her knees. It means she's slow to go forward, as the cacophony of arrivals summons those who call this tower their home, footsteps and querying calls in not only common trade but a language that sounds very like Orlesian without being, though the loudest of them is easily understood:

“What is the meaning of— your grace!”

The women who have emerged sink to their knees, their garments varied if all well-made; some plainer in a way that seems purposeful, others clearly inclined to suit their surroundings. Women of mostly middling and older years, of visibly varied backgrounds and complexions, only a few looking to be close to of an age with Petrana herself and nearly all of them (regardless of garments) showing more lingering signs of lives previously led outdoors, or in hard work.

(The last to the bottom of the stairs nearly barrels into her sisters before she catches on, and kneels, too.)

Finding her voice, Petrana says, “You may rise,” going forward to take the hands of a taller woman with silver-touched dark hair and a weatherbeaten face to raise her up and hold her there. “Irinka, I have great need of both your aid and your patience,”

which is not not an assessment of Riftwatch, en masse.

flint;

[katabasis]

[Not doing open toplevels with Flint, but happy to write closed starters. Feel free to wildcard and/or holler at me if you want something with him. Tentatively putting him in MCUland, Abeir-Toril, and Seattle, but flexible if you want something somewhere else.]

ysuelt ↠ abeir-toril

[katabasis]

They'd started the evening by failing to make an appointment.

Rather than show up to the backroom meeting with blackmarket antiquities dealer, they'd waited for the frustrated broker to make her way out of the Lower City taproom empty handed. From there, it had been a gamble as to which direction the half-elf would break—going to ground, or moving away from it. That she does the former should be reassuring. Maybe the goods her crew is trafficking in have legtimate value if seeing them safeguarded is the first actionable impulse. After all these are rumored to be delicate items from far outside the city's gates, recently arrived; it's certainly possible that the artifact Riftwatch is looking for is among them.

It's just a shame that the going to ground aspect turns out to be so literal. In the labyrinthine Undercity, it's easy to get turned around.

There is a small light balanced in the curve of Flint's palm. The flame has no apparent fuel - no wick or oil on which it feeds - and lacks any more protection than the shape of his fingers as they move along. What has begun as a tongue of torchlight in the Lower City has peeled away into Flint's hand and been made to linger there. In their descent, it's mutated to resemble the light of a wisp—pale, watery, a blue-tinged phosphorescence which mingles unobtrusively with the drifting glow of the algae growing in the flooded stretched or underground passages, or with the rare hints of moonlight trickling in from jagged overhead voids linking back to the surface.

So long as they maintain a sensible distance (and there's no reason not to; the light the half-elf is using it significantly less concerned with secrecy and floods up the narrowing walkways long after the sound of her footsteps have faded), there's no reason why this should tip anyone off to the presence of a tail.