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Fade Rift Mods ([personal profile] faderifting) wrote in [community profile] faderift2022-11-29 07:54 pm

MOD PLOT ↠ HOME FOR RIFTMAS

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.
foolsmakeitcolder: (5)

[personal profile] foolsmakeitcolder 2022-12-22 07:03 am (UTC)(link)
This time, Jude favors cunning.

Instead of going for Marcus' throat, Jude wrenches himself from underneath him, rolling to one side, all four feet out. Their proximity to the shore makes the footing precarious, makes the river stones underneath them roll.

He doesn't have time to twist around and bite. He doesn't have time to bring either teeth or claws to bear, and they're too close.

But he does have enough leverage to push on the ground with all four paws and shove the entire weight of his body into Marcus broadside, shoulder-checking him directly into the river with a large splash.

Jude uses the moment to regain his feet, and this time when he leans into his sentinel, it churns around them both, making it hard to breathe.

One last chance for Marcus to cool his head. One more shot before Jude makes this hurt.
luaithre: (bs403-0035)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-22 07:18 am (UTC)(link)
The cold shock of the river is barely insulated against through thick fur coat, but still, a shock all the same. It drives needles through raw bite marks, floods through long nasal passages, and then there's this. The flood of strange, disorienting psychic pressure, that seems to make the whole world around him malleable.

Marcus scrabbles to his feet, hauling himself up out of the shallow ice-cold water, fresh blood streaking down his flank, the taste of Jude's blood between his teeth still lingering.

What would it be, to surrender? It's not a fear of death, but fear of something else. Some dismantling, something breaking.

Fangs bared again, muzzle pulled back tightly to expose them, Marcus propels himself forward, leaping clear of the water in a sideways lunge, paws slamming hard into the stone-littered riverbank, coiling up that momentum. A paw raised to scrape aside the possibility of a bite in return, disregarding the potential for pain as he goes to tear into Jude's flank.
foolsmakeitcolder: (24)

[personal profile] foolsmakeitcolder 2022-12-22 07:33 am (UTC)(link)
There's his answer.

Jude readies himself, even as he can read how this ends in Marcus' eyes. He'd thought so, but it doesn't mean that he's going to enjoy doing this him.

Jude doesn't crouch or guard, only draws himself up as Marcus comes for him, all killing intent and shift madness. It's pain, it's rage, it's injustice done, and he can read it as easily as he would his own name.

Instead of fighting, Jude reaches both metaphysical hands deep down into the current that runs inside of him. It retreats like a tidal wave, building up inside of him to the point of bursting, and Jude holds it inside him like the vessel he is.

And then he brings the full weight of his power down on top of Marcus, like a hammer.

It hurts. It hurts for both of them, an unmaking, a sundering, a crush that rends Marcus forcibly from his wolf, like it's ripping him out of his own skin.

That's because it is. It's doing it to them both.

Marcus hits him, all momentum, and Jude wraps both arms around him as they both go down on the rocky shore.
Edited (a word) 2022-12-22 07:36 (UTC)
luaithre: (bs408-0478)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-22 07:49 am (UTC)(link)
The world goes white, for just a second.

And then it all crashes back into place, dizzying and vibrant and painful. Hurt radiates from the bone marrow out as Marcus is dragged from one form to the other, enough that he is barely conscious of slamming into the rocky terrain with nothing at all to protect him.

The consciousness of the wolf breaks from him, and it feels like shackles springing free, tumbling away, and taking with it its territorial rage. And it's terrible, the sort of things it leaves behind—pain, and fear, and deep regret.

But the alternative is worse. He becomes conscious of strong arms holding him, and he grips back, the coiled instinct to shove them apart all at once seized by the sense of lucidity that seems to emanate from the person holding him. The spin of the world righting itself, feeling less dizzying the closer he is to its centre, and he doesn't let go, brow pressing to shoulder as he shudders and gives a choked sound.

Overwhelmed, disoriented, but human.
foolsmakeitcolder: (21)

[personal profile] foolsmakeitcolder 2022-12-22 07:57 am (UTC)(link)
Jude lets out a hissing breath, a low exhalation of pain that's quickly swallowed by the sound Marcus makes.

His arms gentle around him, making space to be shoved away, but it doesn't come. Instead Marcus ends up in his shoulder, riding the aftershocks. It's a hell of a lot to take, and Jude won't begrudge him this.

"I gotcha," he says when he can breathe again, easing his arms in around him to hold him securely to his chest, like he can keep him off the freezing rocks. He smells like blood and wool and wolf, and pack.

"Just breathe, now."
luaithre: (#13636412)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-22 08:10 am (UTC)(link)
Memory doesn't flood back to him as though Marcus were now a different person. He is conscious that all that just happened just happened, that the past few days have happened, and he was present for it all. It is only that he remembers it differently, that the far more neurotic spectrum of human emotion is capable of rendering it in more colours than the moment-by-moment mindset of the animal.

It doesn't feel removed from him, which is why, after an extended moment of doing as he is told—breathing—that he says, "I'm sorry," which only people close to him can say is his instinct, for wrongs perceived or real.

The hands he has flat against Jude's chest and shoulder curl fingers inwards, a subtle withdrawing even if he is not quite prepared for whatever happens after they separate fully, after the psychic comfort that Jude emanates is made less. Or maybe it will go away completely.
foolsmakeitcolder: (17)

[personal profile] foolsmakeitcolder 2022-12-22 08:25 am (UTC)(link)
It breaks Jude's heart a little. It always does.

His big hand smooths over his back, like he can settle him, like he's still in fur. The grip he has on him eases even if it doesn't retreat, letting him pull away, if that's what he needs.

"I'm sorry, too," Jude says seriously, angling his head. It's a hell of a thing to go through, a traumatizing thing, but so is the aftermath of it. The realization, the understanding.

"You have a wolf as strong as you are and instincts you're not used to. He was protecting you the best way he knew how."
luaithre: (bs401-0638)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-22 08:47 am (UTC)(link)
It's settling, fur or no. Something in this recalls to him holding onto Julius at the back of the prisoner's carriage, or almost lifting Petrana off her feet when he'd returned to Kirkwall. Derrica, drawing him close in the halls of the Cumberland Circle. It lacks the same context, the specificity, but carries the same pulse of need for closeness, a seeking out of comfort. It's calming properties, centring.

And something in Jude's words twinges hurt, the way kindness can. In the back of his mind, Marcus tentatively feels out that space where animal instinct lies. Carefully. Then, less carefully. It's still there, the wolf, responsive to sensory input, but quiet and locked down tight enough he's not sure he could change again soon even if he wanted to.

He should tell it sorry too.

Slowly, Marcus pulls away once the need to reclaim his sense of self overrides desire for comfort. In contrast to the sizeable wolf he just was, he's a much more medium-sized man, shivering and scarred in interesting places, river water clinging to his skin and dripping from tangled hair. This is the worst surface to be on but he doesn't get to his feet, half-curled in place and dragging his focus to Jude's face.
foolsmakeitcolder: (16)

[personal profile] foolsmakeitcolder 2022-12-22 09:03 am (UTC)(link)
As Marcus eases back, Jude shifts the both of them up. His ear's closed by now, healing up, filling back in bit by bit. His shoulder's deeper, but it won't take long to follow.

Jude meets his eyes, unflinching through the ache. There's no pity there, just a steadiness, a light push that says keep going, don't stop, I'm right behind you.

Reaching up with his free hand, he brushes Marcus' wet hair back, curls his fingers around the back of his neck and holds him securely for a moment, the both of them winding down.

"There you are."
luaithre: (bs402-0510)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-22 09:17 am (UTC)(link)
"Mm."

Marcus has a handful of associations he might ascribe to being in this place. Nightwatches during the war when they'd ventured beyond Andoral's Reach, ever anticipatory of a sudden clash of charging horses and suits of armor and raised swords. Or simpler times, scavenging out an existence when the rebellion had sunk into stagnation, and it was just him and his.

But they are fragments only, no different to the way ordinary fieldwork reminds him of such times. The ongoing smell of decay, the prospect of human-shaped scourge, of infection and overwhelming odds—yes, he knows what that is like, and that he wasn't there.

Something familiar, differently: Julius being in proximity and Marcus setting aside the object he was toying with to instead take possession of the other man's hand, and bring it into his space. On his own is the ring that Petrana had gifted them—had debated, some, in wearing it into the field, before deciding it was important he do so.

"Just waiting for light again."

That seems to be what every night is, here.
luaithre: (bs401-1857)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-22 09:33 am (UTC)(link)
Marcus dimly acknowledges that it should be startling, the ease with which Jude reaches for him even now, but he is yet to regather the usual defenses. He doesn't flinch or tense or pull away, but lets his eyes sink closed for a second or more, breathes out. The sound of the river behind them, the grounding sensation of a hand holding him just so. Relaxes under it.

That terrible anger and the distress that was left over in its wake, both evening out into calm. He is still distraught, ashamed—it pinches his expression, weighs heavily on his shoulders, but encouraged by that push is the familiar task of reckoning with it.

When he opens his eyes again, his focus moves from the tear in Jude's ear to the slowly healing wound at his shoulder. His mouth opens, closes. Grasping for language a little more articulate than apology.

"Good fight," must have some dry humour in it, voice all quiet gravel.
propulsion: (#6060421)

[personal profile] propulsion 2022-12-22 10:55 am (UTC)(link)
[ Saturated fats, refined carbohydrates, sugar in stuff where sugar need not be, every flourish of chemical trickery to mask the preservatives necessary to make feeding a post-industrial population of this size viable—Thedas has food wrapped in bread, but god knows that the material is atomically different. Even the vegetables.

And also: delicious. Tony grunts agreement at her eyebrows, chasing another bite of his own as he does so. ]


You know, [ tramples over the top of her last few words, as if he hadn't heard them at all ] food was almost the worst part about coming to Thedas. I mean, it's technically great, my gut health is flourishing, but talk about cold turkey. Sometimes with actual cold turkey. I don't think I ate properly for like a week.

I'd give you six months, [ because of course he was listening, chasing firing synapses aside. ] Tops, with acclimation. That'd be enough to get to work.

There's still downtime between disasters.
propulsion: (#15063751)

[personal profile] propulsion 2022-12-22 11:08 am (UTC)(link)
'Good', and Tony is satisfied, questing his fork over to Ellis' plate to spear a fry for himself and fold it into his mouth with great nonchalance. Om nom. Important cultural lodestone: not ordering fries for yourself and then stealing your friend's.

A gesture, at the question, and while he swallows. Pastrami? Macaroni salad? 'It' sure does cover a range of sins, but with Ellis, he can kind of apply Occam's razor.

"Sometimes," he says. "There's a lot to miss."

He turns his sandwich around in his hands, shrugs a shoulder. "I'd given it up already. Quasi-retirement. Tinkering in the woodshed."

Wife and kid. No need to say that out loud, though.
Edited 2022-12-22 12:33 (UTC)
illithidnapped: (31)

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2022-12-22 12:24 pm (UTC)(link)
Fool thing. Stubborn little pup.

[Somewhere along the way, all his cursing's gone so ingloriously soft.

Between rows of perfumed plants that suffocate his senses and over the taste of slaty blood, every lick, every rolling nuzzle or overwarmed slide of roughened fingers (lacking that glassy feel he's come to know so well, or the distant hum of resonating magics) has him melting like a brick of bundled ice. Jagged shapes bowing hard so that every stupid, touchstarved (again, again he feared the dark— ) inch of him might push itself into Leto's touch until even bloodless skin sports livid bruises.

Nothing tastes sweeter than what you think you'll never have again. Nothing feels better after weeks of isolation than too-familiar fervor slipping between silk and skin, charting the topography it's memorized before. And it tracks no vivid injuries— no bindings or plaster or festering scars marring pristine skin— only a few scrapes and cuts from a fight now minutes passed: sparse claw marks scuffed across his shoulders through dark, tattered cloth that doesn't show a drop of blood; a single swipe over his chest. Nothing to do with the master he still eludes, only the fresh, necessary collateral from protecting what's his

And all less than the slightly tackying flow of what rests beneath his palm, burning hot and invitingly pungent.

Peripheral, for now. Predatory eyes and ears attuned to words that keep his focus spurred into giving chase; swallowing promises instead of blood.
]

I'd have waited an eternity— or cut my way through the Fade to make it back.

[He keeps the rest in check. Stuffing down the urge to confess until it's smothered underneath his tongue, unsaid: I thought perhaps I'd vanished at last. Succumbed to the mark or came unstuck alongside that supposed Fadeborne magic. I thought things might've gone back to the way they were for good. That I lost you— everything.]

I always knew you'd come.

[Murmured because he wants desperately to believe it. That doubt never once seeped into his mind. And like any story worth telling, it doesn't matter if it's actually the truth.

Voicing it makes it real enough.

(A sweep of his fingers, another nuzzle marking the end of that fragile sentiment: planting it in the polished stone beneath their feet like a grounding wire— done, and better off forgotten. Dryness slipping back into his tone to match.)
]

But I'll admit it'd have been easier to snare you sooner if I could've actually scented you, you know, instead of being chased out of two separate dens for the unsettling smell of a stranger lurking about.

Hm. I certainly changed when I passed through the Fade into your world. I suppose I didn't think much about the other way around. You're so—

[Gods but it's tactless, admitting how much lyrium is by far and away the most distinguishing hallmark of Leto's presence (oh yes, so sorry I didn't know it was you, my darling; without your master's handiwork you just don't seem— you). Then again, pain for pain, perhaps: what would Astarion be without his red eyes? His fangs? His bloodless pallor? Some things just are what they are.

In other words: to his mind, Leto only smells like prey, now.

A problem he'll learn to overcome. Even as he pulls himself carefully from those perfect fingers— razor sharp fangs set to ripping the edge of his own (already ruined) sleeve, just for the sake of beginning to bind the worst of Leto's shoulder injury.
]

different.

[(Astarion. Sweetheart. Rude.)]
notathreat: (117)

[personal profile] notathreat 2022-12-22 05:13 pm (UTC)(link)
"It's so good," Ellie mumbles from behind her hand, having to sit back in her seat, covering her mouth and shutting her eyes.

Her shoes squeeze tight around either side of Clarisse's ankle.

Honestly, she has a right to look smug. This thing is fucking incredible. Ellie hadn't even considered herself all that much of a sweets person, but holy fuck.
bouchonne: (arch)

[personal profile] bouchonne 2022-12-22 05:42 pm (UTC)(link)
The problem with being tiger-shaped, of course, is that a fellow doesn't have any ability to chat or complain or banter. There's a lot of charm in it, in feeling powerful and exotic and ferocious, but the tradeoffs are too extreme.

And so a moment later, there's Byerly wound around Bastien, arms looped around his neck, snuggling against him. Less exciting and novel, but - well, Byerly Rutyer isn't going to not chat.

"They're all half a breath away from destroying themselves, though," he points out - rather too flippantly, given the topic. "Have you read anything about the atomic bomb? Or back in Stark's world, did you see about how he - personally - built a sort of golem that nearly murdered everyone?" He huffs against Bastien's hair - some tiger instinct, perhaps, or an imitation of his prior animalism. "We, at least, don't create the tools of our own ruin."
foolsmakeitcolder: (35)

first, a small

[personal profile] foolsmakeitcolder 2022-12-22 11:35 pm (UTC)(link)
It's the hawk teenagers who have taken a shine to Cosima the most. They're a playful, curious bunch, verging on nosy and overbearing. It might be alarming the first time one of them snatches a wolf toddler up in the air in their claws, but by the way the kids whoop and holler, it's a homegrown rollercoaster.

Finch is one of the smaller ones, even in hawk form, and they've just now worked up the courage to plunk themselves down next to Cosima and flash her a big smile, then get flustered and turn down to their work -- some granny squares -- before Cosima can properly greet them. They've got long hair and short nails with chipped black nail polish.

"Is it true you're from a whole 'nother world?" they ask.
foolsmakeitcolder: (30)

[personal profile] foolsmakeitcolder 2022-12-22 11:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Jude's small smile broadens, a laugh shaking his shoulders more than making an actual sound. He gives Marcus an affectionate little thumb on the backs of his shoulders -- easy as breathing for him, that affection.

"And you've had your wolf, what, a week?"

To say he's impressed is an understatement, and it shows all over his face as it softens.

"Got some clothes in my bag for you, if you want 'em."

By his expression, it's not for Jude's comfort, just an offer.
propulsion: (#15067415)

[personal profile] propulsion 2022-12-23 12:05 am (UTC)(link)
Tony holds up the coat, a skeptical kind of gesture. Not for the coat itself—not his usual colour, or whatever, but it'll fit him fine, and he goes ahead and slings it on around his shoulders, impatiently jamming arms down sleeves.

No, the problem is—

"Yeah, so, if you want me to pretend like I'm from around here, a coat's not really gonna cut it," and his tone isn't complaint or protest, just forewarning, settling the garment over the top of his more primitive Thedosian wardrobe. It at least matches nicely with an earthy palette, jerkin closed tight over glowing chest holes as per uszh. "I got about three years worth of data for a high attrition rate as soon as I open my mouth."

He glances to Ellis—or more specifically, his outfit, making the same assessment.
luaithre: (bs402-0510)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-23 12:22 am (UTC)(link)
Even in this early reconstitution of himself, Marcus trends towards understated. Subtle expression, a slow raising of walls that, here, it's apparent that they are more about keeping in than keeping out. Accepting this comment as a kindness as well as a compliment is a twinge in his expression, a look aside.

But it is loud, all that's under the surface. A complex churn that feels painful but is not expressly negative for it. Much of this is familiar, in some strange way, even when much of it is new. Wounds sting when they're closing, so it can't be all bad.

At the news that there are clothes on hand, there's a flicker of relief, and Marcus nods. Maybe simply for how cold it is, but probably also for some gesture to dignity, for all that the shifters are so comfortable in any state.
doggish: i do not care for it (soft ⚔ i'm having a whole-ass feeling)

[personal profile] doggish 2022-12-23 12:47 am (UTC)(link)
[Rude it might be, but wrong? Oh, no, and Leto knows it well. He's spent too long peering at himself in the mirror, examining every inch of himself, mouth twisting as a confusing clash of emotions warred with one another in his mind. Blue Wraith, they call him in another world, but Ma— no, gods, that's what they say here— gods, but it's strange not to be that anymore. Not to glow faintly in the dark; not to have his lyrium lines blaze through fabric or pulse warily when magic is done near him. Not to feel pain each and every moment . . . oh, he has not allowed himself to think too much about that, knowing what a shocking relief it will be. He'll reel over it, and there were more important things to focus on. There still are, he thinks, stroking the curve of Astarion's cheek with two knuckles.

(I always knew you'd come, and he knows it isn't true, not because of a lack of faith, but because hope hurts. Too much hope will kill you, especially in a place like this. Better to bury it away, smothering your heart until it only occasionally whimpers out a plea, oh please oh please find me.

And he has. And that's all that matters in the end).]


Mmph. I forget you have not seen me with my hair so long.

[It's a joke. A teasing joke, dry and indulgent, as his wounded shoulder throbs in time with his pounding heart. And you know, he's so overwhelmed with pleasure at seeing Astarion that he nearly misses what his amatus is saying. Scented and dens, and for the first time, Leto begins to drink in the details that had first escaped him. The chill of Astarion's skin, yes, but more than that: the pallor of it. The sharpness of his fangs, and the way his nostrils flare as another droplet of blood trickles down tan skin.]

And I did not know your sense of smell was so sensitive.

[Truly he hadn't— and it makes him wonder suddenly what else he doesn't know. What details have eluded him, not out of neglect but simply because there was no need for them to ever come up.]

Tell me what has reverted. What . . .

[Vampire spawn, and for the very first time, Leto considers what that means. He never has, you know, not outside of Cazador and the horrors of enslavement and mutilation. They have not ever spoken of what it is to drink blood, only the grief that comes from being starved; they have not talked about shying from daylight or lacking a reflection, except for Astarion's relief at not having to take such precautions anymore.

It isn't that he's suddenly lost him. But it's unsettling to realize that there are things about his amatus that he does not know, and that, combined with the forced separation of three weeks, leaves Leto feeling off-kilter.]


You are different to me, too. And I would understand those differences, and confess my own.

[And he isn't thinking about his shoulder. He isn't thinking about starvation or blood or anything, really, save the surge of loneliness that's pulsing through him. He steps forward, closing the distance between them, uncaring for how bloody skin or ragged fabric presses against Astarion, for when have they ever cared for such things?]
armd: (i think it's adorable)

sprints to catch up

[personal profile] armd 2022-12-23 05:50 am (UTC)(link)
"Course," Abby reinforces, her attention flickering briefly toward Ellie. Yup. In complete agreement. Not picking Ellis to come along with them would be stupid so she likes that Ellie said it like that, yeah, cementing the obvious choice. She thinks that of everybody who has come through the rift with them, Ellis is best equipped to take care of himself.

Won't stop her from worrying, a little, but hey.

"At least I'm here to warn you about it." Her grin is rueful, "I didn't know it was coming until it was almost on top of me."
armd: (such great heights)

[personal profile] armd 2022-12-23 06:38 am (UTC)(link)
Yeahhhh. She will be facing down the rat king again in the near future and she's not exactly pumped for that, but at least she has prior knowledge of the fight, and more people with her this time who can help bring the fucking thing down- this? There is nothing that will help her out with round two of the skybridges. Not previous experience, nor the people. In fact, Ellie being up here with her kind of makes it worse.

But she's done this with Abby before. Abby, begrudgingly, trusts her to keep her safe (she'll definitely try, anyway). They are not even crossing them and she has to remember that, but...

There's a big cramp in her stomach, and her body feels heavy with dread as they make their way up. Up, and up and up. And up. And then when you're sure you couldn't fucking go up any more- you do!

She feels a bit sweaty, queasy. She sighs and rubs her arms a couple times before she comes to help with the barrel, distractions are good.

"We had to get to the hospital fast. Lev said it was the quickest way, cuz Wolves don't look up." And because Wolves aren't fucking insane, Lev!! She grunts as she helps pop the chest open, lifting the lid off and placing it carefully down. She's never really talked about this to anybody before, the words sort of... slip out, "We needed stuff to amputate a limb."
armd: (not impressed)

[personal profile] armd 2022-12-23 07:33 am (UTC)(link)
"Bullets," she explains, catching that, remembering he wouldn't get it, "Just- it's fighting supplies."

But yeah. Magic would be a whooole lot better. She's looking at his fingers when he curls them, remembering the glyph work he showed her, wishing they could- it would make the house warmer, at least.

"Me too." Look, she's not exactly pleased to be back. "But we- just have to make it through this, and then we're out." Into the next world sure, but free of this one.
sprent: (bid hem the skirts)

[personal profile] sprent 2022-12-23 07:50 am (UTC)(link)
She beams, squeezing Clarisse's hand, "Okay!"

Here we go!!! She bends her knees and jumps-

a little-

taking them up maybe the height of a house, or so. Just to see what the reaction will be that's all! They go up quickly, shooting upward, and hang for a moment at the peak of the arc before they start to slowly drift back down... Gela has already realised that dress-wearing does not mix with this falling business and has, reluctantly, changed into culottes. So you don't have to worry about that.