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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.
notathreat: (67)

[personal profile] notathreat 2022-12-31 12:10 am (UTC)(link)
Ellie pokes her in the side with her to-go box since her other hand is occupied, gives her a smirk. Yeah, she bets she will.

She makes a loud, disgusted noise on the heels of Clarisse's threat though.

"I'm taking my pillowcase off and putting it over your head while you're sleeping," Ellie grumbles back, giving the girl a cheery "wave" by shaking the box in her direction. She quickly gets interested in something on the countertop so she won't have to make eye contact.
portalling: ᴛʜᴏʀ: ʀᴀɢɴᴀʀᴏᴋ. (pic#15613383)

[personal profile] portalling 2022-12-31 12:52 am (UTC)(link)
For a second, Strange almost doesn’t know what John’s referring to. Decades in NYC had smoothed over the sight of that iconic statue in his mind’s eye and attention, turning it into something everyday and commonplace, just another fixture of the city skyline — the only curiosity about it these days is the decorative Captain America shield the authorities had stupidly added, calling her the Liberty Avenger. The shield was tacky. Maybe it was a good thing it had been knocked off in Strange’s own timeline.

But at John’s suggestion, Strange makes a contemplative cluck of his tongue, and swivels that globe until his thumb is over New York.

“I haven’t picked up any particular mystical energies from that part of town — not since the last time I almost split the universe around that statue, that is — but perhaps it’s being cloaked. Hm. Good thought, probably worth a check in person. I feel like the universe does enjoy a spectacle, a landmark.”

He glances up at the other man. John Silver: amiable, passingly friendly, drifting in and out of the Sanctum without causing too many ripples. “It’s a tourist landmark. Have you gotten to hit up any of the local sights? I know you probably don’t give a shit about the history museums, but there’s a guided missile submarine docked to the northwest. Might be of interest to a sailor.”

Over the course of the Theodosians’ stay, Strange’s demeanour has kept seesawing between ‘sorcerer hell-bent on magically finding the Sealing Stone’ and ‘local tourist guide hoping you have a nice time in his city’. It’s a disorienting line to walk.
overharrowed: (tell me something bad you've done)

[personal profile] overharrowed 2022-12-31 01:48 am (UTC)(link)
"It's strange, how much the light seems to help," he says, quietly, his hand fitting into Marcus's with a comforting naturalness. "I remember that, from Denerim. That we'd always be waiting for daylight, even though with torches and magic, it shouldn't make so much difference."

Here, of course, light is a slightly more precious commodity. But he still feels the craving for day goes beyond the practical.

"I suppose the night passes faster, if you're one of those that can sleep," he adds, ruefully, at his own expense. "I suppose eventually you're just exhausted. The Fifth Blight didn't last quite long enough for me to find out. And it seems insensitive to ask."
overharrowed: (echoing vistas)

[personal profile] overharrowed 2022-12-31 01:52 am (UTC)(link)
It's clear he wants to ask about the dimensional cage, and maybe even about the illusions in movies, but he saves both for later. (If Strange suspects Julius is keeping an actual list, well, he is learning the other man relatively quickly.)

Instead, he focuses on the final question. "Nothing substantial," he says with some regret. "But I'm not sure I'd have enough context to know it if I heard it. I think I have a new level of sympathy for the rifters in the the Research Department at home, to be frank. It feels as if I need an exceptional amount of background reading before I even know if what I've heard is extraordinary or just a matter of course here."
youwonscience: (I’m down here low)

cw eye stuff cont'd

[personal profile] youwonscience 2022-12-31 02:10 am (UTC)(link)
Cosima's smile turns rueful. "Yeah, sort of like a trap. It's a long story but basically ... someone was going to do surgery on my sister against her will. I smuggled her a machine made out of a fire extinguisher and a pencil. So, uh, I guess technically my sister put out someone's eye using the improvised weapon I gave her."

Yes, that's definitely much better.
youwonscience: (The truth lies)

adorable

[personal profile] youwonscience 2022-12-31 02:14 am (UTC)(link)
"Totally true," she says, with a smile in return, though she doesn't push for eye contact, mostly keeping her attention on the patch she's adding to a pair of jeans at the knee. "Some things are the same. We've got a Yellowstone of our own, for one thing. And jeans," lifting them a little, "and cars and the internet. But other things are different."
youwonscience: (Every little one’s got a million things)

[personal profile] youwonscience 2022-12-31 02:20 am (UTC)(link)
Alison's eyes narrow, and it seems likely that she's about to either call for help or try stomping on Tony's insole, but just then someone comes hustling around the corner.

Kostos (and, if he turns, Tony) can recognize a Thedosian cloak, hood up, on the newcomer. Cosima's voice emerges from it, though she doesn't immediately lower the hood. "Shit, Alison, don't ..."

Alison half turns, as if reluctant to give Tony her back. "Cosima," she hisses, "what on earth are you dressed as? What are you doing here, where anyone could see you, and with these... they said you were going to sell them drugs." As if Cosima should be equally scandalized by the prospect.
wearyallalone: (false witnesses)

[personal profile] wearyallalone 2022-12-31 02:26 am (UTC)(link)
[He does rather wish she sounded more sure, but so it goes.]

Turning something over shouldn't be so much to ask, though we'll need a distraction. I assume most of them are precious enough to have at least one person watching them, under normal circumstances.

[He's coming to realize he may have to take the lead, which is not ideal, but it's not as if he's never done it before. Granted, most of those cases were rather more martial in nature, but he's sure they can manage. Mostly.]
laruetheday: (i sang 'this is how we do it' 143 times.)

[personal profile] laruetheday 2022-12-31 04:45 am (UTC)(link)
A loud, disgusted noise was exactly what she was going for, and Clarisse gives a satisfied "hah" as she tucks her box of fries under her free arm and reaches out to snag a clear plastic baggie from the stand near the closest section of candy. She has to hook it weirdly over her ring finger, since her index and middle are busted, but it'll do.

"Want to fill this up with the craziest shit we can find?"

She has no idea what half this stuff even is, but candy's candy. She'll try anything.
tender: (16)

[personal profile] tender 2022-12-31 05:06 am (UTC)(link)
At the bottom right corner of the screen there is a deep-gouged dent, cracks spider-webbing across that portion of the map so the colorful lines denoting the trajectory of of the trains is warped illegibly. These are end points, she knows, so perhaps it isn't going to be much of a bother.

"We're here," she says, fingertips skating along the overlapping lines of orange, yellow, green and purple to press over one dot. Here. However that might correspond to Flint's map, should he manage to access it, is anyone's guess.

She is obliged to bend, just slightly, to indicate the curve of coastline where yellow and orange lines come to an end and remind him, "We'll need to choose the right letter, unless we plan to change lines."

Do they plan to change lines? Derrica doesn't like the idea, if only because it feels inefficient, a little embarrassing to pull the Commander on and off the rattling train cars on a journey that already feels to be bogged down with absurd obstacles.
portalling: ᴛʜᴏʀ: ʀᴀɢɴᴀʀᴏᴋ. (pic#15613380)

[personal profile] portalling 2022-12-31 05:19 am (UTC)(link)
“Wong doesn’t seem like he wants to eat my soul.” A beat, then, “Any more than usual, anyway.”

But it’s all a joke — they both react and roll with the punches using habitual sarcasm, maybe that was why they’d kept butting heads the very first time they met — and so Stephen sinks back, coiling back in on himself and taking another sip of that coffee.

“At least the coffee’s decent, if this is a mass existential illusion. But I’ll stay on my guard, keep an eye out. No one’s tried to attack you here yet, have they?”
portalling: ɪɴfɪɴɪᴛʏ ᴡᴀʀ. (pic#15643389)

[personal profile] portalling 2022-12-31 05:33 am (UTC)(link)
Wistfully, the other man adds: “Y’know, I caught a glimpse once of another universe where I herded the undead like sheep. Using portals and rifts to redirect them, pour them through onto another enemy. Really serves as a reminder to be grateful for what you have.”

Magic would have been a real boon.

It wasn’t even technically his own memory, it was some wisp stolen from another Stephen Strange in another world — but the barriers between them had started getting messy right before Thedas, blurring in dreams, in dreamwalking.

Ellis doesn’t seem like the sort of man who appreciates mulling over what-ifs, though, so Strange course-corrects. “Thanks. For the blades. I know they’re scarce.”

Pretty much everything that was edible or sharp or liquid had been picked through and picked over long ago; they kept accruing what salvage they could find as they went along, and Ellie and Abby had been teaching them all what to look out for. Scraps of fabric and old clothes or upholstery which could be used as makeshift bandages. What a mess.
heorte: (rm00034 (2))

ota / tassia fetch quest

[personal profile] heorte 2022-12-31 06:00 am (UTC)(link)
There had been a posting, pinned near the top of the job board. Ellis had tugged it down, passed it along with a shrug. News of a dragon slain miles and miles from its hoard, piles of gold for the taking.

If the hoard could be found, of course.

When Ellis thinks of how he'd prefer to spend his time here, safe-guarding a hunt for riches ranks higher than rattling around the town looking for less productive trouble.

So they ride out to scour the countryside. The collection of information puts the hoard near enough, but they are working within a radius rather than a collection of particular locations. They have horses. They've been loaned a cart. This would have gone faster on a griffon, but—

Much is the same about Ellis. The heavy swing of his mace at his hip, the gleam of armor, the embossed griffon set into his breastplate, all more or less what he might be outfitted in were they in Thedas. But Ellis is paler here, perhaps, than he ever was in Thedas. He is ice cold to the touch, if by chance his bare hand brushes another's over the horses' reins or the adjusting of saddlebags. The scars at his throat stand out, livid and dark as bruises, against his skin, in the moments where tunic and gambeson are loosened at the end of a day's search when they've set up a campsite and bedded down for a night's rest.

Of course, they aren't the only people searching. And they aren't the most dangerous thing in the countryside. It's inevitable that trouble presents itself, either in the form of other adventurers determined to make their fortune, or trolls scrabbling for the contents of their packs. (Or the horses they've ridden in on.) Who expected this to be an uneventful trip?
Edited 2022-12-31 06:02 (UTC)
heorte: (126)

crashlands here.

[personal profile] heorte 2022-12-31 06:24 am (UTC)(link)
Try not to die.

Ha, ha.

Astarion is already moving, near to vanishing as Ellis gathers his bearings. Elements of this are immediately familiar to him, harkening back to Tassia. The chill settling back into his skin, the slowing of his pulse, the near-physical manifestation of an oath and the spark of magical ability that comes with it, Ellis recognizes all aspects of these returning additions.

No one glances nervously at his mace here, or if they are giving it a second look, it's more appraising than confused.

"Astarion!" called up after his departing form is likely useless. Ellis knows how quickly Astarion moves. He is practically already gone, leaving only the rush of his advice with which to move through this place.

No bargains. Stay away from the docks. Find the golden gates.

Without waiting for Astarion's answer, Ellis turns to the other new arrival. Raises his eyebrows as he frees his mace from it's strap at his hip.

Now what?
portalling: ᴛʜᴏʀ: ʀᴀɢɴᴀʀᴏᴋ. (pic#15613382)

[personal profile] portalling 2022-12-31 07:03 am (UTC)(link)
That list is ever-growing, the more quick and distracted Strange gets, lobbing potential topics into the fray. His attention is everywhere, split, accustomed to thinking on a dozen different things at once; it’s only gotten more pronounced now that they’re in the Sanctum, where a common sight might be him wandering down a hallway with a cup of coffee floating alongside him, a book hovering open at his elbow, and texting Tony at the same time.

Today, though, he’s managing to haul that expansive attention span in line and redirect it fully on Julius.

“In fairness, too, you’re dealing with far more information overload here,” he says. “The signal-to-noise ratio is abysmal. I can theoretically work my way through the Gallows library if given enough time, but you’re dealing with the Internet — it’s indispensable, but heaps of it is filled with garbage, too.

Also in fairness, it’s only been a little over a decade since superpowers and magic and gods went public here. So people are getting used to it, but a lot of it is still extraordinary. Just… not Sealing-Stone-extraordinary, specifically.”
hornswoggle: (168)

[personal profile] hornswoggle 2022-12-31 07:23 am (UTC)(link)
"Well, I certainly don't intend to contend with southern winters forever."

Or other southern attitudes. There is a reason John Silver had landed so far northwards.

But as to a return—

"Were Nascere habitable, I believe I would. We always intended to return."

Kirkwall had been temporary, until it wasn't. They'd been too long in service of a different war, and the delay had cost them dearly. But if it hadn't, if all had gone as they'd envisioned, John sees no reason why he and Flint wouldn't have returned. Why Madi wouldn't have been waiting there for them, instead of building a different place for her people in Antiva.

The dream comes to mind, even knowing now that it is imperfect. But he recalls still the governor's mansion. Those upper rooms inhabited by the three of them. (Four of them.) Flint and Madi spreading maps over an ornate table. The threadbare finery that they had appropriated. The sunlight streaming through the window.

A pretty dream. Nothing more now.
hornswoggle: (143)

[personal profile] hornswoggle 2022-12-31 07:25 am (UTC)(link)
"What sort of situation do you imagine we'd be walking into?"

In which we is a hypothetical.

John can't bring himself to acknowledge it aloud, but they both know him to be unsuitable for whatever it is Abby is considering. He is a liability.

It occurs to him that Flint may well join them. John's feelings on that hinge on what Abby tells him now.
illithidnapped: (A13)

1/2

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2022-12-31 11:27 am (UTC)(link)
[Until now, he was ready to spring like a steel trap.

Until now, he'd been drawing lines in the dirt with a playful smirk (cross this one and you'll be in danger, I swear it, little moon elf— ) biding his time while seconds whittle themselves down to the very bone. Rapidly vanishing wick woven together from the strands of Astarion's doting longanimity, promising that once it burns down to the fat— well. Then, he'll do what any vampire does best:

He'll strike.

Mm. But that was a thought that came before he felt the gentle brush of devoted fingers drifting over the fine bones of his wrists. Before he caught the deeply missed brunt of Leto's wickedly esurient expression— a look never once worn for a past stuffed to the agonizing brim with houndish obedience (worn for Astarion, though. Coaxed to the surface of him like a splinter sucked from skin, and trust that it doesn't matter whether the assumption's right or wrong: Astarion always credits himself for its existence just the same). His blinks coming on a little too slowly under its sway. His stagnant heart shivering in the prelude to a single beat— thudding out a stop-start stagger each time he's told, for all intents and purposes, no.

Not yet.

Crimson stare settling over tattooed muscle like the click click click of a failing mechanism. There's a foot on the pressure plate. There's a trespasser at his doorstep, encroaching on his vile reputation as a nightmare. A threat to be culled so that mortal things might thrive. The next grinding touch drags a fluttering groan from the back of his throat, and if he means to subdue the needle-fanged pup tugging at his hide, he needs to do it now.


'....For you, my starved beast, are inclined to give me my way no matter what I ask.'


Oh, and isn't that the right of it? (Sunlight. Wooden stakes. Water.) That the strongest things have the smallest weaknesses. (Leto) Damning hypothesis proven when Astarion slackens in his companion's hold, arousal crawling through him in ways that stretch his spine, false breath quickened when it washes over open lips. Unfixed stare the hooded sightline that anchors him to Leto's mouth once more: lapping at what little indulgence he's given outside the bounds of those inciting, outright merciless bucks.

When it ends he stares at undulating musculature (stomach dark and rolling in deep shadow). When it ends, his tongue is wet enough that there's a vulgar pop for the way it pulls away from the roof of his mouth. The backs of his fangs.

If he has to earn his keep, so be it.

Everything, then:
]

There wasn't a second that passed without you in it.

[(Spoken like a filthy litany, but the words themselves....)]

Two hundred years of no one but myself leveled against one year at your side, and still, returned to what I was, I chose you.

Alive. Dead. The only thing that mattered was that I could still remember. Without a single thought of the damage it might do if that was where our story ended, I burned you into my bones like a brand; keeping your habits until I swore I could hear your voice in the seconds before sleep took me. You: the first thing I reached for each morning in an empty little hovel shoved into a darkened alleyway. You: the silence I spoke to each night, promising I'd return just fine.

[Eyes like emerald. Eyes like jade. Eyes he bathes in while dark lashes close around the abyssal core that sits in place of his hollowed pupils, only to find Leto's afterimage burned into his retinas. Another stiff buck of his hips meets gripping thighs, leaving his jagged inhale flush in ways he can't be anymore.]

I missed you once before.

I've gotten good at finding you again. Even before you've noticed it, yourself. Just like tonight.

[Claws patiently worked free, one hand rises to fall across the slope of Leto's cheek. There. There.]

I missed you, amatus. [Like a hole in my heart. Like ribs snapped into splinters around fragile contentment. Like air. Like sunsets. Like warmth free-flowing through pale fingertips. Like meals that don't speak. Like Rialto— ] And even my silver tongue lacks the necessary gilt to tell you just how much.

So instead I'll tell you that you never left.

That you never have.

[Sultry. Incensed. Murmured like the oath it's always been. A liar and his truths.]
Edited 2023-01-01 02:09 (UTC)
favoriteanalyst: (I am supposed to do now)

[personal profile] favoriteanalyst 2022-12-31 02:34 pm (UTC)(link)
"I don't know how you stand it."

Well. He does know. It's called having it from birth and learning to live with it. It can still astonish him, though.

"Sometimes I can't hear myself think. It's distracting. It's overwhelming." He shakes his head a little. "And it isn't mine. It's not supposed to be mine."
favoriteanalyst: (and tuck your demons into bed)

[personal profile] favoriteanalyst 2022-12-31 02:43 pm (UTC)(link)
"Imagine clearing it out and then demanding a raise for the effort." It's not unlike Chantry boards, naturally. And people will be people no matter the universe, misleading for the sake of pinching pennies. His horned associate here will have a much easier time picking out what's legit and what's horseshit here, but some are easy enough to sniff out.

Like apparently an expedition for tomes, that's gotten interest. It certainly has Mobius's. He's already a bookworm for as much as he can get his hands on in Thedas; imagine rifling through texts and tomes in other worlds! (There's a lot still floating around his head from Strange's Sanctum, after all.)

Takes a moment to realize the question is aimed not at the jobs but at himself, and he holds out a hand to see the translucent sheen around him. "Oh, this old thing? I glow all the time; real handy when you have to take a leak in the middle of the night." He huffs out a chuckle. "I, uh. I'm trying to figure out what I can do. Starting small. Seems like magic isn't something people are terrified of, here."
favoriteanalyst: (and when you pull yourself out of bed)

[personal profile] favoriteanalyst 2022-12-31 02:49 pm (UTC)(link)
"You only learned how to fight with magic in magic school, huh?" Which, to be fair, is hardly unusual in Thedas, but most mages at least need a staff and learn how to use at least that much.

Mobius takes another pass with the fabric and decides that's probably as good as it's getting. "I don't mind taking the lead. Shields go up front." Speaking of, should probably start wiping that down, too. "When we get out of this alive," not if, "maybe you should come down to the training yard, see if there's a practical weapon for you. Even if it's just whacking people with a stick."
favoriteanalyst: (and in the morning when)

[personal profile] favoriteanalyst 2022-12-31 03:21 pm (UTC)(link)
Wet and cold isn't necessarily unfamiliar. Kirkwall gets that way, and Ostwick wasn't dissimilar. It isn't the weather that bothers him, then, even if the lack of consistent, non-rotting housing every night is exhausting. It's...fucking everything else.

Mobius makes a humming noise, leaned against a wall (or a chunk of wall anyway) with his hands tucked under his arms. Not hogging the fire, but close enough to just be warmed overall. "Peachy keen. I love keeping my ears perpetually sharp for the sounds of sentient clicking fungus people to come alerting the horde. Feels just like home."

Well. The fighting feels like home. Tending to a roving band of directionless fighters, that feels unfortunately like home.

"Ellie says some people have managed to actually make a life out of all this. Would've been nice to be dropped off one of those places."
favoriteanalyst: (you kissed my mouth)

[personal profile] favoriteanalyst 2022-12-31 03:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Mobius likes the Sanctum better. He thinks the name is a little pretentious, but he's come to learn that when Strange is at home and in his element, it's perhaps one of the least pretentious things about the place. But it feels homier, more familiar than the sharp lines and starkly bright unfamiliar materials of Stark's tower above the city. This place, while having plenty of trappings of "modern Earth", still has a lot more that's familiar. Beautiful wood, intricate tapestry, books on books on books, and books have the same smell no matter where you go. It's cozy, and it's helped him ease into some of the technological wonders that started out novel and are growing more familiar by the day.

If he never goes home again, there are worse places he could've ended up to spend the rest of his days. Seattle, for instance.

He is, at the moment, fruitlessly trying to use the power of his phone and the internet to decipher a text in a language he's never seen. Unfortunately, Google Translate doesn't have Ancient Sumerian in its repertoire. He looks up in time to see Strange coming with an armful of goodies, and then there's a globe in his arms, so. Guess we're doing something! He leaves the book open on the desk but manages to shove the phone in a pocket, follows dutifully along, making sure to catch up with Strange's long strides.

"I take it we're gonna see a particular kind of magic." Nobody's been buzzing about finding whatever object they're looking for, which, given they have an entire planet it could be at, that's no big surprise. Unless Strange has found something and just wants to be the first to do something about it.

It strikes Mobius suddenly that he isn't entirely certain if his Templar abilities work here. He hasn't seen fit to try and shut down any of the mages--sorcerers--running around the building. A lot of them are just students, and he trusts Strange to know what he's doing. But if something goes wrong? Hm...
notathreat: (33)

[personal profile] notathreat 2022-12-31 09:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Ellie eyes the way she hooks the bag, lifts her scarred eyebrow with a smile. Nods and ducks them into one of the candy aisles, finding a rack with different jewel-colored rock candies, and starts selecting the prettiest-looking ones to drop into the bag.

(Edible rocks, who knew.)

"I can't believe you broke your hand someplace where we have actual beds," she grumbles under her breath, which is the only time she's officially mentioned it since she first saw it.

She's not actually mad, but seeing Clarisse blush in public is top-tier.
altusimperius: (u love me)

[personal profile] altusimperius 2022-12-31 11:04 pm (UTC)(link)
"Oh, certainly, but that's the beauty of climate controlled buildings," Benedict sighs dreamily, resting his chin on his hand. "Everything makes sense here. It's like Minrathous, but even better."