MOD PLOT ↠ HOME FOR RIFTMAS

[faderifting]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 ↠ MCU Earth-199999

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2 ↠ Shifterverse

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

Real-world 2022, but what if Shifters?

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

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

3 ↠ Tassia

D&D Original World, Loxley & Richard Dickerson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4 ↠ Sulleciel

Original fantasy world, Petrana de Cedoux.

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

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

5 ↠ Kalvad

Original fantasy world, Wysteria Poppell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

6 ↠ Abeir-Toril

D&D Forgotten Realms, Astarion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

7 ↠ Orphan Black

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

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

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

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

8 ↠ The Last of Us

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Comments

[foolsmakeitcolder]

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]

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.

[foolsmakeitcolder]

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.

[luaithre]

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.

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Jude nods and rubs his warm palm over Marcus' shoulder, releasing him before he heads back to where he left the bag, fishing out the clothes. They're much like Jude's: A soft sweater in a rich brown, with a yellow-gold tulip sewn cheerfully in where a lapel would be -- clearly a patch job.

The pants are joggers, loose and comfortable. The sweater's made of wool, which will hold heat even when wet. He hands them all over.

There aren't any proper shoes, unfortunately -- but Jude kicks his off. He's fine with going barefoot, but Marcus still has tender feet in this cold.

While Marcus sorts that, Jude gets out the water bottle, the cookies and the snacks. Water bottle first, then the snacks one by one. Get his blood sugar back up.

It has the feeling of an established routine, one that Jude's been through many, many times, with both the comfort of familiarity and weight of understanding.

"You'll need to rest for a bit, but your shift'll come back soon. Your wolf might feel feel bruised up and tender and docile for a bit. That's a hell of a thing, what the two of you just went through. Give yourself some room to recover."

There's a note there in his voice, the seriousness, the sadness of it. It's not something he's happy to have put him through, even if it was necessary.

[luaithre]

Marcus has gotten to his feet by the time Jude returns with clothing, which he accepts with a muted sound that stands in as a thank you. The healing wound at his thigh has streaked blood down to his knee, and there is a little time spent cleaning the worst of it away with a handful of cold water before he finally pulls on the sweater and pants. Shoes.

There's been time to get used to Earth items. No quizzical inspection over plastic materials or zip seals takes place.

What has Marcus' attention is the slow cognizance to the routine. The choice of foods—sugar-filled buttery cookies and leathery cured meat—and the water and the clothes. He was under no illusions about whether or not Jude had sought him out,

but all the same.

He absorbs what is being said to him as he inspects the cookies. Bruised, tender, docile feels like it extends further from just the wolf huddled at the very back of his consciousness. He asks, "Can I come back?" and looks up in the wake of an answer, more prepared for whatever it is than hopeful.

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Jude pauses, a pulse of feeling washing over them both, a whisper of shock and sorrow and disbelief that that was ever in question.

"Always," he says, bracing himself for the possibility that he won't. Few wolves do well without packs, and Jude has the feeling that Marcus isn't a loner, much as he might feel it's easier. The life of a ghost is not a pleasant one. But Jude won't hold him here.

"Everyone slips. Everyone struggles. If this were enough for us to give up on you..."

Jude shakes his head.

"Half the pack wouldn't be here, including our Alpha."

[luaithre]

Perhaps that's why no one minds the clothes situation, here, in this enclave. The sharing of feeling is far more exposing.

It's bracing even from someone else, but being in the process of governing himself, Marcus governs this too, absorbs it, and from him there is a very genuine twinge of relief, warm and aching. He has seen no prisons, here. No implements of punishment or obvious indications of enforcement, and so though he hadn't expected any, exile had seemed the most credible alternative.

There are two cookies. He takes one out, offers it over. It is clear to him that whatever Marcus went through, Jude's experience was not extremely different.

He also says, "You've done this before," which is but one step towards the many questions he has, slowly gathering, or previously gathered and left unspoken.

[foolsmakeitcolder]

"Enough to know how it goes."

Jude graciously accepts a cookie; they're some of his favorites, which is why he brought them. He can listen to that relief, let it hum around him like the knell of something warm and deep. It's good. It's a start.

Leaning back against a tree, Jude lets himself slide down into the soft pine duff, gesturing in invitation to the place next to him. Might as well be comfortable, if Marcus has questions. They're in no rush.

"Usually, it's not so rough. Just me being around can help give people some space to breathe, have a chat with their wolf and work it out for themselves."

It's around him now. A soft halo of warmth, of peace, clarity, calm. It doesn't muddy the thoughts or even the emotions, it just allows them to settle, like crossing into the eye of a storm. Removing all the noise.

[luaithre]

The invitation is taken without analysis or suspicion, whether of being humoured or anything more sinister. That Jude is comfortable to be around is one thing; that Marcus is already often immune to possible social transgression is also a part of it, inclined to take a person at their word or gesture.

He sits. That shockiness, slowly leaving him, enough to make room for fidget—pulling the damp lengths of wet hair out of the collar of his sweater, rolling a shoulder against some twinge of complaint at stiff, sore muscles. He carefully breaks the cookie into halves, and takes a modest bite of one.

Remembers crunching with powerful back teeth through deer flesh, cracking rabbit bones, shearing apart river fish. The texture and sweetness is immediately wrong, but he swallows, slides the rest back into the bag. Later.

Picks up the jerky.

"Why?" A beat, considering whether he should elaborate, and then more directly, "What are you?"

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Jude settles as Marcus does, his back against the tree, bracing the lingering aches of a too-fast shift, making sure he won't heal up too stiff.

"A Sentinel," he says simply, nodding his head forward. "Also known as Omega -- really unfortunate and weird implications on the internet with that term -- Pack Guardians, and about a dozen other pretentious names. In short, a wolf shifter, but I don't... do dominance."

Jude gestures to Marcus as a whole, indicating why the display earlier had slipped off of him.

"Instead, it's empathy. And pack empathy. To the nth degree." Jude crunches a bite of his cookie, slowly. "That sense you have, about where your people are. Whether they're all right. I have that, but for all of us. Including you. When we say pack, we don't mean a social contract, or family ties. We mean a very literal force, tying us all together, and to our wolves. It's how we find our way between forms, it's-"

Jude frowns. It's all very metaphysical, and it's easy to get wrapped up in it.

"Sentinels don't just see that force," he explains. "We can reach out and touch it. Manipulate it. It makes us dangerous."

And Marcus has known for a long time what it is to be dangerous by birthright.

"It also means we can help when something goes wrong."

[luaithre]

Jude has his attention, Marcus listening with the clear desire to understand what he's hearing—even if he does not, always, giving little in the way of response to asides about the internet, through to the metaphysical realities of this strange little community.

But all is listened to, processed quietly. Processed cautiously.

This is the Fade. Intellectually, he knows that much, there's been enough spoken in proximity to him to understand that even if Jude's world was real, and not in itself a dream construct embodied in the man sitting here against the tree to carry alone, this place they're in now is even less tangibly real. Not to be trusted.

It's possible to know something and understand it and not quite, viscerally, believe it. And so, he can't help but take this all more seriously than he might have done if Jude had been compelled to explain this to him, for whatever reason, back in Thedas.

When something goes wrong is when he finally breaks unnerving focus, looking out at the river. The tidal tug of grief for something nameless, beneath a natural inclination to express none of it.

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Though Jude doesn't have the instinctive understanding of what, exactly, Marcus has been through, he knows enough of the structure of Thedas to know this likely knocked on some doors that he's been keeping firmly shut.

He still remembers that rushed meeting in the belly of the Gallows, a thrown punch.

Even if he doesn't have a name to put the grief to, an altar to lay it at, Jude can taste it as clearly as the rest.

He comforts him as he would a wolf.

His fingertips first, brushing his spine, followed by the warm, steady expanse of his palm against his back, rubbing up between his shoulder blades. It brushes against him like a current, not obscuring, not hindering, but grounding. Centering. He will not allow Marcus to be swept away by the rushing tide.

Instead he gives him solid ground to anchor himself, so he can watch the greater shape of the feeling as it swirls around them both.

It is him and it is his, and it isn't wrong. But it can be dangerous.

"Yours is a strong soul," Jude whispers. "How much of that strength have you been turning against yourself?"

[luaithre]

The touch slips past his defenses, because there aren't really any of those in this moment of time. The physicality of it feels as natural as anything for all that he doesn't think he has traded more words this man than today, back in Thedas. A slight shift in posture, a subtle shift to receive comfort as it is offered.

It's the rest that catches him. Where Marcus has practice in either locking down strong feeling beneath an oppressive amount of internal control, or wielding as a weapon and permitted to do as it will, this is altogether different.

Unbidden, he can feel his eyes prickle, a warm flush up the back of his neck, bracing against it, before relaxing again. There, grief, and anger, and it is difficult to say which feeds the other. The latent rage that is never purged, that he can call on to split the earth into jagged trenches and summon molten rock.

Here, anchored, he can will it further to the surface, let it burn through. His wolf is humbled and quiet and there is no magic to catch against it and there are no demons to tempt it, and whatever Jude is doing keeps him held together well enough that he can simply sit quietly in place and allow the volcanic surge of feeling to burn as brightly as it wants.

Then, dwindled. Getting a grip. A shaky breath in.

"You were at the Conclave," he says, voice all gravel, near whisper-quiet. "Do you know what happens to mages when things go wrong?"

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Marcus feels like barely restrained fire under his fingers, but Jude doesn't flinch back. He is trained for this, has lived this all his life. He knows what it is to touch ghosts, to suture wounds that can't be seen. To feed ropes down wells and call out until something shifts at the bottom, and decides that maybe, maybe it can live.

"Yes," Jude says softly. "They explained what they called abominations."

There is a note in Jude's voice, harder to read. Sadness, disbelief- if they are anything like Ghosts-

[luaithre]

That Jude lands on that answer, from this angle—

It's no laughing matter, and the laugh-adjacent sound he makes on the next breath out is grim. Marcus says, "Yes," as if to assure Jude he hasn't spoken out of turn.

A few more moments are spent on simply breathing. These are feelings and thoughts he's lived with for decades, but feel raw, here, in this chilly forest that looks like it could be of Thedas, from most angles. Eventually, Marcus speaks again. "There are signs of it. When a mage is angry. Emotional. When their magic is scarcely under their own control. A person deemed likely to be possessed and transformed into something else.

"You'd hope to avoid what they could become, but every Templar bears a blade for the purposes of killing a mage who succumbs to it. They wear them, ready, when apprentices are pulled from their beds and made to prove their ability to govern themselves. They watch, every day, looking for such signs. They used to," amended. The Circles are no longer, after all.

He looks back to Jude, now, this person that has brought these memories to mind, pale eyes making for sharp study, brow serious. "And has it been explained to you what the kinder alternative is, for such mages?"

[foolsmakeitcolder]

"The sundering," Jude rumbles back, a curl to his lip. The big man rarely shows any emotion remotely like aggression, but this has his blood boiling every time he thinks of it. "Of a mage from their magic. What they call the Tranquil."

Jude makes an effort to tuck away his fangs.

Clearly, he'd like to say more, but he's listening to listen, rather than to respond.

[luaithre]

Marcus' focus catches on, snags on, that little flash of anger. Senses it and sees it. If he had a greater talent for this sort of empathy, perhaps he'd reach for it, hold it in place between his own fangs. The most he can do, here, is a flickering acknowledgment.

But he is being listened to. He nods, once. "Sundering of feeling," he adds. "Of the ability to dream."

And all it entails. To want, to hope. To be flawed, to be disobedient, to learn. To possess the right to these things.

He raises a hand, stems the brimming wateriness at the corner of an eye, more for practicality than trying to hide anything, where feeling has run over. There is no sense in shame, when it's all laid bare.

"This place," finally, the point he has slowly made his way towards, quiet, rough-edged. Looking out past the river, towards where the settlement exists beyond the trees. "I used to dream of a place like this one, for us. I still do. Somewhere we can teach and guard and look after our own. Where we can have culture and society. Maybe there would no longer be Abominations, if we no longer had fear. No need to be made Tranquil, no need of Templars."

It is utopian. There are a dozen mages of similar politics to he that would point out a dozen flaws. And have, in the past. He doesn't care.

"People like you, maybe. To hold them, not hurt them."

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Jude goes quiet as he listens, slotting pieces into place, aching for it. He was there to hear the talks, the arguments, the way people went back and forth. Yelling, insulting, arguing the way they do when they have skin in the game and cannot remove their feelings from it.

It's not the first time he's wondered what Adrianna would think.

"There were a lot more Ghosts before the Accords," he says softly, thoughtfully. "My generation's the first to live with them. The Shifter courts, the laws. The agreements with the human government. The agreements between Shifters of different types. The agreement to govern ourselves."

It's imperfect, as the Ghost Mountain Pack so recently proved, but he can't pass up the thought.

Adrianna would want to talk to him.

"You should speak with our alpha," Jude says quietly. "She helped write them. I could take you to her."

[luaithre]

The notion that Marcus puts forth is considered, in most circles (lower-case c), so farfetched as to be a distraction from the more likely possibilities of mage society. But there are villages of isolationists in the world. There was Dairsmuid, as removed as it was. There are even the Dalish tribes that they could lower themselves to look to, if they wished.

Marcus looks again to Jude, some assessment going on. He thinks about asking if this person would wish to speak to him at all, but then decides it sounds like self-flagellation. Jude wouldn't offer, wouldn't be here, if he'd transgressed that badly.

Maybe it was all too much of a good thing. And for someone who craves community, he'd never been the best with crowds. The churn of ordinary life, happening around him.

"Aye," he agrees. "I'd like to."

Like some last hold out, giving in.

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Jude nods, like he expected the answer, and holds out his hand, palm up. No doubt both of their legs are going to be a little wobbly after this, and nobody will blink twice at Jude leading one of the newcomers out of the woods, looking a touch worse for wear.

"Now," he invites.

Assuming Marcus accepts one or both, Jude picks up their things and leads them back through the commune, back and through to the heart of the pack, deeper than he's led most of the others. There are pups here, watching them curiously, both in fur and in skin.

They scent the hot springs as they draw nearer, and Marcus will begin to see more elders, younger children. The more vulnerable members of the pack, kept at the heart and tenderly cared for. Most often the old and the young seem the very closest, and it makes sense that the elder wolves would stick closer to the hot springs in the winter.

It would be easier on them, on their aching bones and joints.

The place they approach is a cabin, one of the older ones but nicely kept. There's a hammock outside, a wooden rocking chair with animals carved into the wide arms. There's a glass panel on the front, showing a flickering fireplace inside.

Jude enters without knocking to find a young woman stretched out on the overstuffed couch in a comfy oversized sweater, tapping away on a laptop. She sees Jude, raises her eyebrows and nods, snapping it shut to clear out.

Marcus will get a whiff of her as she moves past them; powerful wolf, but not alpha, not quite.

Jude doesn't have to call out. She appears from the kitchen archway, wiping her hands clean on a towel: she's not a physically imposing woman. About sixty years old, blonde going silver. She is barefoot and wearing flannel.

But she locks eyes on Marcus, and there's no mistake: the ground rocks a little beneath them, the world shifting focus. There is a sense about her that both of their wolves react to:

She could wreck the both of them without lifting a finger.

"Marcus," Jude says, "this is Adrianna Scott, alpha of the Whistler pack."

"Ah," she says, as a warm, proud, satisfied smile spreads over her face. There are tears in her eyes. "There you are."

[luaithre]

Jude's hand is taken, feet are gotten to, walk walked in mostly silence. Maybe some words exchanged, but mostly not, as if they were still two wolves moving in companiable silence together through the woods, give or take some cookie eating on the way. Once they pass from wilderness to society, Marcus is silent, observing.

Smells, sounds, sights, and the dim awareness that he is being invited into something in a more meaningful way than he might have anticipated. He still, now and then, tries to feel out the space in his mind where the wolf would go, and it's not absent. Feels like it's moving with its belly close to the ground, ears back, as they head for the cabin.

Feels like it hunkers right down at the back of his mind at the invisible force that surrounds the woman that emerges from the kitchen, and Marcus is conscious not to let the same reflect in his posture. There's no cause to challenge anyone, here, but he'd rather not appear meek.

True self-flagellation was not requesting he go get changed and tie his hair or something.

But he stops still, disarmed, as her focus finds him and Jude makes his introductions. One hand gripping the other, seeking where a ring currently is not, as she echoes the thing Jude had said to him in his slow emergence.

"I'm sorry for the trouble," he says, after a moment.

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Adrianna averts her eyes, moving through the charged space between them, the dominant of dominants doing her best to make herself small. It doesn't quite work, and Jude holds back a smile. Adrianna gets grumpy if a pup hasn't licked her face before breakfast.

"Thankfully, it's not something we hold against people," she says honestly, reaching out to interrupt his hand clasp and take one of his between the two of hers. Wolves touch and she's no exception, though she makes her grip easy enough to escape.

"We aren't perfect. We can't expect anyone to be. When one of us is laid low, we all kneel to help them up."

[luaithre]

Marcus surrenders his hand easily and without protest, accepting the gesture for what it is. Being around his partners, in Thedas, he'd always felt the most liberal of them with touch and affection in mixed settings, coaxing them into the same; here, in this place, he feels as stiffly formal as a Chantry brother in comparison. But his hand loosens, relaxes, clasps hers back.

Spirit, he thinks, caught between dismissing this thought and holding onto it, as a reminder. But her hand is perfectly human feeling, warm from work and bloodflow, soft and firm. Perhaps she is no more a spirit or Fade-formed thing than Jude Adjei. Or Petrana de Cedoux.

Doesn't matter, not when his muscles still twinge from the forced shifting earlier. It's all real enough.

"I don't know how long we're here for," he says, searching her face. Vague enough. They know they come from another world, and it stands to reason they'll return to it. "But I want to know more of this place before we leave it. It'd be useful, for the world I come from."

He believes that's so, anyway, whether in some broad and important sense or simply as his own knowledge to take back with him, and protect.

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Adrianna doesn't have to power to see into Marcus' emotional state, but she does have the soul of a mother. A grandmother. She strokes her thumb along his knuckles, as she would tenderly over old scars. Remembered pain, and valuable lessons.

"Fair enough," she says, and releases him. "You make yourselves comfortable, I'll get the lemonade."

A few minutes later has them seated in the deep, soft leather of the couch, heavy and squishy and nearly impossible to get up from, with Adrianna curled up against the arm of it.

"Jude's told me a little bit about how things are where you came from," she says, and her eyes are steady, but full. "And I can't pretend I know everything, but it sounds like there are some similarities with shifter history. Ask what you like; we don't have many secrets."