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faderift2024-01-15 09:35 pm
faderifting) wrote in faderift2024-01-15 09:35 pm
MOD EVENT: Crossover
WHO: Everyone (give or take)
WHAT: Reorganizing the Crossroads
WHEN: Wintermarch 9:50
WHERE: The Crossroads
NOTES: A small event to help everyone shake off the winter break.
WHAT: Reorganizing the Crossroads
WHEN: Wintermarch 9:50
WHERE: The Crossroads
NOTES: A small event to help everyone shake off the winter break.
Shortly into the new year, Riftwatch's routine visits to the Crossroads–to get from here to there, or just to check up on the eluvians and watch for any signs of Venatori or elven presence–turn less routine. Patches of the Crossroads give way quite suddenly to patches of what seems to be (for lack of a better word) the real world, evidenced by sudden changes of landscape and temperature, the sudden presence of small mammals and birds. In the first of these locations to be discovered, snow blows up a crumbling Crossroads stairway from the snowy clearing below; in the clearing, gravity's hold is gentler than it should be, snow swirling up alongside the staircase that climbs up into a grey sky and never coming back down. Wisps or spirits may follow you freely here. One enterprising spirit has possessed a squirrel and is considering the merits of wandering off into the world. Walk far enough across the ground, away from the stairs, and things become normal (as much as Thedas ever is)–but the staircase is still waiting if you turn back the other way, the Crossroads there to walk into without any particular effort or magic at all.
This is of course a sign of a grave problem that warrants further investigation. But the instability in the Crossroads also presents a more immediate and practical threat to Riftwatch's work: the eluvians Riftwatch uses to traverse Thedas and reach some otherwise far-flung or inaccessible locations are scattered throughout the Crossroads, and reaching them is already becoming more difficult, not to mention the danger of someone else—foe or unwitting stranger—blundering into Riftwatch's work. So for a week in Wintermarch, everyone able and available will be assigned to relocating the eluvians: reaching them in the Crossroads, uprooting them from their ancient locations, and carrying them to rearrange on a single stone platform that so far seems sturdy and unaffected, where they can be more easily monitored and protected all in one place.
There are only six eluvians that Riftwatch regularly uses, but the instability is making them more difficult to reach, and they're heavy and unwieldy enough that multiple people will need to assist with transporting each one. Meanwhile, everyone will be asked to observe and make notes on the changes they encounter, as well as to collect other eluvians–the ones that lead to ruins in wild forests with no signs of where those forests might be, or deserted remote fortresses, or pitch-black caves, or the unyielding wooden walls that mean the mirror's counterpart is packed up somewhere behind and beneath loads of junk–to preserve them in case their Thedosian counterparts can be located and moved somewhere more practicable in the future. (These that are not yet usable will be arranged in a second location, separate but not so inconveniently far from the first.)
While trying to complete this work, Riftwatch will encounter the same spirits and hazards that have always made using the Crossroads a bit of a headache: paths that collapse ahead of them if they tell a lie while chatting with their traveling companions, spirits of suspicion that try to trap and drive wedges between them, guides who take on the embarrassing and/or adorable forms of the people they're guiding as children, wisps fascinated with travelers' impulses and emotions who endeavor to replicate them. The good news is that the new configuration of the eluvians will make walking through these spirits' domains unnecessary in the future and could mean many people will never have to deal with them again after this.
The bad news is that in the meantime, those retrieving the eluvians will have to deal with both the usual nonsense and the new patches where the borders give way and dimensions blend together. In these patches, the landscape and laws of the world mixes with the features and rules (or lack thereof) of the Crossroads. Sometimes this means the world, like the Crossroads, is more colorful for elves and more oppressive to everyone else–something akin to having to walk and work with a terrible headache, except there's no pain, only light and sound sensitivity and a general sense of difficulty and slowness. Other times it means something that looks more like the Crossroads feels more like the mundane world to humans and rifters, actually. Sometimes the Crossroad's loose ideas about gravity will be applied to a real river; sometimes the world's more strict laws will impose on a river in the Crossroads.
When these places are discovered, agents will be tasked not with avoiding them, but exploring them to estimate their sizes, note any features that might narrow down their locations on the map, and search for any signs of populations–in vain, fortunately. While a number of these locations are within ruins or abandoned villages, something is currently causing them to appear in areas that people seem to be avoiding. Journeying beyond the perimeter of the effect will reveal a strong contender for an explanation: these areas are places where the Veil is already damaged and thin, with spirits and demons passing through to discourage resettlement after whatever disaster or massacre weakened the barrier.
But the largest patch of bleed-through that Riftwatch will discover is also the least remote. Here a door in the Crossroads opens onto a wet, cold underground chamber, clearly man-made, roughly fifty yards across and roughly circular. The perimeter of the chamber shows signs of use for some academic purpose–crumbling shelves, the moldering and unreadable remnants of books left exposed to the damp for centuries, rusted and shattered equipment.
But the center of this chamber turns to jagged dark rock threaded with raw lyrium veins, and the ceiling shifts in the dark–sometimes a ceiling carved into stone, sometimes a churning sky in sickly dark green. Squint and you might see the Black City's floating island in the distance, for a moment. As the moments add up over the course of hours, a keen eye might notice that the carved ceiling of the chamber is shifting in a way stone shouldn’t shift, losing its careful patterns to a more chaotic swirl.
Exploring to establish the outer perimeter of this disruption will require venturing down branching hallways and tunnels, some of them populated by shades and freshly possessed skeletons. Another fifty yards or so out, in pursuit of any identifying features to place this on a map, the jet black stone and design of crumbling old mining equipment might start to give the observant a sinking feeling. Another hundred, and one of the labyrinthe and increasingly claustrophobic tunnels will end in a cave-in that is fairly recent, judging by the state of the three skeletons of people who appear to have died trying to dig back out. Their clothes and possessions have mostly rotted away in the moist air, but two of their skeletal hands are still wearing signet rings stamped with the Coterie's symbol.
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He's got both hands along the ropes, anyway, since Barrow's got the torch, and it's a bit of a waste to have several at once if they aren't needed.
"I haven't seen any parts that seem frayed." Are jinxes a thing in Thedas? Because maybe he should knock on some fucking wood. "We're gonna be fine. These guys probably know where they're going."
The little blond shit had better know, he doesn't say.
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"He doesn't," he announces evenly, speaking at least of his smaller counterpart; as if that kid ever knew what he was doing or why. "Does yours?"
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"Not keen on backtracking at this point."
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He's mid-word when the bridge gives out under his foot, and whether all the slats were about to crumble or the impact of his large frame sends them along their way, Barrow now finds himself gripping the rope railing for dear life; the entire right side of his body dangles, with his left foot barely bracing against a remaining piece of the walkway.
"shit," he says in a small voice.
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Any attention to the spirits disappears, although they both certainly take notice. Mobius has to brace himself when the whole bridge shudders and shakes, then starts swinging back and forth from the force. As things settle, as it were, the sound of other slats creaking ominously starts to come through.
Mobius lowers himself down slowly onto his ass, and then scoots himself forward carefully. "I got you." This might be a lie. Or an overstatement, at the very least. He's no slouch; decades of Templar armor carrying will do that, and he hasn't slacked off on his training (too much). But the same applies to Barrow. Who is very solid. Bigger and heavier. It's all about leverage, though. Simple physics, right? "Okay. Easy does it. Give me your--uh, a hand, or a leg, or something I can help you back up with. Just keep your grip strong."
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"I can't do it, mate," he says in quick, terse, stream of consciousness, "I can't fucking take a fall like this again, you'll have to put me down like a fucking horse--"
If he swings any of his limbs, it'll be the end of them both, but he tries to edge his hand a little closer to Mobius even as it presses against the feeble, creaking wood.
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For as much calm as Mobius wants to exude, his voice is tight with worry. But one thing is for certain: "I'm not leaving you."
What he would like is for the spirits, just far enough away to seem distant, just close enough to be seen, standing there, would do something. But they're spirits. They might've lured them here to start. And even if not, what could they do, really? Barrow edges, and Mobius leans to reach. If he can brace himself--
The wood he's on creaks louder and bows. The rope strains to the point where he can see fraying beginning. Still, he grabs onto Barrow's hand. Under his breath, easy in fact as breathing: "I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond." He pulls for all he's worth. "For there is" rope splitting "no darkness" wood splintering "in the Maker's-"
The bridge gives, and they plummet into the howling abyss.
...only to not drop that far at all, splashing into not a deep canyon with a whitewater river washing deep, but somewhere shallow and nearly pleasant if not for the drop.
"-Light?" Mobius gasps and looks up. The loose ends of the bridge whip wildly in a wind what seems high, high above. But they didn't drop that far or that long. Surely a fall off a ladder instead of a cliff. "Fuck the Crossroads," he sighs, flopping back against the water. Could be the strange and impossible geometries and physics of this place. Could be their spirits managed to do something after all. Fuck it anyway. "Barrow? Barrow, you with me?"
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He tightly grips Mobius' hand, the only thing tethering Barrow to the moment, even when the bridge collapses and he gives a panicked, animal cry--
--that cuts off with an oof as he makes contact. Unshattered.
He sighs, closing his eyes, smarting a little at a rock poking into his shoulder, but that's the worst of his injuries.
"We don't," he says quietly, measuredly, "have to tell anyone about this."
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He gets the breath back in him and hefts himself to sitting up, looking around at the banks of the stream to see if he can get some bearings. "No sense in damaging our pride."
There is, however, a hulking demonic form staring at them from just upstream. If one could interpret expressions, it seems as surprised that they've appeared as they are to be here. But it straightens to full height, giving undivided attention in a way that seems decidedly unfriendly, and Mobius groans at the irony, grabbing a handful of Barrow's shirt and giving him a shake.
"We can damage that pride, though." Or run the fuck away at this point, honestly. Maybe it would be up for a philosophical debate instead of a beatdown?
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"To have your strength returned and bodies intact," it rumbles on its slow and pompous approach, "would be a gift beyond imagining, would it not?"
"Probably," Barrow sighs, continuing to lie there. He lights a cigarette.
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When he's upright, he offers Barrow a hand. Barrow who seems pretty resigned to this whole thing, which, okay, under normal Crossroad circumstances, that might not be too bad. This seems different. Or at the very least, no one should ever underestimate a demon, especially one of pride.
Maybe get the fuck up, is not what he says but what he certainly thinks.
"But can you imagine proof of your blessings, undeniable to all that your faith is true?"
Mobius grits his teeth. "Got that one already, thanks."
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"Oh that ship's long sailed, mate," he calls back to it, and though it prowls nearer, it still makes no move to attack. "Better luck next time. I guess."
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Because they were in the Crossroads, and the Crossroads is weird with physics and geometry, but also, this feels too real to be Crossroads. And yet. Also. Not quite right, either.
"Oh, and the spirits that haunt the place where the Elvhenan made peace with the between, surely they are merely figments of the imagination."
Mobius' jaw hurts from the grit. "Funny thing is, I wasn't speaking to you."
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Seeing that they're not going to take the bait, the demon gives a sinister growl, but pauses in following them: perhaps they're not worth the fight, or perhaps it's just re-strategizing.