Fade Rift Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faderifting) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2025-05-18 07:08 pm
faderifting) wrote in faderift2025-05-18 07:08 pm
MOD PLOT: A Night Without Moon and Stars
WHO: Anyone/Everyone
WHAT: Riftwatch investigates a strange occurrence in Western Orlais.
WHEN: Bloomingtide 9:51.
WHERE: Yvoire, on the edge of the Tirashan Forest.
NOTES: OOC post with reward claims. Body horror CW for the main post.
WHAT: Riftwatch investigates a strange occurrence in Western Orlais.
WHEN: Bloomingtide 9:51.
WHERE: Yvoire, on the edge of the Tirashan Forest.
NOTES: OOC post with reward claims. Body horror CW for the main post.
I. YVOIRE
It should have been a straightforward mission. Not a simple one—attempting to help mediate some sort of disagreement between the people of Yvoire and some local elves isn't simple—but straightforward. The sort of thing Riftwatch's diplomacy division has done plenty of times before. From the Hunterhorns base they ride southeast, through the late spring mud to a town on the edge of the Tirashan. Instead of a bit tense, edging toward violence, maybe a little strange in the way remote villages can be, they find the entire town encased in a nearly-translucent, impermeable magical dome. This calls for reinforcements.
II. THE BUBBLE
By the time Riftwatch has arrived en masse, it's been determined that anchors (it will take at least two, working together) can open and close a passage through the barrier the same way they might a rift, allowing teams to enter and explore the area. Inside, they find themselves in the Fade—the sky an unnatural green with no sign of sun or moon, jagged black rocks jutting up from the ground, the air teeming with spirits and demons—but also not. Among the boulders are houses, shops, torn apart by the Fade stone. A barn roof is pierced by a spire of dark stone, a bakery all but flattened. The residents haven't been spared. Some have been crushed by the arriving landscape, others encased within it. Arms reach out from more than one block of dark stone, the crown of a head just visible in an edge, a corpse frozen mid-stride as if charging out of the rock, but caught just too slow to outrun their fate.
The merging landscapes have rearranged some parts of town even more strangely. More than one building has been sliced in pieces, one remaining in place, the others and its contents relocated or vanished. Every book in a library has been severed from its contents, covers slumped in a bookshelf in a bisected library, pages now suspended in a cloud above a pigsty. A pocket of pond water fills an intersection, two drowned bodies floating trapped within it along with the contents of a wheelbarrow and a couple of now-well-fed fish. A copse of trees, uprooted, grow down from a patch of earth that hovers beside the town's small chantry.
As they investigate the fate of Yvoire, Riftwatch will encounter:
- Demons, primarily of the less-powerful varieties but in unusual numbers. They don't manifest in the way demons often do and don't appear to be tied to any particular object or location. They're just here, similar to areas where a rift has been open for a time and demons are already roaming free.
- Possessed corpses of the townspeople, some aggressive and violent, others just curiously wandering about the town going through the motions of life.
- Spirits, of many different types and degrees of curiosity, communication, and helpfulness
- Evidence of explosive magical violence, like a body burned by a flame that seems to originate where they stood, or a person crushed under a bookshelf toppled by the tell-tale blast of Stonefist.
- A handful of survivors who have survived by hiding in cellars or other out-of-the-way spots who will report that whatever happened happened the morning before Riftwatch's initial arrival, when suddenly there was a strange sense of pressure and static in the air, as if a storm was arriving, and then everything suddenly flew apart or was crushed and a cloud of spirits and demons appeared everywhere.
- At least one survivor will report that some of the elves who have been "stalking" (their word) the village lately were seen sneaking into town before first light, lurking around the chapel as usual.
- Some survivors will report family members or neighbors who they had never suspected to be mages suddenly doing magic, often with deadly consequences for themselves and those around them.
- And among them, a few people possessed by demons who will present themselves as survivors and do their best to get Riftwatch to help them exit the bubble and be free.
- One elf who has been trapped half-inside a tree, his entire right side from ear to toes encased in the thick trunk of a flowering oak that wasn't in this spot yesterday. He is alive, for now.
Fully exploring the area takes time, not only because of the demons but because Riftwatch will find that staying in the bubble indefinitely is unpleasant. Humans and Qunari are affected first, then dwarves, then rifters who have amputated their anchors, and finally elves, but over time anyone may begin to experience headaches, nausea, blurring vision, and feelings of either strange pressure or the equally strange absence of pressure. The exception is anyone with an anchor — they and those in their immediate vicinity will feel fine, and once that becomes apparent, Riftwatch can begin organizing so exploration teams never need to stray very far from someone with an anchor. Even the presence of an anchor, though, won't stop some people from exhibiting the strangest effect of all: the spontaneous development of Fade-touched magic that, unlike the headaches, does not go away when they leave the area.
III. THE ARTIFACT
Yvoire's Chantry is small, the sort of village chapel typically staffed by a single Sister, or maybe a Mother if she's a local. It was a Sister, here—she'll be found dead in a closet along with a number of her parishioners, the apparent victims of a hunger demon. Despite the limited presence of people, the Chantry is a hive of spirit and demon activity, which Riftwatch will have to make its way through in order to investigate.
Once they do, in addition to the deceased inside, Riftwatch will discover another closet that instead of remains contains a patch of stone floor that looks older than the rest, and yet also as if its mortar has been recently loosened. Levering up the large stone tile will reveal a passage into an old basement crypt, shelves of vestments and liturgical supplies covered in cobwebs, niches containing grace goods and dedicatory plaques to prominent members of the chantry past. A path has been tracked through the heavy dust, leading to the far wall, which has been demolished to reveal a different stone wall, this one elven in design. This has been opened like a door, though neither seam nor lock nor hinge is visible, one portion of the wall simply rotated on a non-existent axis to create a passageway.
Inside is a chamber not so very different in design from the chantry crypt: the walls lined with shelves and niches, all of them bare. A strange absence of dust in the room makes it difficult to tell how many were previously full, but several contain stands or racks seemingly designed for display, many in unusual shapes. In the center of the room is a plinth of black marble, the stand in its center still gleaming. There's no ambiguity about the shape it's meant to hold, the spidering fingers plainly designed to contain a sphere.
Set into the wall opposite the door is a frame in the familiar shape of an eluvian mirror, its glass dark and impassable.
no subject
(You break the rules and become a hero. I do it and I become the enemy. That doesn’t seem fair.)
So there’s a noise in the back of his throat, halfway to a laugh. “Naturally. My own appreciation probably caps out at nursery rhymes. Girls go to college to get more knowledge, boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider.”
Maybe it’s worse if he handles her with kid gloves, and never touches on her family at all. Other people burying it all and trying to avoid any discussion of what happened is probably what left her alone in the broken unfinished foundation of a suburban plot in New Jersey.
“Did Vision have a favourite poet?”
no subject
The thought makes Wanda frown slightly, but she recovers quickly, not allowing Pietro to be cast in such a negative, sad light. Her brother wouldn't want to be remembered in such a way, either. He'd want her to laugh and smile, and declare that she would go to Jupiter to try not to be so stupid, but come back even stupider than before because she went without him. Such stories didn't belong with Strange, or anyone anymore.
She inhales through her nose as she considers—truly, genuinely considers—his question.
"Elizabeth Barrett Browning," she says, not looking at him. Even without meaning to, she smiles small and pleased. "He liked her because she was my favourite."
She smacks her lips and considers keeping what's on the tip of her tongue to herself, but hasn't she spent so long keeping those things to herself? The bees and rabbits near her cabin had grown tired of hearing the same stories told over and over again. With the dead around her, she feels compelled to share what would otherwise be forgotten. Who will remember these people and the secrets they took to an untimely grave because they didn't take the chance to share them?
"Vision wasn't fond of poetry before I read him a book."
no subject
“I’ve heard more from Robert Browning,” typical, “but I think I’ve seen some from her. Enough: we’re tired, my heart and I.”
He’s not a poet, but a man with photographic memory, the same kind of steel-trap recollection which continually filed away information. Some of it lodges and sticks like a burr in a coat, even if he didn’t intend to remember. So, probably he shouldn’t judge Vision. Enough people have called Doctor Strange too-cold and too-logical, anyway —
So, then, an olive branch: “I know you’ve been in the Riftwatch library, but the University of Orlais has a wide selection as well and we’re friendly with the dean. If, y’know, you find yourself in need of more reading material.”
no subject
Did Vision base his preferences off her likes? Thanks to Thanos, she'll never truly know if he'd prefer Robert Browning (so typical of Strange) or if he'd prefer anything but poetry.
Best not to think about it. That little stone in her chest that has always been there since the Mind Stone was plucked from his forehead grows a bit heavier.
She glances at him from the corner of her eye. This is what Pietro would call an olive branch. Take it, Wanda. And he'd hold it high above her head, out of reach, egging her to use her powers to try to steal it from him.
Strange isn't holding it high above her head now. He's not the type to. Unlike Pietro, he'd hold it out for her, letting that be the obstacle presented in her path.
"Is 'we' Riftwatch? Or is this a 'we' that means you?"
She understands what she's asking, although she'd much prefer to remain oblivious.
no subject
“Is it a cop-out to say ‘both’? A couple years back, Tony organised something called the Riftwatch Cultural Exposition, hosted at the university itself. Their academics were interested in Research’s projects in particular, to no surprise. So our organisation does have a professional relationship with the university, but I’ve also been trying to maintain those connections ever since.”
He doesn’t wince quite as much anymore whenever needing to mention Tony’s name around her. It’s a too-common occurrence either way: she’ll have seen the name Stark all over the Riftwatch archives, no getting around it, the ghost of the man having walked these halls long before either of them.
“So, if you do mention me around the professors, it wouldn’t go awry.” His smile’s faint, knowing, understanding his more irascible reputation in the past: “For once.”