faderift | O2 ♚ I'M A LONG TIME TRAVELER HERE

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O2 ♚ I'M A LONG TIME TRAVELER HERE

WHO: Character(s)
WHAT: Several Rifters and native drop-ins congregate at the Tavern as advertised via messenger crystal.
WHEN: Late January (forward-dated for recentmost app approvals!)
WHERE: The Tavern, private room
NOTES: OOC plotting here! Feel free to treat this like a general mingle log, but I will be making empty starters below for specific topics for group threads/conversation. An infodump/glossary link may also be pending from Araceli/Church.

It's past dinner time. This provides a reasonable excuse to drink only out of the ale pitchers set up for the expected guest, although there's a little bread and salt pork set up on the one bench along the wall. Dozens of chairs and a few less tables are loosely organized into groups. There's no dais or marked center for the room, the bar room version of the principles of the Arthurian round table, all being equal in the private room. Which, granted, is only as private as the public announcement and common courtesy might enforce. In other words, that can't be a real expectation.

However, the other Tavern workers are watching the door and main floor discreetly, multi-tasking with running the usual evening business. It's not so different from any other night, not even for the involuntary immigrants gathering on the second level. Drink, talk, and get to know.

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Lenneth tilted her head curiously at the young woman, pausing where she was. That she'd done so in the middle of the doorway seemed not to concern her overmuch. Of similar concern were the grumbles from other patrons who had to twist to get by her.

"I was..." She searched for words that would make sense to someone not of her world, narrowing her eyes in irritation when she found very few. "Meditating," she settled on, finally. "Searching for the souls of those worthy to be chosen to fight in the war of the gods. Those who are both worthy and near their death call out to me during my..." she pursed her lips. "Meditation."

The Valkyrie had assumed that everyone had been chosen in a similar way--that the gods of this world had pulled needed warriors into Thedas. The wholly unassuming girl before her seemed to give that the lie; but then again, Lenneth was very used to looking for spirit, rather than its package.

"And you?"

Ariadne blinked her big gray eyes as the woman stopped to talk to her. Meditation was nothing strange and unfamiliar. Both the Elves and Darucs of home did it plenty. But searching for souls? Worthy to be chosen to fight in a war of the gods? That was far grander than the meditation she was familiar with.

It also made this woman an important person, so she whetted her lips, straightening her posture out slightly, as she did when speaking with the ladies and princesses of the court.

"That sounds like a very important duty, my lady," she said. "I'm afraid it doesn't hint to a pattern with my own experience. I was just dozing off."

Lenneth started slightly at the title. It was, she realized, the first time that anyone in Thedas had felt the need to offer her respect. The lack hadn't concerned her--here, she was no longer a Valkyrie. She had recovered the use of some of her power, yes, but not her duty. Here she was servant to no gods, could not call upon Odin's power to manifest items, could neither sense those heroic souls across continents nor go to them in the time of their death. If she could, none would recognize her. There were no legends of battle maidens such as her--she had asked.

And, she had noted ruefully, she seemed to wound as a mortal did. To require food, drink, sleep. Here, she was a soldier, no more.

"I am no lady here," she said simply. "But... I thank you."

"As far as not fitting the pattern--" she quirked a single silver eyebrow. "We know only what brought us two now, yes? Perhaps asking the others will yield what connects it."

Her posture relaxed a little. Ariadne was more accustomed to dealing with commoners than royalty--Princess Amanda excluded and she was a unique case, anyway.

Although that here lingered somewhere in the back of her mind.

"That was the idea," she admitted. "I was hoping that we could find some kind of pattern, some set of circumstances. Circumstances we could then manage to prevent somehow. So that we don't keep having more and more Rifters dropped down into the middle of..." Her hands searched uselessly for a gesture. "...all of this."

The last thing she wanted was for someone important to be taken away from their equally important life. Already, she was sure, the Rifters had left behind their fair share of responsibilities and duties.

Lenneth hummed thoughtfully at the idea that they might be able to prevent others from suffering the fate already thrust upon them.

"To be sure," she replied. "One way would be to stop whatever is making these Rifts. Although," she paused a moment, her lips thinning slightly, "I question whether or not we would then be able to return to our homes."

The Valkyrie's tone was cool and steady, but the deep dismay that darkened her eyes was perfectly evident. Although one of her sisters would most likely be able to take over her duties, she already felt a deep longing for her world. She imagined the others felt much the same.

"I am called Lenneth," she said, finally stepping from her rather obstinate place in the doorway to extend a hand to the young woman. "Tell me of your world, if it would please you?"

Ariadne reached forward to grasp the other woman's wrist. And she decided to see if she could pick up a scent. Instinct told her that there was a lot more than appearance indicated to her.

That and the fact that she was obviously, in some way, touched by the divine.

"My name is Ariadne," she said kindly. "But you can call me 'Airy' if you like. Pretty much everyone does."

She'd actually taken to introducing herself to the natives as 'Ariadne Everdeen.' Ever since Katniss had declared that she was part of the Everdeen clan. But with the Rifters, she felt a different kind of kinship, a connection in their otherness. And so, she didn't feel the need to bend over backwards to fit in.

She shrugged. "I'm not sure there's anything to tell you about my home. It's a lot like this place I guess."

"I don't know about that," comes the wry remark over Ariadne's shoulder.

Marcel pulls up a chair not far from the valkyrie, nodding at Lenneth by way of salutation. He sets himself down by the women, his long legs folding agilely under the lip of the table. Despite that he's been imbibing alcohol throughout the evening, he's now handling a plate with a little salted ham and bread on it.

The food winds up pushed closer to the middle of the table, offering to share. He smiles at Ariadne. It isn't in him to out her if she's trying to hide her skills, but he suspects that misplaced humility has some part in it to. So he adds, subtle enough— he thinks, "I don't know a lot of people who move like you. Or have a green thumb that lends itself to the healing arts." He folds his arms on the table and looks at Lenneth herself, quirking a smile.

"We have all kinds of magic in my world. I believe the origin of all of it is witchcraft, and communion with the natural forces." He gestures with a small square of seasoned pork. "Mostly goes wrong if and when witches try and cheat. But we have a lot of good ones."

"Ariadne," she repeated, releasing her the young woman's arm with a respectful squeeze. Lenneth wasn't much for nicknames.

She returned Marcel's nod as he approached and sat. Witches she knew--although they named themselves Sorcerers in her world. Similarly, there were good and bad. But there were always good and bad. It was mostly how bad that mattered.

Lenneth quirked a brow curiously at him. "How does one 'cheat' magic?"

Ariadne just ducked her head at Marcel's compliment, reaching over to help herself to a chunk of bread. Not only was she birdlike in respect to her delicate frame, but in her eating habits as well. She had a tendency to just nibble here and there. And bread was her favorite thing, in part, because Alastrians didn't bake. Humanoids did.

"There's magic in my world too," she said. "But I don't really know much about it. The most powerful race are the Elves. I suppose 'cheating' for them would be using magical artifacts, instead of their own innate gifts."

Humans with magical abilities were also considered 'cheating.' But that was a more complicated matter. And one that definitely didn't apply to this situation.

Marcel nods at the valkyrie thoughtfully. "Good question," he says, and then he looks to Ariadne a little curiously. Her shyness quirks the corner of his mouth, genuine amusement, but this wouldn't be the time to call her out or tease her on her tendency to humility. Instead, he takes what she says with a pause, his brows quirking curiously. That Elves are the most powerful race-- that's interesting, particularly in contrast to the world of Thedas.

"I think there's a little similarity," Marcel says, thoughtfully. "Where I come from, the natural order is very much-- concerned with balance. Most magical effects aren't natural, obviously. Lighting a candle without striking a match, pushing the wind faster. Making whole other worlds, or small ones, branching off this reality. All of that is unnatural, but witches can do that without upsetting the balance." His face darkens somewhat with thought. "It's often the matter of screwing with death itself, where magic turns dark and exacts a heavier cost. Trying to cause injury, twist luck to serve your own means, stuff like that. Funnily enough, not all sacrificial magic is dark."

A beat.

"Apparently that's a little different to blood magic here," Marcel says. "But I think that's probably something to do with the fact that spirits back home are only the souls of witches that came before." He wiggles his hand, the one with the Rift Mark on it. "Not like the Fade."

Lenneth nods slowly, brow furrowed in thought.

"I was told by one of the Templar that when a being dies in Thedas, their spirit goes to the Fade to be with the Maker--although it was unclear to me whether that journey takes them to some part of the Fade that they may not return from."

The corner of her mouth quirked slightly, "Although in my experience, any spirit desirous enough of returning is difficult to stop from doing so. I wonder how many of the spirits or demons that come to this world from the Fade are similarly those who have gone before. Their names seem to be virtues or vices of the spirit--Rage, Despair, Desire, Compassion, Wisdom..." She spread her hands, "It is curious, but may not be of much practical use to us. It is not as if we may go bodily to the Fade and slay the demons before they issue from the Rifts."

After a pause, she crosses her arms over her chest and frowns slightly at Marcel, only now considering what he'd said before that.

"I have not heard of blood magic. What does that mean here? Necromancy?" The last word was said with enough distaste that she may as well have spat.

"I've heard of it," Ariadne said. "It's a form of magic derived from making blood sacrifices. Mages get a power boost when they spill their own blood for their spells only..."

She paused, her forehead creasing a little bit as she tried not to look disgusted. "...only from what I understand, the power can become addicting. And they can start sacrificing the lives of others to derive more of it."

Ariadne did not approve.

"I spoke with a Templar named Lord Norrington about it," she continued. "I may have given him an idea to institute a rehabilitation for blood mages. They're usually just killed on sight."

Necromancy. Marcel's attention sharpens when he hears that word, but as the conversation drifts away from it, he's careful to maintain a carefully relaxed facade. Everything is fine. He's chill. There are definitely no animated quasi-corpses sitting amongst you fine living folks. Don't worry about it.

"What I've heard is basically that." He nods at Ariadne. "Furthermore, Dorian Pavus let on that the use of blood magic actually weakens a mage's connection with the Fade. That's-- their original source of power." Marcel gathers his tankard a little closer to him, pensively. His drink has been a prop for most of the evening. Much of the conversation has been rather sobering in nature. His eyes shift back to Lenneth in a moment, brows quirking.

Hmm. "I don't doubt this is what you've heard," he says. "But it's strange, isn't it? That the spirits have names like-- virtues, vices, and emotions, when the other etiology suggests they used to be humans. I mean I guess they aren't mutually exclusive, but every human I've ever known is a pretty good mix of many of the above. Might be another place where Thedosian mythology contradicts itself and just winds up in the rough neighborhood of the real truth."

"Interesting. So using a mortal source of magic weakens the mage's ability to connect to the true source--thus they must use more and more of this blood magic in order to be similarly powerful..." Lenneth said, looking somber, "That is indeed very dangerous."

"As far as mortals, I agree with you. In my world they can be honed after death into their truest of forms, but I have never met an einharjar who could be considered a paragon of a single trait. Perhaps Battle-Maidens such as I, created by the All-Father for but one purpose, might be so distilled, but not mortals." Despite the confidence with which she spoke, she doubted it even as she said it. Could she say that of herself? Was she so true? Like a lodestone of the gods, to seek, train, fight, and nothing more? And if so, what did that mean for her to be in a world that did not need that service?

Her face shuttered slightly as she thought.

There was something off about both of them. Ariadne smelled it in adrenaline and heard it in strange pulses. Normally, back home, she could pinpoint the cause of such things with the trademark ease of her people.

Here, she was only left guessing.

"I have met one spirit here," she said slowly, eyes vanishing into the middle distance. "I'm not sure what virtue he was supposed to embody. Compassion, maybe. He seemed compassionate to the Rifters, anyway. His name was Cole."

Marcel's eyes stay on the valkyrie for a moment as she sinks into her reverie. He's not worried; a little bit of troubled thinking never killed anybody, especially not a battle maiden. Still, he can guess at that. If she's anything like the legends, she had legends to live up to, to inhabit, and real life tends to be a lot more strange and complex than that. Even without getting crapped out of a glowy green hole in the sky.

"'Distilled,'" he repeats simply, and nods.

But then Ariadne asserts something that he hadn't really thought likely at all. His eyebrows hook upward. He could've believed that demons and spirits relate somehow, but— "What was he like?"

Lenenth lets her thoughts be interrupted by curiosity as Ariadne spoke. Spirits could manifest? Take human form?

Marcel asks the same question she would, and so she simply watches the young woman and waits for the reply.

"Pleasant," Ariadne said. It was always the first word to pop into her head when she thought of Cole. Not that she thought of him terribly often. Only in the way a riddle could nag at you for days, somewhere in the back of your mind, floating to the surface only in the place between asleep and awake. "He seems concerned with the well-being of the Rifters."

Or at least, her. He had saved her life once.

"And a capable warrior. Especially for someone who...seems foreign." To the physical world. To being flesh and bone.

But that was just a guess on her part.

The time is long gone for skepticism. Marcel arches an eyebrow thoughtfully, dark against his complexion, and then he nods his head. Nice men who can fight, and are interested in the welfare of theirs-- if more people fit that description, the Rifters would probably be better off. "Should've figured anybody worth knowing out here is handy in battle," he notes. A beat.

"Any idea if he's immortal?" It's not so strange a question, he thinks. Spirits in battle. One would naturally wonder about the perks. No need to suspect there's a vampire in your midst, ladies.

"He sounds almost..." But no, surely not. If there were no Valkyries here, then what called the spirit? From what source was its energy? Despite her disbelief, she finished the thought anyway.

"Like one of my einherjar. A soul, past death and beyond it, who may manifest to fight in the mortal world. But it takes divine energy for such beings to manifest outside of Valhalla." She frowned slightly. "Or the Fade, perhaps, in Thedas. In my world, such energy comes from a Valkyrie. We give them form--if we are defeated, so too are they. They are immortal, in their own way. As am I."

Her eyes flickered downward briefly. "Was. As was I. Not so here, I think."

"But," her energy returns as she resumes her theorizing, "I cannot know if it is similar in Thedas. If some other being grants him the energy necessary to appear, or if it comes from another source entirely. Perhaps he is able to maintain himself, as a Valkyrie is. If so, if he is hurt enough, he will not be able to keep himself on this plane, but given enough time, he will return. That is immortality enough, yes?"

It was interesting, the way the two of them talked about immortality. Like it was an everyday sort of occurrence. Ariadne knew that immortality existed, of course. Just like the gods. But she had to admit her personal experience with such a concept was...limited. She only knew the two children of Kallista, who were both demi-gods and therefore said to exist forever.

But they were young. Not much older than her. It was hard to think of them that way. And it was probably harder for them.

She frowned a little, a crease forming between her eyes as she listened to Marcel and Lenneth. "I don't know...if Cole is immortal," she said carefully. "But...there's a kind of...otherness. To him. I sort of like it."

Marcel looks very interested in the valkyrie's discussion of einherjar. Energy, its transformations, corporeality. It clearly is a little novel to him, but Ariadne is right; immortality isn't a strange concept for him in and of itself. "The ghosts and spirits of my world are a little like that," he nods, and then a smile tricks up one corner of his mouth, wryly. "Though the matter of mortality becomes a complicated where they're concerned." Are you immortal if the substance of yourself goes on forever, after your mortal body is shed? A question for real witches.

The vampire is merely an impersonator. And harmless at that. His eyes shift to Ariadne, and he smiles, lopsided and mild. He likes that about her, he's decided. That she finds something lovely in the strangeness of people unlike herself. "Sounds like someone i'll enjoy running into, when I get the chance. And not too demonic. I guess that's another plus one for the Fade Rift ejecting things that aren't pure evil that begs burning at the stake."

Another plus for the Fade Rift...

Lenneth raised a silver eyebrow. "I wonder... did this spirit exist before the rift? Everyone seems more familiar with spirits than they do with the Breach. Demons as well. This breach seems but an escalation." She huffed a wry breath through her nose. "I do not mean to deem it a trifle. Surely it threatens this world and its people gravely. But knowledge about ones enemy is beyond gold."

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O2 ♚ I'M A LONG TIME TRAVELER HERE

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Name confusing ftw?

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