open: something grabs ahold of me tightly

[faderifting]

WHO: Inquisition Forces
WHAT: Inquisition forces cross the mountains into Orlais to deal with Emprise du Lion
WHEN: Wintermarch 25 onward
WHERE: EMPRISE DU LION
NOTES: This is a mingle-style log for the Inquisition camps, local tavern, and general/open Inquisition work, etc.

This time they hike down to the west, but the trip through the mountains is no easier. The snow is heaped up about the road where wagons have pushed it aside, stomped into slippery pack beneath the feet and hooves that have gone before. Of the main track it is ankle deep at best and in places it drifts, waist-deep on a tall man and enough to bury a dwarf who hasn't come prepared with snowshoes. Everywhere the wind howls, biting cold, and the sky hangs low, a pale flat grey that makes it difficult to judge distances. Those who know winter weather call it a snow sky, and near-daily squalls prove them right.

They set up camp in Sahrnia, across the broad expanse of frozen river that has trapped the villagers here upstream. Tents pop up in rows and in the shells of tumbled-down buildings, fires blazing and thawing the ground to mud. When the supply wagons roll in they re-open the local tavern, brightly lit with flaking paint on the walls that might once have been colorful and patterned tiles on the floor that seems to swim like an optical illusion after too many glasses of the cheap red wine that fills the cellars.

Even deadlier reds hold the hills: Red Templar sightings have been frequent and it is said they are operating in several locations in the region in significant force. Some of these men and women have become hulking, crystalline beasts. Many others are in the earlier stages of corruption: red-veined and -eyed, aggressive and superhumanly strong, but still visibly human and coherent if spoken to. Red lyrium is even easier to find, jutting out of the ground or cliffsides, filling caves-- the Tower of Bone, a fortress that has stood for centuries, now threatens to split from the inside out. The area's wildlife was none too friendly before, but now the wolves and bears have begun to be corrupted by the lyrium and many will attack on sight, without provocation. (The snofleurs that bumble harmlessly around the river seem unaffected.)

Everywhere there are ruins: broken bridges, crumbling colosseums, and the great hulking mass of Suledin's Keep tucked between the distant hills. Scouts reported that Red Templars hold it as well.

RIFTER ARRIVAL - SAHRNIA - THE HILLS - TOWER CAMP - A HANDY MAP

Comments

Tavern

[make_my_mark]

The mountains were all wrong; she didn't recognize the shape of them. She couldn't even place the plants she found growing along the road. But there was a road, and it was free of those - things. That alone boosted it to the top of her "possibilities" list. It had to lead somewhere, and then she would have answers. She could find her way anywhere, once she knew where she was.

Unfortunately, the little village she stumbled into provided only more questions - her therapist might have been a Trinity mouthpiece, but maybe he'd been onto something, if she was imagining herself in some Tolkien novel sprung to life - was that an elf?

She wanted to ask. Was afraid to.

Keep it together, Lara, she coached herself. One thing at a time. Figure out where you are, then worry about whether or not you're crazy.

Taking a breath, she pushed on, heading for the building - with an oddly familiar sign - that the most people were coming and going from.

It was warm inside, at least, and the scents of food and ale were strangely comforting as she stood there, looking around, left hand curling gently, green light flashing softly.

[gatheringstorm]

And then the door slams open, revealing a woman at least a foot taller than most, with large curving horns. Korrin heads over to a table just long enough to gesture back outside, speaking of snoufleur carcasses available for meat and leather. A couple of the villagers get up to take advantage of the bounty freely given, and she moves away to approach the bar. "Andraste's tits, it's cold. I don't care what it tastes like, just give me something to warm my hands with."

Nodding to the bartender, she then glances around idly. It doesn't take long for her gaze to settle on that green light on the human woman's palm.

[make_my_mark]

What did it say, that a (minotaur?) woman like that could enter, and Lara was still the one that stuck out like a sore thumb? Even as her eyes were swinging to watch the woman, her mouth twitching open, she was still aware of the gazes resting on her. She could still hear the little whispers - rift...Herald...Inquisition?

Then the woman was turning and their stares were meeting.

Lara clenched her afflicted hand and forced her mouth shut. With a breath she took a step forward.

"Excuse me, I... think I might be lost."

[gatheringstorm]

To be fair, Korrin's been to the village before and the locals have become accustomed to her large self. Others of her kind will still receive looks and murmurs, as they're relatively rare in southern Thedas. Gratefully receiving a cup of mulled wine, the Vashoth woman nods gratefully to the bartender after she shows a few coins their way. Turning to the woman with the shard, Korrin looks her over, expression softening with sympathy. Her own accent is similar, a stark contrast to the Orlesian accents all around them.

"You must be. Either you're a long way from Ferelden or the Free Marchers, or an even longer distance away from wherever the rift took you." It has to be one or the other, right? Nothing else makes sense. "Does it still hurt? The mark?"

[make_my_mark]

Ferelden, Free Marchers... the words buzzed by Lara's ears, meaningless, and her heart thumped. Even her usual curiosity dampened by a sudden spike of worry.

Just how deep was she in it, here?

It was so fierce there was a strange sort of relief when the woman mentioned the mark, bright if sickly green, on her palm. It was a starting point, at least. Something she could work up from.

One thing at a time.

"I'm sorry," she said with a small shake of her head, long hair swishing over her shoulders. "I don't know what those are. I don't even know what this is or where it came from." She lifted her hand. "It - it's not too bad, but please, if you can tell me anything..."

[gatheringstorm]

"Of course." Korrin ignores her drink other than as a hand-warmer, instead focusing on explanations. She seems familiar with this role, having guided new rifters as best she could when encountering them.

"That mark is still somethig of a mystery to us -the Inquisition- but what we do know is that every person who arrives from beyond ends up bearing one. Some natives who linger too close to a rift end up marked, as well. I know it must sting, but that goes away after a few hours. As far as we can tell, it's stable and even has a benefit. When you raise your hand to interact with a rift, you can use it to stun demons, even close the rift after you defeat them. That's a skill no one else has, and it's a badly-needed one right now. Whatever rift you emerged from is far from the only one."

[make_my_mark]

It was a lot to take in, and Lara's eyes did widen slightly as Korrin went on, but she didn't interrupt, didn't deny or fight what the woman was saying. Her mind turned rapidly, wanting to reject it, but knowing all too well that impossible was a word that didn't mean as much as it used to.

How could she claim anything to be untrue, with the things she'd seen?

She had to at least consider all possibilities, even if one of them was apparently being sucked into some sort of an alternative dimension.

She took a breath.

"The rift - the green, cloud, I saw when I woke - you're saying I traveled through it. And somehow, during that process, I received this mark." They weren't really questions, just confirmations of what Korrin had said. Assuring she was following correctly.

Another breath.

"If that's true, then where I am now?"

[gatheringstorm]

That reaction is definitely familiar, and Korrin's aware that if their positions were reversed, it'd all sound incredible to her, too. Probably. So, she just takes it in stride, speaking calmly in response.

"You're in the continent of Thedas; more specifically, the Empire of Orlais. This region is known as Emprise du Lion and the town -what remains of it- is Sahrnia. And the rift isn't a cloud, it's a tear in the Veil; what separates the waking world from the Fade. The Fade is a land of spirits and demons, where people visit when they sleep...and where they pass through when they die. Someone caused an explosion that shredded the Veil; that rift is but one of many."

[make_my_mark]

"Demons." she echoed, brow wrinkling. "Spirits. It sounds--"

Crazy.

Another Crazy Croft.

How often had that been hurled at her after Yamatai? What would those rags say, if they could see her now? ...But she hadn't been crazy then, what had happened, what she'd done and seen had been real. It had been everyone else that had been wrong....

And those things had certainly been real. They would have killed her.

She had to trust herself.

It was all she really had.

"...Okay," she finished after a long moment, accepting it as best as she could. "So I traveled through a rift, to Sahrnia, in Thedas. ...I don't expect I can just go back, can I?"

If there was one thing she could say for certain, it was never that easy.

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin shakes her head, expression apologetic. "Entering the rift means entering the Fade...and that's not a place you'd want to find yourself, even if you could go there. As hostile as this area is right now, the Fade would be a lot worse...especially to anyone who isn't a trained mage. And we have no idea how to return people to their specific locations or send them anywhere else. For the time being, you're stuck here with us. I wish I had better news, honestly."

[make_my_mark]

Lara was silent a moment, her head ducking as her eyes closed, but after a swallow and breath, she looked back up (and up) to meet Korrin's eyes with a determined nod.

"I expected as much, really. As sad as that is." It was the story of her life anymore. "So, may I ask you who are then? You and this - Inquisition?"

[gatheringstorm]

Honestly, Korrin would have been astounded -and suspicious- at anyone who didn't need at least a moment to absorb all that she's just said. Thanks to previous talks with rifters, some of whom had become friends, she was beginning to see how every concept and turn of phrase is not something to be taken for granted. If even a little of this made sense, then she would be impressed.

"Oh, right. I'm Korrin Ataash, a mercenary mage for the Inquisition, and one of the members of the mage council. I'm guessing you haven't met one of my kind before, from the looks. There are a variety of names to use; you'll hear qunari, Tal-Vashoth and Vashoth. I go by the latter, but I won't take offense if it doesn't sink in right away. As for the Inquisition, it's an organization dedicated to finding the one responsible for this whole mess and restoring order. A noble goal, but also an uphill battle in these times."

[make_my_mark]

"No." That earned Korrin something like a laugh - if they could die and come back as ghostly memories of themselves. "There's a story - it's similar..." She looked at Korrin for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, then shook her head. "But no, I can't say that I have."

Still, her mind turned over it, the old Greek legend, wondering despite herself.

"I'm Lara." She paused a moment to try and sift through everything Korrin had said. "When you say 'mage'... do you mean magic?"

It was the only word she immediately recognized and so she latched onto it as a sturdy starting point. Somewhere to put her boots before she jumped into the unknown.

BELATEDLY CRASHES IN HERE

[fightingale]

Leliana is trained at observing many things. The glow of a green light playing over skin was the most obvious thing to catch, but other things called to her just as easily. Someone looking out of place, someone lost. These are things to be played upon and exploited, and they are things she has seen all to clearly in herself. There are arguably worse people that could meet someone looking so entirely out of place, those not aligned to the Inquisition, or those without knowledge - or worse still, the wrong knowledge. There were, also, a good many people who it was probably better to meet than Sister Nightingale.

Still, it has been a long while (too long) since Leliana was out in the field, and from the young woman's garb, she would hazard a guess that she was not of Thedas. A rifter, perhaps? Leliana stands from her table - which no one moves to claim - and moves closer to the young woman, hood pulled up as she makes a slow, steady approach. 'No sudden movements' seems a sensible course of action around the discombobulated.

"Forgive me," and her voice is not terribly apologetic at all, instead entirely calm and even. "You seem a little out of sorts. Do you need something to eat?"

The cold could do terrible things to you, and hunger and thirst on top of that? Dangerous. When they are still determining what the mark could mean, where it could lead the Inquisition, she would not see one with the mark be so quickly damaged.

8D

[make_my_mark]

The sudden approach is surprising, and the steady way the woman looked at her was a little concerning... but it told Lara that she likely knew something. Enough at least not to be worried, which was more than she had.

She looked at the woman carefully, but turned to face her.

"That's kind of you... but I would more happily take some information, if you can spare that."

[fightingale]

"Information?" How fitting, and Leliana almost smirks, before reining it in with practiced ease. "I can afford you at least some of that."

The accent can be quickly dismissed as being neither Nevarran, Orlesian or Antivan, but that still leaves much of Thedas that she could theoretically hail from. Rivain is not impossible, perhaps the Free Marches, and yet not a jot of this is really important, is it? It is simply analytical habit. No, rather than idly consider where the woman is from, Leliana indicates her table, collects a pitcher of water from the barkeep, and two wooden cups, before wandering thence herself. The pitcher and the two cups are laid down slowly, the contact of wood on wood barely audible over the chatter and din of the tavern.

Leliana sits, indicates for her newly acquired company to do the same, if she cares to. The table is in a corner, discrete, and affording a room of the entire tavern. "I am Leliana," she offers. "What information do you require?"

[make_my_mark]

"...Lara," she said as she took the seat, watching Leliana carefully. She was uncertain what she should even be looking for considering all that she'd already seen, but trying to be prepared just the same. "As strange as it may sound, I'm not quite certain how I got here - or where here even is."

Start with the basics, and work your way from there.

[fightingale]

"Lara," repeated, committed to memory, as she pours a cup of water for each of them. From her words, this is leaning more and more in the direction of Rifter. Slowly, Leliana reaches to her pocket and draws out a map, ink in faded browns, blues and greens with locations marked in elegant red calligraphy. Some of the folds are worn right through, so often has it been folded and unfolded, and Leliana smooths it onto the table, using her cup to flatten a persistent corner that wants to flick back to the centre.

"I have some ideas of how you came here," she begins, calmly and very quietly, so only Lara can hear her in the din of the tavern. "But better to be certain, or I suspect the confusion could only worsen. This is where you are," and she indicates the map. "Does the name mean a thing to you? Any of the names?"

[make_my_mark]

She didn't want to appear too desperate, but when the paper came out and she spotted the lines and colors - a map - she momentarily forgot herself, leaning forward eagerly as it unfolded. She was reaching even before she had permission, catching herself just before her fingers brushed the parchment. Her eyes flicked up to Leliana, checking, before brushing them lightly over it.

(The texture was - off, somehow, but it was definitely paper. Which was a silly thing to be comforted by, but she'd take what she could get at the moment. At least something made sense.)

Her eyes chased the shapes first, quickly lining them up against a map in her head, before turning, with a cold sinking in her stomach - to the words. But they were equally as strange, not a one of them familiar.

"No..." she murmured, distress spiking in her chest. "I was in Russia, Siberia. In the mountains..." One finger ran along a range on the map, but no, they didn't fall properly either.

Her eyes lifted again to Leliana, guessing before she even asked what the woman would say.

"I don't suppose those mean anything to you either?"

[fightingale]

Enthusiastic, no? Good. Whether it is for knowledge or learning, a simple delight in information or a desperate need for it given circumstance, she cannot be certain. But she thinks that what she saw was eagerness for the sake of the map itself, as well as the chance to piece together something she needed. Only time will tell, but Leliana will take what clues she can.

"Russia?" It sounds strange on her tongue, unpracticed, and her expression is somber as she shakes her head at Lara's question. She is watching Lara, still, rather than averting her attention to the map, gaze analytical and sharp.

"Those places are entirely foreign to me. What I have to tell you may be of little comfort, but..." Leliana lays her palms down on the table, careful, considering. "You are not alone in your circumstances, the mark on your hand nor the appearance in a world so completely removed from your own. When you arrived, there was a rift. A green, rippling light and, I imagine, an onslaught of demons." Her voice is still quiet, but a little more urgent, now. "Is that correct?"

[make_my_mark]

The pronunciation might have been a little odd, but as Leliana echoed her, Lara couldn't help but note how familiar the accent itself felt to her ears. European, almost - French? The question grew on her tongue, like an itch, but she held it back as the woman went on.

At the mention of the mark, she turned her hand and glanced down at it, green light spilling onto the map. At the word demon, her brow furrowed and her eyes returned to Leliana's.

"...They were pale, and thin - I couldn't see their faces, but they screamed..." She trailed off. "It's not quite what I would have envisioned by definition, but I suppose 'demon' fits."

[fightingale]

"There are many different types of demons, some less monstrous in visage than others. They can disguise themselves, even trick or persuade some into serving as a vessel for them. Some even suspected that those who arrived through the Rifts." A moment, and she slightly inclines her head, expression vaguely apologetic, realising she has skipped a step in the explanation. "Rifts are the what brought you here, a tear between this world and the Fade and, as we are beginning to learn, other worlds, as well."

Her tone is gentle, though her voice itself remains steady, strong. After a moment of hesitation she reaches to her pack, just a small thing, and pull outs a pair of black leather gloves, setting the on the table.

"These might be useful to you, if you do not wish to advertise your mark." She pauses, just momentarily, leaning back in her chair. "The Inquisition has taken in a number of people who have arrived, as you have, and others who carry such shards."

[make_my_mark]

"But not you?" Lara asked, one eyebrow twitching upward as Leliana pushed the gloves toward her.

It wasn't perhaps the most pressing question she could have asked, but it was the easiest in the moment. The others - demons and rifts and alternate dimensions - she needed a minute to sort out her own thoughts before she asked another's.

"You'll just - take me in? Help me?"

Even if this did turn out to be an entirely different world, Lara still suspected that there was as little for free here as there was in the one she'd come from.

[fightingale]

A thin smile, with little humour in it. "If I thought you were a demon, this meeting would have gone very differently."
At least, she supposes, that is honest.

"There was one among our number who had the first of those marks. When she wielded it, it held a purpose. It serves us to understand why and how people are pulled here, and what effect your being so branded will have - for yourself, and for our very world."

Her voice is low and steady. "The Inquisition is fighting a war, Lara. Resources stretch thin,"

(she doesn't grimace a little, but she is tired by that persistent tug of war that rages onward, between her compassion and mercy and all that she has had to become, to embrace, to craft the future that the Divine had wished for. Justinia had been concerned with national politics, however, and this? This could effect their entire world)

"But we will not force you to take up a blade or even wield a broom, if you do not wish it. You sought knowledge, no? We have that." Ultimately, though, Leliana shrugs a little. "The choice is yours. I will not force your hand."

[make_my_mark]

It was entirely different, everything even stranger than the mystery she'd discovered in the mountains of Siberia, and yet, somehow, it was exactly the same. It all came down to the same thing.

A choice that really wasn't. Not for her.

Not for the woman she had become. (Not for the woman she wanted to be.)

She reached for the gloves and started to pull them on, tucking the bottom into the metal bracers of her armor to hold them out of the way.

"I'm not entirely convinced that I'm not dreaming this," she said as she tugged the fingers tight over her own, "But if this is real, I need to know what's happening. Running and hiding doesn't help anyone."