faderift | [OPEN] holes in the sky, pierced by the fire

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[OPEN] holes in the sky, pierced by the fire

WHO: Everyone who's around!
WHAT: A rift has opened in Skyhold. We have to deal with it.
WHEN: The last day of Wintermarch
WHERE: In the courtyard, between the tavern and the dungeon.
NOTES: I will be posting periodically to let you know the results of what your dudes are doing! If you need clarification or want to ask me something, PM me on this account.

It’s a dismal, rainy evening, with Skyhold at the mercy of one of the many winter storms that passes through the Frostbacks. Most of the keep’s denizens have shut themselves inside to sit by a warm fire, have a drink, even go to bed early rather than face the freezing rain and the wind.

The tavern windows are aglow with light and merriment, but in the open area just behind it comes a different kind of glow: flames bursting to life and then dissipating, as a solitary elf in an oilskin cloak practices her fire spells in the relative safety of the rain.

It’s no secret that Sina has been isolating herself as of late, though her mood has taken an even more pointed downturn in the last few days. Her movements as she works are increasingly erratic, frustrated even, as there are times when she casts a serviceable fireball, and others when barely a spark leaves her hands. As she grows angrier, her energy depletes, and she’s barely resting between casts.

Perhaps it is because of this that what happens next occurs at all. In a burst of anguish and fury, Sina wrenches her hands forward, drawing from whatever reserves she has left—and then her shard reacts.

In an explosion of neon green that knocks Sina flat on her back, a rift erupts into the gloomy sky. It crackles and hums insidiously, its strange electricity causing every shard belonging to every Rifter in the vicinity to suddenly spit and pop in recognition.
No doubt drawn to the new opening in the Fade, the dark form of a despair demon slithers from the rift, takes stock of its surroundings, and slowly begins to approach the prone form of the fool that freed it. Moments later, it is followed by several spindly green terror demons, and at last the hulking inferno that comprises a rage demon.

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Oh good, someone even more befuddled than him! That truly helps him feel a mite more settled but- apparently, the pain and the flashing lights don't end in him be'n a handless wonder and is somewhat relevant. If this is what Maria had meant by 'doing his duty' he'da delivered the mail and ridden all the way back north, fine, shiny thing in his hand or no. This ain't his fight, he don't do demons, and he sure as shit don't mess with things that come from the foutu fade.

But with the addition of another two- also with their own spitt'n, sizzl'n, crackl'n shiny hands, it might work out well. "Five. Saw a bit'a shine com'n from that body crumpled under the mess."

Look'n right at it made his eyes and his head hurt, but he saw one more glowing beam of whatever the void this shit is com'n up outta her. Still. Less demons is less demons and the sooner they get it done? Sooner his hand quits try'n to eat itself. He grabs Church's wrist where that asshole dropped it and hauls it up along with his own glowing hand. "C'mon, cupcake, get with it- we got any magic words or do we just hope these things know what t'do?"

"They're not pain-"

Alright, so Church has a point. Maybe they're not lasers, but they are painful, and as the light from his hand flares again he breaks off, the rest of what he'd been about to say winding up being replaced with with a another grimace and a faint noise from somewhere in the vicinity of his throat instead.

The spike of pain doesn't last long, but rather than pick back up on the thought after, he simply grits his teeth and sticks his hand up in the air along with the others. His eyes do flick over to Galadriel for a moment, however, a somewhat hopeful question in his eyes. He's got enough of an idea of what to do to actually do it, but she's much better suited at trying to explain things than he is, as far as he's concerned. If she's willing to do that here, it'll likely save them all a lot of time - and time isn't exactly on their side at the moment.

Edited 2016-01-27 16:28 (UTC)

There was no time to decode the gibberish coming from two of them, fortunately only one of them seemed reluctant to engage the rift again. The other grabbed his hand and, without pause, Galadriel lifted her own. Her control of the mark varied wildly and the power that guttered in her palm was unpredictable, but the mechanics were not beyond her ability to explain.

"Use your--" There was a hitch in her sentence as she was forced to use the term Church had coined, if only for speed. "'Pain Lasers' to reach through the rift. We must find an edge of it, grasp it, and draw it through. Turn it in on itself and it shall collapse."

The fact that there was another shard nearby had not escaped her but, if the wielder was incapacitated, it was irrelevant. They would have to proceed without them.

"Together!" Galadriel repeated the command. With a twist of her wrist, green light burst from her hand and the power from the mark connected to the rift.

At first, the shards begin to react the same way. However, before anyone manages to notice the slowly growing black and green blemish beneath their feet, the stream is disrupted by a Terror demon leaping from the ground, knocking the Rifters apart and in some cases onto the ground.

It screams in fury and takes a swipe at Jamie, its tail whipping around to lash at Church.

Martel rolls when he hits the ground, coming up on one knee, cradling his aching hand and - the word he uses is not one that he'd ordinarily use in front of a lady of Galadriel's obvious quality. Grimly aware that his spells have already proven more difficult to use in Thedas and that he is in pain when he needs his mind to be clear, he is also aware that he isn't wearing any fucking armour and he really doesn't know how effective his sword is going to be versus the terror.

There is plenty of warning for the spell; his low voice speaking ritualized forms of a language none present are familiar with, the weave of his fingers. He raises his hands heavenward and brings them down in arcing curves, raising shimmering barriers around Jamie and Church, not on their bodies but out from them, forcing the creature back when it tries to attack - sweat beads at his temples, and if he weren't already on his knees, the effort involved in forcing his magic onto this world after the interrupted exertion on the rift would have staggered him.

Holding the barriers up with one hand, bloody-minded and a damn fool, he raises his other - the one with the anchor - back to the rift.

Tries again.

While he's used to things going really wrong really quickly, it still sucks. Church stays mostly on his feet, though jesus god damn christ on a fucking cracker his hand hurts. Manages to turn and brace for the blow which--doesn't come, bounces off one of those magical barrier things. It's bought them a few seconds of time.

"Somebody fucking decapitate this thing!"

He wonders - if the shardy anchory things react to holes in the sky, could they react to things from the rift? He raises his hand not to the sky, but at the demon, internally willing something to happen.

Nothing happens. "Fffffffuck." He retreats a few steps from the demon and, sucking in a bracing breath, keeps on raising his hand until the fucking pain laser comes shooting out of it again.

"JAYNE!" Okay, shards? Pain lasers? That he ain't used to. Weird ass non-circle magic from weird ass hand-hold'n foreigners, also ain't used to. But now this is a good, proper fight and Mal? Mal can swing that. His voice cracks out in a sharp bark, an echo of his more soldierly days and the Mabari, for all that he ignores Mal more often than not otherwise- hauls off the shade it'd been hound'n to come to attention. "La volte-face!"

Jayne starts runn'n for the spindly ass THING what's try'n to kill 'em and he's half on his knees in the muck, glower'n up at the green a'the rift and the business end of a demon and his hand feels fit to fall off-

But he's done worse. Come out swing'n. "Jeter lui bas!"

Okay so they ain't all military commands but, come on. Jayne does his due, com'n in hard and low at it's legs while Mal brings his glaive up high and hard in a sharp arc (decapitate it, sure, he can get behind that), shov'n himself between the rest 'a these poor sons (and daughter) of bitches what got caught up in this foutu mess. Given a fight and a target- he can hit it. Given people to stand between and a line to hold? Mal damn well holds it.

As for Jamie, he knows exactly what that sound is by now - and more importantly, what it means for them, not that it winds up doing much good in those first few seconds after the demon springs up from underneath them. He's one of the unfortunate ones that're knocked to the ground, and all he's able to manage to do in that time is try and roll out of the way of the attack. It's not quite enough, and if not for the barrier that springs up just in time and forces it back those claws would done considerable damage. As it is, there's a new rip in his jacket and a feeling that was something that was entirely too close for comfort.

There's no time to worry about it, though - not with the rift still there - and as he comes to a stop he grabs up a rock from the ground next to him, ignoring the pain radiating out from the shard as he pushes himself up on his feet, taunting the demon at the same time.

"Ah, you missed me. Take this, you oversized twig!"

With a smooth, practiced motion he sends the rock sailing through the air, aiming at a spot on the creature's head where it won't wind up bouncing off that glaive. While he's well aware it won't do much damage, he's hoping it'll disorient it enough that the demon doesn't wind up pulling that disappearing and reappearing trick that it's so fond of. If nothing else, it gives him a chance to unsheath his sword and step up to join in the fray. With luck, if he and Mal and Jayne can keep it busy long enough, the others'll be able to get that rift closed and stop it that way.

From behind Galadriel, Bethany slips into the fray in front of the rift, and the apparent rifters. The first thing she does is lift her hand - and healing energy flows out of her in green waves, coming to ease the sharp stabs coming out of the shards. It slides over the man doing the strange sort of barrier magic, the elegant blonde elf woman, the Free Marcher in the ... skirt?, and the man fiercely defeating the demon with - of all things - a glaive and a Mabari.

Well, she really was in the Inquisition now, wasn't she?

The second thing she does is keep behind the man with the glaive and the dog, raising up her staff as she yells out to him, "I'll keep the rest of them off of you! Close the rift, before more come through!"

Galadriel was not often thrown from her feet but the demons of Thedas had a talent for it. She was thrown back by the bulk of it and, unlike her companions, was not clad in a way that allowed her to catch herself or recover hastily. Fortunately, apart from the wear of the mark, she was uninjured and regaining her feet was simply a matter of moments. In those moments, however, the focus of the group shifted and battle was underway.

No, that wasn't correct--

She revised her assessment as she picked herself up and cast a quick glance over the field. Martel was on bent knee, his mark connected to the rift as his other hand drew barriers around Jamie and Church. Church complained loudly, something she was beginning to suspect was a talent of his, but didn't engage the demon. He attempted something, with a toss of his hand toward the beast, but quickly returned his attention to the rift.

Jamie, who was far faster to his feet than she, had charged and drawn his sword by the time she finally stood. He stepped alongside Mal and his war-hound, ready and eager for battle. All three tore at the creature between vicious swipes of its claws. On Jamie's heels, a mage moved through the fray and came to their aid. Mal's glaive struck a twisted claw and, before any of them could take further action, the demon screamed.

It sucked in breath, ribs expanding like the bellows of some foul workshop and released it all at once as a terrible, piercing sound. Its shriek rang across the veil and beneath it, resounding through everything and everyone. Martel's shields collapsed as it cut across them, shattering his will and power like spun glass. She drew her staff round, to replace the lost barriers, but the sound shifted pitch and even she was staggered.

For a few seconds, it was all anyone could do to cover their ears and recoil from the creature.

Only in the wake of that awful sound does another become audible - Martel's animal roar of pain and rage, barely supporting himself on his hands as he slumps forward unseeing, his broken spell ripping through his mind and carrying white-hot agony with it. It breaks the connection of his anchor and the rift, his hands nerveless, clutching. The spell wouldn't ordinarily be quite significant enough for this level of backlash, but the effort of balancing the rift and his spell simultaneously left him an exposed nerve already, exertion dragging much out of him.

Next time, he doesn't have the presence of mind to think yet, he will be more prepared.

This time, he collapses like his shattered shield.

Well hey, if anyone really wants him to run off and get his crossbow he can't hit anything with, by all means, let him know. But there's already a fight going on, and he can't seem to do any fancy shit with his mark save for pointing it at the sky. And then the thing roars, shrieks something awful, another layer of pain. He staggers, drops to a knee and covers one ear with a hand, the other ear digging into his shoulder, trying to keep his sharded hand raised, because if nothing else, he should be able to do that much.

Foutu demons, foutu rifts, foutu magic hand bullshit- Jayne goes to ground, whining piteously, a man drops, the howling shriek somth'n terrible 'nuf to rattle his teeth in his skull, blood in his veins roiling, vision blurring- but he don't got a hand to spare to clamp over his ear. It can scream all it likes but he ain't gonna quit swing'n.

Skirtboy swung hard earlier, swung in now again sharp and cold and clear with some kinda yell in a language he don't rightly know but it cuts through the mess in the air and in his head. Gives Mal time to blink tears from his eyes and grit his teeth and haul off to swing hisself. The blade of the rifter's sword cleaves through bone and flesh and whatever bile passes for blood- one of those spindly arms splinters, snaps and cracks clean off like an overdry twig.

Mal swings a mite higher.

Plant, pivot, swing- aim'n at that foutu neck with a strangled, sharpish cry all his own, scream'n back at the thing scream'n at him. Face down an Ogre, face down ten. Face down a few sneaky ass shrieks and you get used t'sounds. Don't make it better to hear 'em but when it's fight and win or fall and get yourself and others killed? Mal takes the bleed'n pain and swings. The sound cuts off with a wet gurgle when his blade carves through, lopp'n the damn thing's head clean off. He don't know much about demons- but that tends to kill most things.

Unfortunately, they ain't on their own. Shades swing'n round to say high, it seems, and one of them is down for the count. "JAYNE!"

Without the shrieking the mabari whimpers, but rights hisself, Staggers to attention. Effacer blessés!"

Jayne does as he's told, romping for Martel sprawled in the mud, tak'n him by the shoulder with a gentle bite- firm 'nuf to hold, not so firm as to hurt, and starts dragg'n him out of the line of fire. Clear'n the injured from the field. Once they'r a safe space away he lets go and noses at his chest and abdomen, look'n for blood. Finding none he licks Martel's face, gives a quiet, comforting 'whuf', and bounds right back into battle.

For all that Jamie thinks he's used to the noises the terror demons make, that shriek unlike anything that he's ever heard before. It's a sound that seems as though it could cleave through anything in its path and split it in two, and he honestly doesn't even know how he manages to stay standing throughout it. He's determined not to let it defeat him, though, and the battle cry that comes after is a deliberate reaction - the familiarity of it giving him something to focus on, to use to shove past the spinning, disorientated feeling that's left after the worst of the reaction's passed. And if happens to help Mal as well, well, he's not complaining. Especially when Mal manages to land a blow that takes the demon's head clean off, sending it flying even as the body starts to crumple in front of the pair of them.

He watches for a few seconds to make sure it does fall, but then there's that yell for the dog to do....something. What that is, he's not entirely sure, but as he turns to see what's going on he gets a good look at Martel's downed form - and a look of dismay crosses his features. With Martel down, they're short a person to close the rift, and that's not good at all.

Luckily there's the lassie who's stepped in to help, and while he still doesn't like the idea of her having to step in, it does seem she knows what she's doing. He gives her a sharp nod, than moves to close a bit of the gap between himself and the rift, raising his hand as he does so. It'll be easier if he's closer - he hopes. At the same time, he shifts his grip on his sword so he can defend himself one handed if need be, and calls out to Mal.

"Come on! We've got to get this thing closed before more people go down!"

The new effort and the upturned shards elicit another reaction in the rift, which catches on them like a fish on a line. There is no stream coming from off to the side this time, as it seems that person has either left or been taken away, and in the meantime the Rifters are once again feeling that terrifying buildup of power.

The pressure mounts for what seems like eternity, then explodes again, knocking them all back, killing the terror, and revealing that the rift is...

........still there.

Bethany had fallen down to her knees as the terror demon shrieked, lifting one hand to her ear as the other raised her staff -- but it was unnecessary. The man's glaive took the demon's head clear off, and Bethany pushed herself out of the mud, covering her eyes as the rift exploded ...

And pulled right back in on itself. She shook her head, before she yelled out to the others, "You don't have enough power! Four won't do it!"

The girl with the shard in her chest was going to be no use - very well then, the man that the Mabari had pulled away. She dashed over to him, and muttered a quiet, "I'm sorry -- "

-- just before she put her hand on his arm and flooded him with Healing and Rejuvenate. Then she grabbed his hand, the one with the Shard on it, and pointed it towards the Rift.

Without the interference of the fallen shard-bearer--she had not known it for what it was, not until it had been removed--Galadriel could feel the edge of the rift more keenly. Edge was not the proper word, perhaps, but it was the closest concept she could conjure at the moment. Her blood thundered in her ears and behind her eyes; the edge of that creature's scream rattled across her thoughts. It would take a long while for the ringing of that shriek to fade, but the rift could not wait for the sensation to pass.

"Again!" Galadriel demanded and stretched out her marked hand to connect with the rift.

The gradual build up of the rift energy was maddening; her patience had already worn too thin, she would not tolerate another failure. Galadriel drove her staff blade into the ground and, with as much will and force as she could summon, reached out and gripped the far side of the rift. It could not evade her now, nor slip away again, but she lacked the power to hold it and draw it through as well.

"I've a hold of it," she shouted to the others, fallen and harried as they were. "Grasp it as you can and pull. It will collapse!"

It isn't that the spells don't help Martel - it's just that the vicious resonating backlash of a broken spell is something that goes beyond an injury, an unavoidable consequence of the practise of sorcery that another spell layered over can do little for. He'll have a bad night and tomorrow he'll wish he was dead, but he'll be fine; for the time being, Bethany's magic returns to him the strength he'd exhausted in these efforts so far, but not the focus or lack of mind-altering pain required to do more than allow her to manipulate him to the purpose.

Still, through the roaring of his own blood in his ears, he hears enough from Galadriel to struggle with it, his fingers clenching erratically in an effort to force himself through it to do as she bids.

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[OPEN] holes in the sky, pierced by the fire

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