Into the DANGER ZONE

[faderifting]

WHO: All Rifters + the 7 natives who signed up
WHAT: Searching the ruins of Haven for survivors, an Inquisition crew finds something strange. And demons. It's kind of scary that the demons aren't the strange thing.
WHEN: Third week of Harvestmere, 9:41
WHERE: Haven
NOTES: We've broken rifters and rescuers (or "rescuers") into two groups. This log has an arrival comment for each group--you can start smaller subthreads beneath those rather than try to have an eight- or nine-person log, just incorporate surrounding chaos/fighting--and a third top-level set for the whole group's journey back to Skyhold

You were asleep-- deeply or fitfully, for the last time or just resting your eyes for a moment-- and then you were not. And wherever you were was not, anymore, replaced by nothing but the sensation of falling, tumbling into endless, bottomless nothing. If this were still a dream, you would wake before you hit the ground. You can't die in a dream, they say. In some worlds.

But there's no waking here, just a flare of green-white light and a jarring impact, barely softened by snow that lies a foot deep with an icy crust that cracks beneath the force of your landing. The wind is biting cold, the sun is bright, and you are not alone. Others thud to the ground nearby, as bewildered as you, and others run up who look no less confused for having their feet beneath them.

You are also not as you were: in the palm of your left hand there glows a narrow splinter of light the same sickly green as whatever brought you here. It aches, a bone-deep pain that gnaws even through all the distractions. Like that you're being attacked by monsters, some tall, spindly stick-things with too many eyes, some hunched and hooded with no eyes at all.

Welcome to Thedas!

Comments

[gatheringstorm]

That simple explanation was enough to provoke a small frown from Korrin, at the thought of a cherished symbol in dark times perverted to mean something entirely different. Whether that lidless flaming eye was metaphorical or literal, she honestly wasn't certain if she wanted to know. Hopefully she would never have to find out; they had demons enough in this world, they didn't need one more.

It was easy for her to gesture as to the constellation;s location, indicative of how often she's gazed at it when the stars were out. "It's right there. The eye used to be a symbol of the Lady of the Skies, an Avvar god. Well--still is, to them. I can't say much more on it, though. I'm not a scholar, but when you travel as much as I do, you pick up a few things."

Lowering her hand, she sighs. "The enemy we face here has no banners, or I never saw any the night he came here. I'd love to say he's but a shadow, though that isn't remotely true. We'll see him again, of that I have no doubt."

[laurenande]

Galadriel marked the place she gestured to, it would take little effort to find it when night fell, but Korrin's next words drew her attention immediately. The Vashoth didn't seem to be particularly given to idiom, so her account of the battle that was fought in Haven was odd.

"This destruction was caused by one hand?" Galadriel asked. She didn't sound awed, she had seen far worse devastation wrought by a single will, but she was wary, in the way all who witnessed such horrors were. Adelaide had called the twisted things that fell from the rift demons and, as Galadriel scanned the rubble and the scarred face of the mountain, she feared the human hadn't misspoken.

A demon. Balrog. Was it possible?

At the very idea, the whisper of the word, the placid set of Galadriel's features shifted. Like ripples, shades of disbelief, of shock, and horror flitted across her face; the shades of emotion muddled before they settled and, for a moment, Galadriel was all but transparent. She didn't school her expression but, once it calmed to a peaceful state, she returned her gaze to Korrin. Before, she had stood with perfect stillness, statuesque in every way a living thing could be, but now, she was not so still. The rise and fall of her chest, of measured, gradual, but panicked breath, was visible even through the cloak.

"What enemy do you face?"

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin's gaze turned from the sky to the destruction around them, her eyes darkening as memories intruded. She would never forget that night. Who could, among those who had lived through it?

"Well, it wasn't caused entirely by one hand. The avalanche was our idea, a last ditch effort to take the enemy with us. If one of the Chantry folk hadn't known of a secret path, we'd all be buried underneath that.

He's a darkspawn magister named Corypheus, a tainted being with a pet archdemon. Archdemons are...well, their form is like that of a dragon, only rotted, disgusting. As far as we know, he's the one who caused the Breach, the rifts, all of this. When we sealed it, he came after us."

Korrin sighed and turned to look, about to elaborate, but the change in Galadriel was noted. Her expression grew concerned, remorseful. "Forgive me for saying more than I should. You've already been through enough today, without me aggravating the issue."

[laurenande]

So many of those words meant so very little, it was frustrating but, in their unfamiliarity she was granted a measure of calm. Darkspawn was not a heartening term, and while archdemon gave her pause, this place could not have been assailed by one of the dragons of old. Whatever had attacked this place, it was not a Balrog nor one of the elder beasts.

It had not brought the mountain down upon them; they had done it, themselves.

Galadriel's worry calmed quickly and the tentative relief that settled in her chest was palpable.

"It seems I am drawn from one war to another," Galadriel said, perhaps too candidly, and with a note of mild disbelief to her voice. "You need not apologize; for a moment I was taken by a terrible impossibility.

"I cannot imagine the foe you faced, but you have my sympathy. It is not easy to take such measures, nor to be trapped as the shadow comes upon you."

She steeled herself and, after a moment of silence, looked to the Vashoth again.

"What was the Breach?" She had been given a vague description of rifts, but a Breach? That sounded like something of note.

[gatheringstorm]

Too often did Korrin think before she spoke, her words not cruel but often blunt. She made attempts to hold back, but her nature often got the better of her before realizing it. So seeing her words for once drain some tension away, she grew relieved as well. Korrin wouldn't lie and only rarely sugarcoat, but nor did she want to present the situation as entirely hopeless, either. And that sympathy lessened the ache in her, much as she didn't want to burden anyone with it.

"The Breach was...well, imagine the rift, but on a much more massive scale, a giant green tear in the sky, a hole between the Fade and the physical world. It spawned all the other rifts, and continued to expand every hour. If the Herald hadn't stabilized it that first time, it would have consumed the world. Her mark, very similar to yours, is what finally allowed her to stabilize and finally seal it.

Long story short: human and some elven mages in this world were controlled by Templars working for the Chantry, warriors who could negate magic and prevent magical abuses. But they used their power to abuses mages in turn, and the Circle of Magi finally rebelled. The Conclave, a gathering at a nearby temple, was supposed to put an end to that. Some think it might have worked. But we'll never know, because an explosion leveled the temple, killed hundreds, and created the Breach. We're still not exactly sure what triggered it, even as we now know who was behind the mess."

[laurenande]

The elf listened, attentive and patient, as the Vashoth explained the woes of this place. Though a great many of the terms she employed were strange, alien things, the tale was not difficult to grasp.

There had been a conflict between two groups, one had abused the second until they rebelled. Others, presumably not of either house, or taken to the side of the powerful, had attempted to quell that rebellion. A tragedy had undermined their efforts and, simultaneously, tore open the sky. The power and skill that had done the deed was unknown, but their enemy had been revealed. Whatever he was, he was tainted by darkness and traveled with a beast of great power, reportedly steeped in death.

They had brought down a mountain in an attempt to kill him as he overtook them. They had failed.

Galadriel had seen the strange scar in the sky, she'd thought it to be north lights, the sort that shone and twisted through tall peaks at the far reaches, in the coldest lands. As she looked at it now, however, it held a much more sinister meaning. The threat loomed above them, quite literally, and she began to understand their worry.

"To what end does your enemy work?"

Specifics would be impossible to say, unless the enemy was merely a fool who had great power thrust upon him, but to rend the sky was no small feat. Such a thing had to be done for a specific purpose; if it were accidental, this place would have seen no battle, nor would it be marked by fury or death.

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin frowned sharply, not at Galadriel but it was difficult to think about their enemy and not become riled up to some degree.

"What do powerful, malignant idiots always want? More power, whatever the cost to anyone else. As far as we can tell, for him that means entering the Fade. People visit the Fade when they dream or pass through it when they die, but we're not meant to actually, physically enter it. But he must have tried...and will probably try again. What he does from there can't mean anything good for Thedas. The Breach, almost swallowing the world, was an accident. Imagine what he could do on purpose."

Korrin shuddered, not wanting to imagine but it comes too easily to her after that last night in Haven, after seeing the Breach with her own eyes. She was definitely going to need a drink or several when they got back to Skyhold. "And whatever else can be said about him, he wants the South in chaos so that no one can oppose him. He didn't count on the Herald surviving that blast, or using her power to unite people and seal the Breach...at the cost of her life."

Her lips formed a thin line, almost wishing she could erase that memory of the moment that her purpose had been fulfilled...and hope transformed into grief. Almost. That memory served as powerful motivation, so she knew she couldn't let it go, not until Corypheus was dead. "I don't know what will happen with yours. I wish I did. It seems to be more stable than hers first was at least. That's a good sign."

[laurenande]

Galadriel's expression had become serious with thought and worry. As Korrin spoke, it softened somewhat; the Vashoth was a warrior, that much was obvious, and she thought as warriors do. It was unfortunate that she discounted her enemy so, but it was not an unreasonable thing. Few creatures relished in feelings of fear and anger, escaping those emotions was not an act that deserved scorn.

She did grant Galadriel information.

Korrin described The Fade in a way she had not heard before, told her of the enemy's bid for chaos, and said the barest words about a Herald. It was not much, but she was thankful for it. The source of the Vashoth's grief was clear as she spoke, as her lips pressed flat and her expression went hard. The Herald meant much to her and, quite probably, to all those gathered in Haven.

The Herald's loss was felt deeply and, apparently, the mark Galadriel now bore was akin to hers in some way.

Speaking of these things had disquieted the native woman, though, and that was not Galadriel's desire. She was wise enough that she refrained from offering either apology or platitude, however much she wished to, for warriors rarely appreciated either. But she would speak no more on this place or the battle, not while they waited amid the rubble.

"Then it seems I am entangled in your war, for good or ill," Galadriel said, not unkindly. "Let us hope whatever power brought us here was not without kindness or reason, and that we understand its purpose, ere the shadow falls upon us."

[gatheringstorm]

While Korrin wouldn't hide from speaking of what she must, it was just as well that the battle of Haven was left aside as a topic. Little more could be said about it that would provide insight, and she didn't want to burden another with the storm of emotions that such memories provoked within. The lack of platitudes was appreciated, at least for now while Haven surrounded them. Maybe with much-needed distance, back in Skyhold, it would be different.

She nodded, expression softening as she listened to Galadriel, not so cynical as to rebuff the notion of such providence. Perhaps there was something to it, given past events. "I've heard similar words before, from the Chantry sisters and Revered Mothers. In fact, that explains the Herald. Her full title was the Herald of Andraste, Andraste being the Maker's mortal bride from long ago, a martyr for her faith. When the Herald exited the Fade, people spoke of a woman standing behind her, and many believe that to be Andraste. Whether or not it's true, no one's certain, but...it's not a bad sentiment, for all that."

People had desperately needed hope in such a dire time, and still do. If it brings them comfort, that's what matters. Whatever Korrin's own doubts on the matter, she won't put down such beliefs. And, as someone who considers herself vaguely Andrastian, she can't help but wonder if they might be right. "I'm not explaining myself as well as I should, am I? I know a lack of recognition when I see it. Whatever terms need elaborating, just tell me. I don't mind. It's better than me leaving it for another person to deal with."

If this is too far back, feel free to ignore this tag!

[laurenande]

The explanation about the Herald, about the tales that linked her to the Maker of old, were appreciated, even if Galadriel couldn't quite parse their purpose. For all the curiosities of Arda, the lands of Aman and Middle-earth both lacked any real, organized, dogmatic religion. Galadriel understood, if only by framing the tales as legends, but only just.

Her confusion had been written on her face, of course. She suspected that had been true at many times during this conversation, and yet, to have Korrin address her difficulties so directly was surprising. It should not have been, she was already aware that the warrior was blunt and straightforward, but still she had not expected it. Despite the stifling nature of their conversation and the shadow that had crept across it, Galadriel found herself smiling. The laugh she let out was soft, but not insincere.

"You are doing an admirable job, truly," Galadriel assured her. "New lands are often overwhelming and strange...this one simply happens to be...moreso, if only because I arrived here so abruptly."

Galadriel shifted the borrowed cloak around her shoulders. There were many questions she desired the answers to, but none that Korrin could provide. What had happened to Lórien? Where she had been taken? When, if that had changed? What of the threads of fate that had tangled around her? What would happen to Arda? What of this place? Where would she go, and what of this war? How did the world move here?

Such questions were, at best, unhelpful, and at their worst would prove a hindrance. No, answers would find her in their own time.

"I have found the people here both brave and kind; if my understanding these lands takes some effort and time, I will not begrudge spending either." She looked back at the horizon and shook her head. "I am unused to this. Long have I been counted among the very wise; to know so little is...humbling as well as disconcerting."