faderift | Into the DANGER ZONE

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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

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."

Into the DANGER ZONE

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