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]

Korrin doesn't mind explaining, though it's a little weird when she's not used to doing so. Everyone knows about that war by now, and the Breach. So it takes her a moment to gather her thoughts.

"The Breach was the result of an explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where the Conclave to help restore peace was held. Whether it would have worked, we'll never know because an explosion leveled the entire place, and tore open the Veil, creating the Breach. Before you ask, the Veil is more or less a barrier between the Fade and the physical world. So, imagine that rift only, much, much larger. It spawned all the subsequent rifts, and every hour or so it expanded. If the Herald, the woman bearing that mark like yours, hadn't stopped it, the Breach would have consumed the world."

[sandsofhell]

"If that was the cause of the rifts, then how are they still appearing?"

He knows that she may not have the answer to that question. Knowing his luck no one knows and they'll just have to figure it out as they go. "And more importantly, now that it's gone, what are you going to do?" His guess is that they're most likely going to hunt down whoever caused this destruction and exact some form of retribution. Especially if that said person is still considered a threat to them.

[gatheringstorm]

"They're not 'still appearing'. It's more that so many were spawned that we have no idea of the true number. The Herald sealed a lot of them, true, but the Veil across the entire of southern Thedas was essentially shredded. There's bound to be a lot more, beyond our current reach."

Cheery thought, hm? Never let it be said that Korrin sugarcoats anything. "We're going to find Corypheus -the one responsible- and kill him, hopefully before his next attempt consumes the world. That has to be long-term, though. We just barely survived Haven, and we need to rebuild before we'll have the resources to do that."

[sandsofhell]

If the idea affected him, he didn't let it show. "I'm sure you people will manage." Maybe, in warfare nothing is constant. It's something that's ingrained in every officer out there. He doesn't outright say this though unless asked about it.

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin manages a thin smile. "It'll be tough going, but that's the plan. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger, I suppose. It'd better, it's not like we can afford to lose." Pausing by one of the marked supply caches, she looks it over and nods. "Good, these cloaks will keep more of those refugees and rift-folk warm. It didn't look as though many came prepared for the mountain chill."

[sandsofhell]

"It's never easy." He returned her smile with his own. Though it was a bit more painful and caused his lips to crack open. Pausing he looked over the crates, taking note of what was in them as well. Blankets are a start, especially in cold weather, the thought caused him to shiver a bit upon remembering his sleeveless and lightly dressed state. His Interceptor armor and vest could only block out so much cold.

But he'd endure, if not to just keep a strong image for now.

"...When I arrived, did any of you notice if someone dressed like me arrive? Or perhaps any strange...metallic items?" His gun was nowhere near, and he doubted that any others from Falcoln-One, or even Adams, appeared. But since they're looking for things, may as well ask? Couldn't hurt at least.

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin's pausing by the crate, silently counting up the supplies, when those questions get her attention. Her brow furrows as she thinks back to the recent chaos. "I didn't notice anyone with your specific attire, but that might not mean much. It was hectic, and I don't know just how many rift-folk arrived just yet.

...'metallic items'? You mean weapons, or...?"

[sandsofhell]

"No, I supposed not." It was far too much for him to hope for, he knew that already. But the thought of someone, anyone who may have been with him coming along would have brought him at least a little comfort. But he also supposed that he doesn't deserve that comfort, he's already dragged enough people into his self-made hell already.

Silently he began marking out more places that have similar crates not to far away. "...Yes, weapons. It's mechanical in nature and holds small pieces of metal inside of it." It was something that he had to absolutely make certain came with him, or didn't. Lest someone pick it up and accidentally blow their head off, or someone else's.

[gatheringstorm]

That prompts her to raise an eyebrow, but after a moment she just shakes her head. "I'm guessing you don't mean a crossbow, so no. I haven't. Now if you want something like that to defend yourself on the way back, I can ask about it. It's not my call, but most people are pragmatic and know that we'll need all the defense we can muster."

[sandsofhell]

"I'll be fine." He shook his head, of course they haven't. And he hasn't heard a loud bang yet, followed by screams. So that might be a good thing? Or bad, depending on how you look at it. Either it may be one more thing to cause him to be wide awake at night.

Fantastic.

"But if someone does find it, it has a black finish, a trigger mechanism and a removable piece that looks like a small drum. Just...spread the word and tell everyone not to do anything with it?" As odd as that might sound. But with his words spent, he goes back to the job at hand.

[gatheringstorm]

That eyebrow remains raised for a moment. "It sounds like one of those weird dwarven mechanisms, not that I'm an expert on those or all that they can do. But I think that can be managed. We have enough to be cautious about, adding one more thing to that list isn't going to break anyone."

If it is, they're far too fragile to be in the Inquisition, anyway.

[sandsofhell]

"There's dwarves now?" Great, he's well and truly fallen into a fantasy novel this time. Well it beats Dubai he supposed. Beats it by a mile, even with this blasted cold and snow, and ice. May as well change the subject away from strange, metallic objects now and to something different. Namely the idea that there's garden gnomes running around now apparently.

"As in actual dwarves? Not just small people?" Though what would be considered small for her?

[gatheringstorm]

"Yes. Well--they're, smaller than your or I, but yes, dwarves. They have no connection to the Fade, so they don't dream and have no magic. But they make up for it in other ways, like being master builders. You want something built right around here, get a dwarf."

Korrin glances around, but there aren't any dwarf agents in sight at the moment anyway. Oh well. He'll see them soon enough, there are plenty of surfacers in the Inquisition.

[sandsofhell]

"Good to know." He thinks? Walker will just have to reserve judgement for later, it must be a cultural thing here. "Anyone else I should know about besides dwarves?" Like, you know, elves, fairies, pixies or those little,mine glowing things that constantly bug you about needless information. No, wait those are also fairies right? They've got to have those here. Or hopefully they don't.

But in all seriousness he at least seems curious. A new place means new things to get used to and learn about. And...oh, hey another loot crate. He'll just wave her over to mark it out.

[gatheringstorm]

"Qunari, dwarves, humans -I trust you don't need me to elaborate on those- and...well, elves. Those are the slightly shorter folk with pointed ears. They used to have an empire before humans crushed that and forced them into slavery, ages ago. They're not slaves anymore -except in Tevinter- but they're still treated like second-class citizens, for the most part. Word of advice? Don't call them 'knife-ears' unless you're looking to start a fight."

Korrin glances over to one of the elven scouts, conferring with another agent. "As far as I'm aware, the Inquisition treats them better than just about any other group, so we've plenty. The ones in Skyhold are mostly Dalish; you can tell because they have tattoos on their faces. Nomadic folk, who live apart and don't take crap from humans. 'Never again shall we submit' and all that."

[sandsofhell]

"Knife-ear isn't exactly the first thing I would think of when talking to someone." But apparently other people are far more creative than him? That's not really something too hard to believe when concerning Martin. Unless we were talking about other means of...creativity; the bloody kind.

"But thanks for the heads up all the same."