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

OTA

[fleurdesel]

Weary from the battle but- not done. Never done. Where there was war there were wounded and that is where she would go. Every one of the strange "people" that came through she'd want to check. For illness, for injury, for pain. Anything she might do to be certain they were well and not a demon. Not possessed. It'll be a long walk- better to be certain everyone was capable of making it.

Slim and certain she would approach, mug of water in one hand and a glowing cloud of...something...around the other. To check. To rejuvenate.

"Drink this, hold still." Accent thick and vaguely French to those with worlds that had a France, the cup would be offered and the hand pressed against a shoulder, a forehead, an arm. Whatever was closest and looked the least painful.

Much the same she did, too, for the remaining members of the Inquisition. Water, a little rejuvenation for the long walk ahead. She'll be spending her time leaning on her staff, infinitely weary at the tail end of the line once everyone has been seen to.

[apostasia]

No one looking at Martel would have likely assessed him as 'properly capable of making the walk'; sheer bloody-mindedness kept him on his feet, bleeding sluggishly from beneath the heavy silver medallion that hung at his chest. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd overextended himself and simply kept going until being upright was no longer an option, and it was difficult to inspire much of an opinion in himself on his current situation one way or the other. He had been given little choice in the matter, he was in little state to protest it, and frankly, he was having trouble giving a damn.

Seeking out a healer hadn't occurred to him. He still wasn't entirely convinced this wasn't hell.

[fleurdesel]

Fighting with a chest wound, maker the foolishness of some warriors. Even if this one wasn't from their company, she'd met them, he wasn't, he ought to know better. Compassion whispered, nudged, murmured till the man walking about with one so casually afterward was brought to her attention. A cut like that still seeping? Had far too great a possibility of infection. Without so much as a word she strode over, one hand glowing blue to assess the damage and stop the bleeding, the other brushing the silver amulet aside so she could tend to aforementioned seeping chest wound.

"You are going to bleed out if you do not let me-"

[apostasia]

There was blood about his mouth, still, splattered on his throat and shoulders in a way that didn't fit with his wound - this was something Adelaide would have occasion to notice in a moment, if not immediately. More pressingly immediate was his hand at her throat, a grip that suggested the ability to choke her without exerting himself overmuch without quite clenching to do it. The tension in his strained muscles was apparent - his flat gaze met hers and there was a long, uncomfortable pause.

With his free hand, he loosened the amulet's sit and lifted it over his head, keeping the chain clenched in his fist.

Silkily, quiet, "I will do that, my lady."

When he let her go, it was abrupt.

[fleurdesel]

A pulse of power to clean the edges and-

Sudden, of course it was sudden and of course the sharp cry of Compassion couldn't warn her quick enough- weary, so very tired from the fight and the healing she had left to do and she could not snap up a defense, could not move away before the hand was around his throat. What may have been a patient became someone else, somewhere else in less than a heartbeat.

No wall behind her, no sword before her but she's caught, trembling, eyes wide and wild- what scraps of healing magic swapped out abruptly for ice. Under his palm her skin has gone frigid, her breath clouding like a cornered beast as she tries for something, anything- a crackle of light, a wall of force but her fingers were clumsy as the caught at his wrist instead of forming the spells. The words wouldn't come, air wouldn't come- she did not travel all this way only to die here-

She barely heard him when he spoke. Stumbled away when he let her go and staggered to put some distance between them. Heart hammering and hands shaking- they weren't supposed to shake they were supposed to be steady and certain as the rest of her- she held her staff up. A warning. A warding.

Composure was long to return.

"Don't." It wasn't steady at all. "Never do that again."

Lest the precious contract she kept be shattered out of reflexive terror.

[apostasia]

The only word for Martel's response to this - his decided lack of a response, observing her stumbling and trembling expressionlessly, making no move to either threaten or reassure - is dispassionate. Perhaps, if you were very inclined to come up with another, impersonal. He regarded her with much the same indifference with which he'd met most everything else that had happened to him since being hurled through a rift without so much as a by your goddamned leave, patient in the way of someone who had little investment in whether she calmed herself or not.

"Well," he said, in the same quiet, steady way, with just the barest hint of something droll - as if somewhere underneath all the blood and exhaustion he had a personality and everyone was probably better off as currently was, "I rather imagine you won't startle me twice, my lady."

Having learned the lesson so well the first time.

[fleurdesel]

Not even a hint of regret. She decided, abruptly, 'fuck this.' He could bleed out for all she cared, she was not going to tend to a bastard that held people by the throat for trying to do their job. Without a word she whirled on her heel and began to stalk off. Seeping chest wound or no. He could clearly handle himself.

The spatter of blood on his mouth and shirt, something in the lungs, something that needed fixing. Compassion did not let her get far, perhaps five tense steps before it reminded her of their agreement. It is not hers to choose who she heals. It is all or it is none, nowhere in between. Swearing violently under her breath she whirled about and stalked back till she was an arms length away from him.

"How long were you coughing up blood." She didn't lift her hands or call upon Compassion just yet- but she would tend to him. Eventually.

[apostasia]

Very little had changed in the few moments between her decision to leave him be - a reasonable one he was disinclined to protest - and her subsequent change of heart, such as it was. And what it was, mainly, was less explicable, but he made no argument, for all that he looked no more grateful than he had regretful.

So she had a spine to call her own. Delightful.

"It felt longer than it was. I don't think they were quite done fighting when my blood decided it might as well stay in my body."

That's the best she'd likely get in terms of a timeframe, and at a rough estimate, it probably tracked to five minutes at most. Martel's impression of what was going on around him had been fairly hazy up to the point where he was being hustled into this long walk will he or nil he.

[fleurdesel]

"And from a scale of 'oh is there a needle in my heel' to 'Blessed Andraste's flaming tits, there is acid in my eyeballs', how much pain would you say you are experiencing?" Wary, infinitely wary, she began to call upon Compassion. It was a subtle thing at this stage, the brightening of her eyes and the most subtle of glows around her fingertips. She would tend to him and move on.

No need to make a thing of it.

[apostasia]

"What a charming introduction to local religion you make, madam," he said, dryly. "It hurts rather less than it did immediately before it ceased to hurt much at all. Whatever wretched magic brought me here, I can only assume it's done half your work for you already."

No need to dissemble; he had died, and if this wasn't hell, he didn't belong here.

Let her decide to leave it. Perhaps he'd have better luck a second time.

[fleurdesel]

"Then I shall complete the work and trouble you no more." The glow around her hand flared bright as she extended it to rest against his chest. Despite what he'd done, despite the injury- her touch was light. Gentle. Whatever had pulled him through with this wound that ought to have killed him-

That probably did if what he said was anything to go by?

She would not cross it by allowing him to bleed out. Besides. Compassion bid her work, so she worked. "Breathe deeply for me and hold it till the count of fifteen."

[apostasia]

"Leave the scar,"

was all he said before taking his breath.

[fleurdesel]

"As your vanity dictates. Fool." She muttered, pouring her power into the wound, mending flesh and bone and tendon. She knew what was and what ought to be, calling upon Compassion to see it done would take precious little. Fifteen seconds and she has to let her hand fall, glowering at the wound rather than the man. Something did not quite wish to heal. "Take a moment."

Re: OTA

[lennethvalkyrie]

Elves, but they weren't in Alfheim. A woman, large, broad, horned, but not a Jotun. It was cold, yes, but it wasn't Jotunheim either. And she had been to those places. Not Midgard, not Hel, certainly not Asgard... Had that necromancer done something? He'd shown his knowledge of the ancient magics, it was certainly not out of the question.

Was everyone around her dead? Had he sent her to Nifleheim? Sealed her away from the Aesir somehow? Odin would find her--a Valkyrie missing was no small thing. And when he did...

Lenneth's fingers clenched around the mug, and her reflection in the water turned fierce for a moment. Then she realized she'd been staring at it for a long time, and the woman who'd given it to her was still waiting. She took a quick sip--then a second longer one, not realizing how parched she'd been--before handing the mug back carefully.

"My thanks. I--" she pursed her lips, eyes flickering downwards for a moment before looking back at the woman who'd aided her, embarrassed to admit her ignorance. "--I cannot tell. What world is this?"

[fleurdesel]

"You are welcome. Take more if you need, I have a mostly full water skin." Not enough for a proper mug of tea to warm the body after a strange fall and long battle- but enough to keep any of these newcomers from falling over from thirst. She'd have to seek out more when they made camp for the evening.

Whatever flash of ill humor or frustration she noticed? Adelaide didn't comment on. They had every right to be distressed or upset. None of them asked for this. "Ah- you are in Thedas. The Frostback Mountains, specifically."

[lennethvalkyrie]

Lenneth's lips moved as she repeated the name silently, although no spark of recognition lit her eyes. Then she shook her head. "No. I thank you, but you would do better to keep it for the wounded. There are those who took more grievous hits than I, and it seems we have a journey ahead of us."

The Valkyrie looked up at the foreboding sky, heavy with clouds and rent with a jagged slash of green that her palm now echoed. She clenched her hand around it absently and let her gaze drop to trace the peaks of the range. The Frostback Mountains.

"The name will mean nothing to me, but it would still please me to know where we travel. If you may tell me."

[fleurdesel]

"It is quite a walk back to the hold." And with the newcomers, the wounded? It may take longer still. They all, to the one, had that mark. It made little sense but- perhaps a shade of what they were? A sign? Adelaide extended a hand to the woman, brow furrowed.

"Does it cause you pain? The mark. I could ease it." Not all would be bothered or wish for intervention. She could only do as much as she was permitted. "Skyhold, a fort in the higher rises of the mountains. It is...a little roughshod at the moment, full of the hopeful. People seeking protection and safety. The Inquisition will likely put you up there until we know more of what has happened."

[lennethvalkyrie]

"Only if it is no trouble to you," she replied, in the ever-infuriating way of proud warriors, "I have taken worse; and you seem to be the only healer to the lot of us. If it is a long journey to this stronghold, you will need your energy--and if something were to befall us on the way, we would need it then as well."

Even so, she offered the hand palm up, not wishing to seem ungrateful. "...You have seen it before then, this mark? Does it mean something here?"

[fleurdesel]

"None whatsoever." And there it was. The pride and tact of a warrior. Despite the rest of the day it was somewhat familiar and all the more comforting for it. Apparently no matter the world? Some things remained the same. It may make adjusting easier for these newcomers.

A pale blue glow surrounded Adelaide's hand as she cradled her patient's marked palm, eyes on the dull green glow and the pain it caused. A wash not entirely unlike a cool mist poured into and through the skin and with some luck? It would ease the pain and provide a buffer to prevent it for some time. Not long as there was no curing this, but easing the ache for an hour or so might do. "The others that fell through the rift have it as well. The Herald of Andraste reportedly had one and used it here before she died."

Or so the rumor went.

[lennethvalkyrie]

The Herald of Andraste... Someone important to these people? And she had died here--the site of a battle, perhaps? She had too many questions, and forcing them all upon a woman who looked worn with duty seemed a poor way to repay her hospitality.

The coolness spread pleasantly across the Valkyrie's hand--different from how she'd known healing to feel, but just as effective--and the bone-deep throbs eased to a shallow pulsing. Lenneth nodded appreciatively, allowing a small smile to touch her lips.

"It is well done. I will not take more of your time, if you are needed, but I would have your name." The words themselves were rather imperious, but the tone was kind.

[fleurdesel]

"Adelaide. And yours?" She hadn't had the time to learn everyone that had need of her in Skyhold just yet, but with the way these marks seemed to ache she couldn't shake the feeling she'd be seeing more of them in the days to come. Perhaps for more of the same, perhaps for something else entirely, but being mindful of who they were and what they needed wouldn't hurt anyone.

[lennethvalkyrie]

The answer she customarily gave mortals when she walked disguised among them sat in her mouth for a moment, but the armor of her office weighing on her shoulders served as a reminder that she was hardly disguised. And if she was, as Adelaide said, in an entirely different world, there was no need to dissemble at all.

"Lenneth," she replied, and there was something oddly elating about doing so.

[fleurdesel]

"Well met, Lenneth, though the circumstances are less than ideal." The name meant nothing to her, sadly. It was but a name for a woman that had fallen through into something not entirely of her world and not at all of her choosing. For that she had Adelaide's sympathy. At the very least she would do what she could to make certain these newcomers weren't jailed upon their arrival at the hold.

Well.

Most of them. One could probably do with a little time in a cell to cool his temper.

[lennethvalkyrie]

A faint smile at that. Less than ideal indeed--but good in some ways. Her name and armor did nothing to arouse suspicion here. As where she went she heralded death, she was no stranger to the fear and rage of those who clung to their mortal lives, to the impotent anger of the living who saw their loved ones taken. There was pride, in some, to have been chosen... but no-one left their world with gratitude. It was pleasant to be treated kindly.

"May I aid you, in return for your hospitality?" she asked, "Surely you have somewhat to carry that would ease your burden if carried by another."

[fleurdesel]

"Ah- if you do not mind? The water skin is heavy." The pack of poultices and potions was also quite heavy but that she wasn't quite comfortable handing off so easily. It was her job to tend to the health and well being of whomever needed her aid, and carrying the supplies was her responsibility.