faderift | Into the DANGER ZONE

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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!

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Dante wasn't sure how he felt about this, in fact he was tempted to go his own way instead of being herded in a single direction by people he didn't know like cattle being led to slaughter. It was an apt description as far as he was concerned as he didn't know who these "people" were, he had no idea what this Skyhold was, and he had no idea what their intentions were for him. His gut instinct was to be a belligerent little fuck, throw his middle finger in the air, and just say "see ya later" but he didn't. For now.

Why?

Because from what he understood these "people" were on the opposite side of the demons he was just hacking through not moments ago so that gave them a one-up. Additionally Dante had no idea what the hell this was and someone had to have an answer somewhere and this was his only lead so far. If he had a better idea he might have followed his own nose and gone his own way instead, but for now he didn't. As long as nothing funny went down in the process he was okay with that, otherwise he kept rebellion close at his side...it was a wrench to have to carry it, but he couldn't access it's usual storage area which was in the marking on his back. For some reason it healed his wounds...but he couldn't return Rebellion from whence it came.

Oddly enough that marking had a strange resemblance to the symbols on the inquisition banners, it was very close, but maybe that was just a silly coincidence. Anyway he took note of it.

In the meantime the stares he received earned an occasional cynical little bow from Dante before he continued to push his way towards their destination. He didn't tire easily, but he could tell that there might be one or two among their number who would not be able to make this journey in a single day.

The man is sharper than most, brittle, ready to break away. Like the others who came through the Rift, he's stuck, but restlessly so, a wriggling thing held by a vice.

Cole stares anyway, because of that light in his palm. And because he still wants to help. Sometimes the sharpest ones need the softest touch.

He does glance away when he gets the bow. But it's thoughtful, not ashamed.

"Apart, almost parting. Look them in the eyes; they'll stop watching then."

A beat passes.

"We're not all scared. We only want to know what happened."

((OOC: Feel free to hit up Cole's permissions post if there's something you'd prefer he focus on or stay away from!))

Whether Dante understands what Cole is softly trying to poke at or not in unclear given that he's not one for mincing words and he doesn't have the attention span for mincing words with others...that includes whatever riddle this unusual kid is attempting to buttonhole him with.

"No se vale?" Dante throws his hands up in a surrendering gesture, still eyeing Cole curiously, he's not entirely sure what he is, but the uncanny valley vibe he's getting doesn't bother Dante either who is also used to appearing to be something he technically isn't.

"Sorry, kid, I'm not very good at riddles. Name's Dante."

"I'm Cole." He says it as a matter of course, a name for a name, though he cannot say whether Dante will remember him tomorrow.

The Herald did. So perhaps there's hope.

Unsurprisingly, Galadriel was one of the few who had truly tired as they traveled. Whether he intended to ford through the snow and darkness, or if his insistent gait would only take him farther along the path, away from those who watched them all so warily, Galadriel could not say, but she was willing to risk neither. She was rarely given to shouting and given far less to catching attention with touch, but she had few options. He had not given his name and she lacked the energy to seek it.

The company slowed and, as he made to pass her, Galadriel stopped him, her hand on his shoulder. They were of a height, it required neither of them to look up or down to regard the other, and that made her abrupt trespass far less obvious, if not more palatable.

"I owe you thanks," Galadriel said kindly and quietly. She had known others who shared his bearing; she would not block his path but she would not let him leave without a word. "Le fael. Agorel vae. Your defense was invaluable."

While Dante had the attitude of a man who would clearly go his own way if given the opportunity, and with everything in his gut railing against the idea of being herded and stared at like a circus freak, he was not a man who abandoned others. While he had few moral compunctions, abandoning and betrayal were on his list of ultimate no-nos, and he wouldn't tolerate it of himself...and barely tolerated it from others. So while he continued moving ahead he didn't move out of range and he did keep a careful eye on the flock that had dropped out of the rift...or whatever that fucking hole was that brought them here.

Galadriel was one of the few that he'd kept a careful eye on, she was strong, he knew it, which was why he hadn't approached her, but allowed her to approach him instead. He could see she was tiring and he wanted to piggyback her the rest of the way, that was his impulse. He could keep walking for miles and days, but he didn't expect anyone else to be able to, especially when he got a good look at the terrain. Steep mountains and sheets snow...even he had not been exposed to these elements. At the same time he felt it would be an insult to give into his impulse, but that didn't mean he was going to meander too far out of reach.

When she caught hold of him, however, Dante took it as a clear sign and he stopped for her noting how tall she was and impressed if he did say so.

"You're welcome..." it took him a moment to respond because he wasn't used to hearing thanks or gratitude so it took him a few seconds to register what it was and respond to it, he even looked a little surprised as well. After a moment he glanced around and then returned his gaze to her, "...um...so, it' wasn't a problem...ah...well if you need my help again, with anything, it's Dante...my name..."

Wow, what the fuck was wrong with him?

"Dante," Galadriel repeated. The letters were a bit off, perhaps a bit softer than a name like his demanded, but her pronunciation wasn't terrible. She marked his name with a short pause and lowered her hand from his shoulder. She folded both of her hands before her and, all at once, they were obscured by the pooling, deep white fabric of her sleeves.

"I am called Galadriel." She bowed her head slightly, they stood too closely for anything more.

Once she drew herself back up, she stared at him for a long, silent moment. Her expression was unreadable but not unkind. She hadn't the energy to look into his heart, nor could she say what manner of being he truly was, but he had not attempted to beguile any one of them. Indeed, he seemed to disdain all but the most overt expressions and reactions; she did not need to read his heart to see that he had penchant for brashness.

"If you are willing, tell me, why do their stares disturb you so?"

Perhaps she had grown accustomed to the wary gaze of mortals, she had certainly lived long enough that the weight of their eyes ceased to bother her, but she found it perplexing that someone so...bold, was the best word, she supposed. That someone so bold would be troubled by curious eyes was a strange thought.

Well Dante was used to Demons growling and hissing his name, so a softer touch was a refreshing change. Between pauses he stuck rebellion into the ground, at least until they started moving again, carrying it around wasn't the most fun he was having...but it was his. Once his hands were free he tucked them into his pockets and nodded in acknowledgement of her name.

She was strange to him, but it was probably the same for her as well and he wasn't sure why she was staring, unlike the natives her expression was smoother than an undisturbed lake. Was it appraisal, was it interest? She's be right to assume that Dante appreciated interactions that were more on the surface, not that he was incapable of piecing together more nuanced details. He'd known to many demon interactions to trust anything beneath the surface.

"I wouldn't say it's disturbing so much as annoying," Dante has to give himself kudos for watching his language, "none of it feels right...and people who just stare at you like you're some kind of circus freak...without saying anything. I don't trust it, I mean, what happens to a pig before it's slaughtered?"

Dante cast his own gaze around, alert.

"We're all going to this Sky-whatever for the same reason I guess...but I've been stuffed into enough cages to know when I feel like I'm being herded into one, I just don't see any other options. So when people stare at me, it makes me think."

That and it made him feel better to troll them all.

The idioms he used were beyond Galadriel, mostly. It wasn't difficult to gather his meaning from the bite in his tone and where he restrained his words. His caution wasn't unwarranted, but it was laced with fear and the wary wisdom of people who had suffered terribly. She didn't know what his burden was, but she'd known so many warriors who had faded under the strain of such things.

Fortunately, unlike those she knew, Dante was human...if only mostly, and humans had such resilience about them that dreadful burdens rarely broke their spirits.

"There are always other paths, but I would not discard this path so quickly," Galadriel advised quietly. "You are a warrior to be contended with and they are wary as well as awed...but you are also a surprise, as are we all."

Galadriel fell silent and smiled at him.

They do not know with whom they travel. To build a cage that could hold us would be a mighty feat, indeed.

The words were just whispers, conjured in the back of Dante's mind, and with them Galadriel shared a sense of unfailing and placid confidence. Confidence in both him and her own abilities. By her measure, this trip was merely a step on a journey, not necessarily a destination.

"They are hospitable and have welcomed us, in their way, until that accord is broken you need not be bothered by curious eyes."

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Into the DANGER ZONE

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