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faderift2015-10-21 11:34 am
faderifting) wrote in faderift2015-10-21 11:34 am
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
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!
OTA c:
Wherever Ferelden was, the lands within it were beautiful.
This place, Haven, had suffered great loss. Rubble and the aftermath of terrible rock-slides overwhelmed the landscape, half-sunken in the snow. There had been battle here quite recently, though the battlefield was not so fresh that blood remained, nor so old that the crows had found the dead in the winter cold. It was a sad sight, one Galadriel lamented even as they gathered at the camp above the road. It was little more than tents and tables, a station for a company of scouts or warriors, but it did not want for people.
The symbol on the banners was chilling, in its way, and each of the agents who wore armor were clad in its likeness. She had never seen a banner that used an eye so boldly, save one, but this was not Middle-earth. In Ferelden an eye wreathed in light did not conjure memories of ancient alliances or shadows on the east horizon. Here, the people who wandered through the wild were gladdened by the sight of that golden eye, but there was a reservation in their joy.
The cause of their dismay, however brief, she did not know. She thought to ask but it seemed unwise; none were eager to speak to any of those who had fallen from The Fade.
The agents urged them to the far side of the camp as they spoke, away from pilgrims and the harried travelers. The group was two dozen or so and not all of them strangers to this place. She moved willingly, had joined them and waited for their decision because, in truth, there was little else she could do. It was not unpleasant, the waiting; the mountains were bright and flawless with new snow. Each distant peak held her attention as she learned their shapes, and every break of dark trees and pale green caught her eye. She had not felt such deep curiosity since she had first come to Middle-earth and, grave as the situation appeared, it was not so terrible that she would refrain from indulging in the sights around her.
The land was not bountiful here, it had suffered and it bore deep scars, but it was not entirely barren. If the Inquisition turned them out, she would need to seek out her answers, but she would not be lost.
A cold wind whipped past her and stirred the gossamer fabric of her gown. Such wind rarely cut through Lothlorien; Galadriel relished the newness of it.
2 - Travelling.
Skyhold was their destination.
The name meant little, as names in mortal tongues often did. It was not an ominous title, not in her mind, but the sky was a source of comfort for the Eldar. She did not know if the people here shared in that same sense of security. Whether they did or not, it was hard to imagine they were being taken to a truly terrible a place. The mountains that housed Skyhold were unspoiled and had been for centuries; the creatures that darted through the snow were untainted and innocent, barely aware enough of travelers to scatter as the company approached.
She did not recognize them, the beasts that wandered these wilds, but she did not idle to study them. For the moment, the Inquisition was her host and the rest of her company found the trek more troublesome than she did. Curious as she was, and tempted as she had been to pause and beckon the creatures closer, she would not burden those beside her with waiting. No, she simply watched the creatures and the world about them with young eyes, younger perhaps than she should, and moved as they wished.
She remained within the bounds of their caravan, as the native agents had defined it, and matched the speed of those around her. Truly, the way the snow and terrain hindered them was a blessing, cruel as that thought may have been. Were the travel any more arduous or their speed any greater, she would have struggled to maintain pace without tiring. As it was, she merely walked alongside them, atop the pristine snow, and followed a road she did not know.
1
Despite her own caution about the rift-folk, Korrin headed over after securing her staff on her back. She didn't know what to make of them, not yet, but the Inquisition wasn't in the habit of letting people freeze to death. As long as they remained non-hostile, she would as well. The Vashoth mage paused, nodding politely to the odd elven woman.
"You must be cold. If you'd like, I can find you something sturdier. They've been able to keep people my size outfitted, so I'm sure we'll have something available for you."
no subject
It was obvious to anyone that she was no creature of darkness, though why she approached--
"Cold?" she asked, and started slightly as understanding dawned on her face, as though the temperature had been something she'd forgotten. "I did not expect to find myself in winter so abruptly."
Galadriel regarded her gown. It was more substantial than it seemed but, truthfully, more than a day or two and she would be utterly chilled. It was warm enough for spring and autumn but hardly fit for winter travel without something to augment it.
"Perhaps a cloak, if one can be spared?" It was a simple enough request but, as she made it, it occurred to her that she did not know if winter was coming or going in Ferelden. This woman would. "Unless a deeper cold is looming? If it is not, I should not require boots."
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She nods at mention of a cloak, still uncertain that will be enough but the woman is grown and sound of mind. If that's all she wants, then so be it. Retrieving one only takes a moment, as she just passed the requisition area on her way over. The cloak offered is of an appropriate size, its material sturdy and warm though not anything nearly as fine as that radiant gown.
"It's not winter here, not yet, but it can get rather cold this high in the mountains. Where we're going is not too far, but still in this range. I can't promise it won't get worse. Boots may be needed before long, but you wouldn't be the first elf I've met who refused them until the last possible moment."
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"I will be one among many, it seems," she said, a note of apology in her mild tone. It was not so cold that she was wary. What chill wound through these mountains was without bitterness or bite. Unless they became truly treacherous or their road was very long, she would have no need of shoes.
"Thank you for the use of a cloak." Galadriel inclined her head. "I left the wood in summer, a cloak was not required."
She was silent as she regarded the woman before her. There was no kind way to phrase her question, no decorum to be had, and the futility of it only fed her amusement.
"I have never met one of your people, and rarely have I encountered anyone taller than myself. It is...unusual." Galadriel lifted a hand and pressed it over her heart in greeting. "I am called Galadriel."
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The introduction was met with a polite nod, of course not recognizing the name at all but finding it beautiful, nonetheless. "I'm Korrin Ataash, a mercenary mage currently serving the Inquisition. Even if you hadn't exited that rift, I wouldn't be surprised about your not meeting my kind. We're not exactly plentiful down south, but there are a few others in Skyhold. People tend to call us qunari, but that only applies to some. I'm better off described as a Vashoth." One born in freedom, away from the Qun, but the thought of explaining that complicated philosophy and way of life when she'd not lived it herself was nearly headache-inducing. So she wasn't going to, for now.
"Don't worry about it, we have enough to go around. We thought we might find refugees on our return trip to see what supplies we could fetch out of this mess. I'm surprised there's anything left, to be honest." She'd seen the avalanche with her own eyes; anyone who had was likely left with the same impression. Just thinking about it made her heart ache, but she did her best not to let that show. This wasn't the time or place for that.
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Galadriel watched her, silently, for a short time. That same sadness that stole across the faces of the others passed over her. It was clearly a deep grief, but the woman put much effort into keeping it from her face. Galadriel would not do her the disservice of asking, not while the wound was fresh and they stood in such a tragic place as this.
"Your generosity does you credit, as it does your people," Galadriel said and, with casual grace glanced at the nearest banner. As she knew nothing about the Qunari or the Vashoth, it was clear she meant the Inquisition. "I will admit, the standards you carry disquiet me still, but you are reassuring."
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"The standards? Oh--that eye is an ancient constellation, though now it stands for the Maker. So, religious in origin, though we're not part of the Chantry." And she was very glad of that, her opinion of the organization lukewarm at best. "Why, what does it mean to you?"
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After a moment's pause, Galadriel glanced off at the mountains. The peaks were far too close to make out the proper lay of the horizon. For that, she was thankful.
For a few seconds, Galadriel was tempted to answer her question, to tell her that the eye was the last vestige of the enemy, that it haunted the horizon. She could explain to her the horrors that symbol evoked, but they would hold no meaning for the Vashoth, and would barely seem real to one who had not seen them. No, she would not despoil their symbol for the Flame Imperishable, indeed she far preferred to ascribe it to Eru than Sauron, and so she shook her head.
"It is a symbol for the enemy of my lands, a lidless eye, wreathed in flame," Galadriel explained as simply as possible. "His shadow was a blight, but only his shadow remains. I prefer this meaning, it is far more encouraging."
She glanced back at the Vashoth as she finished.
"Where does the constellation lie? I should like to find it, ere the stars come out."
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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."
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"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?"
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"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."
no subject
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.
no subject
"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."
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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.
no subject
"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."
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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."
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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!
2
On the other hand, it did also make him rather more visible as he trudged through the snow. The mostly-red tartan was a splash of color in an otherwise white landscape, meaning when he spotted someone who seemed to be having no trouble at all with the snow and headed their way he was just as easily spotted in return. Galadriel was much taller than he was, and as he approached her, he found himself having to crane his head somewhat, something that made his brow furrow ever so slightly as he raised his voice a little bit in a bid to get her attention.
"Ah, excuse me. Are you one of the people from around here or one of the lot of us that just got here?"
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"I suppose I am..." and Galadriel paused, just briefly, before kindly replying: "One of the lot that just got here."
The parlance was strange in her voice and on her tongue, it was clearly a far cry from how she normally spoke, but there was no mockery in her tone. The smile she leveled at the man was polite and she slowed her pace to ease his struggle with the snow.
"If you seek answers about this place, I would gladly give any I know," Galadriel added. "Unfortunately, I have few, myself."
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Instead, he gave her a brief smile of thanks, mostly for slowing down, before pursing his lips a little more thoughtfully. "Aye, same here. Don't suppose you've heard anything about what they're planning on doing with us once we get to that Skyhold place, though?"
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"Sadly no, I have heard very little about their intentions," Galadriel said evenly. Despite his curious phrasing, she recognized the heart of his query. "I don't imagine they're entirely certain of what they shall do, either."
"We are strange and come to them at a time of grief and worry," Galadriel continued. "We carry marks that resemble their Herald, but each of us is unfamiliar, fallen from the lands of demons and the dead. They take us to their stronghold so that they will feel safer and...in such strange lands, can we readily refuse such hospitality?"
She shifted her arms and the heavy grey cloak that rested over her shoulders. It was clearly not hers; for one thing, it didn't glow, and she hardly seemed like a person who would choose to own such unyielding and drab cloth.
"They have not been unkind. It may be wise to temper their fear with kindness of our own."
no subject
While he felt fairly confident that once they were away from the tops of the mountains that he could find food, water and shelter, the mark changed things. Without knowing how it'd gotten there or what would happen now that they'd been stuck with it, leaving the place where they might find some sort of answer seemed like a daft idea. And it was true that the group that had found them had been generous. His eyes flicked to the heavy grey cloak that Galadriel wore. It didn't really seem suit her very well, but it was still practical, something necessary - and something that had been provided without question. It turned the look that had been cast at her cloak into a thoughtful one, and after a few moments, he gave her a nod of agreement as well.
"Well, I suppose if we really wanted to set off without them we could, but it'd not be easy. And I'd not fancy trying to figure this mark thing out on my own."
The only thing he'd been able to manage to learn so far was that it ached some. It seemed to be getting better, but whether it would continue to do so? He had no idea, and he found himself curling the fingers of that hand inwards, running them over his palm briefly before opening back up again.
"I'll admit, I've been giving some thought to lending a hand if they wanted it. Seems to me they could use some help here and there. I'd not thought about it as kindness, though, miss...er, sorry. I'm afraid I don't know what I should call you."
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"And I would have your name, if you were inclined to share it," she said and smiled just slightly.
"That you would lend your aid, even under duress, and not consider it a kindness says much about you." Indeed, for as casual as the conversation was, in only a few sentences she had learned quite a bit about this man. Their company was strange and varied, but it was comforting to know that she was among people of quality.
no subject
"Jamie McCrimmon. My friends call me Jamie."
Whether or not she wanted to do so was up to her, but he wouldn't mind it if she did. He wasn't much of one for formality normally, but given the bow he wasn't entirely certain. Lifting a hand to the back of his neck, he rubbed it for a moment before giving her a shrug.
"Suppose what you're saying is true enough, though it's been what I've been doing for the past few years anyway. There's been more than one place I've wound up where help's been needed. And if we're likely to be stuck here anyway, I'd rather be doing something rather than nothing."