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

Skyhold wasn't a name that was familiar to Jamie either, but trekking through snow-covered mountains to get to the place didn't turn out to be much of a surprise. He'd been through that before, and once he'd found out what the trip to the fortress entailed, he'd made arrangements to get clothing that would suit the journey a bit better than what he'd arrived in, knowing full well his knees would be more than just a wee bit blue if he didn't. He still wore his kilt over the trousers he'd been provided, however. Partly it was out of practicality - wearing layers in a place this cold was a good idea - but partly it was out of sheer stubbornness. The kilt was one of the last things he had from a home that he was beginning to think he'd never see again. He wasn't about to give it up, no matter what else was going on here.

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?"

Jamie caught Galadriel's attention easily and, as he all but waded through the snow to move alongside her, she regarded him. His question was curious but, she supposed, not entirely uncalled for. His clothing marked him as unique from the natives but, with her borrowed cloak and given the ease of travel, she did not look so unusual.

"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."

It was true. Even with her height, he'd met one tall lassie already. That one had horns, but who wasn't to say there weren't plenty of people here like her? Apparently there weren't, though - she was just as much a stranger as he was, and that meant she'd likely know as little as he did. Still, her offer was something he appreciated almost as much as he appreciated the fact she'd slowed to match his pace. She was still walking on the snow rather than through it, but he wasn't really focused on how or why that was even possible right at the moment.

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?"

She considered his question for a moment before she answered him. It was immediately obvious that she had already put much thought to the subject, she didn't look like a woman weighing alternatives or considering danger; her pause was only to choose how she might phrase what she suspected.

"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."

Everything she said made sense, and were things he'd already been considering himself, for the most part. They were a mystery, and they'd turned up during a time where their Herald had recently perished with similar marks on their hands. No wonder they'd want to take them somewhere where they could be studied more easily.

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."

"I am called Galadriel." She paused in her step briefly and offered him a short bow, hand pressed over her heart, in an ancient and traditional greeting. She lingered a moment and, when she rose, she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"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.

Not quite sure if he was meant to return the bow with one of his own, he wound up simply inclining his head in return - although when he caught sight of that slight smile it prompted a brief one of his own.

"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."

Into the DANGER ZONE

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