faderift | Into the DANGER ZONE

Entry tags:

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

Well perhaps he was testing her and...what is all that? "The one with the bear." Only it's more of a creaking of worn bones type of pain. But at least she isn't about to blast him with whatever hocus-pocus that she's packing.

Best to not let a quack or charlatan do a doctor's or EMT's job.

"What's that stuff?" Because he'd really rather not be drugged or take anything that has dubious and sketchy written over it. God what he would give for just some regular ibuprofen right about now.

Shivering, he also added some hot chocolate and rum to the mix.

"Poultices, a potion, and a tonic. Unless you'd rather walk with open wounds all the way to Skyhold where there are surgeons and risk losing a leg." If he continues to balk at everything she has to work with she may very well leave, rules or no. Normally when there's this level of discomfort or distrust there's some manner of alternative to send the patient to but at the moment? She's the best they have and he continues to gripe.

Patience, kindness- no. You know what? No. Do the work and move on. "Drink this. It's a healing tonic, it will alleviate your pain."

A beat.

"It's a mixture of herbal extracts and alcohol. No magic."

That just gets a roll of his eyes. "I'm not losing anything." If he can run around the desert looking like this, then a bit of frostbite and old wounds aren't exactly going to get in his way. Even if they hurt like the dickens. "Been like this for a while." He muttered, voice still cracking from feeling dry.

He continues to gripe because he's only really met two people this far, both claiming to be magical.

Still he took the vial and scrutinized it closely. Then he held it up to his nose and gave it a sniff. Nothing out of the ordinary that he could notice before taking a small sip. His nose wrinkled a bit at the taste but still didn't find anything too wrong wth it.

"Why alcohol?" In other words, how much alcohol, he barely trusted the water she gave him, and that was mostly do to him worrying about anything in it that could cause a bout of dysentery.

Edited 2015-10-24 18:26 (UTC)

"...you are not at all helping your case." Maker willing he won't be her responsibility again in the future. She'll make certain he has a proper surgeon to work with in Skyhold. Maybe Bruce. Bruce would be patient with him.

"It provides a stronger extraction for the medicinal properties of the herbs." That's how tinctures work. Did he not have such things wherever he came from? "Where are the worst of your burns and cuts?"

Well of course he has, but they're not exactly widely used in modern medicine. Not when someone can chemically synthesize a pill that can work just as well. "And you're not helping yours." He still drank it slowly, eyes watching her closely before handing the flask back when he was finished.

Of course he really did have to raise an eyebrow at her next question. "The worst is the most obvious?" The one on his face that is. As nasty as everything else might look, they weren't all that bothersome as far as he was concerned. Though perhaps to someone else they may look rather terrible?

"I am not the one that fell through a hole in the sky and is being belligerent." She isn't on trial here. Still. Work to be done is work to be done no matter how troublesome. She pulls a salve from her pack and motions for him to tip his head to the side, peering at the worst of the burning. "You would not be the first warrior I've met to put their arms and armor on over an injury that's been poorly bound. This is salve, it'll mend the damage by the burn and numb the pain."

Rather than begin applying it she waited until he gave some indication it was acceptable.

"And I'm not the one who's proposing magic as a cure." Even if he's seen it before his eyes, Walker is still obviously rather hesitant to trust a person who considers using witchcraft and voodoo as a cure. Then she produced the salve and he sighed, of course. Perhaps he shouldn't be questioning her and just take the help at face value, but he just couldn't find it in himself to make it so easy.

"And if the burn was chemical in nature?" Though he doesn't exactly expect her to know about the possibility, and it wasn't exactly caused by anything chemical, even though he had been exposed multiple times. It was more or less caused by hot metal and friction. But Walker still put it out there. It was an obvious test to her knowledge, to see if she trips or stumbles. If she wants to play doctor then he was going to put her through the rings.

"Magic is a viable cure." It'd be quicker than this, but he wants none of it and thus gets the salve. Nevermind the question, she begins to apply it in a thick layer over the burned skin, frowning at the damage. Chemical burn? "From an alchemists trap or acid? It'd be a different salve. This does not look to be that, however."

The skin tends to blacken differently with chemicals, warp with acid. No, this is a simpler sort of pain. More familiar and thus, a quicker fix. "Are you going to be like this for every physician that tends to you, or am I a special case because I am a mage?"

"To me that sounds a lot like saying prayer will heal a wound." Because really saying you can cure someone from an ailment to him, is like saying cutting off a chicken's head would keep away the plague. Absolutely not credible at all, and makes him fear what the actual doctors are like. "Neither...something you wouldn't understand."

There was another sigh, he still looked at her with scrutiny, but if she were to look closer into his eyes, she may notice something...wrong with them, troubled, empty but not filled with any malice towards her. "If every physician acts like you, perhaps." Still he leaned down a bit and turned his head slightly so that she could more easily apply it. There's a bit of a large area to cover, as it encompasses much of his cheek and jaw, before reaching up to cover almost the entirety of his ear.

"Magic isn't exactly something that exists where I'm from."

"Don't be absurd, prayer doesn't do anything." Maker having turned his eyes from the world and all- even beyond that prayer does not do much beyond offering comfort to those who have need of it. Intercessions aren't something that happen much anymore. "Yet another way for men to murder one another? Fantastic. And people ask me why I weary of my work."

New and creative ways of killing each other. How wonderful. And in a world without magic? That almost makes it worse.

"Did someone press your face to a flat iron? This is extensive." And would be easier healed with her magic, which he wants none of, which irritates bot her and Compassion. For all her bite and frustration Adelaide's hands are gentle. "Here it exists and you had best become accustomed to it. The Inquisition is a safe haven for mages, there are many."

"No, it doesn't. But when say you use magic, that's what it sounds like." And that's what it's going to continue sounding like to him for a bit until he actually gets settled in. Until he actually starts researching and discovering more about this new world. If only he actually had more of his things.... At her statement though, he doesn't say anything.

"It's part of life." That's all he would have to say on the matter.

"Explosives." Another simplified answer for her. He counts himself lucky that his hearing is still intact, and his organs weren't liquified. But as gentle as her hands are, it still doesn't stop the irritation that rises up from having the marks touched. At the very least the snow and ice helped numb any sensation. "I suppose I should."

"Prayer is mindless speaking to a deity that may or may not exist. Magic is the manipulation of reality using energies from the Fade and shaping it to our will. They are quite different." Prayer was pointless, magic? Saves lives. At least when lives deign to permit themselves to be saved.

Explosives? She quirks a brow at that, tracing the salve up over his ear with as much care as possible. "Can you hear from this ear?"

It damaged hearing, rent buildings- she'd only ever heard rumors. Stories of the Qunari's powder and cannons.

"To me they're not." To him magic entails pulling a card out of a sleeve, or using bones to tell the future. Not exactly the best thing to put on a medical resumè. At her question though he thought for a moment and shrugged.

"I can, just not as good as I used to." He still has keen hearing, but it's most certainly dulled now after being subjected to countless gunfire, explosions and people screaming next to him. It wears down on a person overtime.

"I am surprised you are not somewhat deaf." But if he says he can hear? He can hear. The first burn covered she turns her attention to what cuts and bruises she can see, swapping out the burn salve for healing ointment and poultices. It'll take some time working this way, but it is no less worth doing.

"I'm just lucky." In more ways than one. Fighting an entire battalion, plus a mob of desperate people, and still making out alive? Some might say that he has the Devil's luck, others would say that he's the Devil himself. Either way may as well continue to hold still, leaning this way and that to make it easy for her to reach the spots she needs to. He has a few deep cuts along his hairline, a nasty, swollen gash near the eyebrow on the side that's burnt. A few wounds around his neck and arms. His own hands were currently already wrapped in torn pieces of cloth, dirty and in need of changing.

At the very least his torso is still protected by the body armor he wears, as banged up and worn as it looks from battle and several gunshots that the Kevlar and plates beneath were able to stop. All in all, she probably has her work cut for her with this one.

"Mhmm." She says nothing one way or the other, instead focusing on her work. Cuts and bruises, burns and scrapes- wherever this man had been? He'd seen a good deal of battle and hardship. How strange that the same thing that brought Galadriel to this world did much the same for him. Was there a reason? Why them? Things for her to consider as she applies what she has onto his skin to ease the pain and encourage mending, now and then stopping to murmur what it is she's using and the purpose of it.

His hands give her pause once she reaches them. "I've fresh bandages in my pack. May I unwind these?"

He stays silent for a few moments longer, not even whining as she does her work. Perhaps the rift had brought everyone from the middle of something as well? And carrying conditions from what he could tell. Either way he finally relaxes a bit at the feel of her hands, how long has it been since he's last felt soft hands touch him?

Probably far too long. At her question he nods his head. "Go for it." Underneath would be smaller cuts and burns on the palms, fingers and backs. "...What's your name?"

Cuts and burns and that glowing green mark. The one thing they all had in common aside from not being from here and not being from the fade. Whether or not they have magic- Galadriel does. This man does not. "Mm? Adelaide. And yours?"

More balm over the cuts and burns before she wraps them in fresh bandages- well. Over the one. His hand with the anchor has her fingers going still. "...are you certain you do not wish me to do something for this?"

The man took notice of her apparent interest in the mark but doesn't comment on it right away. From what he could tell from the whispers being passed around, he wasn't the only one with the glowing mark. Perhaps he should seek out the others then when he gets to...wherever it is that they're moving. "It's Captain Walker." A pause. "Martin Walker."

He supposes he wouldn't be considered a captain anymore when he gets back home. If, he gets back anyway. "...Perhaps you could."

There's a twitch, almost a flinch at the title. Captain- not a Knight Captain and he's already said that there isn't magic where he is from. There is no way for him to be a templar if he doesn't understand magic- then again how many does she know that truly attempt to do so. "Guard or military?"

He has the bearing of a soldier, now that she thinks of it. Alert, weary, suspicious. Quite likely pulled from a battle all his own. "It will involve magic. Not much, but a little."

That's something else that didn't escape his notice. He raised an eyebrow, was there some special reason for her to react in such a way to him mentioning his rank? Something that may end up harming him or others? Walker considered inquiring about it. "Military, I'm part of the United States Army...Delta Force." Perhaps she's heard of it? Probably not based on everything he's seen and heard. This is all far too foreign to be considered somewhere on Earth. "Something wrong?"

She's sharp at least, and catches on quickly. There's still suspicion towards her of course, and not much trust when she mentions that word again. But he nods his head. Just this one and just for his hands. They were killing him in the last fight. "Make it quick before I have a change of heart."

"United...what?" That- none of that makes any sense. A place, an organization, probably a specific subset of that military or some sort of mercenary band? It's all a little outside her realm of understanding, sadly, but it is confirmation that there's nothing of a templar in him save his suspicion. That she can live with. "An unpleasant memory, nothing more."

Nothing worth mentioning.

"As you wish. This may tingle." Hands are delicate things after all. Her own cup his marked palm before they begin to glow blue, eyes following suit soon after. Much like running one's hand through mist a cool wash of sensation prickles over and through the skin as she attempts to alleviate some of the pain. She cannot cure it, cannot seal the cut- that much is beyond her. But the bone deep ache? She can take that away for awhile. An hour, maybe longer.

"Never mind." Of course she doesn't know about it, no one else here does either. Just like he has no clue what Fereldan or Thedas are. It's both perplexing and a bit depressing for him. It seemed to be a relief to her though. Which was all fine and dandy. "If you say so."

She probably doesn't want to talk about right now just like he wouldn't want to talk about anywhere he's been...what he's done. Not now, and not to a group of strangers who probably wouldn't understand. But he was willing to understand more about them. To learn more about how their world works and hats in it.

If it helps him keep alive a while longer.

Calculating eyes stared down at their hands, once more the soft feeling of hers over his torn ones brought him some semblance of comfort, better than the ice around them could provide at the very least. He both watched and felt her "magic" work over the wounded hands and felt somewhat better by whatever she had done. "...Got a soft pair of hands." He grunted as she worked.

"Well, when one channels healing magic more often than not the skin tends to stay soft. Working with oils and fats for poultices helps as well." She's never cut a palm for blood magic- she's never had to. She has her contract, her purpose, to strive for more than her specialty seems an inefficient use of her time- also. Possession? Not something she truly wants to experience.

The glow fades and she pulls her hands away. The mark remains, there's nothing she can do for it, but the ache should be gone. If some of the spell also happened to heal some of the cuts and burns on this hand- well. That's a known side effect of healing magic. He'll have to deal with it as she's not opening the wounds up again. At least the light of the mark doesn't seem to glow too badly through the clean bandages she wraps around his hand; it'd make any passers by unduly curious. Glowing parts on people tend to be noticed and marked out to the nearest set of templars.

"Unless there's anything else under your...armor." It is armor, isn't it? Not familiar armor but- armor. "I think that is all, yes?"

Again he stays silent for a bit, letting her finish her work. His hand feels fine now...for the moment. It'd probably take bit of time yet to get used to having the damn, glowing thing attached to his hand. But at the very least he can more easily deal with it until they were somewhere safer. And away from the cold, or so he hopes.

As she finished up, his hands flexed, balling up into fists and uncurling. Much better. Though he still moves to pocket the dirty rags that he used to wrap himself with. A habit to not leave anything behind and attract unwanted attention to them.

"Not really, it protects me from near anything thrown at me." Almost anything, and given how beaten it looks,it could probably be said that's the truth. "Unless you really want to see what I got." A bit of joking to help take the edge off of his bothered and anxiety ridden mind. But even then he still found it near impossible to deride any joy from it.

Into the DANGER ZONE

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)