faderift | OPEN: turn off the lights and I'll glow

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OPEN: turn off the lights and I'll glow

WHO: New rifters & characters in Emprise du Lion
WHAT: More people falling on ice than usual, this time with demons, templars, and bonus nighttime
WHEN: Guardian 23
WHERE: Emprise du Lion
NOTES: This month, the arrival log is open to all.

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 onto freezing stone or ice that is twice as cold and just as hard. When your breath returns and the light's after-image fades from your eyes you will find yourself beneath a dark sky, a full moon straining to be seen through intermittent clouds, and a second moon low on the horizon. Its light reflects off snow to add an eerie ambient glow to the darkness, made stranger by the sickly green tint added by the fluttery menacing shape of the rift hanging in mid-air. Be careful getting up: you are at the edge of a cliff, what was once a waterfall now frozen solid in a massive curling sheet of icicles. The drop to the bottom is several stories, surely a deadly fall even without the huge humps and spikes of ice and snow that litter the ground where splash and spray were petrified.

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 the fact 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. Some are entirely different but perhaps more monstrous for it: men and women in heavy, gleaming armor, all of them with chunks of red crystal protruding out in a way you soon realize indicates it is actually growing out of their skin. Their eyes are a dull red, hollow and empty, and they attack with a single-minded determination.

Luckily, you are not on your own. Around you others are waking up, equally confused, with the same green lights flaring from their hands. There is stuff scattered about, like the contents of someone's life exploded through the rift with them: a picnic table and benches upended, metal camp furniture flung about, clothes and utensils, bits of wood and canvas and mattress littering the ground. Even better, you are not far from a path leading toward an Inquisition camp, and noise travels far in this terrain, echoing up canyons and off cliffsides, carried by the chill night wind. Help is on its way; just last until it arrives.

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If it wasn't for the pain, Aragorn would've just assumed this to be a dream.

Dazed and disoriented, Aragorn was up on his feet within seconds. He couldn't make out what's happening but the telltale signs of battle gave it away. The ranger doesn't have time to think when something lunged at him. He quickly kicked the creature off him and reached for the spare dagger he keeps at his boot. When the beast struck again, Aragorn stabbed it right in the neck. It's a messy kill. Blood spewed forth coating the icy ground in crimson. Aragorn was given a brief reprieve before another monster charged at him. He's quick to avoid the incoming blade but his dagger is still lodged in the other beast's neck.

The odds were against him here. Without a proper sword to defend himself, the ranger was outmatched. That's why he hurried to find one.

The monster on his tail was a relentless one. Now that Aragorn could get a better look at it, he could tell it's no Orc. It certainly could be confused for an Orc judging from the foul stench and even fouler grin but something about it seems more humanlike than Orc. Not having much time to dwell on that thought, Aragorn found a dented sword upon the battlefield. He quickly lunged for the sword and struck the monster. The creature managed to parry it with its own jagged blade but Aragorn's clever. He quickly drew his sword back and stomped on the monster's foot. The beast let out a scream that's instantly replaced with gurgling once Aragorn's sword made its mark. He then shoved the fiend aside and takes a breath.

This is no dream.

Edited 2016-02-23 21:55 (UTC)

Well, he knows how to handle himself, that much is clear.

Bull's fended off a couple of the creatures coming for the Rifters by now, and it appears there's a moment to breathe for all involved. His attention turns for a time to the ranger, taking in the look of him at a glance. Alright. He's probably going to be handy to have, provided he decides to be cooperative.

"Didn't take too big a bite, did they?"

Aragorn doesn't look to be wounded, but it's hard to say. Some come through the Rift wounded, according to Martel, so it doesn't hurt to ask.

He also keeps his distance, for the time being. People not used to seeing Qunari have...varied reactions, to say the least.

The sudden question won a glance from Aragorn. "No." He muttered as he briefly checked his arms and hands. "Just a scratch." Thank the Valar for that. His gaze lingered briefly upon the strange glowing mark on his hand before he looked toward the newcomer.

Horns. Massive horns. Aragorn took a step back in surprise.

The man before him had to be close to eight feet tall or so. This behemoth easily dwarfs Aragorn by three-fold and he's considered quite tall. It's a blessing that this man is a friend than foe. Aragorn would hate to fight him.

"What is this?" He asked with a touch of confusion in his tone. "There's hundreds of them." He meant the darkspawn.

That earns a snort, Bull's nostrils flaring.

"Long story. Not sure we've got the time for the full explanation. Short version is they're evil, they want us dead, and they're coming up from underground. There's no real end to them, so getting back to camp's your best bet for staying un-eaten."

At least the man isn't taking a swing at him by mistake. Better and better. After a moment he nods towards Aragorn's hand.

"What you're really going to love is what we know about that thing."

A slight sigh leaves Aragorn. The longer the story, the more complicated it is. The ranger gave the horned man a nod. There's more that he wanted to ask but now isn't the time. The two of them better fall back to the encampment while they could.

"What do you know--" Before he could even finish, something else jumps at him! It's dead within a matter of seconds once Aragorn stabs it through the neck but it managed to tear through the side of his coat. A sound of distaste leaves Aragorn once he catches a glimpse at the damage. Again, he's not injured but his coat is catching hell.

"As I was saying." He grumbled. "What do you know?" Aragorn asked as he glanced down at his hand again. He doesn't let his eyes linger on it for long. Another one of those "monsters" might attack him.

"To your left!" On cue, here's yet another hurlock trying to kill them. Lovely. This is Moria all over again.

Edited 2016-02-24 22:35 (UTC)

This time it's Bull who takes the creature on. One hand reaches for the axe at his back, nearly as tall as he is, and in an effort to keep Aragorn out of the range of the swing he takes a running charge at the creature, wheeling back and bringing it down with a meaty crunching noise.

Luckily, the blackened blood sprays backwards, and Bull only pulls forward just enough to allow one leg to kick the creature off of the blade. The corner of his lip curls as he glances back over his shoulder.

"Watch the blood. It's poison. The kind they don't have an antidote for."

Aragorn made plenty sure to stay out of the way. He would like to stay alive and in one piece. Again, he's grateful that this behemoth was on his side. The man before him was almost as tall as a cave troll and nearly as strong as one.

Poisoned blood? The ranger's eyes widened a little.

He suspected that as soon as he caught a whiff of it. The blackened blood smelled rancid, almost like spoiled meat. It's a stomach churning smell, awful and disgusting. Aragorn was once again reminded of Moria but this time by the foul smell.

"I'm aware now." He said with a slight chuckle. There's some dark humor to be had here in all this. "More are coming. Is there no end?"

"I doubt it. Those tunnels back in the rocks lead to the Deep Roads, and that place is pretty much Darkspawn Central. Best we can do is try to seal the entrance and move on."

Which they're free to try, if he's really up for it. Most Rifters just want to get to safety, but he wonders if this guy is really the sort to sit on his hands. He's got a way about him, that's for damn sure.

Iron Bull surveys him for a moment, thoughtful, before looking towards the rocky formations around them.

"There. You want to start a cave in, that's your best bet. See that pink crystal growing out of the rocks? That's dawnstone. Sharp, but brittle. It runs along the inside in veins. Should make it easy to dislodge." He shrugs. "Or we could head towards camp and come back for it. Your call."

Aragorn took one look at the dawnstone and quickly made his decision. "I'll do it." The ranger said with no hesitation.

"I'll go."

He quickly dispatched another foe before breaking into a full sprint towards the dawnstone. There was an army of darkspawns between him and the stone but that didn't deter Aragorn. Not even the slightest.

He cut down anything that stood in his path. Hurlocks, genlocks and even shrieks couldn't stand in his way. "Cover me!" Aragorn yelled at the axe-wielder before lodging his sword through the ghoulish skull of a shriek. He's careful to avoid the blackened blood that spewed forth. Unable to pry that dented blade out of the creature's head, Aragorn switched to his bow.

The ranger arrived here lightly armed. From what Aragorn last remembered, the Fellowship were scattered somewhere within the woods and he was by the riverbank searching for Frodo. He wasn't able to remember anything else and didn't have the luxury of mulling through his thoughts right now.

Three elven arrows pierce through the throats of three unlucky genlocks who tried to test their archery on him. He killed in rapid secession with little interference. Anything that came at him ended up with an arrow through its eye. Aragorn keeps up the momentum long enough to come within a few yards of the dawnstone leaving a path of corpses in his wake.

"Will an arrow do?" Aragorn asked as he climbed onto a large stone. The ranger drew his bow again and took aim.

Edited 2016-02-26 00:02 (UTC)

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"Look out!"

The shout came, and a heartbeat later, the arrow followed, skimming past Aragorn to strike a ghoul slinking up on the man. It screamed in pain, skeletal hands clawing at the air, and with a rush of air, spun away.

Maxwell hopped down from the perch he'd found - a high boulder - and approached quickly, reaching for another arrow even as he crossed the ground.

"Don't give them an inch, they'll take far more."

He aimed and loosed again.

Aragorn was lucky.

If that archer hadn't intervened or if he even moved an inch, he would've been dead. The ranger turned sharply towards the newcomer with a look of surprise. He half expected the archer to be none other than Legolas but of course, it's not him.

"They will take no more from me." Aragorn grumbled in response. Just what sort of nightmare is this?

Aragorn greeted the archer with a curt nod before gripping the hilt of his sword again. He swung it quickly when another beast clawed at him. The ranger stabbed it across the gut and kicked it away. When another foe drew near, Aragorn attacked.

This one was tall and boney unlike others, almost like a corpse. Aragorn let out a roar as he charged at it, sword drawn. He sliced at the creature's veiny arms before stabbing at its sparsely clothed abdomen. The monster let out a howl and swiped at the ranger. The telltale sound of fabric ripping marked the end of his longcoat.

"They grow frenzy." He muttered with distaste as he tore off the remains of his coat.

Maxwell tracked the ghoul with his bow, firing steadily, chasing it as it whirled and jumped and tried to get a bead on them with its icy blast.

"We need to end this quickly. This is when they start to get tricky--look out!" Even as he was saying it, the spindly demon seemed to grin and then simply disappeared. Reaching toward the earth, it vanished in a flash of green light and Maxwell threw out a quick hand to urge the other man back.

"Move, move!"

The ranger didn't dare hesitate. Aragorn followed the archer's lead and quickly made his way towards him. He needed to get him before that fiend emerged.

"What kind of devilry is this?" He growled in-between clenched teeth once the creature literally lept out of nowhere at them. Aragorn drew back that beaten up sword and threw it with all his might. The blade impaled the ghoul and knocked the bastard right off his feet. Blackened blood spewed forth but not a drop reached the two men.

"Their blood smells foul!" Aragorn exclaimed as he recoiled back in surprise. "Is it poisonous?" His blue gaze lingered on the archer.

Edited 2016-02-26 14:14 (UTC)

It was, to think of it, the first time he's ever heard such a question. Darkspawn? Certainly, being the harbingers of the Blight and all. But demon blood? There might be someone out there fool enough to play with their insides, but not anyone he knew personally.

He might have laughed, wry surprise, if claws weren't swinging for his face.

He kicked out, knocking a demon back and sent an arrow down into it's leering maw.

"Probably!" he called back, turning his head to avoid the resulting splatter. "Try not to get it in your mouth."

That won a chuckle from Aragorn. "I'm no idiot, friend." He replied with a dry sense of humor as he cleaved through another angry hurlock. A hiss escaped him once the dying beast managed to swipe at him with its claws.

"They're getting nasty now." He muttered as he glanced down at the wound upon his arm. It's a slight scratch, nothing too serious.

"Demons will do that."

A wraith whirled on them, blasting frigid wind and sharp, spears of ice, and Maxwell ducked behind an upended table, jerking his face back as the shards peppered through the wood.

Still, he shot the man a grin.

"Feel free to give back in kind."

After tearing off a piece of his tunic to stop the bleeding, Aragorn cut down the beast that attacked him and put the wraith next on his kill list. "With pleasure." Before the ghoul even knew what hit it, Aragorn lunged at it with his sword at hand.

He stabbed deep within the back of this fiend before brutally kicking it away. A sickening crack was heard as the wraith-like beast fell forward upon the ice. Aragorn purposely kicked the bastard onto a sharp icicle that impaled it right through the head. Blackened blood oozed out of the wound as the beast clawed helplessly at the ground during the final moments of its life. Aragorn then quickly finished it off by cutting the monster's head clean off. The putrid stench of rotted blood nearly made him swear in disgust.

"It doesn't get any nastier than this." Sarcasm, he has it. Aragorn glanced over the archer with a grin.

"Let's get moving before more come."

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There's a sickening screech as a pair of arrows embed themselves in its chest, falling just a few feet behind the man. Garris clicks his tongue at having hit his mark, raising a brow at the unfamiliar face in the middle of the battleground. He seemed to fight well with that first one, but seemed rather lost afterwards. With further inspection it is obvious why - even at this distance the tattle-tale sign of the rift mark is clear.

Giving a sharp whistle to draw the man's attention Garris motions for him to come towards his direction. "There's plenty more of those heading this way. Best you aren't in the middle of it once they show up."

The arrows won his attention enough. Aragorn glanced towards the archer with a hint of surprise. He hadn't expected to meet another in this hell.

"How many more?" The rifter asked before coming over to meet with this man. Aragorn took care to kill another hurlock before meeting up with the archer. That dented sword he found earlier took a beating though.

"This is endless." He muttered once he spotted another legion of fiends heading towards them. Aragorn tossed the sword away and took up his bow instead.

"How many arrows are in your quiver?" The ranger asked. "I have thirty in mine, elven made."

Edited (Whoops, typos) 2016-02-26 00:19 (UTC)

"I'm going to assume that 'elven made' is a big deal where you're from." Not that he didn't like elves, but there weren't many humans who would proudly announce such a thing. "Twenty five. I hope you're a good shot with that, because you really don't want to fight any of those things in close combat. There blood is an issue and I'm not really looking forward to putting anyone down if they get infected."

Perhaps harsh, but its the best explanation he can give at the moment and make sure the rifter doesn't go and do anything stupid.

"There's a group dealing with the main flow so hopefully this is the last of them spilling out." Notching an arrow, Garris takes aim, waiting a moment to see who would break from the pack before putting an arrow in its neck.

"They're faster." Aragorn muttered. "Faster, lighter, slightly slimmer but just as deadly." Which meant that Garris might have some difficulties keeping up with him.

"Their blood smells foul." The ranger said quickly. "It's black too." So, poisonous blood, huh? Aragorn thought as much just from the smell alone. He's grateful that he didn't get any on him. "No cure?" Now he's twice as grateful.

As soon as a stray hurlock lurched forward from the pack, an arrow pierced through its withered throat. Aragorn notched another arrow and quickly nailed another darkspawn, this time through the head. "How many are with the other party?" He asked before firing a third arrow into the incoming pack.

Edited 2016-02-26 01:07 (UTC)

Oh, don't you worry about him keeping up. He's got plenty of tricks up his sleeve, but only when he wants to use them. Right now speed wasn't necessarily the game, but rather precision. "Better be careful with them then since craftsmanship is probably somewhat different here. Unless you plan on going out and collecting them later." He wouldn't recommend it.

"No cure. Not one that's been told to anyone at least from my knowledge. It's Blighted, or simply corrupted thus the black." Another arrow, another kill, putting down a couple of genlocks rushing from the ranks. As if demons were not bad enough.

"Don't know. Our army isn't too far so I assume it is a sizable force."

Aragorn frowned as he shot another arrow. The arrow makes it's mark upon a rogue genlock. "I'll spare as many arrows I can." He muttered. If the blood of these beasts are poisonous, then there's no reclaiming those arrows.

"Only ten." The ranger said as he fired yet another shot. So far, he already fired five arrows. He only has five more to spare then. The rest will be used for other battles. Now in search for another weapon, Aragorn took a moment to survey the corpses. "A sword." His eyes widen a little with hope once he spotted a sturdy blade stuck within the ice.

"Clear me a path." That's all he said before bolting.

A sword? What like he had never seen one before? But he had just been using one not too long ag-

"Hey!" And there went the rifter, bolting right for the oncoming masses of Darkspawn, even after he had just explained that getting close to them wasn't the best of idea. Course you could fight them in close combat, but most people did that when they knew the risks.

"You've got to be kidding me..." he mutters under his breath, quickly loading another arrow and hitting another enemy in the chest and then another one in the face. This guy better do whatever he was doing quickly because he only had so many arrows left.

There isn't so much a path opened up for the man, but for the most part Garris does keep them off of him.

The other sword he acquired was dented, brittle and prone to break soon. He managed to snatch that blade off of a hurlock who succumbed to a gruesome fate earlier. This new blade he found seemed unspoiled by damage but the silver blade was coated in blackened blood. Clearly this sword belonged to one of the Inquisition's allies, a fallen brethren.

Aragorn narrowly avoided getting cleaved by some axe-wielding fiend and slid across the ice towards the fallen sword. He snatched it up by its clean hilt and swiped at a few genlocks who attacked with axes and spears. Hastily the ranger made his way back to the archer with a small legion of angry darkspawns giving chase.

"Finally, a proper sword." Aragorn said as he whirled around to stab a hurlock through the gut. He quickly backed away once the blood spewed forth.

Edited 2016-02-26 22:17 (UTC)