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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The plan isn't to intimidate, but draw their focus. The second one of them launches an attack at her, Bull shifts his stance and moves after the creature with a vengeance. One wide, sweeping swing follows into another, and for a second standing within five feet becomes an exercise in just how many times that blade cuts a swath into their foes.

The demons don't bleed. They shriek and fade into greenish mist. But the templars stagger, red crystals scattering to the snow in a mockery, and move forward with more than just animal instinct. These were men, and men skilled in taking on magic.

He'd just as soon they not reach her. But he can't hold them all at once.

"I'd move it, if I were you!" he grunts, before fending off the blade of one of the templars, parrying the blow and knocking his pommel back into his helmet with a sickly crunch.

The moment the large man with the equally-large axe gets rid of the demons, Hermione stumbles forward a little, the barrier no longer keeping anything back. They'd... disappeared. Like ghosts.

But not all of them.

The things that look like they might have been human once upon a time are probably the absolutely worst things she's seen in a while, and that's saying something. When one of them charges for her, she momentarily forgets that her wand is broken and makes a foolish attempt to Apparate at least further down the path away from all this ice and madness... only to end up staggering just outside the fray, close enough that she can feel the whoosh of air as something races past her to try and get into the thick of the fighting.

Well. She'd at least managed to momentarily evade the thing that had been coming at her. Now she just happens to be practically in the middle of the rest of them, close enough that she can probably climb the horned man like a tree until she figures out how to get her wand to do something right.

Given the scream of the monster closest to her, she decides to turn and run before she ends up being tempted to do just that.

Having her out of range does mean he can be a little less cautious with his swings. As soon as she's a good distance away he turns back to the red templars with a savage grin. Demons creeped him out, but men? Men fell like any others, even if they were lyrium-riddled and monstrous.

One blade scores a hit against his blind side, but all that does is fuel that rage, fanning the flames and funneled into his next blow. One more scar isn't going to matter as long as they rid the world of a few more of these assholes.

Then there's the girl to consider. After the fight. Can't let his guard down. Focus.

For the handful that remain, he seems to be taking them on pretty well all on his own. One of the templars has noticed that blind spot, however, and seems to be trying to flank him in the process...

Fighting is easier when there's less actual fighting going on. Dodging hexes, putting up protection spells, even occasionally dueling when forced into it; Hermione can do all of these without a problem.

Avoiding several sets of hands and blades and even teeth? No thanks, she'd like to go back to Hogwarts now, please.

Something's got her jacket clutched in its hands, and since she'd been so cold that she hadn't even realized she's wearing a jacket, she figures she can stand to lose it. As she's in the process of worming herself out of it, she notices that the-... the minotaur or whatever he is has left a spot wide open to a potential attack, and one of these creatures is headed straight for it.

She's already cottoned on that using her wand is going to have some unfavorable consequences, but he's already injured enough without her just standing by and watching them hack away at him. So she pulls herself free of her jacket, racing forward and making a frenzied bid for a Freezing Charm. It doesn't immobilize the aggressor, but it does get him to stagger (and maybe slow down? It's hard to tell with everything else that's happening).

"Watch your back!"

She's back?

His head jerks in that direction, spotting the templar and, rather than immediately wrenching his blade free of one of the templars, he jerks one hand free to seize the soldier by the pauldron and yank him off his feet. This close, he can see the burning red eyes behind the eye slits of the helmet, the bloody complexion, the madness.

Before he hurls him into his compatriots, sending them tumbling before finally wrenching the axe free and taking a step back, towards Hermione. Only two left standing, barely, and it'd be a mercy to put them down at this point.

"You want to take another shot at them, here's your chance."

It's obvious he's one of the good guys, or at least not actively trying to murder her, so yes, she'll do what she can to keep him safe. He's still something of a daunting figure, though, and when he takes a step towards her, Hermione can't help feeling small and useless all over again.

Her insecurities can wait, though. She knows she can't take out both of these creatures on her own, or even one of them, and so she hesitates for a moment before realizing that they aren't hesitating. Leery as she might be of using any particularly strong spells, she at least readies herself for whatever bizarre complication might arise and readies her wand again, calling out, "Impedimenta!"

To her surprise, that one works more or less as intended, though her feet slip back a bit on the ice as she seems to experience the recoil of the magic; the pair of opponents don't stop advancing entirely, but they certainly slow down enough to be no problem for the warrior at her side.

Good a time as any to take them down for good.

This time he takes a running charge at them, axe braced as he barrels across the snow, and moments later the templars collapse to snow, twitching in their final throes, shattered armor spilling more of those sinister red shards across the ground.

He glances around once to make sure that's the last of them before reaching to slide his weapon into the holstering on his back, grimacing as the movement pulls at that wound. It's nasty, but provided nothing got into it...

"You alright?"

He lifts his gaze to Hermione, though it shifts once to her hand and back again.

Now that she isn't focused on ducking under blows and running away from multiple enemies of unknown origin, Hermione actually watches him take these things down, immediately wincing and wishing she hadn't. It's not gory, not in the strictest sense, but it's still someone going through two people (sort of) with an axe. It's not a pretty picture.

She's watching him carefully, because now that there's nothing else for him to swing that axe towards she wants to make sure it's not going to come for her head anytime soon. But despite her wariness, she notices the fresh wound, realizing that he'd gotten it in part to save her. Or because he really, really hates whatever those things were.

"I'll live," she murmurs absently, looking away from his injury and meeting his gaze again. He seems to have sustained quite a few war wounds over the course of his life, but this one's new and is more than likely her own fault, however obliquely.

"Are you? I'd offer a healing charm, but my wand didn't survive... however I ended up falling into this." She has no problem talking about magic, because clearly, he's a magical creature. She hasn't seen anything like him before and can't pin down his species, but what else can he be?

"Eh. I've had worse. I'll rub some dirt on it when we get to camp," Bull replies with a faint snort, shaking his head. Just as well. He wasn't sure he wanted magic near it, especially malfunctioning magic that was acting unpredictably.

Girl seemed to be having all sorts of a bad time. Best thing to do was get her back to the others. At least then she'd have some kind of protection. Mages without their magic didn't do all that well out in the wild.

"Assuming of course that camp sounds like a good idea to you. Because sticking around out here might not be a good plan." An eyebrow lifts. It's still her choice, for the most part, but not much of a choice at all when considered from all sides. Still. Better she feel she has one.

Being shepherded around by a horned giant might rub some people the wrong way.

Clearly stunned at the idea of literally putting dirt on an injury, Hermione replies, "That doesn't sound sanitary. Don't you have healers or doctors who can look at you?" He can obviously take care of himself, but it's in her nature to want the best for people. Especially people who'd just saved her from....

"Were those really demons?" she asks, looking back at where the last of them had fallen. "I've never seen... I've never even heard of anything that looks like that. But then, I've never heard of anything like you, either. Anyone, I mean. Sorry."

Peering up at him and taking in all of his less friendly features, Hermione takes a breath and tries to smile a little in an effort to prove that she hadn't meant to sound racist. "Can I safely assume that you would have killed me by now if you really wanted to?" After all, it's usually a good idea to clarify that she isn't just walking out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Bull's mouth creases in a crooked smile. "Figure of speech. There's actually more than dirt involved," he assures her, amused at the puzzled look on her face.

What follows is to be expected. Nearly everyone who comes through the Rift is from somewhere where nothing like this exists or happens. It's rough, any way you cut it. "Pretty good assumption," he agrees with a chuckle. "Though not everyone's as transparent as I am."

Ha. Ha ha. That's going to be funny, later.

"This place you fell into has more than just demons. The red templars are running around, killing and capturing people. There's an old Grey Warden ruin with Darkspawn crawling up out of the holes. And that's not mentioning the dragons. So, on the list of things to kill? You'd be pretty low to start with."

"A round of antibiotics wouldn't do you any harm," she remarks, the slightest bit of amusement shining through in her own voice.

A little taken aback at all the unfamiliar terminology he throws her way, Hermione needs a moment to process that before admitting, "I'm only familiar with dragons, out of all of those things. And even then, I wouldn't exactly call myself an expert." Unless, of course, he considers having ridden a dragon during a harried escape from a vault to mean she's an expert.

"I'll consider the fact that you don't want to kill me a compliment, and I'll go with you if it means getting some answers."

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OPEN: turn off the lights and I'll glow

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