Fade Rift Mods (
faderifting) wrote in
faderift2016-02-23 01:43 am
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.
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.
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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Mal didn't wait for an answer, sprinting over to finish the templar with a quick shove and twist of his spear, turning about to face the next. "Git! Jayne- Cover her."
Didn't even need to order, didn't need to repeat himself before the Mabari rounded back to keep himself between the fighting and the girl. Made himself massive, muscular cover to steady her, even if he was vibrating with the need to jump back in and bite. "Just a ways, I'll catch up-"
Light crackling in lines from hands up to the rift and it was just about done. Just about there.
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Her hand hurt, and she found that she had to force it to stay down at her side, since it suddenly seemed to want to move towards the green glow in the sky. Ignoring it as best as she could, she stumbled forward, hoping that "just a ways" was local vernacular for "just past that bush over there". Because as it was, between the fear and the unfamiliar burning, tingling sensation in her hand and down the length of most of her arm, she wasn't really sure how long she'd be able to run, even with that large dog helping to keep the way clear for her.
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Figured gett'n himself and the girl looked at took priority. He felled that last templar what had been chas'n him and bolted, shuddering against the ripple of air and rending of noise and pain in his hand that spoke to the rift gett'n flipped. Ain't his problem. Girl. Girl's his problem. One he skidded to a stop by, sweaty and a li'l bloody and a li'l ashy, Jayne much the same, stand'n 'tween them and the rest of the world.
Rift's just about shut. Good job all.
"So..." He took a moment to breathe. "You got all your bits? Noth'n bit ya?"
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A moment passed after he spoke to her, and she peered up at him, eyeing the blood and trying to ascertain how much of it, if any, was his.
"Would something have happened if they'd bitten me?" She was fairly certain she was mostly fine and unbitten, but she couldn't help imagining that these creatures spread a kind of lycanthropy of their own, turning people they've bitten into werewolves. Or were-whatever-they-are. It wasn't a pleasant thought, and she didn't exactly have a lot of other pleasant thoughts drifting about in her head right now.
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Then the dog shook off what grit and growling it had been holding onto and trotted back to sit at the girl's feet, head tipped at an angle, all curious and friendly like. Ain't no danger here no more, best Mal could tell. Which meant Jayne was gonnas tart sniffing for scraps soon enough. "Nothing too bad aside from pain and bleed'n. Which...is reason enough to not wanna get bit. I didn't wanna get bit. It hurts."
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"It's a good enough reason. I just wanted to make sure I wouldn't have anything to worry about. Like... like venom or disease or something. Or Dark magic. That is how I'd gotten here, I'm assuming."
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Or.
Anyone that might have food.
"Nah. Demons don't do poison, they do magic. Them Red Templars, though- that stuff's apparently some kinda contagious. S'why I told you to run." He could keep 'em away and not catch it, probably. Her? Not gonna leave her to catch a lung full of death. "Dark? Dunno 'bout that. Strange? Sure."
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Glancing up at Mal, she frowned for a moment before trying to focus more on the dog; focusing on anything else ran the risk of getting too disturbing. "You mean those things with the red crystals coming out of them? What are they? Were they people once?"
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Then, as an afterthought, she mentioned, "My name is Hermione. I... take it I'm not the first person to land in the middle of things like this?"
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"Me? Malcolm Reynolds. And sadly 'nuf, you ain't. People what know what's going on are try'n to figure that out. Jayne and I just keep people from gett'n bit."
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Looking at Malcolm once again, she asks, "Where are these healers? I can make it the rest of the way so long as nothing tries to eat me between here and there."
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