CLOSED: Drakonis Rifter Arrival

[faderifting]

WHO: New rifters & Solas
WHAT: Arrivals and returns
WHEN: Drakonis 20
WHERE: The Dales
NOTES: This log is slightly backdated and closed to new rifters and Solas. However, it is safe to assume that everyone (a) survives and (b) is led by Solas to Skyhold by Drakonis 25, so you're free to make new logs and begin playing at Skyhold when you're ready to do so.

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 cold dirt and long grass. When your breath returns and the light's after-image fades from your eyes you will find yourself beneath a canopy of trees, illuminated deep green by moonlight in the distance and brighter green by the crystalline tear in reality hanging suspended above you.

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. Surrounding you and the rift through which you arrived is a circle of six ghostly, humanoid figures, shifting colors in the dark like iridescent gems and throwing fire, ice, and bursts of physical force at whomever catches their attention.

Luckily, you are not on your own. Around you others are rising from the ground, equally confused, with the same green lights flaring from their hands. And not far is a lone figure, coming to help.

Comments

OTA

[parkourprince]

after the demons.
The demons fell, all of them, one way or another, and finally there was time to simply look around and observe, try to figure out where he was and why and how. There was a couple others like him present too, most of them strangers - and particularly strange looking - except for his father. The inside of his palm still ached deeply, and it demanded constant attention even after he's given it. It was no wound, exactly, and it did not bleed.

His arrows scattered when he fell, those that remained in his quiver he shot at the demons, and now all of them he gathered, checking each one for damage.

Then, there was the matter of another oddity. It was not only elves and humans that this strange tear in the sky spat out, but also a pony. A small horse that did not spook at the demons, but kicked one that dared to get close. Said pony also recognised him first, before Legolas recognised him in return. Bill, the pony that accompanied the hobbits and then the Fellowship to the very gates of Moria. A beast that, as far as Legolas knew, had long since passed on to join his ancestors.

"How is it that you are here, my friend?" Yes, it was the horse that got his attention first and foremost. Nervous - though not yet running - as the beast was, it needed soothing and soothing it would get. Everything else came second.

( ooc: Sam requested Bill, who shows up with the rifters :3c on player's request Legolas will lead him to Skyhold. )

[singularwill]

"Friend, give me your hand, and I will soothe it," a voice said, stepping up behind Legolas. He barely even gave a glance to the pony, his attention solely on the elf.

The smile on his face was warm, and genuine, as if he was greeting a friend he had not seen in a thousand years.

[parkourprince]

Friend, said the voice, yet it was wholly unfamiliar. Legolas turned and stared for a second too long than was polite, but there was one distinctive feature - or rather a combination of features - that would draw the attention of any elf. Before him stood another elf with his head cleanly shaven. He blinked, long and slow, in his surprise, and absently lifted the aching hand to offer it to this strange elf.

It was an elf, that didn't feel foul, and Legolas was very very distracted. Besides that, the ache was bothersome, it had his fingers curling into the palm, forming a fist in an attempt to curb it. Right now, though, he tried to unfurl them to show the source of the pain. "What is it, this crack that feels it splits both the hröa and fëa?"

[singularwill]

He had known that the rifters were supposedly from other worlds - had heard that news through a grapevine of his own - but it was something else to witness for himself. The elf looked so like the dreams of old, but when he spoke, he murmured words in a language Solas did not recognize, though he took the meaning easily enough.

"Do you mean the Rift, or the Shard?" He asked, taking Legolas' hand and easing the fingers further open, resting his own against them. His hand glowed green a moment, pushing back the magic of the anchor further into the shard. It was weak, but not nearly as weak as he thought it would be. Surprising. Not that it showed on his face. He lifted his head to meet Legolas' face and offered him a smile.

"The rift is a - crack, as you say, torn in the Veil between the waking world and the Fade. It is - a mistake. An error. A byproduct of the madness brought upon the world by a mad man. The shard - that, I'm afraid, will take longer to explain." He released Legolas' hand. "There. That should hold, for now. I can take a closer look, later. How do you feel? "

[parkourprince]

Legolas listened intently, because already he knew that nothing but understanding what had happened would help them. He tried, too, to not get distracted overly much by the strange appearance of the other elf, and fixed his gaze firmly on his face instead. It helped, if nothing else, that he spoke with assuredness of someone who had encountered those things before.

"But there is an explanation, then?" For the rest, though, he did have to consider his answer a little more carefully. Sure enough, the pain was gone for the most part, and he flexed his fingers in this moment of silence. How did he feel? Not right: weak and weary, like something was missing, a presence that was always there, always surrounding him was gone. "I feel changed, an effect of this Rift, or this Shard, I think, or perhaps even both-," they were connected, he knew that much, "-but you did as you said you would, the pain is soothed." By some sort of Artes that Legolas had not seen ever before: another question to join the already many.

He smiled, then, a smile that stretched lips and reflected in eyes, his eyebrows arched. "You called me friend, and done me kindness, but I have yet to know the name of this friend of mine?" He offered a polite nod, lifting a hand to rest over his heart, "I am Legolas, son of Thranduil."

[universal_charm]

He had been more focused on surviving than anything during the battle, but Legolas' shooting had not gone unnoticed. It was impressive to say the least, and he was sure once the adrenaline wasn't coursing through him quite so thickly he be very much interested in where Legolas came from and his culture.

For the moment, though, his attention was occupied by the pony. He could honestly say this was the first time he'd ever had his ass saved by one, and wondered if this would be a story for one of those 'amazing animal' story books. It seemed the blonde man with the arrows knew it (he didn't want to call him an elf, that seemed rude), which was interesting in its own right. He made his way over, smiling at the charming creature.

"I owe you a thank you, bud," he told the horse, stopping just short of being beside Legolas. "If I had a carrot I'd give you one. Remind me to find you a whole bushel once we find a town."

[parkourprince]

Legolas was unsurprised by the approach, not because he expected it, but simply because he heard the steps in his direction. He tilted his head, looking to the side to observe the man speaking, and he couldn't help the smile at his words. It was clear, too, that Bill appreciated the sentiment - a smart beast, it was! - even if his thoughts were not as crystal clear as they were in the past to Legolas. All he could hear were garbled mumbles, and only a sense of appreciation.

Still, that appreciation he could convey.

"The thought alone is appreciated, or so he would say were he capable of words," then, with some unhidden amusement that he just couldn't help, Legolas added, "But we will be sure to remind you of this debt."

Bill, himself, only snorted in response.

[universal_charm]

Kirk raised a brow at that, looking to the pony again. He didn't question the fact Legolas seemed to speak for the animal, or that the animal itself might be more than just a pony. You see a lot of things out among the stars, so a sentient - or semi-sentient - hoofed animal was far from the most far fetched of ideas. That someone else might be able to communication telepathically with it was not odd either.

"I'll have to remember that," he laughed and bowed slightly to the pony. "I'm a man who pays his debts, after all." He glanced between them both and finally held out his hand to Legolas - the one not shining with an eerie green light.

"I'm Captain James Tiberius Kirk, in case he ever wants to call in that favor."

[parkourprince]

Legolas paused briefly at the offered hand, the first gesture like that offered to him in this world and so he stared a little bit, blinking in his surprise. Among the elves, direct touch was a rare thing reserved primarily for friends and family, and so it took him a moment to actually return the gesture. His own grip was gentle and light, in a way of someone most unused to such.

Still, he smiled all the same, broader after the handshake. “We will remember your name, Captain James Tiberius Kirk,” and he offered his own sort of greeting, the elven equivalent of a handshake, by slightly inclining his head. “For when the time comes.“

Gesturing towards Bill, he introduced the pony, “The one you are indebted to is Bill, and for him speaks Legolas, son of Thranduil. Well met.”

DEMON FIGHT - OTA

[singularwill]

He was spending too much time in the Fade. He knew this, knew the pull it held for him, the simplicity and the comfort after months of despair. He knew he had to spend more time in the 'waking' world, had to regain his strength and seek new ways to destroy Corypheus, without the anchor. And he was. But still, slumber called, and he drew into it, as a source of solace.

That night, it was more.

That night, a spirit appeared to him - almost in the shape of a woman, glowing with power, and they spoke in the shifting darkness of dreams.

When he woke, he knew where to go.

He knew where the shard bearers would appear next. Perhaps it was because he was already so close, slumbering in crumbling elven ruins deep in the Dales, that the spirit had come to him. Or perhaps it had been searching for him this whole time. It did not matter. He heeded her words and took into the woods at a run, feeling the urgency compel him forward.

He arrived just in time, for the green flash of the rift, the bodies already on the ground, the demons pouring forth.

His lip curled, his staff striking out - a freezing blast of ice ripping forward, crackling through the air as the rage demon bore down on the first of the bodies, already stirring to rise.

[ooc: group thread, but don't worry about tagging order.]

she's literally a damsel in distress rn i'm so sorry

[dressmaking]

Lacey was fortunate enough to hit the ground on her hands and knees, rather than sprawling flat; still, the impact knocked some of the breath out of her and left her a bit dizzied. Last she remembered, she'd been asleep, but this—

It wasn't like any of her nightmares, though the hellish green glow in the sky was nightmarish-looking enough — and this wasn't District 8, which had no green space whatsoever to speak of, let alone forest. She got to her feet, slowly, wincing at the pain in her skinned knees — and the worse pain in her hand, so intense she expected to be bleeding all over the place. Yet there was no blood, just a splinter of light in her palm the same color as that... whatever it was hanging in the air.

For a moment she just tried to breathe, not to give in to the panic slowly rising up to grip her by the throat. There were others, men, as far as she could tell by what light was available — none of them familiar. And there were... creatures, things she had no name for. They weren't human, and even Capitol mutts usually looked like something that could be recognized as having been an animal once—

There was heat and light suddenly out of her peripheral vision, and without thinking Lacey rolled out of the way, came up to her feet, adrenaline kicking in immediately; the fireball the demon had thrown at her sped past her head, close enough to singe the ends of her hair. This was some new arena, had to be. The Gamemakers were trying to kill her. Never mind that she was years past reaping age, and she was a victor, they couldn't reap her anyway — but the Capitol could always find excuses for a little entertainment.

She was unarmed, and she should have run, regardless of whether these other people here were enemies or potential allies. In the Games, everything and everyone was there to kill you. If you couldn't fight, you ran to save your own life. Lacey backed up, breathing fast, almost on the verge of sprinting for it... and then her back hit a tree and, inexplicably, instead of running, she froze up.

Then there was another man, with a staff, and the bolt of ice that tore through the air out of what seemed like nowhere was at least not aimed at her, but at one of those things. Not that it mattered. He'd probably try to kill her anyway. That was how things went in the arena. Alliances couldn't be trusted.

[parkourprince]

Legolas fell back first, blessedly missing any rocks or fallen logs on his way down, though it hardly made his landing soft. He was winded and his hand hurt, the arrows scattered from the quiver upon his fall, but all the same, he was back on his feet within a fraction of a second, stumbling only once before he regained his balance. The air reeked of corruption and that had him on full alert. The flash of icy light startled him only further, delayed him by a full second in reaching for what still remained of his arrows.

Finally, though, an approaching creature - vile not unlike the orcs, or any of the other creatures of Morgoth - jumpstarted him into action. Legolas grabbed a fistful of arrows, or what would have been a fistful had there been any more than two, and immediately nocked one to his bow, releasing an arrow straight at the creature's eye socket. It sang in the air, reaching its mark with ease.

He caught the sight of a woman with the corner of his eye, frightened and on the verge of fleeing, backed up against a tree. A stranger, likely much like himself finding herself in a situation beyond her understanding. Without a word, in but a handful of silent steps, moved to stand between her and the approaching creatures, the next - and his last - arrow already nocked and ready to be released once he found his mark.

ota - plurk: pr0ph3t

[rowancrowned]

He was accustomed to pain. Several thousand years had given him the experience needed to compartmentalize such distractions, especially in the heat of battle. He was clothed to handle an attack by the spiders, should they fall upon his party on the way from Dale, and rolls out of his tumble into a standing position, swords unsheathed and ready to address whatever caught his attention first.

In fact, what had screamed most upon his arrival was the urge to protect his son. Thranduil did not know what he fought, only that it stood between him and Legolas, who was running dangerously low on arrows. In Thranduil’s estimation, of course. Legolas had a talent for making them last. Luckily, the Shades fell just as any other beast might against sword and bow, and once Thranduil established Legolas was unharmed, though changed, he was more willing to look beyond his son, despite any questions he might have. They were in mixed company, and after a moment of bowed heads and a few words in a melodic language, they broke apart, but not before Thranduil gave the pony accompanying his son a fond pat on the head.

Thranduil took up a stance a few meters away from his son, busying himself with cleaning his swords on the snow and doing an assessment of whatever was on his palm, pulling off his gloves to do so. This new tongue flowed from his lips with some unease, but his people are Those Who Speak, and he would adapt.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and he lifted his head to address whomever had approached him. The circlet on his brow and the fine make of his clothes indicated status, but he was polite and respectful in his address, waiting for this—person to speak before he began.

[parkourprince]

Once the hubbub and excitement of the battle had subsided, it was nearly natural for the two of them to gravitate towards one another. It seemed to not change at all, regardless of the place, or... the world, as the case was. It was no Arda, that much was certain on the very first glance, once Legolas had the time to consider the world around him. All the more reason, this, to stand first by his father's side, to try to figure out together what was even going on.

"Such strange creatures, these, but they fell as easily as orcs do beneath the sharp blade or a well aimed arrow," He spoke softly, in their native tongue to provide some privacy, or so he hoped anyway. Thranduil was not the only one to fret, to feel concern, not the only one swept away by the desire to protect once they realised they were together in this mess. Legolas had not seen the strange creatures get a single hit in, but perhaps it happened when his back was turned and he faced another way, so he still observed attentively for any sign of injury.

He knew better than to just straight up ask, because there was only ever one answer to that question that he always got.

[rowancrowned]

“And they are kin to orcs,” he answered, sheathing his sword once he pronounced it clean, drying it on the edges of his now mud-speckled coat. “The corruption rolls off them in waves.”

So thick and heavy he could nearly taste it at the back of his throat, though all lay slain.

He could feel Legolas’ concern as he moved, his son trying to look without seeming obvious. The concern buoyed him despite his other worries—where they were, for one, and what the tear above them was—utterly normal, and utterly unneeded. That Legolas gave it was still precious and sweet.

He made an elegant little gesture to dismiss the concern. “Fret not, leafling, I am unharmed. And I must assume the same of you.”

No marks on Legolas' fine clothes. While he had arrived with some arms, he was not armed for scouting or hunting, which suggested he had not been taken whilst outside of the Halls. His attention drifted to the pony, who again received a mane-stroking. “And who is your friend?”

[parkourprince]

It was not an unfair assumption, these creatures were just as foul, just as corrupted and dark, yet even more mindless than the orcs, more so than even the most primitive of the trolls. So vile that Legolas had to wonder if they ought not burn the remains, rather than let them infect the soil and nature around them.

"Not one of them got close enough to breathe the same air as I do," there were not overly many anyway, he had dealt with packs of orcs or spiders far greater in size, and those too all too often could not get near. But watching Thranduil move with ease, with not even a shred of tension that would betray him hiding an injury, he relaxed by a notch. Legolas ducked his head in a small nod, offered a reassuring smile, "I am well, ada."

Turning to Bill, then, he had to pause, uncertain how to explain his presence. "This is Bill, a brave creature that accompanied the Ring Bearer and then the Fellowship of the Ring on its quest 'til the very gates of Moria." He spoke proudly and with clear fondness, thinking back to the friends he had made: folk and beast alike.

[rowancrowned]

“I am pleased.” And with that, he was satisfied, switching back to this new tongue, trying it out with amusement and a rational touch of concern. “Gather your arrows, leafling. I doubt Forest-made arrows will be in vast supply in this place.”

Legolas’ next words did give him pause, and he looked his son over, gave his clothing a critical look, as best he was able. Doubtless, his assessment would have been better had he been able to touch the clothing, but as it was, he was able to draw an assessment about which he was fairly confident.

“Legolas,” he said, gently too—“Those close were not made by any tailor in my Halls.”

[singularwill]

"Andaran atish’an," Solas greeted him with a pleasant smile, his haphazard robes a stark contrast to the beautiful embroidered clothes that Thranduil wore. Even Solas' staff was muted, despite the magic he had just been wielding. He looked very much like he had been living in the wilds for a long time.

"Welcome, friend. Do you require assistance? Healing, perhaps?"

[rowancrowned]

"Well-met," he allowed, executing a short bow of his head with his eyes closed, the picture of courtly grace. The gloves were pulled back on. He tugged the soft leather over the hand with the odd green mark first, the mark that both he and his son- and, apparently, all the others- bore. "'Tis a joy to see kin, but I must first ask why you are-- shorn."

None of the Quendi would ever- could ever- do that to themselves. Not willingly. And on this elf, it looked so fresh, and all the more horrifying for it. But Thranduil kept his expression placid, flexing the newly-marked hand in an attempt to soothe the ache.

[singularwill]

Solas noticed the hand, but left it unmentioned, for the moment, noting the slight cool tone that the elf spoke with.

It took him a moment to realise what the elf was saying - after all, the last thing he was currently thinking about was his hair, but it finally clicked in.

"Ah, of course. My hair. It hasn't grown for many years, though I had enough of it, in my youth." A thread of humour ran through his voice as he gave his answer - the look of mild disgust on Thranduil's face was enough to indicate he would likely not be appeased by the answer. Why anyone cared if he was bald, he would never fully comprehend. "Is it a problem?"

[rowancrowned]

"It does not pain you?" His sense of the world was mirky, muted since he had fallen, but delicate probing revealed the elf before him was indeed and elf, fëa and hröa both.

"We are kin, but you are not Quendi-" the first of many words he would utter that would not translate. "- or you would understand my confusion."

He exhaled, a soft little breath of acceptance, of choosing a new path and way to conduct this conversation. Again, a bow, but one slightly deeper.

"I am Thranduil Oropherion, of Mirkwood." For now, he kept his title to himself, but the jewel at his forehead glittered in the light. "Is this place your home? It does not feel like Arda. It does not feel like anything I have known in seven thousand years of living. There is-" he gestures sharply. "- some shroud in the air. Some matter of obstruction. I am not able to draw upon my fëa as I ought to be."

OTA - After the Demon Fight

[universal_charm]

Not a dream. None of this was a dream. He'd had enough nightmares to be able to distinguish between the phantom pains of the mind and the aches of the physical world, and this was all very real. It set his mind reeling as he caught his breath after the battle, shivering as he came down from the adrenaline high. He did his best to take deep breaths to replenish oxygen, to steady his heartbeat, and take better stock of his situation.

He was not on the Enterprise, that was for sure, and while the surrounding foliage surely looked similar, it felt different from Earth or from any world he had yet visited. So, a new one then? But if that was so, how had he gotten here? He couldn't have been beamed, and Bones and Spock would never had authorized it without his consent while he was unconscious, not unless the Enterprise was in serious danger of being lost. Which it certainly was not the last he remembered. And the last thing he remembered had been falling asleep on his bed after playing a match of 3-D chess with Spock in his off shift as the ship glided through hyper space.

And further, the people around him were not from his ship. He recognized none of the faces, though at least three looked like they might be Vulcans, but he doubted it. They had showed to much emotion during the battle and now to be Vulcans and their style of dress was wrong, and he dismissed the idea. Still, it made him wonder whom they might be and if they were native, though they looked as confused as him - save for one. The one that had been running up to them when the demons attacked and aided them.

Unconsciously he reached down and rubbed his thumb along the edges of the gem set into his hand, throbbing and burning. And there in was yet another question. How had he gotten the gem in his palm? He had definitely not had it when he feel asleep, and the pain made him certain it was a new addition. Which only made him angry, thinking someone had done some sort of procedure on him without his consent. But being angry and sullenly silent would get him nowhere, and at the least he could draw the conclusion that most of them were as surprised to be here as himself.

So he licked his lips and kept his hand close and stepped towards the nearest to him, hoping to strike up a conversation and get some answers. With answers he could form a plan, and with a plan he could get back home to the Enterprise.

"Well, that was exciting, huh?"

And a great way to start off a five year mission. He couldn't wait to write this down and turn it in as a report to the brass.

[singularwill]

"I suppose exciting is a way to describe it," Solas replied, offering the man a smile. He had noticed that the stranger had been rubbing his shard, which was no surprise, really. It was all offering them pain.

"Another, perhaps, would be distressing. But you seem relatively no worse for wear. May I see your hand?"

[universal_charm]

It was a more Vulcanese answer than he had been expecting, but mentally he shoved himself. He was off balance and trying to slot this new man into a persona be understood, but that was both stupid and unkind.

For a brief second he hesitated. The man had saved them, it was true, but there was that touch of doubt. He didn't look as if he had been the one to bring him here, but since he had no idea how he'd gotten here that meant nothing. And he had saved them. If he wanted them dead, letting them get torn to bits would have been easier than jumping into the fray himself. And Kirk liked to trust people anyways. His gut said the man wasn't a threat, and that was all he really had to go on at the moment.

"Do you know what this is?" He asked him, mentally wondering how he'd understood the other, but it was something for later. He held out his palm, the edges around the gem puffy and red and clearly swollen. "Can you get it off me?"

[singularwill]

"Yes, and No." Solas answered, gently grasping Kirk's wrist as he looked down at the shard. Carefully, he pressed his fingers upon it and they glowed - first with the green light of rift magic, and then the pale blue of healing magic, for the flesh.

"That should calm it, for now. As for what it is - it is a broken piece of an incredibly powerful magic. The Anchor. How you came to possess it is what I hope to determine, and whether or not we can remove it..." He let go of Kirk's wrist and raised his eyes to meet his. "The original, unbroken Anchor was impossible to remove, save in death. I had thought then, that it was truly destroyed, but obviously it is not. Hopefully, in this lesser form, more can be done."

Hopefully, it wouldn't kill everyone who bore one.