faderift | CLOSED: Drakonis Rifter Arrival

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CLOSED: Drakonis Rifter Arrival

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.

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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. )

"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.

Edited 2016-03-24 13:20 (UTC)

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?"

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? "

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."

"Well met, Legolas. I am Solas. And yes - there is an explanation, of sorts, though it is hampered by my limited understanding. But I saw the shards when they were once one, and whole, and they seem to serve the same purpose. I have a theory, but I would like the time to study them in more depth, before offering it."

"You are lucky," he continued. "For yes, I have no doubt you have been changed. Little can pass through the veil unchanged, and unharmed. If you had been spirit, you would have been twisted irrevocably into a demon, and I would have been forced to slay you, as the others. Instead, I find kin. I would call that most fortunate indeed.

"Well met, Solas," he said in turn, polite and friendly, and he listened with interest obvious and clear. Each explanation sparked thoughts to unveil, questions to rear their heads in, but still, Legolas did his best to not bombard the elf with all of them at once. He sensed corruption in the demons, indeed, but he had felt none in himself. He cast a wary glance down at his hand where the shard still shone, lodged in his flesh.

"The Firstborn - regardless of the Age they were born in - are not so easily corrupted," he shook his head and curled his fingers into a fist again around the shard, hiding it from view for his own benefit. It did not hide its presence from him, but it was the second best thing he could do. "Or broken, but it seems, indeed, not wholly immune to the effects such passing can have."

The full knowledge of just how exactly he had been changed would come with time. There were only a couple things he was noticing right there and then, and he already wished them gone. Small as they were, they were unnerving, for they brought to the forefront something he truly despised.

"All the same, I would have you share your findings of these shards, and on means of their removal, if I may be so bold to ask this."

Solas couldn't help a small smile.

"I think you would be surprised, to know what can be corrupted. But I am still thankful, in this instance, that you are not - and hope that it remains so." As to the lingering effects - Solas had no idea of these, so did not comment upon them.

At the question, the smile grew.

"Of course, I am happy to. I only hope that you continue to be bold enough to seek the knowledge and wisdom that you require. But on the shards themselves, I know little. Even the anchor was a magic almost wholly unknown to us, before its appearance. I believe it to be something ancient, and elven, but I doubt its makers ever expected it to survive in any fashion after its bearer's death. Death was the only way to remove the original, and - I am afraid - may be the only way to remove its shards. Perhaps not. Amputation, perhaps, might suffice, but it is a very high risk, to tamper with it. After some more study, I hope I will be of more use to you."

Neither death nor amputation were particularly appealing prospects, not now, and more than likely, not ever. It was frustrating to hear though and his expression showed as much, as did the sigh he allowed himself.

“There is nothing for it but to be patient, then, and learn as much as possible,” it went without saying, Legolas thought, that this learning did include learning about any possibility of returning home. “Do you possess one yourself as well to be able to study it easily?”

He had not noticed any strange green glow on Solas’s hands earlier, but perhaps it was duller, and besides that the angles had not allowed him to see much anyway.

"No." He held up his hands, and they were clean. "Though I have heard rumour that there are some from our world who do posses them, I have yet to see them myself. Though I was well acquainted with the original, I admit that yours - and the others here - are the first I have seen of my own eyes, in this... new form."

He lowered his hands again, tilting his head.

"While it may indeed have made it easier to study, I am not sure you would wish me to be to be imperilled by it, if I am to make any headway to keep it safe for you."

In all the words, there was one that was a keyword: imperilled. Did these gems embedded in their hands a source of peril of some sort, a draw for it, perhaps? Legolas glanced in the direction of his father, and his fist balled harder and tighter around the smooth surface.

"What peril do they pose, to you or to us?" If he knew, he could prepare as best as was only possible. He would not bear the thought of allowing himself to fall, not here in this strange place, and the thought of losing his father was equally terrible. It squeezed his heart painfully, and this pain took his breath away for a handful of seconds. "I am willing to submit myself and this stone to study, if with it will assure the safety of my own and my kin."

And when he looked back to Solas, his eyes were hard with determination. The thread of trust was yet thin, but Solas was an elf, surely he would endeavour to aid him rather than harm.

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."

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.

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."

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.”

It only occurred to Kirk a split second later than hand-shaking might not be something that this man and his ilk did. It was simply so natural for him that he had defaulted to it, and he felt momentarily abashed. He gives a squeeze in return - not hard, but firm and folds his arms to go back to warding off the cold.

"Just Kirk is fine," he assured him. "And it's nice to meet you, Bill. And you too, Legolas. I think I owe you for at least one save during that fight too."

Another nod, as Legolas accepted the way of address, his smile a touch mirthful. It was certainly less of a mouthful, not that Legolas truly intended to call him the said mouthful every time.

"I have had a great many friends among the Men, and I have been in a great many battles. It is an instinct, you may say, to protect those with me, and glad I am it has not failed me this time either, in protecting those who deserve it."

Kindness and politeness was always repaid in the same.

Still, Legolas couldn't quite keep his curiosity to himself at the Man's strange dress style. "What kind of a Captain are you, Master Kirk?"

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CLOSED: Drakonis Rifter Arrival

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