faderift | We come from the land of the ice and snow

We come from the land of the ice and snow

WHO: Open to all
WHAT: Thedas' strange new guests are delivered to Skyhold
WHEN: 25 Harvestmere (October)
WHERE: Skyhold main gate & courtyard
NOTES: This is Part I of a two-part intro event, Part II will be posted tomorrow.

A long uphill tromp through the snowy mountains ends at Skyhold, the distant fortress finally before them in all its tumble-down glory. There is time to admire the drop into the river gorge far below as they cross the only bridge into the castle; it is briefly backed up with traffic, several carts bearing supplies and visitors stalled as the portcullis is raised. Those coming to help catalog and unload the shipment and greet the guests, or otherwise present near the front courtyard, will find themselves witness to a far more interesting arrival.

Guards at the gate carry the word quickly, and more gather, though they make no move to imprison the strange people who fell out of a rift. They just line the perimeter and keep a close watch. Perhaps this adds a level of tension to this first encounter, but it also reassures the many who are unsettled by the uncertain turn of events and keeps in check those who might attack first and ask questions later. Others will no doubt soften the Inquisition's first impression, offering food, information, and other assistance.

Medical attention is available in the tented-encircled corner of the courtyard where the wounded from Haven are still treated. The quartermaster's assistant is called upon to provide spare odds and ends of clothing to those in need, and to issue blankets for all, though they are left to fend for themselves to find places to sleep.

Any mage willing to help is called in to do so and a cluster forms in one side of the courtyard to examine the rifters. They are objects of curiosity in general, but the marks on their hands are of particular interest, resembling smaller slivers of the Herald's famous mark. Despite their best efforts, no mage will be able to provide any real insight after this initial assessment. What the rifters and their marks are is a question they cannot answer today.

But one question is answered: in the midst of all the commotion, another Inquisition agent arrives from Haven, rushing in red-faced to announce that the Herald's body has finally been found.

OOC

It will be decided (partly for OOC reasons, admittedly) that the rifters will not be imprisoned at this point, but they will be watched carefully, and the guards are on alert for any strange behavior by people with glowing hands or strange attire. And of course, their freedom can be revoked at any time if they're deemed a danger. Though there are some OOC considerations at play here, you're welcome to ICly lobby for more or less freedom for the rifters, and things may change based on IC action/consensus.

Also: Part II, aka the log for the funeral/wake/etc. event, will go up tomorrow!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I wasn't really thinking too much about slaying it--seeing it, poking it, pissing it off a little...sure. That'll be something to scratch off the bucket list. Has anyone ever tried taming a dragon?" at least he could say he did something interesting while he was here.

"There was this one group, also ten years ago- but it did not end well. Dragons are fickle, if you lose their favor they tend to turn on you and eat you." Or you have to kill them. Either way, death, sorrow, alas. "Now Qunari, however, are dragon descendant- they are the marvelous sort you see walking about with the height and the horns. Poking them is relatively easy if you stick with the traditional greeting of a headbutt. I never understand why they do this but- who am I to question their traditions?"

"I don't know, I tend to think of myself as unappetizing...you know, something you get a small taste of and then spit right back out," okay, maybe that wasn't a flattering picture, but most people found him not very tasty so it fit init's own way, "Qunari...yeah I've seen a few of them walking around, there was one at Haven...strange, but she seemed harmless...more or less. Not really the headbutting sort, sadly, I tend to knock people out with that particular greeting. You're welcome to do it, though, I'll watch and live through you vicariously."

"Allow me to find a ladder and I'll be happy to demonstrate." Being several head shorter than most Qunari made headbutting them difficult, though he wasn't truly one to make an attempt. "Their skulls are quite think, I'm willing to wager they could take whatever blow you might manage. Me? I fear I might break my nose and I quite like the shape it is in."

"If I had the money I'd pay to see it," Dante had taken not of the short stature of elves in this world...well except for one who was just as tall as he was. Dante almost had to do a double take. He had to assume, however, that she wasn't from this world...she was like him, or stuck in the same boat anyway, "as long as they keep both feet firmly planted they might stand a chance I guess," giving Zevran a once over he nodded in agreement, "well you look delicate, but looks aren't everything.

"Remind me when you find yourself some coin." He'll be glad to relieve him of it. Sure, the blow might hurt but if he took it in the right way with a proper accomplice? Perhaps his nose might not break.

Or.

It would and then there would be sympathy lovemaking from someone. Either way, he wins! Save for his poor nose.

"I am a delicate Antivan rose, it is true." He said with all due seriousness.

"If only you had a currency exchange rate, the gold standard isn't what it used to be," not that the few coins he arrived here with in the depths of his pockets would amount to terribly much either, but still. Ruse or not he figured it would be hilarious to watch and Dante was not beyond a little entertainment where he could find it.

"You might be a delicate...whatever rose," because Dante has no idea what Antivan is, "but you have a pretty mean game face."

"Antivan. Of Antiva." He offers. It is no fault of this man's that he has knowledge of the greatest country in all of Thedas. "The fun country, as it were. Currently we are straddling the line between Ferelden and Orlais."

"Antivan," Dante was careful in pronouncing the syllables in his own accent since he seemed to pronounce things slightly different from some of the individuals in this world. He hit the syllables a little harder that Zevran, but he doesn't bother to correct it, he would have to take on the other's way of talking and he would probably butcher it so he didn't try, "well if it's the fun city why the hell am I here instead of there?"

"Because the Inquisition is here and it is they that wonder after your fine glowing hand and skill with murdering demons." That would be his best guess, to be certain.

"You think my hand is fine? I guess it's the only thing not covered in sludge," Dante finished what remained in the mug before setting it aside grinning more to himself than at Zevran, "the demon murdering skill just comes with the territory, if you're a demon hunter you'd damn well better be good at killing demons. Though how do you know?"

"You are covered in gore and not dead. You've either got some skill in slaughtering demons or you're terribly unfortunate with where you choose to stand." It could be either, honestly.

"The first one paints a better picture, don't you think?" At least he'd rather not be seen as being an accident and the truth was that killing some of these demons was a lot like killing the ones back home. They didn't look like the ones back home and some of the ones back home were a great deal larger...uglier...smellier, "right, let's go with 'I'm just that good'."

"Until I am proven otherwise? I shall think so." Better to be skilled than to be incompetent, after all. "Seriously though, soon as you are finished here? Find somewhere to rinse off yourself and your kit. Demon gore does not come out easily once it dries."

"You don't need me to tell you that flattery gets you just about anywhere, right?" Dante was so competitive and combative he was just as likely to prove his skill in the physical arena as he would be in other, more questionable arenas. Of course, until he figured he could get by without scaring the people of this world shitless he might just stick to subtleties.

"You're keen to watch, that's what it is," this was said around an amused snort, "I'm not worried about the denim, that's easy, but I do like this jacket."

[ooc: I don't know how this got lost, but sorry for the delay, oi.]

"Who, me?" Oh the most innocent of looks was offered, all wide eyes and lifted brows. "I would never. At least not without invitation under normal circumstances. As it is demon gore? I think I will sit this one out."

The stuff had a smell to it, and a tacky resistance to most soaps. The less time he spends around it? the better.

"You think this is bad?" Dante laughed a bit nudging the empty mug away and leaning back in his chair, "I've been up to my neck in demon secretion. You'd think being in the presence of a succubus would be more pleasant, but it's secretions smelled like sick...that's what happens when you fight a demon whose greatest attack is caustic projectile vomit."

"...you are not exactly increasing your chances of another drink, nor company this evening." It was one thing to share stories of battle when that was, more or less, the thread of the conversation. This was...slightly bizarre and enough to give even Zevran pause.

Ugh.

Vomit. Reasons he did not use certain poisons.

"Mmm...needed to get a back on track with the whole lone wolf image. Climbing all the way up here with a pack didn't exactly get me off on the right foot," it was just one more difference between his world and this one. The demons were, arguably, more grotesque...and the smell could be much worse. It's a good thing he didn't go into the topic of Virility.

"Ah, yes, the struggle that is holding one's own image when forced to work with others. Terribly difficult, that." Zevran sat back with his mug in hand, brow quirked. "I am sure you will manage."

"Image is only part of it to be honest. People are pretty delicate, aren't they, Rosie?" Because they have failed to exchange names as of yet, Dante is improvising off of the delicate Antivan rose remark, although it does make him sound as though he's distinguishing himself from people, "I don't mind putting myself at risk, wind me up and let me go. It's harder with other's around you, you're responsible."

Well for that he only had himself to blame, though he took it in stride. Maker knows he had been called far worse for far less reason. Crackling a faint laugh he shook his head. "Precision and control, unless you wish to make a meatgrinder of the field? A little situational awareness is key."

"Unfortunately Rebellion isn't a situational awareness kind of weapon," an unpredictable weapon was more like it, any weapon that could alter shape was unpredictable, "that's why I create a parameter for myself...and it's why I'm covered in muck."

"It is a chaotic and messy sort of weapon? That may not be the best choice when you have to work with a group. The only thing worse than splattering yourself is splattering your teammates." It certainly didn't endear you to them.

"It is a chaotic and messy sort of weapon, but it's powerful and that's why we continue to see each quite a bit of other. That...and it's one of the few things I own outright, no debt and no questions asked."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

We come from the land of the ice and snow

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