faderifting: (Default)
Fade Rift Mods ([personal profile] faderifting) wrote in [community profile] allthisshitisweird2023-05-02 05:40 pm
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Test Drive!

TEST DRIVE MEME

While in some alternate, tidier timeline, the War against the Elder One ended years ago, you're not in that timeline. It's 9:49, and the war continues. An enemy force partially occupies Orlais and has decimated several Marcher Cities, while the Chantry, aided by the Inquisition, has marshaled Orlais and the faithful of Southern Thedas into a new Exalted March against the army of demon-bound Wardens, Red Templars, Venatori loyalists, and darkspawn Corypheus has amassed. Rifts are still scattered across the continent, periodically spitting out strangers from strange worlds with green-glowing anchors embedded in their hands. There's no Herald of Andraste to save Thedas. Someone else is going to have to do it.

You're part of (or allied with, recently hired by, imprisoned by, etc.) an organization, dubbed Riftwatch, that split off from the Inquisition several years ago. Riftwatch consists of these otherworldly new arrivals, rebels and Wardens, and other people who want to prevent the apocalypse without necessarily marching under the Chantry's banner to do it. Their headquarters is an island fortress called the Gallows—formerly a Circle of Magi, more formerly a prison for slaves, but its new occupants have done a good job removing the more grotesque reminders of that past and making the place livable. Their goal is to do what the Chantry can't or won't do, to go more directly after Corypheus and the dark magic he employs, and to keep the Veil from coming apart entirely.

Maybe you're here because you want to help. Maybe you need the money (though there isn't much of it). Maybe you acquired an anchor and sticking around is the only way to prevent your hand from killing you. Maybe you've been sent by the Chantry or some other entity to keep an eye on everyone—they're rumored to be a lot of weirdos and troublemakers. Or maybe you're a new rifter and just going where the nice people with swords tell you that you need to go.

NOTE: This is a static test drive! We post them once per year or so and continue to use them for a long time, so you're never late. Current players are encouraged to track new top-level comments.


I. THE FREE MARCHES: Hasmal, Tantervale, and most recently Starkhaven have all fallen to the Tevinter incursion, leaving Kirkwall the largest city-state in the Free Marches to remain unoccupied. For Riftwatch, that means the war is closer to home than ever, and traveling anywhere north of the mountains runs the risk of running into enemy scouting parties. Perhaps you've been sent out to find these scouts before they find the unwary, or perhaps you're just trying to pass through unnoticed to Antiva or Rivain when you run into trouble. Or maybe you're more in the thick of it: joining the Free Marches armies in harassing the occupying army as best they can from outside the city, or slipping your way into one of them to gather intelligence or meet with an ally.

II. THE WAKING SEA: When Riftwatch isn't traveling by griffon or magic mirror, it frequently travels by sea, courtesy of a small assortment of allied pirate ships. So welcome aboard. The sea is choppy and frequently violent—violent storms, violent enemy ships, or both at once—and the crew may not have much patience for incompetence, so either make yourself useful above or try not to get sick below.

III. KIRKWALL: Even when enormous evil darkspawn are trying to take over the known world and you and your colleagues might be the only ones who can truly stop him, you can't work all the time. And when you aren't working, Kirkwall is there for you with its dingy Lowtown taverns, its flashy Hightown establishments, its market stalls and street musicians and cellars hosting gamblers. (Or maybe you can work all the time, and you're in the city to do some official shopping, try to spy on a suspicious character, or show a potential financial backer a good time.)

IV. SEND A MESSAGE: Each member of Riftwatch is assigned a blue crystal, small enough to wear around the neck, that can transmit voice messages, as well as an enchanted book tied to that crystal that can be used to exchange written messages. They're secure enough to discuss the war, if you'd like to get down to business, but loosely controlled enough to ask a question or play a game with only a few rolled eyes from people who hate fun.

V. WILDCARD: From the Gallows' library to the pirate islands off the coast, from Hightown's high-priced market stalls to the bloody frontlines of the war, Thedas is yours to explore.

heartstumbles: (And where you invest your love)

Peter Parker | MCU

[personal profile] heartstumbles 2023-05-02 11:27 pm (UTC)(link)
I. Arrival/Kirkwall

[Peter's first thought upon emerging from the bright green...portal? is that of 'oh shit, did I break the multiverse again?!' Trying not to panic (and mostly succeeding), Peter, in his shiny new Spider-Man suit, glances around at the place where he's emerged, and tries to figure out where he is, because New York City, this place isn't.]

Okay, this is fine?

[He turns around, taking in the wilderness around him, the vivid greens and...oh shit, is that a Dementor breathing ice at him?!]

Whoa, hey! Um, this isn't Azkaban is it? You're not about to suck out my soul through my mouth, right, because, like, no offense, but you look like terrible kissers.

[That ice breath is damn cold, and so Peter ducks and moves out of the way, only to find that, hey, there's two other Dementors (not!Dementors?) in his path.]

Okay, so. This isn't fine.

II. Kirkwall - The Hanged Man

[After Peter hears the explanation of where he is and what's expected of him as a Rifter, and after he finds a way to trade in his suit for clothing that makes him feel like a hobbit, he eventually makes his way to the tavern known as the Hanged Man. It feels weird ordering a drink when he's legally underage back home but after the day he's had? It's the least he can do to cope with this newfound adventure of traveling to other universes.

He doesn't have much coin on him at the moment, so he settles for the cheapest drink and the cheapest food item off the menu.

As he waits for both, he turns to the person sitting next to him and nervously starts up a conversation before he can think better of it.]


So uh. This the kind of place where everyone knows your name?

III. Send A Message; un: queens

Okay, so. Any tips for a newbie? Places I should avoid, sights to see, etc.?

IV. Wildcard

[If you want a different prompt with Peter, let me know by DMing Peter's journal or you can find me on plurk at [plurk.com profile] afaeryschild]
favoriteanalyst: (all my aching bones are trembling)

arrival

[personal profile] favoriteanalyst 2023-05-03 01:09 am (UTC)(link)
[He's seen weird shit come out of rifts before. Jude showed up as a massive wolf that took care of a lot of the demons and nasties before shifting into a handsomely naked fella. Pretty weird.

At least this guy(?) looks to be in a general human shape already. But those are some bold colors in an outfit that looks hard to breathe in. Is it an outfit? Maker, please let that be an outfit and not actual skin. That might be too weird.

(Although. It niggles something familiar, from back in those not-weeks in not-actually-New York. One of Stark and Strange's allies?)]


Clear the way! [Is maybe not the most helpful advice, but the person-being doesn't look like he's got any weapons on him. Mobius is more than happy to take up a little fighting while he's still able, slashing at the definitely-not-a-dementor with his sword in one hand, raising the shield to block the chill with the other.]

They'll keep coming if that rift doesn't get closed. [Presumably some shard bearers have come along to help with just that, but also presumably, this colorful lad probably has a shard and might be able to figure out how to help. (If Mobius could tell him how it worked, he would. But it's a mystery to him.)]

Re: arrival

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II. Kirkwall

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clawings: (This kid I seen in the old)

Erik Stevens / N'Jadaka / Killmonger | Black Panther

[personal profile] clawings 2023-06-15 11:41 pm (UTC)(link)
IV. SEND A MESSAGE

[ Erik draws a breath, and takes a moment to collect himself after he begins... whatever this will become, this conversation? Over the crystals.

He has no idea how to begin this, much less what good it'll do, but he should maybe see if any of the people he knows... knew... are still here, in Thedas. (He's suspecting the answer is a resounding laugh followed by a series of gravemarkers, actually.)
]

Say you died and woke up here one day. Kinda common, yeah? At least it ain't fucking uncommon.

Say that was some time ago. Years.

Say you left. Over a year and a half ago? Not by any choice, you just... fuckin' up and vanished, far as you can tell. And you returned right back to being dead, where you're from. In an afterlife. All'a dat shit.

Whether or not you believed in it, before. The afterlife, I mean. Or other worlds, before you ended up in this one.

So. You're here, again. Dead, but not, yanno? Schrodinger's Asshole, or some such shit.

What happens next?

...Wait, do I gotta fuckin' do quarantine again? Fuck, man.

V. WILDCARD

[ Want to run into Erik elsewhere in the Gallows, in Kirkwall proper? Got some other ideas? Go for it! If you'd rather hash things out first, feel free to PM me at this journal or on plurk @ spacewitchery! ♥ ]
Edited 2023-06-16 00:09 (UTC)
notathreat: (64)

IV.

[personal profile] notathreat 2023-06-16 07:28 am (UTC)(link)
Wait, wait, there's an afterlife?

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IV.

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IV

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gildeddawn: (Ever seen)

Aurora Charron | Native OC (Baby Warden!)

[personal profile] gildeddawn 2023-08-02 12:24 am (UTC)(link)
I. Kirkwall - Arrival

Aurora arrives in Kirkwall with little fanfare (well, aside from all of the unfortunate seasickness while traveling across the Waking Sea but she's trying not to dwell on that and anyway, fanfare doesn't count if said fanfare is making one wretched) but her own excitement. She's survived her Joining and is a Grey Warden at last, and she's ready to prove herself. She's here to help Riftwatch, to fight against Corypheus prove that Grey Wardens are heroes out to protect and save the world. She's wearing the armor and everything! (Which she may or may not have spent hours polishing before making her way to Kirkwall.)

Excited (and slightly nervous though she doesn't want to admit it), she makes her way to the Gallows, the headquarters of Riftwatch. She bounces on her feet a little as she walks and takes in the sights, trying not to think about the Gallows history before Riftwatch.

She isn't certain where to go to check in, so she finds the nearest official-looking individual and bounds her way over to them, a cheery smile on her face and her bright hair swaying with her movements. Occasionally, her hair moves enough to reveal her pointed, Elven ears as she speaks, her words rapid and framed with an Orlesian accent.

"Hello! I'm here to sign up for Riftwatch? Also I heard there were griffons here? Can I see them?"

II. Kirkwall - Lowtown Market

Aurora has little in the way of spending money, but that doesn't stop her from making her way to the market stalls in Lowtown to browse once she settles in at the Gallows. As much as she wants to seek out the Hightown Market, she figures she'll have better luck at finding something affordable in Lowtown. (And, she knows, she'll likely stick out less as an Elf in Lowtown.)

She has always loved jewelry, from the braided necklaces her mother used to make for her to the lovely rings given to her by her friends in the Circle over the years. As she's become a Grey Warden, she'd like to mark the occasion with a necklace besides the memento given to her during the completion of her Joining.

She would particularly love a necklace in the shape of a griffon but she wouldn't mind a Halla, either. If she can't find either of those, she'll settle for some kind of bird, or perhaps a flower. Or a sword, perhaps; something that might double as a weapon. Truly great heroes are always clever like that, she thinks.

She's in a particularly good mood as she browses, for anyone that meets her while she shops. Later, she'll make her way to the Hanged Man, because she's heard so much about the place and wants to see it for herself.

III. Send A Message

[Aurora finds herself fascinated by the blue crystal given to her for communication. Such a clever invention, and, of course, she has to try it out for herself.

As she speaks into her crystal, her voice is louder than she intends it, as she doesn't know what is an appropriate volume for others to be able to hear her. Enjoy the loud, cheerful (some would say obnoxiously cheerful) Orlesian Warden!]


Hello! I am recently arrived and I am looking to meet new people and get to work. I was wondering if there were any other Wardens here? Or anyone else who might have studied at Montsimmard?

Regardless, I am eager to get started and delighted to be here!

IV. Wildcard

[If you want a different prompt with Aurora, let me know either via DM to Aurora's journal or reach out to me on plurk at [plurk.com profile] afaeryschild. You can find Aurora's (rough draft) info here.]
brennvin: (pic#16621922)

ii

[personal profile] brennvin 2023-08-02 11:39 pm (UTC)(link)
While Aurora browses the Lowtown market on this lovely summer’s day, there is a commotion.

It happens a couple aisles over, near some other jewellery stalls with carved wooden figurines and pendants, a few more expensive ones of ivory. Shifting a little over towards the sound of raised voices, one can see an Avvar woman at the heart of it: a few years older than Aurora but not too many, medium-height and scrappy, dressed in ragtag furs and her dirty-blonde hair disheveled, braided with feathers and bits of bone. It makes her stand out from the rest of the Kirkwall clientele: makes her look savage, which might be why the local security had been watching her closely, waiting for trouble.

Her expression is ferocious, as a town guardsman pins her arms behind her and the trader scowls. He’s standing in front of the stall, arms crossed.

“I did not steal!” the woman hisses, furious. The tradesman is holding up an item ripped from her possession: a carved figurine of a wolf. “It’s mine! Can’t you fuckin’ tell that the craftsmanship is better—”

She might need some help defusing this situation.

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amaizing: (Default)

Cornelia 'Lia' Fromme | Native OC

[personal profile] amaizing 2023-08-28 05:56 pm (UTC)(link)
II. The Waking Sea

While stepping down below dock, Lia brings herself to full height and points her nose in the air.

“I told them! I told five hundred people that I saw a shadow far off and not a one of them listened to me! One man rolled his eyes!”

She hits her head when reaching the bottom of the stairs. She frowns for a moment and brings a hand lightly to her brow, but it otherwise doesn't stop her tirade.

“My eyesight is excellent, I was not seeing things. If we all die, it shan’t be my fault.”

She sits down primly.

III. Kirkwall

On a street in Kirkwall, Lia directly collides into a passing stranger like a gazelle colliding into a gorilla. He grimaces for just a moment until he sees the sparkling smile of the woman who ran into him. Anyone would be transfixed.

“Hello!” She says. “I have a question. Are the best places to get a drink that way—“ She points up toward Hightown. “Or that way?” She points toward Lowtown.

The man blushes and quickly moves on. Unruffled, Lia opens the hand that slipped into his pocket to find…a walnut. Rats! And she was looking for a drink, too! Nothing is going her way!


IV. Send a Message

I’ve been thinking. Has anyone considered surrendering? Not truly, obviously, but just as a [a pregnant pause] thought exercise.

[Wildcards welcome]
Edited (being nitpicky) 2023-08-28 18:11 (UTC)
bouchonne: (delighted!!)

iv. I immediately love her

[personal profile] bouchonne 2023-08-28 07:17 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Byerly grins upon hearing that thought exercise. What charming boldness. ]

Hm, interesting thought. Were you thinking a conditional surrender, or unconditional?

She knows. :)

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bribon: (Default)

desidério amanza | native oc

[personal profile] bribon 2023-09-11 10:31 pm (UTC)(link)
THE SEA.
Once, when Desidério was a boy, he took passage on a ship all the way from Antiva City to Val Royeaux. It had been him and two other boys—Sacristán and Vels, those ravenous dogs—, and they'd spent the whole of the summer doing their very best to either be gut from nose to navel in duels, or to fuck in similar proportion, all preferably without entirely ruining the reputation of Vels' very Orlesian cousin. Not on Desi's accounts, Maker no. It would've taken four or five generations of Amanza money to send their boy around in that kind of style. But he has long had a habit of finding himself in strange places, under odd circumstances, taking advantage of a certain kind of hospitality to which he isn't entirely entitled.

Take this hat for example. It's not his, but he's puking into it anyway.

Had the sea been this bad when he was a boy, and his stomach had just been more fit? Or maybe the season had been very different, and the winds simply lighter. Or maybe he can blame the food (miserable), or the drinking water (unpleasantly slimy). Regardless, this is the second straight day of this up and down and side to side nonsense, and it is coincidentally the second straight day of his being nauseated beyond what is humane. He has actively been considering whether one of the ship's ballista might be turned straight down and shot through the bottom of the deck. Sinking and drowning would be preferable at this point, and it would console his injured pride a little if he were to arrange to take everyone else on the ship down with him.

"There's a prison ship anchored in Rialto Bay that I've never much understood the threat of until now."

THE CITY.
Two hours ago, the Lowtown gambling house had been doing a very good impression of the more prestigious kind of establishment which might be found higher in the city. Now, the fire that had been set in it had burned so hot and so fast that it's little more than smoldering campfire. At some point, the bucket brigade attempting to put the gaming house out and had instead turned their attention to safeguarding the neighboring buildings in the hope that the blaze would simply chew its way through the last vestiges of the parlor and decide to be finished.

In the way of most disasters that are slightly under control, a large crowd has gathered to watch while the Kirkwall Guard makes paltry efforts at discouraging stray embers from floating off an wreaking havoc elsewhere. Sat on the crowded window sill of the pawn broker nearly opposite the smoldering remains, Desidério Amanza is considering finding a better view. He's a slight man, and if the crowd grows any thicker, it seems unlikely he'll have much of a view when the second story collapses in on itself—an event he has some money riding on, and so should be monitored with some care.

But doing so would involve releasing the sullen orphan he presently has in a headlock, and it's in everyone's best interests to avoid that.

"You could at least let me sit on your shoulders, Messere," the little boy, who is maybe a large seven or a very small ten says. Difficult to say with grubby orphans. "I could narrate the proceedings or what have you."

"And later find you've stolen a patch of hair off the back of my head? No," Desi says, amiably tightening the joint of his elbow. "We'll make do."

CRYSTAL.
[These wages are disappointingly shit for people who are meant to be saving the world from demons falling through little pinholes in the sky. Ergo:]

I've heard half of you recently died. I wager there's no one here who can take me in a fight either.
notathreat: (63)

Crystal;

[personal profile] notathreat 2023-09-11 10:37 pm (UTC)(link)
If you want to get your ass beat there's cheaper ways to do it.

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boat bc i know you want boat

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bless u

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the city

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ersatzknight: (Default)

Seifer Almasy | Final Fantasy VIII

[personal profile] ersatzknight 2023-10-18 08:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Arrival

The young man who came through this particular rift looks like he’s gone from one fight to another, still up on his feet as the demons follow but it’s not steady. To those familiar with it, it’s obvious that it’s only training and stubbornness that have Seifer raising his blade and squaring up with a lanky fear demon.

“Could use a hand, unless you’re on their side.” He says, noticing whatever Riftwarden forces have arrived.

Gallows - Research

Having been told in no uncertain terms by a rather intimidating healer that if he tried picking up any kind of weapon to practice or train that he would find himself sat upon by an angry warnug (whatever that was), Seifer had decided that digging in to whatever information was available about this world beyond the basics he’d been given was a better spending of his time.

He was, however, less interested in the mess of politics and more in the way magic worked here and the myths and legends of Thedas. He’d figured out very quickly that he was never telling a local how his magic worked unless they were really understanding about a lot of things very quickly. Guardian Forces were a lot like demonic possession it seemed.

Seifer’s taken up temporary residence in the library, and has taken up one of the tables to plow his way through… a treatise on the uses of ice spells in fabric dying. There’s more of the same on his table, though all it seems have something to do with ice magic. Hopefully nobody’s looking for these…

Crystal

Who do I talk to about maintenance on mechanical parts? I can do the basics but there’s fiddly bits that someone who knows what they’re doing with metalwork might be better at.
heirring: (rumpled and still superior)

research!

[personal profile] heirring 2023-10-18 10:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Unfortunately, someone is looking for them. Well— books like them at the very least, the elemental arcane presently being a rather pressing subject of study.

(She has not created a tornado in the dungeon; that's just the sound of the sea breaking against the Gallows' island. Obviously.)

Unfortunately for the man currently in possession of this collection, that rival someone is Wysteria de Foncé. By all accounts, the young lady is something of a force of nature with or without arcane assistance; and indeed there is something distinctly hurricane like in the figure she cuts as she hustles along library's main aisle, peering down each stack as she passes and thrusting her head into quiet niches. Her skirts flap. Her hard soled boots click. When she spots the likely object of her hunt, she approaches at velocity.

"You!" is not the timbre typically reserved for places of study, but rather a shrill indictment. She's slightly red in the face from running all over. "I need this book."

She slaps her right hand down on one of the thicker tomes and makes to draw it from his assembled collection. On her motionless left hand, she is wearing a glove—no, she isn't. Up close, even from this chaotic perspective, it's clear that the left hand is the end of a metal-smithed prosthetic.

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axetrovert: (5)

Karlach | Baldur's Gate 3

[personal profile] axetrovert 2023-10-29 10:02 pm (UTC)(link)
[ooc; Karlach is a Native AU and she's a qunari rather than a tiefling. She looks much the same but doesn't have a tail. The infernal engine is still very much a Thing, but it's lyrium-based.]

I. The Free Marches: Bounty

[Running hot. Too hot. (Hot enough to sear a steak,) she tells herself, a half-hysterical giggle in the back of her throat so she doesn't break her back teeth by clenching them so hard. Fuck, she's so hungry she could eat a bear. She hums through her teeth to try to focus on something other than the pain. She's had a lot of practice with that. Unlucky on principle, but comes in handy.

Karlach's last sighting of Red Templars was a half-day ago near what's left of Starkhaven, and that's really not enough of a buffer to sit down and rest.

But she's free. She's outside, unbound, not bidden to kill anything she doesn't choose to. She's in the countryside instead of a sulphur-scented warren of stone.

Unfortunately she is quite loud, what with her humming and loud footfalls, and the red Templars aren't the only ones seeking her out.

Unbeknownst to her, Karlach has a huge bounty on her head. Kirkwall and Riftwatch have received reports of a murderous Vint on the loose: a fairly accurate woodcut of her face and build -- and there aren't many seven-foot-tall women with horns, even if one of them is broken off near her skull.

So, she sings. Low and off-key.]


I've dreamed of the kiss I stole 'neath the arbor.
I've dreamed of the promise 'neath the old ash tree.
One last stream to cross, one last hill to wander.
Until I reach the love I'm longing to see.



III. Wildcard

[Someday, she'll make it to the Gallows! Hopefully with her head intact and un-bounty'd.]
armd: (armd. lol)

baby I heard your bounty is HUGE

[personal profile] armd 2023-10-31 04:39 am (UTC)(link)
(Bounty-hunting is an unfamiliar entry on Abby's to-do list. Even Isaac didn't ask them to target individuals, just the collective, and it's hard to know where to start or to know if it's even appropriate to take a horse and ride out, looking for her, this woman who is murdering people. The task seems hypocritical? C'mon, Riftwatch.

Whatever. Abby's got her orders. She hardly expects to run into her on the way to Sundermount when she is off-duty and not thinking about any kind of work, only walking to walk. The song on the breeze greets her first, Abby hearing it and looking for the source, finding it in a person who ventures up over the hill toward her, headed down the track. It's not strange to see out people out here. She lifts her chin at the woman in passing, a broad, big woman, even taller than her: a qunari. Abby sees her face for seconds. She keeps going.

A minute later she grounds to a halt, head up, turning—she can see her, still descending the track. One of her fucking horns is broken.)


Shit, (she breathes,) oh, fuck. Seriously?

(Why like this? Why Abby, who can't sneak to save her life, and is deeply aware of how obvious she's being even as she turns on her heel and starts to gently jog down after her, trying not to make too much noise. Is there even a plan, here? Hmm. Figuring it out on the go.)

something something head joke

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coquettish_trees: (windblown)

Alexandrie d'Asgard | Native OC, Bad Penny, will match prose or brackets ♥

[personal profile] coquettish_trees 2023-11-06 10:09 pm (UTC)(link)
III. Kirkwall docks, after curfew

Silver is no longer enough, then?

[ The source of the clipped Orlesian-accented irritation is a woman wearing a mud spattered travelling dress and cloak, obviously of extremely fine make beneath their earthy adornments. She draws the cloak tighter around her shoulders as if it could shield her from the affront of whatever the ferryman has told her as well as it does the autumn chill. Acidly: ]

Your predecessor found it perfectly amenable.

[ The ferryman is not as loud as she is, but from the arms folding across his chest he appears to be every bit as stubborn. Her voice cuts through the night again, sharp enough to draw blood. ]

Non, I do not have a crystal, if I did, I—

[ The tirade cuts off abruptly, and then she straightens and turns to look directly at you. Bright copper curls teased out by the wind frame a lovely face made lovelier by the immaculate application of her cosmetics, and a bit less lovely by the stormcloud of her expression. Eyes like the ocean, intent as a hawk, whether or not you want it you've got her attention now. ]


IV. Enchanted Book

[ You were having a civilized conversation, or at least what passes for one here, and now there are flowers. Whatever it is you write, soon enough afterwards it's being illuminated. Granted, whoever it is is an accomplished artist, but your point is perhaps a little bit undermined by all those twining vines and sprays of Andraste's Grace and— is that a bird nesting in your 'o'?

Or perhaps you like it!

...Either way, it's happening. ]



V. Wildcard

[ Would you could you in Kirkwall? Would you could you at a ball? At a battle, in a brawl, come at ya girl I'll write it all. ♥ ]
Edited 2023-11-06 22:09 (UTC)
altusimperius: (:3)

III

[personal profile] altusimperius 2023-11-06 10:29 pm (UTC)(link)
[Someone else has missed the ferry, as he is increasingly wont to do these days. Benedict is slumped, quite drunk and Maker knows what else, against a post by the dock, cloak wrapped around himself as he gazes glassy-eyed out at the water. And now at Alexandrie, the look on whose face immediately activates his fight-or-flight response. He can't do either. Too comfy.

He offers an innocent little smirk instead.]

Didn't you have a house? [he asks drily.]

Re: III

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iii.

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icasm: (I get caught up in dreams)

loki laufeyson: variant edition 🐍 mcu & d+ 🐍 returning with memories of Thedas intact

[personal profile] icasm 2023-11-14 08:09 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Will happily match format. ]

iii. kirkwall (and the gallows)

Things have changed since Loki was last here. War has come to Kirkwall's shores a great deal more directly than he recalls being true before, and the evidence is everywhere. In the construction, in the voices of the people wandering around town going about their various flavors of business. In the cost of goods, certainly.

Was that man always the ferry master? Loki's not sure.

Anyway.

Kirkwall has changed. The war wages on. And Loki is here, again, trying to get his bearings.

Feel free to come across him in the library, reading... fiction, history, bawdy romances, or the occasional religious text. Alternatively, asleep in the corner, an open book on the table underneath his head.

Find him in the baths, definitely asleep, possibly sputtering awake at this very moment because he managed to dip beneath the surface of the water and he is not amphibious, despite whatever else Loki may be.

Find him on the ferry. Curled up in a corner and glowering at the water.

Find him in one of the seediest taverns in Kirkwall near Lowtown, more or less oblivious to the bar brawl breaking out at the table behind him because he's, what? You guessed it. Struggling to keep his eyes open. Despite the current volume in the place (and the drink in front of him), Loki's head keeps nodding and his eyes continue to unfocus.

iv. send a message (via crystal)

[ It's some ungodly hour, between half past midnight and four in the AM, when this quiet message rings out over the crystals. Dawn is an idea but not quite a reality, not yet.

For those who remember Loki, his voice has not changed at all (except for the fact that he sounds more exhausted than cocky). For those who weren't around, he sounds pretty
Tevinter or British, depending on one's perspective.
]

The easy question would be "what are the popular sleep aids currently available" but, if I recall correctly [ the most tired little sigh goes here ] that wasn't necessarily helpful the last time I was in Kirkwall.

So, perhaps, instead: when you were younger. Before the war, if that was ever a time that existed for you, in particular... what did you do, when you couldn't sleep? When dreaming was a pratfall?

Alternatively, [ And here Loki makes an attempt to brighten up a bit ] what do you like to drink? What is your favorite beverage? Alcoholic or otherwise, of course. How complicated is it to make?

We can't have everything be about tragedy, now, can we?

v. wildcard

[ come at me, boos ♥ ]
favoriteanalyst: (singing songs to the secrets)

library (what a shock)

[personal profile] favoriteanalyst 2023-11-14 08:24 pm (UTC)(link)
At first he's about to either admonish whoever it is or sic Abby on them, not for using the library to sleep (Maker knows they've all done that, when the nightmares were awful) but to be sleeping on a book, possibly getting the pages greasy, or worse, drooling on them.

Except that mess of black hair strikes him as familiar.

He hadn't...seen the man come in, but then, Mobius had been out for a bit, running a few errands, checking in on the department, nabbing a quick bite from the kitchen and having his knuckles threatened with a rapping. (He can only laugh at such a thing, because he wouldn't feel it!)

And it could be anyone. Lots of people have black hair. It's fine. His face is turned away. Could be anyone. Just treat it like normal. Swallow down the sudden quick-step beat of his heart.

So he marches up and drops a fairly heavy tome on the table. "Wakey wakey, your eggs and bakey aren't here."

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also library and sorry

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I'M NOT AT ALL

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quaestionespatris: (yeah i'm cute why do u ask)

octavius ("tavi") vedici | native OC

[personal profile] quaestionespatris 2023-12-12 08:31 pm (UTC)(link)
[ooc: i prefer meat-y prose tags but i'll match brackets if that's what you're most comfortable with!]

i. the waking sea (cw: seasickness)
There's a cultured-looking young gentleman currently clinging to the railing on the port side of this impressive galley, pale and more than a little green about the gills as the vessel carrying Rift Watch forces pitches and yaws across the waves. Seasoned sailors traverse the decks and scale the rigging like they were born to this life, which means they have no trouble working around the sodden, sickly man who seems just as committed to ignoring them as they are committed to ignoring him. They'll probably have a chuckle at his expense later. That's fine. He's busy extruding last night's dinner overboard anyway.

Eventually, Octavius Vedici realizes that someone is trying to get his attention, and very reluctantly squints his blue-eyed gaze up at the interloper come to witness his humiliating condition. "..Can I help you?"
ii. kirkwall - lowtown
Octavius has very vague, hazy memories of visiting Kirkwall once as a small child, clutching at his mother's skirts while attending a high society party in Hightown. He remembers sneaking sweets from the banquet tables with some of the other children and absconding with his prize to a loft overlooking the heads of the party-goers, perfectly content and secure in his place in the world, even when far, far away from Qarinus and his father's sphere of influence.

The Lowtown markets are absolutely nothing like that gala. These days, he'd probably be lucky to make it past the back door of one of those Hightown estates as a footman.

"I know it was you," he's in the midst of accusing a particularly unrepentant and unimpressed urchin girl, brandishing his tatty old coin purse at her like a rod. He points at it for emphasis, then turns it upside down, whereupon nothing falls out. "Look at it. It's empty. How do you suppose that happened?"

The girl shrugs. "Dunno."

"Yes, you do!" He tugs the purse strings securely closed for emphasis, fuming. "You robbed me!"

"Did not," the girl blandly replies, unmoved. She picks idly at one of her nail beds. "Dunno why you're so chapped about it, there was barely anything in there anyway."

"Because it's my money!"

What follows is a tense stand-off between a glowering young man who has clearly fallen on hard times, and a surly kid who can't be older than ten (and for whom the times have always been hard, so why should she give a shit, etc.), while the rest of the market bustle continues on around them. Octavius glares down at the girl, who glares back up at him. Nearby, a couple of smirking warehouse labourers are watching the scene transpire like this is the best street performance they've been treated to in ages.

Finally, what little remains of his patience snaps, and Octavius takes a quick step forward. "Listen, you little--"

"HELP!" the girl shrieks, "Kidnapper! He's trying to kidnap me, he is!"
iii. wildcard?
[ooc: i'm very familiar with dragon age canon! if neither of these work for you, feel free to toss something else at me and i'll roll with it.]
bouchonne: (considering)

ii.

[personal profile] bouchonne 2023-12-12 09:26 pm (UTC)(link)
Among the smirking warehouse laborers has been one thinner and rather more elegant figure, a dandy with a well-trimmed mustache and a cigarette between his fingers. He leans against the wall, and every once in a while addresses some comment to one of the burly stevedores beside him, who laughs. It's all such good fun, truly, until that moment that the girl starts shrieking about kidnapping.

Not, of course, that anyone believes her. The young man in question looks too milk-fed and soft to even lift the child for a kidnapping with his weak little arms; he might be an evil bastard with a spirit capable of such wickedness, but he certainly doesn't have the flesh for it.

But just because they don't believe her doesn't mean that they won't take advantage of the commotion. You can't paste a Vint without provocation, but a little girl screaming is pretense enough for a righteous beatdown. And the people of Lowtown - frustrated, frightened, exhausted with the long years of war - want that sort of outlet.

So Byerly gets ahead of it. He bounds ahead, crosses the distance before the laborers can even recognize the opportunity that's unfolding before them, and cries, "You villain! To the Gallows - Riftwatch will deal with you. Gentlemen - " This to the laborers - "Bind his hands!"

(To be fair, there are probably more straightforward means of rescue available to Byerly, that would involve less discomfort to the Vint in question. But Byerly also deserves an outlet. And no noses will be broken this way.)
Edited 2023-12-12 21:26 (UTC)

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reparo: (care of magical creatures)

hermione granger (harry potter) (rifter)

[personal profile] reparo 2023-12-12 11:11 pm (UTC)(link)
[ooc; cw for mentions of torture in arrival! pm me if you need to discuss anything - and feel free to yeet a wildcard my way. (also let's hear it for a dumbass who posts to a tdm right before her bedtime)]

1. arrival

[ This is the irony of it all: Hogwarts nearly falls, and then Voldemort does, and in the rubble of her old school, Hermione and her friends find spaces where to rest, finally rest, after what feels like a whole year. Sitting against a shattered column, she falls asleep, and this is also the irony of it all: it's a nightmare that follows.

Bellatrix, cackling in her ear as she pins Hermione down and carves, and carves, and Hermione's throat is raw from screaming so she just whimpers and struggles and then -

A glade somewhere, somewhere unfamiliar. Her vision turns green, her world spins as she falls/stumbles/sinks, and one breath later, she's on the ground, hands and knees, fingers digging into grass and dirt. ]


Wh - where - who - [ Then comes the growl and unnatural sound of a demon slipping through the same rift as her, icy death in its eyeless face. She thinks: Dementor, and scrambles for her wand - she felt it, in the dream, while Bellatrix was carving a message into her arm - there it is, in her bloodied hand.

Think later, act now; after one year of this, she's used to it. ]
Expecto P -

[ But, see, she's not used to her magic feeling wrong and different. Maybe, she thinks quickly, a result of just having woken from a nightmare to a Dementor nearby? The despair demon floats towards her quickly, target acquired, and in her panic Hermione does what she does best - she throws a fire spell at it. ]

2. kirkwall

[ Now listen here, you: she is not a spirit. She's fairly sure she is not a spirit. But then someone mentions that there are theories about Rifters, and she's supposed to be quarantined for a whole month here, so you can bet your galleons that she's going to be doing research.

That shelf, the one above her head in the library, is supposed to contain a compendium of herbs and other alchemical ingredients. She wants it.

Unfortunately, however, she is too short to reach it. Without her usual backlog of spells (so many spells, she knew so many), all she can manage is to attept, at the very least. Wingardium Leviosa is executed perfectly, sans wand, yet produces nothing but silence. ]


Stupid magic rules. [ Grumbles, grumbles, grumbles. And then, without checking over her shoulder if anyone else is watching, she glares up at the book, and kicks the bookshelf. ] Accio, damn you.

[ New magic: it's a learning process. ]

3. send a message

A month is a very long time to spend in quarantine, you know? I've spent less time in the infirmary when I was petrified - I imagine my memories all sound like the fancies of spirits to most of you, but they are real to me. I was real. I am real.

And now I'm here, I suppose.

Anyway - hello. I'm Hermione Granger, and I am, quite frankly, bored.

exequy: (19)

message.

[personal profile] exequy 2023-12-13 12:11 am (UTC)(link)
[ Alongside her message, in small cramped handwriting: ]

Spirits are real.

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crystal book.

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panulus: (V)

Gannicus | Spartacus: god of the arena | native au

[personal profile] panulus 2024-01-19 03:40 pm (UTC)(link)
kirkwall, lowtown, what is he made of money???

[Its not usual a slave of Tevinter gains their freedom for being excellent at pure, unrestrained violence, but the fates aligned and here is Gannicus. He has a famous name and a relatively famous face, if you’re one of those nerds who follows the arena fighters, but here he’s nothing more than one more man drinking in a bar with the slightly hunted look of someone who crossed over from Tevinter. He must have lost his shirt during the trip, or something, because all he’s wearing are his boots that come up to the thigh and his altogether inadequate loin piece along with a belt holding a pair of swords.

He does not, that being said, look uncomfortable.

He is sitting at a table when a fight breaks out and decides why the fuck not; he fights like a demon, so when the fight is over and someone has a broken nose and another someone has a rapidly swelling eye, he looks all the better for it, smiling like the sun as he’s spit along with the rest of the brawlers out onto the street.]


Is that all? No one died!

[If he is worried about getting banned, it doesn’t show. Somehow, he still has a jug of wine in his left hand.]

Chantry, etc

[Gannicus is not what anyone might call a “joiner”, but he does know that he’s going to need a job and he’s going to need an income. The only benefit of slavery was not worrying about where his next meal was coming from, and even that was a dubious proposition.

He hasn’t spent every coin he earned on the sands but he spent too many of them. He was told to come up to find a job here. So.]


I’m looking for a man named Flint.

[Its the only name he has, given to him by a mutual acquaintance; former and rebel slaves have a network. It doesn’t matter that Gannicus found his freedom in some legal loophole, because he has a slave brand and he is a man who knows how others look at him.]

wildcard;

[Meet him somewhere else? In the street? In a bar? In a bed? Dealer’s choice!]
amaizing: (neutral)

Kirkwall

[personal profile] amaizing 2024-01-19 08:35 pm (UTC)(link)
[Lia watches the crowd rush out with interest and quickly pegs this man as the instigator.]

Do people usually die? [The question is asked in the same manner one might ask of the weather.]

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the gallows.

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Gallows!

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wildcard.

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succise: <user name="chiffonnier"> (16938332)

Lady Vega Arany, Native OC

[personal profile] succise 2024-01-23 12:18 pm (UTC)(link)
ARRIVAL: FERRY
Kirkwall is quite dirty. It smells heavily of alcohol. The stables on the ferry-side are cramped and unimpressive. The mental list of things Vega does not like about this place is getting long; she assuages her traveler's fatigue by selecting somebody to argue with.

"She isn't heavy." Her voice is sharp, demanding. "Would you look at her?"

'She' is a light-grey, dappled mare, standing with great patience down the end of the dock and lacking any opinion on whether or not she should be allowed to board the ferry to the Gallows. But Vega's cheeks are flushed with irritation, twin spots of bright colour in her pale face. She adds peevishly, "I suppose it costs more! Fine—I will cover it."

KIRKWALL
The seat of the Orlesian Chantry once resided here.

There is a book tucked in under Vega's arm (Tales of the Destruction of Thedas, a beautifully embossed tomb), purple ribbon limply marking her place. She had come here to sit and read within hallowed halls, but now she stands, confused, in front of a beautifully abundant garden. It takes up most of the square.

Squinting at the bronze plaque to the side of it, parsing through a green patina, her voice rises sharply in a screech of horror.

"In memorial?"

MESSAGE (BOOK)
(In an elegant, sloping hand,)

I will have some questions answered.

One, how far will a single message travel, via the sending crystal?
Two, how many crystals are we allowed, each?
Three, with their own crystal, could one shape it even smaller than it is now without breaking it physically or destroying the magic?

... Wait, one more—where exactly do these come from? Who collects and makes them?
untiltheyarent: (Default)

Kirkwall

[personal profile] untiltheyarent 2024-01-23 06:34 pm (UTC)(link)
On a bench nearby sits an elf, bundled against the cold in a fine-looking cloak that matches those worn by any Riftwatchers Vega has seen about; it rests over work clothes, the kind typical of a servant.

Hearing the exclamation, the woman turns her head to fix the newcomer with a patient but slightly exasperated look. Yes, memorial, her face seems to say, and you're being rude.

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akmapansa: (g)

Kang Yohan | The Devil Judge | Native AU

[personal profile] akmapansa 2024-02-07 04:09 am (UTC)(link)
i. arrival/kirkwall

[Duke Kang Yohan is not supposed to be riding a steed only days out from taking a poisoned bolt to his left side and passing out on the banks of the waking sea. He heard later it took three healers to revive him and despite their firm advice to travel by litter, Yohan left in the middle of the night with what few hints of his former power. Riftwatch. The re-assignment sounded like a punishment when he still had angles to play, dances to arrange, and rumors to drum up. Perhaps it was the loss of K, still heavy on Yohan's heart; Jung Sunah would pay dearly for her crimes.

But he couldn't act from here, from the Free Marches, where most persons didn't know their right foot from their left.

Yohan rides in cloaked, dismounting with a soft hiss of pain. He scans the others before he tugs back his hood and pulls his scarf free. He should be anticipated, but he is a few days early. Perhaps he should stroll about, see how the operation works before he pledges his allegiance.

He reaches out toward the nearest person and gently touches their elbow.
]

This must be the Riftwatch, is it not?


ii. the gallows / send a message

[So there is someone running this operation, several persons as it seems. Yohan selects from one of the division heads at random and searches out for their office. He climbs stairs and descends others as his side throbs. He'll need to visit another healer if he keeps this up.

However, just as he thinks to pass on meeting with someone to acknowledge his re-assignment, he finds exactly what he's looking for.

Yohan gives a polite rap on the door before sliding his orders under the door. Then, he supposes he must wait. It's not in a duke of his stature to wait, but it's also not in him to be in the Free Marches and not Val Royeaux.

Once the door opens,
] Duke Kang Yohan. [A small bow of his head.] Re-assigned from the Inquisition.

iii. lowtown

[With his arrival and his re-assignment settled, Yohan sets a room up for himself. Of course, it's much smaller than his home, but he'd lived in a basement for most of his life; the room would serve just fine. He changes out of the silks and brocades and into a commoner's ensemble, complete with ripped sections of fabric and ruined shoes. Time to explore the city proper, the true city, the gaping maw that devoured the sun as Yohan made his way into an area to listen.

Usually he had K do this, or perhaps Kim Gaon, but K was dead and buried and Gaon betrayed him the same as Sunah. No, it was up to him now to simply listen to the city, to her occupants, to brush up on skills that had grown rusty.

Coin could loosen some lips, but after this re-assignment, he only had so much left. Elijah may be able to send some by Raven, but for all intents and purposes, the Kang Dukedom died with Yohan.

He would change that. He would fight his way back out of the deepest hole if he had to.

He pauses at one vendor, selling fabrics. Yohan would need to replace his night uniform if he wanted to be any good at his job.

Blackened Samite. Good. He enjoyed that even in Val Royeaux.
]

How much for this?
pittance: (pic#14371889)

ii

[personal profile] pittance 2024-02-10 08:11 am (UTC)(link)
Is this the right office? This is definitely the right office.

It's just that the face squinting up is at least a foot too short and a shadow past five to pass for the very human Scoutmistress. Vance rubs a palm over his stubble, the other folded about Kang's papers.

"Wonderful," He offers them back out. "Warden Digiorno. You might want to hold onto these -"

Over his shoulder, the office is empty. Redundant to explain:

"- No one's in right now."

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inmycare: (the everliving ghost of what once was)

Siegfried Farnon | All Creatures Great and Small (2020) | Native AU

[personal profile] inmycare 2024-03-03 03:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Kirkwall.

It's not that Siegfried is never in large cities. He's been to university, and keeping up with the latest advancements occasionally means venturing into a place with more access to books and lectures. Still, Kirkwall is a particularly annoying city, in his view. Why would you choose to build your city vertically? He would like to have a word with whatever long-dead people made this decision, especially when he's on his fifth trip between Hightown and Lowtown for the day.

Technically, it's his day off and he could pick a section of the city and stay there. But that would mean neglecting the opportunity to offer his services to the variety of improbable pets Kirkwall's elite have to offer. His own opinions of breeding choices aside, dogs with impractically shaped faces and too much fur need a much care as their more sensibly bred working cousins. Still, when he sits down next to someone he recognizes as a member of Riftwatch at a Lowtown tavern, he can't help but gripe, without prelude: "I've never seen the appeal of dogs who can't walk very far before they need to be carried, but in a city like this one, it seems especially inhumane."

Crystal.

Hello, yes. [Still getting the hang of sending crystal etiquette.] I know there are griffons, but do any of you have other exotic animals that may require care, either personally or collectively? I'm well-equipped to help horses, dogs, cats, you know. But beyond that, it'd be helpful to know what I should read up on.

Wildcard.

[Dealer's choice! Happy to match prose or brackets as desired.]
heirring: ([113])

crystal

[personal profile] heirring 2024-03-03 05:48 pm (UTC)(link)
Yes, hello. Good afternoon. This is Madame de Foncé speaking. [Her shrill, quick patter will no doubt soon become familiar to the good (animal) doctor.] I have no idea whether she requires care or not, but Veronique is a very odd sort of beast. I believe she is entirely unique in these parts of Thedas.

[And Val would be very cross with her if she allowed Veronique to expire while she was in her care.]

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agile: (pic#16418284)

inej ghafa | grishaverse

[personal profile] agile 2024-03-23 12:27 am (UTC)(link)
KIRKWALL — SOMETIME AFTER ARRIVAL.

Inej appears without a sound.

Whether it be from scaling a wall or simply coincidentally following you, she doesn't make a sound. Her slippers are black, and they're soundless. They make her one with the wind, one with the Saints she's certain are still with her. Even her knives are tucked in her long hair (braided neatly down her back) and slotted up her long sleeves, Inej moves like she doesn't exist.

She prefers it that way. Once upon a time, she had difficulty with existence, but now it's her choice to slip into the shadows and become as silent as the air that refuses to whip noisily by someone's ears. Inej Ghafa is a meteor descending to the earth, yet she still doesn't make a great crater.

"You make it easy to pickpocket you," she says.

She's also a creep. What of it?



THE WAKING SEA.

Captain Inej Ghafa comes to life on the seas.

She climbs the ropes as high as she can, moving like a spider up the spout. She hangs there, carefree. Inej Ghafa is unafraid on the seas, even if these aren't hers to command.

She's (un)surprisingly adept at adapting to life on the ship. She helps the crew by tugging rope to manipulate the sails, moving barrels, and ensuring that everything is in place. A more observant person may see the captain in her. Inej never thought she was born to lead, but she sprouted from the earth as one.

She smiles more on the ocean. While she wishes to turn and see Rotty at the wheel, she still smiles. This is freedom. This is everything she's ever wanted.

She wishes this was The Wraith, though.

"You should come up here!" she calls down to you high up in the rigging, elated. She's almost at the crow's nest. (Ironic, isn't it? She's still a Crow.) Looking out at the water, Inej hangs onto the rope with one hand, swinging out toward the air. "It's beautiful."

That's what freedom is to a woman who will never take it for granted again.


NETWORK.

[ Welcome to late nights with one Inej Ghafa. When you can't hear her sneaking up on you, you can't hear her connect with her crystal and pose a Very Deep Question. She's unable to sleep. ]

How replaceable do you think you are?

[ Tell everyone you're thinking about Kaz Brekker (who no one knows, anyway) without saying you're thinking about Kaz Brekker (who no one knows, anyway). ]


WILDCARD.

Inej is from either post-Crooked Kingdom or post-Rule of Wolves (Grishaverse books!), I haven't quite decided yet! Either way, her vibe will be the same regardless. :)

You're welcome to hit me with a different prompt. I wasn't interested in writing an arrival prompt, but I'm happy to thread that out in Kirkwall if it's what you're looking for! I'm good with action spam or prose. If you have any questions, feel free to DM me!

Sorry in advance: I'm bound to get something wrong about DA. 😬
elegiaque: (140)

network.

[personal profile] elegiaque 2024-03-23 12:53 am (UTC)(link)
( an orlesian accent; slightly on the lower end of feminine, what still after all these years sounds like (as inej won't yet have context for) a high quarter princess. )

Practically speaking, extremely. I don't know that there's much I do that no one else could do here.

( she sounds thoughtful, like she's really giving it consideration now. )

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:> Kirkwall

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eviscerates: (pic#10421547)

Ruby Lucas - Once Upon A Time

[personal profile] eviscerates 2024-03-23 10:42 am (UTC)(link)
(I’m kicking around the idea of curse!Ruby turning up without FR memories initially, and maybe regaining them with a canon update… but I’m not sold on that and don’t know if it’s even possible? so heres classic FR Ruby and I’ll figure out the other thing. )

III. Kirkwall
( It’s possible she’s lost, and possible that this place smells so bad that she’s not doing great with following her nose, either. She’s pretty sure she’s just gone in a big loop, and that isn’t exactly comforting when you’re wearing a red cloak that tends to make you stick out. Ruby hesitates, looking down at the map she tried scrawl down, based on overheads instructions that she’s having some real doubts about. Determined to backtrack, she abruptly turns—

- and walks directly into someone. Maybe they both fall into the harbour. Maybe one of them catches the other from falling. Maybe Ruby knocks all their papers from their hands, idk, let’s have a Kirkwall shenanigan. )


IV. Crystal

You know, call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure in my day we didn’t bother with any of this “magic writing book” stuff. You just called people on their crystal, made real connections.

( There’s a forced casualness, a cheer and confidence that’s not all that hard to see through. At least they can’t see how hard she’s holding onto the crystal. )

It’s Ruby. I— haven’t seen any faces I’ve recognised around here, and there’s definitely less of a mountain vista than I was expecting.

( There’s almost a splinter of fragility, and she snatches it back. )

So… what’s new? I mean, the uniforms are definitely different. And the branding. “Riftwatch” is pretty catchy.

( She knows it’s been a while. It has to have been, but… probably nothing too out there, right? )

Must have been a wild few months, huh?


V. Some kinda coastal mission camping.

( The rain’s been coming down in sheets for long enough that Ruby’s not sure she remembers what being dry is like, but at least the large rocky outcrops make for good shelter. Granted, getting a fire started when everything is soaked isn’t the easiest, but the hiss of pine sap as it burns is familiar and comforting.

Ruby looks tired as she holds out a flask in offering. )
Drink?

( Very strong, burny drink? )


or wildcard me tbh
youwonscience: (The wings are wide)

crystal

[personal profile] youwonscience 2024-03-23 03:20 pm (UTC)(link)
Ruby.

[If not a face she recognizes, presumably a voice she does.]

Oh my god, no one told me you were here yet. Are you OK? Where are you?

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I'm delighted

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daturameloxia: inkonic @ dreamwidth (gg)

Wylan Hendriks (van Eck) | Grishaverse | Native AU

[personal profile] daturameloxia 2024-03-23 08:29 pm (UTC)(link)
Kirkwall - Lowtown

Wylan counts through the coins in his pouch and realizes that he has too few to buy enough flasks for another job. He's been short before, but not this short. Failure washes over him, through him, and it simply paralyzes him for long few minutes. He could skip dinner, or perhaps he could try busking again. Last time, no one tried to rob him, even. Today could be more successful.

But what if he isn't. What if it's not enough? His client needs these poisons by tomorrow.

Busking it is. Wylan travels through Kirkwall to the Gallows, settles against a wall, and pulls out his flute. He sets the case before him, still stinking of riverwater from his escape, and begins to play.



Kirkwall - Gallows - Wylan's Room

Welcome to bauble and flask city. Wylan's projects have completely taken over his room. Some ingredients hang from an overhead drying rack, bottles sit on every surface (including Wylan's bedframe). Each bottle has a label and a place, little music notes inscribing its contents, and red string indicating the more dangerous items. It's lucky anyone can find anything in what appears to be a chaotic mess and yet Wylan, donning a pair of goggles, moves through the room without a misstep.

"I apologize," Wylan holds out both hands in surrender. "What was your request again?"



Wildcard - Fire

Exhaustion and overworking has finally taken its toll on Wylan. As he moves one set of flasks from one table to the next, the bottles tip and crash to the floor. Oh Andraste, those were the newest version of Fire Bottles he needed to test. Not in his room of course, but here he is. The fire rapidly spreads the fabric divider limiting the light reaching the more volatile substances and Wylan can't allow for those to go up in flame as well. Without care, he pulls his coat off and tries to beat the fire into submission. He doesn't care how it sounds as if someone is being brutally beaten or the smoke that is billowing from his room; he needs to put out this fire.

Some help would be much appreciated.
armd: (sideways)

Wylan's room

[personal profile] armd 2024-03-25 10:07 am (UTC)(link)
"Uh," Abby says.

For a moment she's too busy looking at everything to give him a proper answer, not out of rudeness, but because she's really interested in this weird, flask-heavy set-up. It seems like something out of a book to her, maybe something like Narnia. After a pause she adds, "I don't know. I guess I don't have one, I just heard — you make all of these yourself?"

Tell her more.

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allthatgleamsisgold: (bloodied)

Vlast | Guild Wars 2 | Rifter

[personal profile] allthatgleamsisgold 2024-03-24 04:49 pm (UTC)(link)
I. Arrival
A naked Qunari topples out of the rift, locked in fierce combat with a Terror.

Well, fierce is putting it mildly. The Qunari is, apparently, making every effort to savage and gore the demon with claws, teeth and horns.

He isn't doing a particularly great job of it - he keeps stumbling and staggering, unable to get (or at least keep his balance). It may have something to do with the oozing, half-healed gash on the side of his torso, surrounded by a thick webbing of burn scars (a god's blade cuts far, far deeper than flesh), or it may be another reason. Fortunately, the demon, freshly formed in its own physicality, is equally unbalanced.

Even so wounded, the Qunari's ferocity more than makes up for his lack of grace. The fight is already in his favour, his clawed hands and sharp horns stained with viscera from the demon.

That's about the last of the fight Vlast has in him though. As Riftwatch's timely arrival takes care of the rest of the horrors spilling out of the Fade, he finally topples, unconscious.



"-- had to tie him up once he woke," says the guard on duty. "When we tried to attend his wounds, he bit two Sisters, and kicked the healer in the balls. Hasn't said a word. If you're brave enough to visit, just mind those horns."

He unlocks the door to the room? Cell? (It's the Gallows, is there any difference?)

Vlast is in the corner, presently trying to chew through his binds. It's going about as well as one would imagine, of course, but he's got the moxy to try at any rate. The wound remains on his side, half stitched, and the tattered scraps of bandages and broken jars of poultices litter the floor, the remnants of his initial conflict with the healers. Still, someone managed to scrounge up a pair of trousers that would fit and put them on him before he came to.

When the deadbolt slides free and the door creaks open, his gaze shoots up; petulant and full of disdain. He makes no other noise than a low, gurgling growl at the back of his throat.


II. Acclimating
It's weeks before Vlast is allowed to leave his cell. There's a second incident of him snapping at a guard and no one is quite sure if he's just strange or some combination of mad, possessed and diseased.

Eventually, he gains the faculties of speech to at least clear up that he isn't the latter two and tentatively reassure others that he was not there to do harm. The former remain possibilities, but these are strange times and Riftwatch is not exactly without its own share of madmen.

He's offered no other name, save for what the bards in Tyria called him; Gleam.

His quarantine remains in effect, but he can at least leave his cell to wander the grounds, providing he doesn't bite anyone else.

It is good to at last feel the sun on his skin again, even if it's a pale, watery, pollution-choked shadow compared to the bright, clear, sapphire skies of Elona. He strolls tentatively through a courtyard with far too much architecture and far too little greenery for his tastes. Or perhaps he's just crabby because walking like this is not remotely intuitive to him; he feels like some pet, trained to parade around on its hind legs for the amusement of others. At least he hasn't gotten tangled in his own hair today.

(He'll take the little victories where he can.)

He shoots one of the statues a bitter look, as if it is its fault he's in this state.

It isn't, of course. Vlast has none to blame, save himself for his predicament. This was wrought from his own haste to challenge Balthazar. Or perhaps, in the long desired peace he found in death, his soul should not have roamed so deep into the Mists. He must have passed through the Rift to this world, his diminished state taking on this frail and puny body.

Strange that he was forced into a physical form at all. But other worlds must operate under other rules.

Staring into the stagnant waters of a fountain at his alien reflection, Vlast's lip curls into a snarl. He'll have to adapt, if he is to have any chance of crossing into the Mists again, and making his way back to Tyria.


Sending Crystal
This Fade - this realm of dreams and spirits and demons - it shares some similarity to a part of the Mists called Nayos, where the Kryptis dwell. Do these words mean aught to anyone here, native or rifter like myself?

If I live again, I must return to Tyria with haste. Knowing where this world connects within the All should make finding my way home easier.

quaestionespatris: (welp pt. 2 electric boogaloo)

arrival!!

[personal profile] quaestionespatris 2024-03-24 05:06 pm (UTC)(link)
There's an injured rifter prone to biting in the cells, apparently, and a dearth of available (or willing) healers to go down and deal with him. Octavius is the newest staff member added to the weekly rotation at the infirmary, which means whether he actually drew the short straw is immaterial. He's the newbie, and he's from Tevinter to boot. Hence, here he is, inching his way towards the bars to peek inside at the newcomer.

He balks almost immediately, blanching the colour of bleached bone. Was no one going to tell him that the latest resident looks like he could have easily waltzed ashore from the war in Seheron? Still, he's clearly injured, and those wounds (probably) won't treat themselves.

He clears his throat and tries to adopt a pleasant expression, which only grows slightly queasy at that threatening growl. "Uh, hello," he starts, but makes no move to cross the threshold into the cell just yet, particularly not when the guard on duty takes several steps backward and just abandons him there within potential striking distance of this strange not-Qunari. He swallows hard. "I'm, ah, here to take a look at your injuries. Would you allow me to do that?"

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yijian: (011.)

charles sun | the brothers sun | rifter

[personal profile] yijian 2024-04-16 03:28 pm (UTC)(link)
a. priorities -- kirkwall

[ The quarantine had taken what felt like forever, and through all that Charles had only felt more and more out of his depth. It's par for the course, he's sure-- he'd been told many times that others like him had gone through the same process-- but just because something is normal in this bizarre world doesn't make it easier to stomach. Hell, even if he'd listened intently to all the "lessons" given to him, the fact he couldn't read any of the written notes had only made everything more dissonant.

The first day out of quarantine, Charles takes stock of everything outside the Gallows. The second day, he tries to figure out what it is he can do around here. The third, the fourth, the fifth-- it's all adjustments, all memorisations, all realisations that he'd probably be best working with Forces if he decides to stay for good (and everything so far points to staying being the most practical thing to do).

The sixth day has him going out to market.

Truthfully, if asked what he wanted most, he'd say it was a cigarette and a long drink of whiskey. But his wants have never really mattered. His eyes sweep over bottles of alcohol and vices that presumably would affect his lung health, and stop only when he finds a stall with books written in that creepily indecipherable script.

How is it that he understands what these people are saying, somehow, but can't understand what they're reading? The stall owner tries to convince him the book he's holding is a "classic", "everyone who's anyone knows all these stories", but Charles can't know for certain. He glares at the cover like that might give him any answers, but luck isn't on his side with this one.

In the end, he tries to catch the attention of someone nearby: ]
Hey--

Is this book [ he shows the title cover, frowning ] really about legends?

[ The stall owner looks offended he'd ask for clarification, but he doesn't pay them any mind. ]

b. adaptation -- the gallows

You got time?

[ Sweating and fresh from a workout (it feels normal, at least, compared to everything else), Charles finds a pseudo-familiar face and sits by them. Maybe they've exchanged words once or twice, he doesn't recall, but he's seen them around the training area enough that it doesn't feel completely out of pocket to ask, ] What's this thing supposed to do?

[ He's turning his hand over to showcase the green mark of his anchor. Though the pain he'd felt from it when he first arrived wasn't particularly bad, not when he's felt worse back home, the unfamiliarity of it is discomforting nevertheless. Charles has been injured in enough ways to figure out why things hurt; this is unlike anything he's experienced before by virtue of the damn colour. ]

When I first got here, I saw people use it to "close the rift I came from". [ This is the perfect example of saying words to which you do not know the real meaning. ] That's... does it do that on its own? Or do you train it?

c. fieldwork -- whenever, wherever

[ He's doing whatever it is that hired muscle is meant to do: escorting, protecting, travelling with a group to do some heavy hitting, whatever. The reasons for which Charles is accompanying anyone isn't important in the moment, not when his hand's starting to ache. His gaze immediately drops to it, brows furrowed, and while he's received enough information through word of mouth to figure pain means trouble, that doesn't make him any better equipped in knowing what to do.

Not wanting to look the fool, he steels the "now what?" on his tongue. Instead, he turns his head looking for whatever's making his hand ache. He suspects something huge and hulking and foul, considering the word "demon" has been thrown about fairly often, but sees none of the sort. Instead, taking as many steps as he can without straying too far from his party, Charles follows... well, a feeling.

Then: ]
There. [ Hand lifted, the dull glow of his anchor seems matches what's forming in the space ahead. Without a real point of reference, Charles isn't sure if the rift is big or small (for the sake of a newbie's first mission, we'll probably assume it's the latter). He's only sure that the last time he'd been around one, there'd been all kinds of creatures that needed the shit beat out of them. ]

That's a rift, isn't it?

[ The potential of violence after weeks of trying to fit in peacefully with the Riftwatch sparks something bright in him. Charles, ever the master of denial, doesn't pay it any more mind than he has to. ]

d. downtime -- crystals

[ You get the sound of Charles' frustration, but it's not because of you. Honestly, it's just because it's humiliating to admit: ] Whoever wrote this message, I can't read it.

...sorry.

[ He sounds a little defeated. ]

e. wildcard

[ Charles' time is mostly spent training when he isn't busy trying to be helpful around the Gallows, and his general vibe is "looks intimidating and frowns too much, but isn't mean when he speaks to you and is actually surprisingly patient". He's really annoyed he lost the ability to read (or so he thinks), and is adjusting to the array of weapons, armour, and tools Riftwatch has at their disposal to better his skills with them.

With his general professionalism and efficiency, he gives off the impression of someone who's used to being part of a huge group of people working towards some goal or other. The easiest way to talk to him is to tell him you need him to do work! ]


===

[ for the canonblind, charles is a gangster-assassin for a taiwanese triad turned rifter! he's working with the forces division, and feels most comfortable when anyone needs his help killing anything. he's second most comfortable if you need his help hurting anything else in non-lethal ways. feel free to PM me if you have any questions! ]
daturameloxia: inkonic @ dreamwidth (e)

re: downtime — crystals

[personal profile] daturameloxia 2024-04-16 10:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[Oh. Well. The question isn’t exactly one Wylan can answer either. He stares down at the paper and the dancing lines on the page.

He sucks in a breath and shakes his head, jaw set for a moment.
]

I… [He can’t believe he’s about to say this out loud.] I can’t either.

[A pause.] What do the letters look like to you?

adaptation.

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lyorning: (Default)

Aerich | Dragaera books | rifter

[personal profile] lyorning 2024-04-22 12:12 am (UTC)(link)
I. ARRIVAL

The fact a very tall (though not as tall as he was) armed and well-dressed elven man who carries himself like high nobility has appeared might be a cause for notice in a rural area near Kirkwall. That is, were it not for the fact that rifts are more likely to disgorge demons and wraiths, so any sensible person would be leaving the area before seeing if anyone else was going to spawn from it.

Duke Temma of Arylle, known as Aerich to his friends, for his part, was reflecting that this dream felt more like one his dear friend, Tazendra, would have. Certainly it would be more pleasant for her to be fighting a group of strange ghostly apparitions that were using… something… to draw power. Not sorcery as he knew it; mentally reaching for the Orb turned up the empty feeling he had grown accustomed to in the Interregnum. Of more immediate concern was that, whatever powered it, it was clear it could hurt him which had cued him in that he had moved from dream to something else.

His sword and poniard were drawn, but his posture was defensive. This rifter lacks the sort of abilities that would damage that which is not solid. It’s also clear that he is hemmed in enough that retreat is difficult. Finally, he was still adapting to a reach that, while still larger than most opponents, was diminished.

Aerich does have the situational awareness to notice others approaching. At this point, a number of questions he has might be pertinent, but he asks the most immediate one. “Will you assist me?”

II. LIBRARY
After a rather unproductive (but polite) discussion with medical staff about the definition of human, elf and how it varies here as opposed to Aerich’s home planet, and that he was under quarantine for a month (30 days, not 17), Aerich has ensconced himself into the library. His education, while having been appropriate for high nobility of the House of the Lyorn, covers matters of history and of his own Empire, not these new, foreign lands. While normally he would assume that matters of honor were universal, his father had been a diplomat as well as a duke, and even relations with the islands off of the Empire’s coast — whose people were at least the same species as most of the Empire’s citizens — were complicated by matters of culture.

So, like many new arrivals, Aerich can be found in the library, trying to make up in days what an educated Thedasian might get in years. One can see him pause, taking notes in handwriting that shouldn’t be that neat for being so hastily done. Or you might find him searching for a book or two, perhaps the one you are reading. He clears his throat. “Your pardon?”

III. OUTSIDE
There were other things to do. Aerich had never left the Empire, so a basic task was simply growing used to the light of the Furnace without a layer of cloud between it and his eyes, and occasionally staring at the ocean-sea. But he can also be found in the training ring, running through sword forms and adapting to his new reach. At least he was used to opponents that were his same size.

He is unlikely to speak, or even show he notices other people until he stops for a break. This gets a polite nod.

IV. WILDCARD
I’m here from EMP. If you want a custom start, let me know. I’m mostly familiar with Dragon Age from osmosis. I’ll also be TDM-ing a D&D character.
dissolving: (pic#16989691)

library;

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-04-22 03:27 am (UTC)(link)
"Sh -" Halfway to something, before he recalls himself; tongue catching on some old, snapped knuckle. "- Sorry, y'startled me there."

Evidently. When he blinks up, still bleary from sleep, his face is lined with the edge of spine: A Revised Compendium of Proper Address Among Gentlefolk of the Southeast, Translated for the Benefit of Foreign-Born Traders, etcetera, etcetera.

(Decent reference. Better pillow.)

There's a delay, while he takes Aerich in - takes the ears in -

"Ah," Cedric is tired, or that’s the tallest elf he’s ever seen. Big Wells was, what, six even? Everyone's tall to a kid. "Can I help you, Messere?"

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dashing: (Default)

HERIAN AMSEL - native oc, tranquil edition

[personal profile] dashing 2024-05-15 03:33 am (UTC)(link)
( because I will make her life worse even while making fun of myself for making her backstory so excessively tragic )

GALLOWS
( A figure steps to the docks of the Gallows, only noteworthy from a distance for the odd looks and space that it’s evident a couple of others afford them, the looks cast over their shoulders as they move away from her. There is no hesitation in her steps, until she reaches the courtyard.

Her own stillness, then, is undercut by the small dog hopping and circling around her, a few emphatic “woofs” between the skitter of his claws on the stone. )


What troubles, Franklin?

( Her voice is flat, even as she kneels to better inspect the dog. He has been fed, watered. There are no needs she has failed to address.
From her understanding of him, it may be this place alone that prompted the behaviour. )


Go.

( The dog skitters around her restlessly, before scuttling off.


A. Perhaps your character sees a familiar corgi and wonders if that asshole knight enchanter is back. If so, he’ll lead them back to where he left her, before sniffing around and following the scent to the gardens that she used to frequent, where she’s staring at some roses.

B. Or perhaps they see a woman standing in the Gallows courtyard, unmoving, and who appears to have been standing there some time, looking blankly up at the fortress.

C. or you can wildcard it, tbh.

While they may recognise the face, and find the absence of staff or sword at her side strange, there is a more alarming change, a sunburst burned into her forehead. The Rite of Tranquility made plain.

From the look of the burns they are still healing, a little infected. Far too fresh to easily be made sense of, in some regards.

Herian doesn’t smile at the approach, but then again, that’s not necessarily weird either. )




THE ALIENAGE
(not limited to past cr, but “people it would make sense for someone from the alienage to go get,” which some close CR / people with some kinda role / who would have been designated to go do the thing)

A couple of elves familiar enough with Riftwatch - both have helped doing repairs around abouts the Gallows when needed. Learned how to do it from an apprenticeship they got a few years back, one might even have elaborated, if there was chat.

One barely speaks, the other more chatty, but it’s from habitual pleasantness rather than current good humour. The name “Herian” might not be familiar, but “a mage of Riftwatch, made Tranquil” probably means enough.

Whoever they retrieve, they’re lead into the Alienage, and then on to a home. After a knock at the door there is a long pause, some barely audible words exchanged, and an elderly elvhen woman appears, blocking the room from view. )


Who’s this, then?
Edited 2024-05-15 04:01 (UTC)
dissolving: (look)

alienage;

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-05-15 04:15 am (UTC)(link)

"Cedric, ma'am," He doesn't have a hat to hold (doesn't have the ears to claim), otherwise the picture of a polite young man ready to kiss some ass. "Fixed Galen's roof the other week. Riftwatch sent me,"

That's a word for it. They should've sent a mage, probably; an elf, definitely. But the ranks are thin, and half the mages come spitting Tevene, and Farrier's busy, and the Alienage knows him -

And he was on shift. So it's him. Absent of armor or blade, because his brains don't run thin as his blood.

"Heard you were good enough to take in one of ours."

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Gallows; A

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iamfree: (Run like a river)

Evan "Buck" Buckley | 911 | Rifter

[personal profile] iamfree 2024-05-21 04:44 am (UTC)(link)
I. Arrival – Outside of Kirkwall

[So Buck has questions. Many questions, actually. What is that green portal thing he just fell out of? Why is there a sliver of green something that kind of glows like the portal thing that spit him out embedded in his right hand? But probably the most important question on his mind right now is: is that a sentient molten lava creature and is it heading straight for him? (It is, in fact, heading straight for him.)]

Shit.

[He, of course, doesn’t have any of his gear, given that, before this, he was still at the hospital for Maddie’s wedding. And from what he can tell, he seems to be in the middle of some kind of forest, without any easy access to water that he can see. But he does have his blue hoodie, and that’s not nothing, at least.

So he does what any reasonable firefighter would do when confronted by what seems like a magical creature intent on killing him and also trying to avoid thinking too hard about all of the magic surrounding him right now: he sheds his hoodie, holds it out in front of him, and charges at the molten lava creature.]


I don’t know what you are but I’ve totally got this!

II. Kirkwall – Low Town

[Buck still has questions, after arriving in Kirkwall and getting the whole speech about Riftwatch. He feels more than just lost; he feels entirely out of his element. What do you mean he’s now in a place called Thedas that seems like something out of a mediaeval fantasy? What do you mean magic is real, and demons are real, and both are especially dangerous? Part of him is curious but mostly the rest of him is struggling to keep up.

He finds himself in an area of Kirkwall known as Low Town, in what looks like some kind of open market area. He has no money, but he finds himself drawn to various stalls and booths anyway, studying the different baubles, trinkets, and wow, this stall sure does have a whole lot of daggers, knives, and swords.

He knows he sticks out; he can feel various eyes on him, and he wonders if he’ll even notice if someone tries and picks his admittedly empty pockets.

He’s got this, he tells himself, taking a quick, deep breath. He can do this.

He turns to the person standing next to him at a both and decides to at least strike up a conversation.]


So…you come here often?

[Well, he rationalizes after those words leave his mouth, it’s not the worst thing he’s ever said.]

III. Wildcard

[If you want a different starter, DM at Buck’s journal/let me know! Buck is coming from after episode 7x06, “There Goes the Groom.”]
dissolving: (pic#16989694)

i - pls feel free to change around the action in this however suits ur tag

[personal profile] dissolving 2024-05-21 06:26 am (UTC)(link)
[ Well, fuck.

The rage demon barrels towards him in roiling, molten bulk. This close, the heat scalds lung, eye, lips; a familiar, furnace blast. Buck charges. The demon roars, lifts its dripping limbs before the strike,

And something smashes into his side: Two bodies tumble, the hard punch of steel-on-flesh-on-dirt skittering them both into a ditch. Farther up the hill, grass ignites in the demon's lumbering path. This clearing is a tinderbox, the canopy already summer-dry.
]

Your hand, [ Cedric bellows, lifting his own. ] The rift. Focus on it,

[ Pointing (like that means anything) to the portal. Then he’s up and running, bizarre in a knight’s armor and drawn blade. If he intends to apologize for that flying left tackle,

Well, it’s gonna have to wait. The Rift sparks with a discordance that resonates in the Anchor, hums against bone. Calling. A shimmer tears free of it, light stretching into an almost-human shape. As it stretches ethereal towards the treeline, the spirit sights Buck: Its face flickering into the brief impression of -

Something, someone familiar.
]

all good! <3

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rootintootin: (pic#17211870)

Calamity Jane | Herd Your Horses | Rifter

[personal profile] rootintootin 2024-05-30 01:08 am (UTC)(link)
[ She grazes under the shade of Hightown's few trees, with a growing irritation - without a tail, how is she supposed to flick away flies? Unlike the other mares, Calamity Jane wasn't about to just sit and take it, but she needed to rest and eat to regain her strength.

Ripping up handfuls of grass into her clumsy, flat new face, she surveyed the alien noises around her; absent of meaning beyond those the stolen mares of the past had taught her: Carrot, apple. Sugar. Much of that by the market, down these strange and terrible canyon steps, like to trip beneath her new, softer, fleshier hooves.

To make true trouble, one must be adequately nourished.
]
sumptus: (02)

[personal profile] sumptus 2024-05-30 02:43 am (UTC)(link)
[ Well

he'd heard Southerners were weird.

Caius comes to a stop a couple paces away, folding limbs tentatively beneath him to get down on her level. There's a big stick strapped to his back, but all he's holding is a small, fishy-smelling bundle of paper. ]


You, uh. [ gesturing at the grass with his crab cake hand, ] Feeling alright there?
undergrunn: (pic#17261444)

Abella - Fear and Hunger - prose or brackets work

[personal profile] undergrunn 2024-06-25 09:32 am (UTC)(link)
Hey. Hey! This is important.
Both Fear and Hunger games are heavy on gore and violence.
Abella is the token “sweet character with happy childhood” for this horror canon, but:
cw: potential references to gore, body horror, human sacrifice, religious abuse, cannibalism, child abuse, drug use, addiction, medical/surgical horror, and attempted sexual assault.

The lore is fascinating, but take the games’ content warnings seriously.



Rift; The Storm Coast

( Rifts had been a reality in Thedas for some time, and you could hardly call “fog” a freakish anomaly on the Storm Coast. The reverberating crack of the Fade breaking through the sky might remind some of the stomach-churning sound of ice breaking underfoot when you’re only partway across a frozen lake, but—

that fracturing is drowned out by a roar, louder than a hundred horses in a cavalry charge and a shriek too loud and harsh and drawn out to be human or animal.

A flash of sickening green light, and a hulking, thunderous thing surges out of the Fade. Momentum carries it forward scant distant making any distance forward before it plummets to earth. Its armoured form warps and twists, buckling under its own weight, metal screeching. There is a burst of heat and smoke churns around it.

What is that? It’s so fast that maybe, for a few moments, it looks like some kind of monstrous, armoured serpent.

Anyone whose world has already experienced the Industrial Age will be able to explain; the front cars of a steam train are hanging out of a rift, its engine crashed into the rocks below.


There’s movement, the door of one of the vertically hanging cars shoved open, and humanoid figures barely visible past the smoke. kind of high-pitched laugh that’s never good news.

And then the fog descends. It cloaks the ground, seemingly paying no mind to the rain and wind that should drive it away. Dense as it is, it does nothing to obscure a high-pitched laugh - the kind that’a never good news. )



A — NEEDLES.
cw: nightmare clown man with murderous surgical aspirations and weaponised needles/sedatives.


( No need to panic. There’s just a syringes sticking out of you. Arm, neck, chest, maybe even your face. It’s not there long before it’s whipped away. Literally, because the filthy syringe and a couple more are attached to a whip. The whip is held by a tall figure.

That high-pitched laughter comes again, and that’s when his face becomes visible. One half of his face is blue, the other white, both cracked open with a bloody smile.

A white robes hang from his frame, making him that bit harder to hit in the fog. Combined with the long white gloves, there’s something of the surgical about him. Even without that knowledge, some animal instinct is screaming at you that falling into this man’s hands would be a terrible fate.

Oh, wherever the needle hit? It’s bleeding profusely. Needles takes a step closer, laughter gurgling out as he brandishes a larger needle in his other hand.

A thud, a burst of colour in the haze. )


Back off!

( Someone has gotten between you and the clown. )

Leave them alone, you creep.


( Hey. It’s a tall woman with waist-length red hair, mechanics overalls, and… a wrench, splattered with wet blood. )



B - Who needs logic when you could be stressed out and lost in the rain .
( The rain is too violent to be soothing, but it’s washing away the blood. That might be a win, if it wasn’t sapping the warmth from her bones, too.

She looks out over the coastline, dawn’s fingers just starting to stretch across the sky and peel back the night. )


Marina!

( The desperation in it is unmistakable. )

Marina, Levi! Olivia!

( Slipping away was stupid, objectively. Unfamiliar terrain, unfamiliar people, and but it wasn’t like she’d be able to sleep, and what if they’re here somewhere? Besides, she’s running around and yelling, it’s not like these Riftwatch people wouldn’t be able to track her down. )

Daan!

( She keeps moving, keeps yelling for her friends, until she’s standing at the base of a looming stone tower.
The next time she calls out Marina’s name, it comes out questioning, despite herself. )


Where the hell are you guys?


C — crystal
( Behold, a new voice on the crystals. Soft, good humoured, with an accent that sounds Scandinavian / relative equivalent. )

Wow. I don’t know if you’re really lucky to have an engineer turn up, or if I’m really unlucky that I need to figure out the machinery.

I mean, learning about the infrastructure of a city in a whole different world isn’t even a “once in a lifetime” kind of opportunity, and pretending I’m some sort of genius at kinetic synthesesia just because I know some mechanisms from home would be pretty fun, but…

Wow.

Oh, Riftwatch? You’re gonna have to have a lot more ramps by the time I’m done with you. Somewhere has to accomodate wheelchair users, even if it’s some kind of fairy tale world.

( Hmmm. )

Wait, can you just make them float, here? (More softly, ) Flying wheelchairs would explain the lack of ramps.




D - Le Card Wilde
Kirkwall? Adventures? Or frankenstein something from one of these prompts.
Edited 2024-06-25 23:48 (UTC)
extortionate: (pic#13310904)

rift;

[personal profile] extortionate 2024-06-27 10:09 am (UTC)(link)
Reminds him first of siege engines, golems; that Crossroads tunnel, the worm-rod shape of something forged underground.

Doesn’t take a genius to decide it’s out of his league. Take a good fucking crowbar to pry the thing open, if it doesn’t just melt away with demonflesh. ‘Course, the demons’re never inside, are they. Sort of the whole bit —

"Right,"

He’s turning to another member of this little expedition, one more likely to do fuckall for closing the rift. He’s turning, specifically, to guess the odds they can make it alone, while he legs it. Finds only fog.

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