WHO: Thais + Open WHAT: Rift closure, quarantine WHEN: Enthusiastically handwaves this WHERE: Free Marches NOTES: Editing in starters as I go, HMU on plurk or Discord if you want something custom.
Static crackles — discharges green-gold-fire and a thousand pounds of vaulting, furious hooves. The landing strikes impossibly true, the horse wheeling sweatless, regal; already a beast composed.
The woman on its back is lost for more than breath. Something out of a painting: Diaphanous silks, a glittering absurdity of a crown. Open, innocent wonder.
"Who —?"
The Rift shudders, whines. Something new grips the edge of the world and finds itself a hand; finds itself hungry. The scavenged forms of wraiths rise, swarm. A bizarre entourage.
There is a split second where Ellis' mace lowers slightly, threat assessment relaxing momentarily before the Rift behind her ripples and belches out something pale and menacing and a problem.
At least she's on a horse. Better than trying to flee on foot.
"Get out of the way!" is not an answer to "who" or even "what" but it does feel like it's addressing a more vital problem.
"Sort of, yes," Vanya confirms, watching for her roll. He does have one advantage over most of Riftwatch's new recruits; years with the Inquisition means that Rifters are, at least conceptually, not a novelty.
"I'm not an expert, I've been told that you somehow travel here through the Fade, which is a real place, but not the sort of place one can reach with a horse or a ship." He glances up at her, evaluating how she's taking the explanation. "Humans and elves, our minds go there when we dream. Thus the connection. But it's not a dream in the more colloquial sense of being unreal."
He looks rueful. "Yes and no. My mind has been, though I've not visited it physically. Few have. And I suspect frustratingly for you, I don't have any firm memory of it. It is largely as rifters have described dreaming elsewhere; a sense of reality while you're in it, fading once you wake. That said," because he doesn't intend to be unhelpful, "mages can enter the Fade consciously and remember their time there. Riftwatch, I understand, has plenty, so I suspect one of them will be willing to answer your questions more precisely."
He considers and discards the idea of discussing the experience of watching mages enter the Fade. It will raise more questions without answering any, and his own mixed feelings aside, he doesn't suspect it will help her.
"Not everyone in the Fade is a mage or dreaming, for what it's worth. We believe the souls of those of have died pass through. And there are spirits and demons native to the place. Earlier on, when rifters first appeared, the theory was that these spirits had just taken a new approach to influencing us." He sighs and takes a drink of his ale before adding, "As far as I can tell, this attitude has faded within the Inquisition and Riftwatch, though I can't answer for outsiders' opinions."
"Sensible," The green sheen of an empty hand. "Given the company we keep."
There had been an awful lot of spirits. Thais smiles, impatience smuggling in her teeth: He's right. She's frustrated. But she knows just a bit better than to beat him over the head with it,
At least, when he's supplied enough else to chew. She drinks, and takes in less of it than she'd like, and the tip of her tongue doesn't tear for Vanya.
"Perhaps we're all mages dreaming," Perhaps she cracked her skull on the limb of some ruin. "We might all be dead."
The look she gets for that is less shocked than nonplussed. (Yes, young templars also get drunk and wonder do they really see the same green, though, you know?)
"...possible. Hard to disprove. But I'm not sure I'm willing to gamble the world on an assumption that none of this is real, personally." A pause, and then he adds, "I would not blame you for feeling differently, of course. It is a great deal to ask, that you all care what happens to a world not your own as a matter of course." He'd like to think he would, in their place, but he can't know. He's not entirely sure yet what to make of her manner.
It takes him a moment to parse the question properly. "Ah. I am new to Riftwatch, but I joined the Inquisition five years ago, give or take. Much before that, there weren't Rifts, the way there are now. My experience with spirits or demons was ... more limited." He pauses, not embarrassed so much as unsure how much to explain. He decides against diving into either his experience in the Circles or Nevarran beliefs on the afterlife in more detail. Surely she doesn't want an entire encyclopedia entry.
"I can't claim to have known any rifters especially well, but I worked alongside them before. It is much of a piece with your question about us all being dead, I think. I can't prove rifters aren't demons, or spirits. But if you are and you want to spend years helping those of us fighting Corypheus, I'm not entirely sure it matters."
Five years is a long time (longer, when you've less of it to you) to leave anything. She's had the brief: Shuffle them all into one pocket. Call it something new.
"Do you want the official line or my observation?" Frank, though with just enough wryness to suggest he is not, in fact, an emotionless information dispenser at all times.
Reaching to take his turn with the dice, he adds, "I'm not in charge of anything, so if you pick the latter, do know that my only advantage over you is having had enough time here to form an opinion."
"Very well." He sits back in his chair, glass in hand. "I think that while the Inquisition has members with longer term plans, as an organization it will do whatever it takes to try to defeat Corypheus. There is no viable path toward that end in fully alienating Rifters. That's why they won't entirely cut Riftwatch loose, either, despite any divergence in politics. If and when there are enough Thedas natives with anchor shards to stay on top of the need to close rifts alone, that may change, but I suspect the war will be over one way or another well before that could happen unless there's a significant change to the Fade's instability."
"I don't know that there's a better word for it, considering it took place in the course of a night," John answers, dropping a coin onto table between them, turning a palm up permissively as the dice jangle in the cup. "Give the Research Division a few days, and they might come up with some new term for it."
Though there are things John would rather see them devote their attention to other than the exact how of the dream came to pass.
"Do you count yourself as fortunate to have missed out on the experience?"
There's also a face at your shoulder, reaching for whatever's to hand. A book, a blade, the reins of a horse. This was — wasn't it? — a job for one. But Thais waits, expectant (impatient),
The work in question is such a radical change from the work she'd been doing most recently in her world, it very nearly feels like cheating. Like one of the secretaries from Themyscira's old Embassies is going to walk through the door at any moment with a stack of papers for her to see and half a dozen phone calls on hold.
As it is... She's going to consult on a party theme. She's not surprised another person is there to assist, but still. There's some bemusement in her tone when she asks, "Are you with me then?"
The bemusement does not go anywhere and she adds an arched eyebrow at Thais. She takes the offered hand more as an acceptance of comradery than need for help. It'll probably be much nicer to have company along.
"Diana," she answers, settling herself onto the ferry with an easy grace despite having to arrange her long skirt. She'd chosen a loose, flowing gown, belted at the waist by a gold rope (that was very normal and did not glow) under a long cape. She's thankful at least one region of this world apparently had similar sensibilities to the Grecian influences on Themyscira. Convincing a society lady of the era that Riftwatch was not, in fact, involved in questionable sexual acts and that a party reflecting such would not be appropriate seemed enough of a challenge without laboring under the heavy skirts and tight bodices Wyesteria Poppell seemed to favor.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Thias. And to have you along, even if it is unexpected." And slightly ominous, with the all will fall into place.
He asks, dry, but — let's be honest, this is a job he has a particular interest in. He references the list he'd had in hand as they start to walk, then says,
"The first person we'll be talking to is a Nicaise Grandis, who's been selling by the ounce for three times what it's worth."
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Rift | Group thread & you're agreeing to let an envy demon get away thx
Static crackles — discharges green-gold-fire and a thousand pounds of vaulting, furious hooves. The landing strikes impossibly true, the horse wheeling sweatless, regal; already a beast composed.
The woman on its back is lost for more than breath. Something out of a painting: Diaphanous silks, a glittering absurdity of a crown. Open, innocent wonder.
"Who —?"
The Rift shudders, whines. Something new grips the edge of the world and finds itself a hand; finds itself hungry. The scavenged forms of wraiths rise, swarm. A bizarre entourage.
this contract is Sealed
There is a split second where Ellis' mace lowers slightly, threat assessment relaxing momentarily before the Rift behind her ripples and belches out something pale and menacing and a problem.
At least she's on a horse. Better than trying to flee on foot.
"Get out of the way!" is not an answer to "who" or even "what" but it does feel like it's addressing a more vital problem.
Bar | Spam welcome
"You named it a dream?"
A serious question. She rattles the dice, playing for pennies or teeth between you.
no subject
"I'm not an expert, I've been told that you somehow travel here through the Fade, which is a real place, but not the sort of place one can reach with a horse or a ship." He glances up at her, evaluating how she's taking the explanation. "Humans and elves, our minds go there when we dream. Thus the connection. But it's not a dream in the more colloquial sense of being unreal."
no subject
"One horse," She points out, though it's no true quibble: Aethon must be invented, he's been dead ten years. "You've been, then."
no subject
He considers and discards the idea of discussing the experience of watching mages enter the Fade. It will raise more questions without answering any, and his own mixed feelings aside, he doesn't suspect it will help her.
"Not everyone in the Fade is a mage or dreaming, for what it's worth. We believe the souls of those of have died pass through. And there are spirits and demons native to the place. Earlier on, when rifters first appeared, the theory was that these spirits had just taken a new approach to influencing us." He sighs and takes a drink of his ale before adding, "As far as I can tell, this attitude has faded within the Inquisition and Riftwatch, though I can't answer for outsiders' opinions."
no subject
There had been an awful lot of spirits. Thais smiles, impatience smuggling in her teeth: He's right. She's frustrated. But she knows just a bit better than to beat him over the head with it,
At least, when he's supplied enough else to chew. She drinks, and takes in less of it than she'd like, and the tip of her tongue doesn't tear for Vanya.
"Perhaps we're all mages dreaming," Perhaps she cracked her skull on the limb of some ruin. "We might all be dead."
no subject
"...possible. Hard to disprove. But I'm not sure I'm willing to gamble the world on an assumption that none of this is real, personally." A pause, and then he adds, "I would not blame you for feeling differently, of course. It is a great deal to ask, that you all care what happens to a world not your own as a matter of course." He'd like to think he would, in their place, but he can't know. He's not entirely sure yet what to make of her manner.
no subject
The man looks shocked as a stone, and he's pivoted well.
no subject
"I can't claim to have known any rifters especially well, but I worked alongside them before. It is much of a piece with your question about us all being dead, I think. I can't prove rifters aren't demons, or spirits. But if you are and you want to spend years helping those of us fighting Corypheus, I'm not entirely sure it matters."
no subject
Five years is a long time (longer, when you've less of it to you) to leave anything. She's had the brief: Shuffle them all into one pocket. Call it something new.
no subject
Reaching to take his turn with the dice, he adds, "I'm not in charge of anything, so if you pick the latter, do know that my only advantage over you is having had enough time here to form an opinion."
no subject
Do you really need time to form an opinion?
no subject
no subject
Though there are things John would rather see them devote their attention to other than the exact how of the dream came to pass.
"Do you count yourself as fortunate to have missed out on the experience?"
Gallows | Job Board (Pick one)
There's work to do.
There's also a face at your shoulder, reaching for whatever's to hand. A book, a blade, the reins of a horse. This was — wasn't it? — a job for one. But Thais waits, expectant (impatient),
"Best we start to it."
let's go plan a party thias
As it is... She's going to consult on a party theme. She's not surprised another person is there to assist, but still. There's some bemusement in her tone when she asks, "Are you with me then?"
perfect
The ferry bobs close. She heaves onto it, extends a hand backward to clasp: An arm up, should Diana desire.
"Thais," An introduction. "How ought I address —?"
no subject
"Diana," she answers, settling herself onto the ferry with an easy grace despite having to arrange her long skirt. She'd chosen a loose, flowing gown, belted at the waist by a gold rope (that was very normal and did not glow) under a long cape. She's thankful at least one region of this world apparently had similar sensibilities to the Grecian influences on Themyscira. Convincing a society lady of the era that Riftwatch was not, in fact, involved in questionable sexual acts and that a party reflecting such would not be appropriate seemed enough of a challenge without laboring under the heavy skirts and tight bodices Wyesteria Poppell seemed to favor.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Thias. And to have you along, even if it is unexpected." And slightly ominous, with the all will fall into place.
slides in here 2 weeks late with stolen coffee
He asks, dry, but — let's be honest, this is a job he has a particular interest in. He references the list he'd had in hand as they start to walk, then says,
"The first person we'll be talking to is a Nicaise Grandis, who's been selling by the ounce for three times what it's worth."