TEST DRIVE MEME #5

[abraxasmods]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to the fifth test drive meme for Abraxas! This meme is run a little bit differently than most in that you'll be asked to choose one of the three different arrival scenarios below for your character to take. If you have any questions about this mechanic or anything else related to the TDM, please take a look at the questions below or ask one of your own under the Questions header below. For general game questions please still use the FAQ.

Our Setting pages are full of information on the world of Abraxas, and an overview of the story so far can be found on our Game History page! Anything on that page - including information about the Horizon and the Singularity - can be assumed to be told to newcomers after they arrive, no matter which faction they are received in. For more information on Ambrose and the apprentice mages, Marlo, and Rowan, please see our NPCs page.

You can also find answers to questions asked on previous TDMs in their respective questions threads— 1, 2, 3, and 4.

Arrival

You awaken suspended in the abyss, silent darkness stretching out in all directions. If you try to yell, you'll find that the sound doesn't carry. If you try to move, you'll find it's impossible to tell whether or not you're actually getting anywhere. If you reach for an item you were carrying last time you remember being awake, your hand will only touch bare skin.

You're naked and floating helplessly through the void, and what little air you have in your lungs is running out.

There's a pinprick of light that almost looks like a faraway star but as it grows it becomes clear that it's actually quite close. Through the opening you can see a bright room, but it's hard to make out any individual objects, as if you're looking from beneath rippling water.

Scenario One: Welcome to Thorne

A hand plunges through and you realize water is just what it is. Whether you take hold of the hand or not it will grab you and yank you up through the surface, lifting you out until you're sprawled on solid ground. Once you catch your breath, you can get a better look at the surroundings: tall trees and even taller stone pillars surround the platform you're laying on. Behind you is an ornate fountain, the base of which is so deep and so dark you might be compelled to scramble away from it lest it suck you back in to that endless abyss. Ahead of you are the walls of a large castle with several tall towers reaching up towards the sky.

If you had any powers, they feel unusually weak. Attempts to use magic or enhanced strength or powers of any sort fizzle out without any effect, but they don't feel completely gone, either.

Set into an indent on a marble slab behind the fountain is a card bearing the image of one of the arcana.

An apprentice mage - the one whose hand lifted you out of the fountain - brushes the water off on their robes and runs back to join a group of three others, who all stare intently at a mage with highly decorated robes and a large, heavy book. He peers up at you for a moment and starts flipping through the book.

"One moment," he says, not bothering to look up from the tome. He looks tired. "I am Ambrose Rhett, the High Mage of the Kingdom of Thorne. We’ll explain everything in a moment, but for now, please calm down. You’re completely fine."

Regardless of your response, he keeps flipping through the pages, until he stops on one specific passage, stares at it for a moment, and then sighs with relief:

"Finally!"

Ambrose's expression brightens, relief visible across his features. He waves one of the apprentices over with a fine silk tunic, pants, and some basic sandals and with a wave of his hand they reshape to fit you perfectly.

"Oh, thank heavens," he says, closing the book and approaching you with a sort of worn-out relief. “I was beginning to believe we’d never get it exactly right.”

Now that he's not hunching over the book, he doesn't seem quite so stuffy and inapproachable. The apprentices all seem to visibly relax, and the one that handed you the tunic stops to take the tarot card down from the marble slab. If you show any curiosity about the card, they'll let you take a longer look, but won't let you touch it.

"Please, come with me," he says, motioning for you to follow him towards the castle. "As promised, my pupils will explain your current situation. And, ah - if you had any magic of your own, or other special abilities you can't access right now, fear not, they'll return within the week. The summoning takes a lot out of you."

One of the apprentices steps forward and rattles on and on about the castle, Thorne itself, the names of a bunch of royals and nobles, and of course, your reason for being here. The Kingdom and the world itself is in great peril, and tales of your exploits have reached far and wide across universes. If asked about these exploits, the apprentice will simply smile and shrug. The High Mage was happy to see you and that's good enough.

Once inside the castle you're taken to the North Wing, which has been set up as living quarters for you and your fellow newcomers. There are four people to a room, but each generously-sized bed has opaque curtains that can be drawn around it. You can meet your roommates here and discuss your shared situation (those who were previously brought in may have a great deal of information to tell you), or you can wander around and meet the others.

There's also a dining hall stocked with a rotating 24/7 buffet in celebration of the new honored guests. Somehow, your very favorite food is part of the rotation (or at least an attempted recreation of it given the limited technology available to the Thorneans). The town surrounding the castle is all abuzz as well, with most shops and services willing to give free samples of their wares to the new arrivals.

You may also notice that your sign is embroidered on your tunic: the same image you saw on the card from before with the name of the sign itself beneath it. If you ask the castle residents, they'll tell you a little bit about your sign (and will mostly stick to the positives, although some might point out the negatives).

Last (and, if you ask anyone else in the castle, least) there is a worn stone staircase leading underground to the dungeon. You can go there, if you wish, but all powers are restricted in the dungeons and most of the cells stand empty.

Scenario Two: Welcome to Cadens

You find yourself pulled from the water by a pair of strong hands. Dry warmth hits you at once as you're set on a warm hard floor. As your senses return you realize you're on dull ruddy stone and surrounded by strangers. Men and women in unfamiliar uniforms of brown and red leather stand in a semi-circle around a small pool of water. The very pool you were just pulled from. The water is still now, rimmed in pale gold tiles with odd symbols etched into them. Across it on the far side is a raised pedestal with a card propped on it. The card bears an arcana symbol.

You feel weak. Drained. Any abilities or magical powers you have seem far away and impossible to access. You're in what looks like a cave lit by dozens and dozens of torches set into the wall. There's no furniture or decoration to be seen besides the pool. It's almost uncomfortably warm and there's the sound of rushing wind somewhere in the distance. Flickering shadows obscure the faces of the guards. A robed woman stands off to the side, looking at you anxiously and then to the authoritative woman standing before you. She's grinning, dressed in a fancier uniform than the others. There's a sword at her hip. A guard covers you with a blanket and returns to their place in the semi-circle.

The woman with the sword gives a nod of approval and smiles warmly.

"Sorry about the circumstances."

She gives you a good hard look before standing again.

"Take a minute, catch your breath, you've had quite a shock. Take it nice and easy. I'm Prime Minister Marlo Reiner and you're in The Free Cities. That nice lady over there will explain everything to you and get you settled." A nod to the robed woman off to the side.

Marlo Reiner steps back and the robed mage approaches to help you up.

"Come with me, please." She brings you out of the cave through a corridor that angles upwards until you emerge in what looks like some kind of storage facility. Shelves of wooden boxes and cloth bags line them, unidentifiable parts of what might be machines are tucked into corners and propped against shelving units. "This is one of the Free Cities' outposts," the mage explains as she leads you. "We're honored to have you with us, I'm sure you have many questions but please save them. You need to recover!"

You'll learn you're in the Cadens Desert Outpost 003, a military outpost on the outskirts of Cadens city. You're brought to a room in the barracks that's been prepared. Each barracks room is rather sparse and utilitarian. Six simple beds set against the wall, three on each side of the room, each with a trunk at the foot of it. You're told the world is in a delicate and dangerous times and you're needed to help. You're important, you're told, and they're very grateful you're here.

You're asked to stay close for the time being, but to make yourself at home. The outpost is more a proper military base than the name implies, with full facilities. The barracks have a communal bathing room at the end of the hall, with curtains that can be pulled around the individual raised round tubs for privacy. There's a mess hall that has food available from sun up till a few hours after sundown. You're even encouraged to make use of the training grounds, if you'd like, with non-lethal training weapons available for use and obstacle courses set up. And the city of Cadens is only a couple of hours away by wagon - though you're asked initially to please be back at the outpost within a few hours of the sun going down.

For your own safety.

Scenario Three: Welcome to Solvunn

The feeling of floating is the first sense that comes to you as the edges of unconsciousness start to ebb. Sunlight filters through the rippling water as you open your eyes, making you squint. Before you have the chance to panic and inhale, firm hands grasp your arms and pull you to the surface of the water. Moments later, soft warmth is wrapped around your shoulders as you're guided on unsteady legs out of a pool of water. You're lowered to the soft grass. Men and women in simple garments with lavish embroidery stand by, waiting with bated breath, glancing seriously at an old man in an ornate robe. He holds an old leather-bound book in one hand and in the other is a card bearing an arcana symbol. His eyes move quickly over the page, and he mumbles idly to himself.

Any strength you may have possessed feels as though it has slipped through your fingers. Any abilities or magical powers you have don't come to the surface no matter how hard you try. You're in a grassy clearing in the midst of a circle of large stone slabs stacked to look like doorways. In the middle is the same glimmering pool you were just pulled from. A gentle breeze blows through, carrying the scent of flowers and herbs from an ornately decorated altar set off in front of one of the stone doorways. The mage closes his book and steps out of the water, addressing a matronly old woman. Behind her are two younger people, a rough-looking man, and a meek young girl, both of whom are also watching the mage.

“I detect no ill will from the gods, it seems we've been blessed with success.” Those that had gathered all breathe a sigh of relief and now seem pleased.

The old woman smiles and steps forward, offering to take your hands and help you stand. “Any gift the gods give us is one we will happily take. I'm certain you have many questions, and they will all be answered in time. For now, rest and know you will be taken care of.”

She pats the top of your hand and steps away with a serene smile, letting one of the others come forward with some clothes that seem to fit you perfectly. The rough-looking man from before steps forward once you're decent and motions with his head outside of the stone circle. His speech is informal, his consonants harsh.

“Hold your horses, I can see all those questions coming about! Rowan March, at your service. I'm one of the council members of Solvunn. There's a lot to discuss, but it's best talked about over a hot meal.” He leads you to a horse-drawn carriage and helps you up into the back. He talks the entire ride to the settlement.

You find out you are in the Primary Settlement, the first of three that make up Solvunn's great territory. The settlement is situated between two lakes and is humming with life. You're brought to the center of town and escorted to an apartment above one of the establishments in town. Rowan explains that the living conditions are temporary if you'd like them to be, that local families would also be happy to host you in their home. That there are others like you who have also taken up residence within the three settlements. You're told that the world hangs upon the brink of disaster and that there are those in this world that are happy to see it fall to ruin with their meddling.

You're important. The gods have graced them with your presence. They're delighted you're here. Welcome to Solvunn.

Everything you need has been provided in this humble apartment, and if it hasn't, there are shops that line the streets and a marketplace in the center of town. Owners of some establishments or stalls are more than happy to give out samples or barter with your time for their goods. Babysitting can be a very lucrative business. You're told of the other settlements, that they'd like you to stay here for now, but if you can find a family to host you, the secondary and tertiary settlements are best to get to with an escort.

There are tales of travelers visiting the secondary settlement without invitation disappearing without a trace. The gods are as hungry as they are protective, young traveler.

You’ll find that there are more than enough activities to throw yourself into to better settle into your new life in Solvunn. Work is done in the first part of the day so that families can spend the rest of it together in leisure and work on their crafts - whatever those may be. For those children who are not of school age, they need nannies or storytellers, and there’s always a gaggle of them running about unsupervised. Families with livestock can always take a spare hand, especially since farms are so spread out, they have a tendency to wander. Whatever skills you may possess can always be of use to the community or to honor the gods.

If any of these options are no good for your lifestyle, the main roads between settlements can always use a bit of monster clean-up… just make sure you don’t go alone.

---

Questions

How many slots are open?
Currently, there are 23 slots open for new players. We will process activity check before opening applications, so we will have a better idea of the exact count then. Existing players can apply for a second character without restriction.

How do I choose a scenario for my character?
Pick whichever situation appeals to you most. Which faction your character is drawn into has nothing to do with their personal morality, beliefs, or how highly they regard themselves and their own accomplishments. Anyone can be put into any one of the situations.

Can I try out more than one scenario?
You can! But please keep in mind that only the one you eventually choose can be game canon, if you decide to keep any of your TDM threads.

What happens if my character refuses to comply with the NPCs?
They will be forgiven for their moment of panic or anger if they have one, and the faction leaders will try to calm them and persuade them further. If they put up too much of a fight and/or start actively attacking anyone, they will be warned once that everyone is willing to put them back in the well where they came from (see below), and if they continue to fight they will make good on that promise.

My character intends on causing a lot of trouble (destroying parts of the cities, murdering the NPCs, etc.), what would happen to them?
Characters who make too much trouble for the mages and other NPCs would be thrown back in the well (which will mean drowning in the void, not returning home). Brawling with other PCs and causing minor damage is fine and will be greeted with a cranky attitude and intervention from various NPC guards, and there will be plenty of opportunity for destruction and murder later, but for now the Abraxans have no desire to keep huge liabilities around.

I want to wildcard a prompt or use one of the prompts from an earlier TDM that isn't on this one (eg. the library), can I do that?
Yes, in terms of the settings. As Thorne is no longer imprisoning any newcomers, that option is no longer applicable.

Is the power loss for characters permanent?
No, but it does take a week or so for their powers to be back in full, and certain powers (determined on a case-by-case basis) may require nerfs. If your character has world-breaking powers, please discuss with the mods what modifications may be necessary.

Can my character leave the bounds of the faction?
In Thorne, characters can leave the castle but not the city. In Cadens, they can take a trip from the outpost to the city. In Solvunn, they can explore the entirety of the Primary Settlement.

Can my character eventually change factions?
Yes. While the faction borders are currently closed, there will opportunities in the future for characters to relocate. For the time being, they are stuck where they are.

How much will my choice of scenario affect my character's plot later on?
This choice will determine where your character initially lives as well as the bias of the information they receive from NPCs (although other PCs can and most likely will give it to them a bit more straight). This decision - and every other major decision you make in game! - will also be used to flavor some mod surprises that will be coming down the line.

Don't get too anxious about this choice, though; this is just one choice you'll get to make in a game that has a lot of them, and every character in every scenario can work their way towards many, many individual goals and outcomes. You're not locking yourself out of anything in the future via the choice you made on the TDM. It will primarily impact the immediate future with the far-reaching effects being up to each player.

Are TDM threads mandatory for my application?
No, you may use other samples, but we encourage you to post to the TDM and get a feel for this game and its mechanics before you join. If you do not have a TDM thread you will still need to choose one of the three scenarios on your application.

What if I haven't settled on a sign yet?
You can ignore sign-related prompts if you're undecided (or try out different signs in different threads).

Can my character go to the Horizon?
First time visitors to the Horizon must be taken there by other characters, through either shared meditation or a physical journey to the Singularity, and all first-timers experience memory loss. For the purposes of the TDM, we suggest against using the Horizon.

What about making use of the network?
Much like Horizon they would need to be introduced to it by another PC, as no NPCs would be aware of the network or be able to access it. Because of this we would advise against using this mechanic for TDM top-levels.

---

return to main navigation

Comments

Questions

[abraxasmods]

Mat Cauthon - Wheel of Time - Wheel of Fortune - Thorne Arrival

[a_better_man]

1 - First Impressions

At first, Mat was terrified. The darkness, the threat of drowning, the circle of strangers and the ritual room he found himself pulled into. The only immediate thoughts in his mind were they had found him, his worst fears had been right, he'd fucked up in staying behind and now he was as good as dead...

Only that was all wrong. This is not the White Tower and these are not Aes Sedai. Nowhere close. The rush of new information has done little to ease his fear of confusion, honestly only added to the latter. None of it makes any sense - he's never heard of any place called Thorne, can't comprehend that there's a place where men can call on the One Power and use it without consequence. His questions and protests have mostly been dismissed, and the answers given don't make any sense. He doesn't know a damned thing about magics or relics or any of that. And being told he's important...he's special...

That's how this whole mess started in the first place. Joke's on them, he supposes. He's a miserable savior. When it comes down to the wire and the pressure is on, Mat Cauthon fucks off. Only it doesn't seem like it's going to be easy to do that here, in a place he doesn't know hardly anything about. Why'd they have to grab him? If his soul is the one he suspects - and the rest suspect as well, he knows they do - then these people just hammered the last nail in their coffin. He meant what he'd said to Moiraine - the world doesn't need a Dragon like him. This world doesn't, either. Bad things happen where-ever he goes.

But maybe that's all wrong. He does feel better than he has in months. Maybe it all had just been the dagger, and the only thing marking him as 'special' was being ta'veren. If that's the case, this is a damned odd place the Wheel decided he needed to be.

He'll figure something out. He always does. For now...

They've given him finer clothes than he's ever had in his life, and promised a bed and food free of any charge. While he knows it's too good to be true, there's a catch - they want something, of course, they always want something from him - he's not so stupid as to not take advantage. When was the last time he could afford a full meal? And they've said he has freedom to roam the castle, and the city it stands over. May as well poke around a bit.

So here he is, a tall and lanky young man in the white silk tunic and trews the mages gave him, the sign of the Wheel of Fortune emblazoned on his tunic. He's roaming the halls of the accessible parts of the castle, opening whatever doors will open and poking his head out windows to get a proper lay of the land.



2 - Dining Hall


"This is really all just free for the taking, then?"

Mat stares at the laden table, sure he's mistaken. There's more than enough there to feed the whole of his little mountain village! There has to be something more to it, no one just gives food away. But he is no fool, and light knows where he'll be tomorrow, so for now...take advantage while he can.

With a furtive glance around, as though he's sure to be stopped any moment, Mat descends on the table. He doesn't even bother with a plate or utensils, simply grabs a roasted bird leg in one hand and a round of bread in the other, already tearing bits off both with his teeth as he sits. Even as he settling himself at the table he's looking at the other dishes, overwhelmed with the sheer bounty before him.

And it's good! No gristle or stringy meat, no wood powder to cut the flour in the bread. He devours what's in his hands eagerly, messily, not giving one good damn about the crumbs and grease in his beard. He reaches for more, finally at least taking a plate and piling the food on...though now and then his hand dips into his tunic, stashing bread away for later.

Just in case....



3 - Settling In


These were apparently the quarters for people like him. The stolen folk. Mat's not sure what else to think of it as, he was stolen away from his home and life like some unlucky child in a gleeman's story. He's still cautious, still unsure. Kindness like this never comes without a price. But light damn it, he's tired and the last decent bed he'd had he hadn't even been able to enjoy. He approaches one of the open doors, shoulders hunched forward and fingers twisting a bit of thread he'd pulled from somewhere, peering in.

"They said any free bed's up for grabs..."

Those. Those are much nicer beds than the ones at the Green Door. Nicer than any bed he's ever laid eyes on. High and plush and curtained...and this is what they give their freeloading stolen folk? How wealthy is this country?

Fandaniel | Final Fantasy XIV | The Hanged Man - Cadens (Spoilers for Endwalker)

[endcaller]

[cw: Suicidal ideation]

I. Arrival/Barracks

[He is falling into the darkness, towards the heart of Zodiark. All around he can feel the ancient Primal's energy pulsating. Voices cry out in the black, desperately trying to convince him to not do what he is about to do. But the dead hold no power over him, he will seize control of the Primal and turn his wrath on the warriors above.

Someone will slay him, then the star will come undone. The heavens will open and sheer black despair will tear the souls of the living apart. They will witness a hell of his own making and they will die, they will all die and it will beautiful.

Fandaniel hurls his will into the shadows and feels the constellation of souls within Zodiark recoil in horror.

Mine! The Primal is mine now!

Then, suddenly, the darkness around him seems to ripple and shift. He can feel the souls spin away from him followed soon after by the energies of Zodiark. The black closes in on him.

No, this isn't how it's supposed to go, this is all wrong, all wrong...

He reaches out a hand, not knowing if he is reaching up or down anymore. If not for the sickly feeling of motion in his stomach he'd might as well be hanging still.

Something seizes his wrist and pulls him upward. Muffled voices speak and he is rolled onto his side against what feels like earthen tiles. Only now does he realize he is naked and soaking wet. The air is cool on the damp of his skin but he can tell there is a warmth within it. Not the air on the moon... A desert, perhaps?

"He's alive," someone says, and the words gnaw at him.

His lungs are expanding and taking in air, his heart is beating, all sure signs that he isn't dead. One black eye rolls open and he sees the blurred outline of human shapes and torchlight. It is all too much to take in and he closes his eyes again.

Normally he'd throw these mortals away from him, twist them with his magic until they told him why they'd dared to bring him here right when he was about to achieve his magnum opus. But whatever force brought him into this place has stripped him of not just his clothes but his powers. His Ascian essence is still there, he can feel it, but it is distant and remains out of reach no matter how hard he tries to access it. He is trapped in this prison of flesh that had once been named Asahi.

Voices speak above him but he doesn't listen, not even when someone covers his shivering body with a blanket. Maybe if he lies here they will throw him back into the water and he can drown in the depths. It would be so easy to just slip away down there and never awaken again.

The thought is sweet. He imagines dying, his blood cooling, his breath stopping as merciful nothingness closes in. Then he imagines his world, the Source. He imagines its people toppling his spires. He imagines their triumphant, hopeful faces... and it makes him sick! No, he can't die here, not like this. Why should he die but not them? Neither he nor anyone else is worthy of living.

If he has to endure for now he will find a way to fix this. He is nothing if not a patient man, after all.

Yes, it's decided.

He will set his plans back into motion, find another way to destroy all of creation and invite fiery oblivion.

All he has to do is wake up.

With a soft groan he pushes himself upright and the people standing around him back away to give him space. For a moment he sways like a child taking their first steps and he tugs the blanket around himself a bit more tightly before lifting his chin and smiling a black smile at the guards.]

Well! I guess nap time is over. Would you mind repeating all that?

[To his surprise they oblige as they gently lead him away from a deep well and through an underground cavern. He latches on to what bits and pieces of information he can but finds himself distracted as he's ushered past lines of boxes full of machinery. The pieces all look primitive to him, though he can't guess their purpose. If he had the time he knows he could figure it out, he could make those machines sing.

Finally he is led into a sparse barracks bedchamber and a guard holds his arm as he seats himself on the edge of the bed. Once she's satisfied Fandaniel isn't about to tip over she leaves and he tugs his blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

He doesn't move until a new person is led into the room some time later, also wearing a blanket.]

I take it by your clothing, or should I say your distinct lack thereof, that you were pulled out of that well too?

[He frowns and hums thoughtfully.]

Although I do not know this place or its customs. Maybe everyone dresses thus except the guards. If that's the case and you are here to check on me...

I'd like my gruel, please.

[With a cold grin he lifts his bare arms out from under the blanket, hands cupped together as if he's expecting something to be scooped into them.]

II.Training Grounds

[It takes a while for Fandaniel to finally emerge from the room. After a lot of chewing on dark thoughts he decides to explore his new surroundings.

Dressed in drab linens now he pokes around until he hears the distinct din of a training yard. Following the sound brings him to the training grounds. There are men and women sparring against each other and against intricate training dummies. Close by there is an obstacle course.

Fandaniel pulls a wooden sword from the weapons rack and tests its heft. It is sturdy but he could hardly kill anyone with it, which really takes the fun out of carrying it around. He tosses it over his shoulder and starts to whirl and dance his way through the training grounds, not worrying when attacks intended for dummies come dangerously close to hitting him.

He pauses near the first person he sees that looks as out of place as he does, still poised on the balls of his feet with arms outstretched like a danseur about to launch into a routine.]

They have a lot of playthings, don't they? Are they preparing to invade or be invaded?

Jasper | Dragon Quest XI | Judgement

[leitstern]

thorne | living quarters

[The empty bed beside the window has been uninhabited for months. One morning a maid enters to replace the roses in the pitcher. One week later she returns and exchanges the red bouquet with a posy of pink carnations and baby’s breath. Silence is perpetual and habitual - and disturbed that afternoon when the maid breaks with routine.

Bedding is stripped and replaced. Curtains are hung around the bed. Medicinal herbs are bundled with twine and hung to dry. Magic permeates their leaves, infusing the air with the scent of gardenia and sandalwood. Ten minutes later a man arrives on a stretcher and is transferred to the bed. The physician emerges from behind the curtain with a flannel in hand. She wipes her face and remarks he is dead to the world before leaving.

Now there is peace. Now there is silence. The quiet sound of ill murmuring but nothing more.

Nothing until vigorous coughing breaks the peace of those attempting to sleep. Nine hours later, he is awake at last.]

thorne | walled garden

[Bound by exhaustion and physical weakness, Jasper becomes eager to explore once he can climb out of bed and balance on his feet. There is something painfully familiar about the castle and he lingers in memories while traversing its corridors - colliding with people along the way.

One shake of the head and he recalls castle servants praising the gardens during five days of rest. He cannot count whether five days have passed as he enters a private terrace; a hothouse filled with crimson camellias climbing up trellises and walls. He looks up towards a glass skylight through which beats the sun.

Worries cease a moment but his attention returns to earth. There is something almost longing in how he regards the flowers.]

Stunning, are they not? We can only hope to be born so beautiful.

thorne | balcony

[Jasper closes his eyes for a moment to pinpoint his emotions; the serenity and peace of feeling human matched by the silence of evening. It takes a good number of moments before he opens his golden eyes to take in the horizon.

Peace is fragile, delicate like glass.

That realisation shatters the centre of his being. He bows his head and looks down and away from the light of sunset, refusing to let it grace his face. Fingers grasp the railing of the balcony and he leans across to stare into the lower ward. Patrolling sentries man the portcullis. Enter the tower. Citizens meet and embrace.

He turns away in guilt and suffers facing another human being. His hands slide into his pockets and he turns away again; observing the sunset in silence. He speaks after a moment.]

Why are you here?

wildcard

[Want something else? Hit me up at safekeeping!]

Training Grounds

[fourarmedandangerous]

Goro doesn't break his training routine, going through the motions of a fight, practicing his form, ensuring his technique remains sharp. It's not ideal, but after putting a would be sparring partner in the infirmary, it's all he can really do short of going into the desert and finding some beast to fight. His eyes flick quickly to the stranger and he can already tell this one is going to be a chore.

"They claim there is no war. I do not believe them." He replies tersely.

[endcaller]

"I'm sure they aren't lying. There is no war now. The question remains, however, if there will be one very soon."

Still smiling, he drops back to his heels and looks Goro over with glittering black eyes.

"Ah, but may I say it does reassure me to know that whatever happens I will be fighting on the same side as someone as big and strong as yourself."

sephiroth | final fantasy vii | the tower

[supersoldier]

CADENS; BARRACKS

[Sephiroth gives off the impression of severity on a good day, a man whose aloof temperament usually staves off most unwanted company. And in a mood that is less-than-ideal, he’s banking on it now — a tick of irritation is permanently carved into his brow, his features practically made of hard stone, and he isn’t inclined to spark new conversation with any he might come across.

After all, while there’s a cold dose of irony in being pulled from one world to another yet still existing within a militaristic structure, that’s about where the similarities—and familiarities—end. He has been cut off mid-mission and expected to readjust at a ridiculous rate, expected to be understanding of an unwarranted reassignment and allow his irritation to be cowed by smiling, grateful faces. He feels like a ship unmoored and he dislikes it. Greatly.

All that to say that he makes for terrible company within the confines of the barracks, currently bending over to open the trunk at the foot of a bed, silver hair slipping over his shoulders, and very pointedly ignoring anyone else in the room. The sign of the Tower is visible on his garb, but he does not even bother to question anyone else’s sign, or their names, or what they think of the situation at hand.

Prospects for a warm, friendly barrack-mate? Looking low.]

CADENS; BARRACKS (TRAINING EDITION)

[It’s easy to lose himself in training. The habit’s been long hammered into his bones, and it’s no surprise when Sephiroth gravitates towards the training grounds itself, already having picked up a practice sword (the balance feels all wrong, the reach far too short) and fallen into exercises so familiar it comes to him as naturally as breathing.

But even the familiar rhythm of practice has lost its ease today. He can feel it in every atom of every cell — he’s weaker than usual, slower than usual, not nearly as reactive, as though his limbs were moving through molasses rather than air. And there’s minimal comfort in being told that his strength would return in time, not when one is a SOLDIER, when usefulness was equated to ability and strength, and frustration bubbles up quickly.

And it turns into impatience, for however little it shows — just a shadow of a thing, the downturn of his lips as he turns to face another in the vicinity. And in likely the first attempt to wholeheartedly interact with anyone else since his arrival, he speaks.]

You. Put your guard up.

[He needs to test himself against a live opponent, and whether or not the other person agrees is irrelevant. The way his stance shifts, the way he springs forward should be a fair indication of that.]

CADENS; BARRACKS (BATHING EDITION)

[Despite whatever fuss might’ve been kicked up at the training grounds, Sephiroth does not end his day with sweat or grime still plastered to his person. He’s always been influenced by fastidious, cat-like tendencies of cleanliness, and within the communal bathing room, this much becomes clear.

He sits in one of the tubs, filled with water so warm it steams, the curtain for privacy only half-pulled. Privacy is a laughable notion in a full barracks of any kind, and though he had long earned the prestige of personal space back on Gaia, he does not expect the same here. Pretending it exists is a waste of time, and he doesn’t seem to care if anyone else is looking his way.

There’s a bigger issue, anyhow.

His silver hair, so long that it seems to fill the surface of the tub itself, has a knot. He’s located the offending strand, has isolated it and caught his fingers against it, and stares at it as though it is the most objectionable thing he has ever seen. Blame the events of the day, blame the water and soaps of another world, blame what must be a confluence of terrible luck, blame anything, it doesn’t matter. Sephiroth’s focus is singular, his fingers trying to work deftly to undo the twisting strands.

It’s unsure whether help or advice would be welcome or appreciated, but since when has that ever stopped anyone?]

Training Yard

[fourarmedandangerous]

For a moment Goro merely stares at the silver-haired man. This is the first time someone has challenged him on the training field. Most other Summoned give the Shokan a wide berth given Goro's...everything. Still, Sephiroth seems set on this so Goro faces him fully and assumes his battle stance.

"Understand that you will not win this battle." He warns. "Show me what you have."

[fourarmedandangerous]

"Spare me your flattery." Comes the blunt response. "And you are wrong. The opening salvos of the war have already begun. Necromancers of Solvunn unleashed a plague of undeath during a festival." A quick practice of one of his favourite combos interrupts Goro for a moment.

"They claimed it was an accident." He says once he's finished, relaxing his battle stance. "Too many people are content to take them at their word."

Garrett Hawke | Dragon Age | Cadens | The Fool

[snarkychampion]

1. Arrival/Barracks

Hawke has been through a lot of strange things in his time, more than enough of them if you asked him, and he's even woken up (many times) in places he shouldn't be. Though that often came with a hangover, a more fun night before, as opposed to here. One minute he's in the Fade, fighting for his life, and he tries to fight off the hands attempting to help him out of the water at first, but he feels weaker than he's been in a long time. So weak that his instinct to get into a fighting stance, reach to his magic, gets him no where and he just sits down. If this is the afterlife he knows a lot of people who are going to be pissed.

His eyes flicker between the woman and the sword, first thing of course going through his mind is how to get the fuck out of here, but Hawke bites his tongue and waits. Prime Minister. Some title. Fine. It doesn't seem wise to go running off at this point and so he follows along. For now. This seems a bit worrisome for a way to wake up, it's not as if it's rare for mages to be snatched and brought somewhere new.

It's only when he's in the barracks that he tries to find a corner to think, make a plan, honestly his usual plan is do whatever seems right and escape, but hasn't he learned how stupid that is recently? It is in that corner that Hawke tries to call on fire and waves his hand, only for ... nothing. Nothing. Or not nothing, but it reminds him of when he was a child, before it came as easily as breathing, force being put into it but grasping for something that isn't there.

"Fuck me." He summarizes pointedly, probably a bit loudly, but that seems like a bloody understatement.


2. Baths

It's been awhile since he dealt with communal bathing, but some things are never forgotten, and who knows how long it's been since he bothered. Being on the road doesn't exactly leave room outside of streams and even if the blood and grime isn't currently on him, it's as if he can feel the Fade and all of it under the surface of his skin. Scrubbing invisible shite away might not be helpful, but oh well.

Hawke forgot to pull the curtains fully around the tub, mostly due to disinterest or because his mind is swarming enough as it is, but it wouldn't be the first or last time he ends up naked where he shouldn't be either. (There's a lot of these instances. Shhh. It's best not to know.) He dives under the water and stays there possibly longer than he should, until his lungs burn, until he has to be reminded that he is in fact alive, his heart is in fact beating, and this entire situation is real. He surfaces with a harsh gasp, swearing under his breath, batting the side of his head as he feels like there may have been water dripping to his brain.

"If only this was a vat full of ale." How beautiful that would be.

3. Food, glorious food!

Free food is the type of thing that you probably shouldn't trust but instead he voraciously descends upon it like a half-starved beast. Hawke got very used to road food which is basic protein and hunted animals if he got lucky, and some weeks were leaner than others. It was a drastic change after an every day option in Kirkwall, a blessed life to a scavenger, but it is what it is. Hawke stacks food, more than it seems like he should be able to consume, and sits down in a better mood.

Due to that mood, and getting his bearings somewhat now, plus the lack of monsters trying to stab him, Hawke glances around looking for others there. A natural extrovert, as soon as he spots someone he flashes a smile and tries to wave them over. "Oi, I'm bored, please entertain a walking corpse, I beg of you."

4. Wagon

Listen, the truth is, when Hawke first sees one of the wagons, his eyes light up. An escape, finally. While his feet could take him anywhere he might want to go, he knows nothing about this land, and his boots aren't even good enough for that. Of course! he says with a quick smile, about coming back in due time, right, yes, that will happen. Absolutely. He is not trying to fly the coop and take his chances in the nearby city, that doesn't sound at all like him!

It might be best to stay with what you know, but he has been staying for longer than he likes. Hawke stretches out on the wagon as best as he can, assuming since it'll be a bit before they get there, he may as well get comfortable. Hands cross at the back of his head, resting back, humming a tune under his breath. From the Hanged Man, from the bards that used to either amuse or annoy them in the middle of a day, he can almost smell it now. Best not to get lost in memories, though.

"You know, this could be worse," he says out loud. If someone's been with him all this time, it's clear he has not actually been ignoring anyone. He likes people. It's just a lot of noise in his head these days. "One time I was on a wagon that would make even the strongest stomach empty in ten minutes flat. The driver would have to pay you to get on it."

5. Wildcard

[Want something or inspired to do something else? Go for it! Hawke is friendly and will be wandering around a lot willing to chat. Message waftingcurtains with questions/thoughts.]

[endcaller]

The swing clips past Fandaniel as he sways in place but he doesn't flinch.

"Really? This is the first I'm hearing about it. Do you have any reason to suspect their claim is false? Necromancy is a famously difficult art to master, after all. I wouldn't put it past its practitioners to raise a few corpses by accident while attempting to do something as easy as oh, I don't know.... making a sandwich? Whatever it is Necromancers do in their day."

walled garden

[sorser]

[Meditation can be practiced in a multitude of places in theory. Stephen could remain at the library, with books stacked around him at a table, and close his eyes, focusing inward rather than outward. He could ignore the bustle of people ambling by and breathe deeply, rhythmically, and achieve that ideal flow-state of centeredness.

But there’s a reason some places are more suited than others, especially the ones enmeshed in nature. Quiet and calmness is more a prerequisite here than in the dining hall, for example, and the tranquility is helpful when one needs to clear the mind. Take some time for inward reflection.

Stephen isn’t doing that now, of course. Now, he finds a man admiring the flora that trail up the walls as he makes his way out, his shoulders a little more relaxed than the usual — though no doubt their rigidity will return by the end of the day again, faced with exasperation and a laundry list of things that still need to be tended to.

For now, he crosses his arms and cranes his gaze up to follow the line of blossoms.]

I think you’re underestimating the beauty behind the complexity of a human body keeping itself in homeostasis, but yeah.

[Appreciation where it’s due.]

They’re beautiful.

Link [The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask] - Solvunn, Hanged Man

[72hr]

[A.]

[ This could be so much worse. Link thinks this to himself as he follows the stranger up a narrow flight of stairs to a tiny apartment, but more than feeling afraid or depressed or even happy, he simply feels apathetic. Sure, why not? This makes it the second time something like this has happened to him — maybe third, depending on how far one could stretch the comparison — and this time, he isn't being dropped into someone else's body. That's certainly worth something, if this kind of thing is going to be happening to him again. Favored by the gods, world on the brink of disaster... sure, whatever. The usual thing. Why not, right? He honestly doesn't mind having being brought here, although an invitation would have been more considerate.

As many questions as he has about what's really going on here, and what he's going to have to do about it, the heaviest one on his mind is where he can find that hot meal the guy mentioned. Link thanks the man as soon as he feels it's polite to do so, and a few minutes after he leaves, the fair-haired, diminutive boy emerges onto the street to follow his nose. ]

'Scuse me. [ The person standing beside the food stall hasn't seemed to notice him. Link can't tell whether they're another customer or the owner. ] How can I get... some of this?

[ He isn't entirely sure what this is — he'd like to say that neither Hyrule nor Termina had any food like this, although he knows he isn't exactly an expert on that topic — but it smells like meat. The best smell. ]

[B.]

[ Every local he's met so far has made a point to tell Link where the settlement's schoolhouse is. He's nodded and thanked each one for their directions, as attempting to argue with or correct them is just a waste of time. When he looks the way he does, he can't blame others for treating him like a little kid. But then, someone tells him where he might be able to find work, and the schoolhouse just to happens to be on the way there. If he's going to keep getting told to stop by, he might as well do it.

It's the middle of the day when he arrives at the school, in time to watch a small group of children playing in a field behind the building. Link watches for a while, keeping his distance. They remind him of the Bombers, but... that's all. He knows he doesn't belong in a place like this, even if he wanted to join them, which he does not. If anything, watching them makes finding a new sword and shield feel even more urgent.

A teacher emerges and starts to call to her students. It looks like there won't be anything for him to watch anymore. With a flustered huff, Link swiftly turns to leave — and finds himself running smack into a person who'd been standing just beside him, for who knows how long. ]

Ow! Er — [ Something smacked him right in the nose. He instinctively stumbles backwards and covers his face with his hands. How the hell did someone sneak up on him like that? Either way, he hopes he hasn't knocked them over or anything. Link peeks from behind his fingers, still wincing. ] S-Sorry! I'm sorry! Are you alright??

[c. wildcard me?!]

[ He needs new equipment, better clothes, and more food. Perhaps you've run into him somewhere along the way?? ]

hythlodaeus | ff14 | solvunn | The Empress | Endwalker spoilers

[lackingtalent]

1- arrival

[The summoning was not exactly a smooth experience. Hythlodaeus, or more accurately, a cluster of aether which had once been known by that name, subjected to the vague pulling and pushing of the aetherial sea; was content.

If he could feel contentment, of course. For feeling within the underworld was relative. Feeling was but a memory which felt distant, almost as one should remember a dream- surrounded with brief flashes of imagery. A vantage point of so many galaxies at the very edge of the universe, something dark, foreboding, at the very top of it, threatening to bear down and destroy even this. Yet he remembers that he was not afraid. There was something- someone important alongside him. There was someone else- precious fragments, really, just fragments, but so special there as well, and ... flowers.

A field of Elpis flowers, blooming even there.
Yes, he remembers.

...Yet that dream, the series of brief recollections forming a series of pictures, was over. As was his part within it. How long he had been floating, he does not know. All he knows is that returning? It was just as beautiful as he thinks he imagined once.

Yet there's a distinct pull at his half-dissipated aether, and he finds himself falling.

Then-
A sensation, uncomfortable. Light? And feeling and-

It stings, slightly.
He finds himself within water.

He finds hands reaching for him. Strange. Hands?
And he finds-

He's on his knees. He's shivering. Nerves and synapses and muscles are firing signals of discomfort, of coldness at his brain, which is quite overloaded with such sharp sensation after so long of nothing.

But more- he's breathing and- he needs air and-
He's being addressed?]


2- Shops

[He is clothed now, but he does not feel he is clothed. The attire he had been given, namely an embroidered dress shirt as well as black trousers, is certainly enough to cover what the natives of this world feel deserves covering, but for him, it's almost as if he is walking around in smallclothes.

He can't exactly help it. Yet even now, he simply doesn't have it in him to complain at what is offered. These garments(?) are something bestowed upon him in kindness. Nothing is requested for them, nothing is expected of him should he take them. But it's apparent by the way he holds himself within them, the way he walks, the way that he almost seems embarrassed by every single glance his way, that these clothes are entirely too form-fitting for his liking. And they're different from other people's.

He can't say those of Solvunn have been remiss in their summoning. The details of his existence here, what is expected of him, as there is always something expected, have indeed, been detailed- often and well at that. The populace appears to be kind. Such kindness is reflected in multiple offers of accommodation, food, and assistance that appear to be coming at him without cease as he moves to each stall of some open-air market browses the wares of such- half-laughing as he engages in conversation with each storekeeper, making a point of asking, and learning their names, changing the subject to other things- their stock, their businesses, their lives, their loved ones- as courteously as he can.

Regrettably though, despite all of these offers, despite all of these delightful little stories, no article of clothing with (at least) a hood seems forthcoming.

Oh dear.]

3- Flowerfield

[The sun has begun to retreat behind the skyline- and just this once, the sky may appear reminiscent of the sky he once loved- saturated in light purples and glowing golds- and perhaps, perhaps, if he views the sky with halflidded eyes, it might appear more like his world- loved so deeply, and lost so bitterly.

He can't really say for sure. His memory of that world would never fade, that was something true enough. But he has to wonder if he's even capable of making any sort of comparison for his Sight, for certain, is quite changed.

As he stands within this field teeming with wildflowers, with so much disorganized, unoptimized life that someone would have decided deserved to live for life's sake- not for a purpose, not for a point- he half wants to laugh.

No- He really wants to laugh. For additionally, he is viewing this world as the people from it must view it. His Sight is gone. No patterns are in anything. No pulsing colours that defy description in the trees, the flowers, the sky, beckons to him, urging him to peer closer. There is no hidden beauty that he can perceive.

Everything appears at face value. And while, indeed, he wants to laugh- he can't help but feel as though something important has been lost.]

[supersoldier]

Goro is as good of an intended target-slash-training-partner as any; maybe even more suited to it since he appears large, muscular, and many-armed. He may belong to a race utterly unknown to Sephiroth, but the SOLDIER has been surrounded by the strange and unknown ever since he was pulled, drenched and weakened, from the summoning pool. Testing his enfeebled state against a physically strong opponent is a good measure of where he’s now become lacking; better to be aware early than to regret it too late. He will not wait on competency, only guarantee that it still exists, even even if he has to force it out of himself.

And so Sephiroth’s already moving forward as Goro speaks, hair whipping behind him as he brandishes his practice sword. Dirt kicks up from beneath his soles. It’s clear he’s trained, that the downward swing that follows isn’t lacking in form and execution.

He doesn’t have a reply in regards to winning or losing. It’s clear, too, that he’s not here for stimulating conversation.

[leitstern]

[Jasper closes his eyes for a moment to better savour the scents and smells of the garden. Perhaps he ignores the man because he reminds him of his own humanity. Possibly because he is afraid of making new connections. Pondering. Pensive. Preoccupied by the demands of living.

Being alive. There is reason for that, surely?

Fingers itch to perch upon his hips. His movements affect a confident pose for a man who looks anything but relaxed.]

Indeed. To possess the tenacity to keep climbing even after being pared down...

[He wrinkles his nose.]

It is a small thing worthy of admiration, I suppose.

HELEN | THE ILIAD | THE TOWER

[lest]

SOLVUNN

Where Helen went, heads turned. Old men gossiping in front of shops fell quiet. Women whispered to one another as they churned butter. Children followed after her, nearly stepping on the backs of her shoes. She wore the same simple garments as the others, but draped over her shoulders the clothes looked different: the material seemed finer, the embroidery richer when adorning her beauty.

She was rarely idle. Mornings were spent in the shade cast by a stall whose owner had graciously lent her the space; her fingers worked a loom with exquisite skill, weaving a king's tapestry of a great warrior's send-off. Noon found her in the marketplace, young boys and girls at her feet, a particularly bold child in her lap, listening to stories of heroes and monsters brought vividly to life by Helen's voice.

Or, a shawl draped over her hair, she wandered the length of the settlement until her feet came to the road. A queen without nation, a mother without daughter, twice-wedded to shame, she was rarely accompanied, and never alone. Melancholy proved her stalwart shadow; grief, a child tugging insistently at her skirts.

viktor | arcane | death

[techmaturgy]

i. cadens - arrival (cw: blood)

[Well, he’s dead.

That’s the logical conclusion, anyway, not that he’s thinking particularly logically in the haze of whatever this is. He’d sort of expected—he’s not sure what he expected. Maybe, more nothing, and less water. The water’s not great. Really not great. The more he comes back to himself the more he realizes he can’t breathe, and even though it lasts only a moment before hands are pulling him onto the warm ground and he's gasping and choking and entirely bewildered by absolutely everything about this.

There are answers, sort of, but Viktor doesn’t like any of them. Sorry about the circumstances, they said, like he hasn't just been pulled away from his work. Worse than that, like he hasn't just been pulled away from the best chance he has to save his own life, something he's reminded of when they give him a blanket and he stifles his coughing with it and the fabric comes away red. He folds over the edge automatically, not wanting anyone to see.

So, still alive, for now. Just misplaced. Somehow.

Viktor finds it almost too much to take in, and it's not until he's alone in the barracks room that he allows himself to fully process what all this is supposed to mean. It's apparent that he's been brought to this room, specifically, to allow him some time to recuperate, but he doesn't have time, so instead of attempting to clear his head he gives in to his frustration. There's a chair near the door that he jostles violently with his free hand on the way in, and he all but throws down the crutch they've given him before sinking down onto the nearest bed with some effort, scrubbing a hand through damp hair and letting out a long, shaky breath.

That's about when he realizes he isn't alone (it's you, you're here, walking into this, congratulations).]

Sorry. [He seems to have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about the temporary outburst, but at the same time there's too much exhaustion behind the apology for it to seem fully sincere.] I didn't realize anyone else was here.

[Just, you know, forgive him for having a Moment.]

ii. cadens - outpost

[Sitting around in the barracks and feeling sorry for himself, however, is not going to accomplish anything. If this is real, and if everything he's been told is true, somehow, then he needs to get to work immediately, even if it’s the vaguest outline of plan. To his understanding, there are other displaced people here, like him, which means there are patterns to find and puzzle pieces to slot into place.]

a. [It makes him a little more sociable than he might ordinarily be, but for someone like Viktor that mostly just means asking weird questions. Maybe you are nearby in the mess hall, or just trying to get some reps in at the training grounds, and this guy is chilling nearby on a crate or something, taking notes (weird) and looking like he's thinking very hard about a lot of things (he is).]

The card on the pedestal, back in the cave. Did it mean anything to you?

[Yes. Hello. Nice to meet you.]

b. [Or, he's backtracking to the storage facility, just in case he missed something the first time around (because he was too thoroughly addled to catalog anything useful). They did tell him to make himself at home, and though he's pretty certain they didn't mean "go through all our stuff", he finds it pretty hard to care, given the circumstance. Despite experience when it comes to sneaking around in places that he shouldn't be, Viktor knows he will always make some amount of noise, and therefore plays it completely cool if and when someone else is passing through—or has the same idea.]

Ah. Just looking.

[Everything is totally legit!]

iii. cadens - city proper

[Viktor asks around, and finds out very quickly that they're near enough to a city that it's worth making a trip, even if a few hours in a wagon is not really on his list of favorite things. Still, there are academies in Cadens, and museums, which means if he's going to learn anything about the general state of what he has to work with, it's going to be there. There's magic, too—real magic, which is a lot to unpack, and might have to wait. The sciences are what he knows, and therefore the best place to start to get his bearings. What he finds is...interesting. He's not optimistic, not yet, but this is better than being somewhere with no technology at all.

So, predictably, there's a guy here, and he's having a fairly animated discussion with one of the shopkeepers-slash-scientists about what is apparently esoteric nerd stuff. Maybe you understand the esoteric nerd stuff. Maybe it just sounds like a lot of nonsense about the reactionary properties of such-and-such material on whatever-that-thing-is. Either way, it seems a little heated, ending when Viktor thanks the shopkeeper for their time and turns away, intending to head back down the main drag. If there are eyes on him (yours), he offers a shrug, even though he knows he's got no reason to explain anything at all.]

Not as open to constructive criticism as I anticipated. It happens.

iv. misc.

[hey what’s up I got spoilers up to and including episode 7 of arcane—if you need me to avoid anything, just let me know! happy to wildcard anything/anywhere at the outpost or in cadens proper. feel free to shoot me a message!]

3 /slides in here

[unnecessaryflourishes]

[Emet-Selch has not, precisely, been much of an eye on the aetherial realm of late. He knows, of course, what the souls of the various people in Solvunn look like, but even then, there is not often any call for him to go looking for anyone. Even if it does grant him something of an advantage in telling when Solvunn is seeking to call new people to this realm.

(What ultimate purpose is behind the summonings, he doesn't know. But he imagines that the other city-states are likely to be doing the same, and he will not fault Solvunn for seeking to do likewise.)

This soul puts all the others to shame, at once both familiar and nothing like the Sundered souls he has known for so long. A welcome familiarity, at that, far more than Lahabrea and Elidibus would have ever been, and he turns his steps to following that single point of familiarity without so much as a second thought. It may not be something that he had expected, certainly. But that's no reason to not seek out that moment of familiarity that he has longed for all but desperately over the long millennia of his life.

Without Hythlodaeus' Sight, the only thing to mark his approach is the sound of gently footfalls. Or at least, it is until he finally speaks up, and though many things have changed over the eons he still sounds like himself.]

Taking in the sights? Or merely enjoying a moment of silence?

[fourarmedandangerous]

Goro's reply to Sephiroth's attack is simple, efficient, and brutal. He crosses his upper arms, letting them take the brunt of Sephiroth's swing and, having ensured the SOLDIER now seems committed to the attack follows up with a one-two punch of his lower arms to Sephiroth's midsection.

1: barracks;

[lackingtalent]

[ooc; Yooo! we probably can't have this canon bc Hythlodaeus will be solvunn but im down for doing this for funsies if you are!]

[There is a man, a tall man, within the hatefully furnished little room Fandaniel is brought to. The man is indeed attired in the same manner as he. He wears a roughspun blanket and precious little else- seemingly attempting to both cover himself to the ankle, as well as pull the aforementioned blanket over his head.

In a sense, the attempt is successful. His face is mostly obscured, save for the bridge of his nose downward. Nothing, however, had been provided to him to bind his hair. And perhaps tellingly, should anything remain in Fandaniel which might recognize the man that he had once known, no doubt one of the voices that had begged him to stop, long locks of lilac spill over one shoulder- untied, loose- wet and cold, soaking through the blanket which covered him.

Hythlodaeus, however, does not recognize him.
He should be one of the very few people that would. That in itself is tragedy. The ability to perceive the soul as colour, to recognize it, to identify it as the very same soul (despite such extensive damage darkening it, distorting it, all but destroying it) that once belonged to a man he knew quite well is lost to him.

It is for that reason- the failure to recognize- he speaks.
Perhaps, instead, Fandaniel may recognize him. Perhaps he may not.
Still, he speaks.]

...Ah. I regret to say your summoning came but moments after the last time our jailer deigned to hand out provisions.

[The man shifts, just slightly. And...]

What was handed out isn't quite [not bland.] to my taste. You're welcome to it, but I'll ask that you not think ill of me should you feel the same.

[fourarmedandangerous]

"This was not "a few" corpses." Goro asserts, taking up a nearby towel to dab the sweat from his frame. There are several others besides that set aside; Goro's a big guy. "The Free Cities were swarmed. Ghosts that came out of the mists. It happened everywhere. Only daylight saw them turned back."

He sets the towel aside and picks up another. "If it was a mistake, it was a colossally foolish one. Or it was an attack. Either case demands a response. Sorcery that foul left unchecked spells only doom."

II B

[snarkychampion]

[ Hawke had much the same idea, actually, having come around for clothes already once, but he's circling in case there is anything else useful to grab before he tries to bail on this entire situation. Not that he'll get far or actually be able to, but that doesn't mean the irrational plan isn't already in motion. It is not the first time he's fled a safer situation to take his luck on the road.

He raises an eyebrow at the fellow and flashes a quick smile. ]

That's nice, I'm here to steal shite.

[ Listen he has always been the worst at lying and since he has yet to get into a fight here, which frankly should get him a bloody medal, he sees no reason to lie to another one of his kind. Which he knows the man to be, since Hawke has already marked every person in the same situation as him in his mind. He survived a long time in dangerous situations thanks to a keen eye for trouble and knowing who everyone around him was if possible. He also likes being watchful of potential allies. Who knows. ]

Not that I've found anything particularly helpful.

[endcaller]

"Not a fan of the necromantic arts, I see," Fandaniel coos and steps back to lean against a nearby training dummy.

"Nevertheless I do happen to agree. That sort of power in the hands of the wicked or ignorant will only keep causing problems. But what will you do about it if most people are willing to forgive?"

[sorser]

[His brows lift as he allows his attention to return to ground-level, giving this stranger a curious look. For all of Stephen’s experience in the esoteric and mystical, he was never much inclined towards poetic metaphor in lieu of casual conversation.]

Are you talking about humanity or the flowers?

[But if he wants to skip over that question for the sake of sidestepping Stephen’s vaguely acerbic prodding, he at least offers-]

Sorry. Am I interrupting something here?