TDM #1

[aionmods]

TDM #1

DREAMING

At first, there is nothing. You are nothing. Whatever existed before ceases to be if for a moment. Then, bit by bit, you start to become aware. Where there was not even darkness now is a dim haze, gentle and almost mist-like. You have limbs again and beneath your feet lays a path of light reaching out like limbs of a great tree beneath you, twisting and climbing out into the horizon.

You take a step forward for what else is there to do? As you walk you begin to remember what it was you were doing before the nothingness; maybe something as simple as chatting with a loved one or close friend. Maybe you were just beginning a great journey or facing off against an old foe. Whatever it was, you get the distinct feeling that wherever and whenever that was, it is not here. Not now.

The path of light twists off into different directions. When you look up you can see that it is not a sky above you but the sky of everything, a grand cosmic tapestry littered with not mere stars but galaxies and clusters of galaxies that gleam like crystals against the velvety backdrop of space. Admire it for a moment, if you will. You don't know how long you will drift here, but you are not alone. Other wanderers will come and go as you bask together in the vastness of creation.

It seems to you that there are two paths to walk in this place, the light and dark beckoning in turn.

❖ THE LIGHT AT THE CENTER
One leads you to the center, splintered fragments folding together and colliding until only one thing remains: a light that speaks to you with the voice of all there is and has ever been. It greets you simultaneously as an old friend and as a lost child, both rejoicing in and mourning your arrival. You remember it too, somehow, with a feeling of complex nostalgia, as if returning to a place recalled from your distant childhood.

You’ll feel the same of the other wanderers that join you in the light; you know their faces, their voices, and as you reflect upon the world of your birth, you may witness fragments of theirs as well. You feel a comradery, then, a synchronicity of thought and emotion. Are the lives of others truly so different from your own? Or are you simply two hands of the same, greater being? Though some individualistic part of you may resist, the longer you spend in the light, the more you will find yourself becoming one with it.

Despite this welcoming call, no matter how eagerly your pursue its embrace, before you can fully submerge yourself in this oneness you will find yourself being torn away. As if seized by the impossibly long, cold arm of a creature unseen, you are plucked from the edge of fulfillment. The last thing you will remember is the sensation of your world, and all the others your experienced here, collapsing into nothingness.

❖ THE DARK OUTSIDE (CW: deep despair, ego death)
The other leads towards the outside, where the splintering becomes so great that the vestiges of reality can do nothing but collapse back into the abyss at the end of everything. As you wander to these barren outskirts, your thoughts will not be drawn to familiarity and oneness, but instead to memories of discontent and waste. The darker the path becomes, the more you find yourself dwelling on life’s disappointments and injustices, of the things about yourself and your world you find wanting.

If you see others here, at first they will feel frightening or contemptible, as if representing to you the worst experiences in your life. Even if they are someone you’re certain you know, that familiarity and affection will be stripped away in the face of the great emptiness before you. In the end, you were all the same. In the end, none of this was worth it. If you approach the end together, you may even form a kind of kinship around this acknowledgment, as the need for paranoia and hatred fades.

Slowly, the darkness encroaches, and you can see it devouring all the things you once knew. Memories of your home, of those you loved, dissolve into nothing, and you can only reflect on the barren emptiness in your heart as you see it happen. In your final moments, though, you feel peace with it all, knowing that there was no other way. You step from the edge of the last dwindling fragment of being and are greeted by silence.

❖ THE END
No matter which way you go, you are left with a single impression: you feel the world you came from die. It's a realization that transcends logic or sense; it weighs on your heart and leaves the vestiges of dark memories dancing in your thoughts like motes of ash. It's a memory of your home crumbling away into nothing as if consumed from within by rot. Returned to the void, all that's left to you is to be reborn.

REBIRTH

In a new time and place, you awaken. Stirring within a capsule of warmth and isolation your senses will slowly return, only to observe that you are trapped. Your body, as it wakes, is tangled in close, yours eyes unable to open, as if still within the womb. You are held tight in the embrace of something unyielding, so smothering that at first you only have the strength to struggle for moments at a time. Yet, as you persist, the pressure begins to relent in turn; it may take hours, but eventually you will find the purchase to push, to claw, to fight, and it will all give way.

The chrysalis surrounding you bends like flesh and cracks like glass. It tears as you force your fingers through, finding liberation one inch at a time, until finally you have emerged. As if having undergone metamorphosis, you feel old and new all at once. You are weak, piteously so, but the markings and scars of your previous life remain. As you slump down upon the smooth cavern stone, you realize that you've just wrenched yourself free of gigantic crystal, though its hollow, shimmering form is now in pieces on account of your passing. Somewhere on your body, a shard of similar material remains embedded.

The cave itself looks almost like the inside of a geode, the walls and ceiling bedazzled with greyish crystal that shines with all the colors of the rainbow. While they vary wildly in size and shape, only a few have grown large enough to hold a form like yours, and you can see the one you just escaped isn't the only one bearing a passenger within. They may have already hatched, or they may still be lingering in stasis. Either way, there's enough time that you may have a chance to speak to yours unexpected peers, or to perhaps to struggle to find something to cover your naked body with. You feel the chill of the open air against your moisture laden skin, a distant light trickling in through the cavern's opening.

Make the most of this time. It won't be long before you're interrupted.

[Mod Note: If you don't want to deal with your character being naked in front of the others at that location, feel free to assume they emerge at a different time than the others of their legacy. Characters will be 'hatching' over a period of several hours.]

CAPTIVITY

It seems that someone was waiting for you to arrive, and not in the most friendly of ways. Though the specifics of who comes to get you will vary according to which legacy shrine your character awakens at, there are certain commonalities: most notably, how they are ostensibly here to capture and imprison you. It's easy for them, all considered. You can barely stand, so fresh out of your chrysalis, and whatever powers or special abilities you may have had will not answer your call. Even worse, your would be captors are well equipped for the job.

Each group arrives with several 'whips' made of unknown materials. What makes them so special only become obvious when one of them inevitable snakes its way around your body. Whether it be your ankle or your neck, being bound by these cords puts you under the influence of whoever is holding the other end of your leash. Your mind remains untouched, but you will find yourself physically incapable of performing physical actions that go against their will. While the possibilities are frightening, thankfully they all just seem to want one thing: for you to come along as a good little prisoner and to not cause any of them too much trouble.

The rest depends on your character's legacy:

❖ THE LOVER
The small island the shrine is built upon is approached by several modest boats with colorful sails. They carry what appears to be a collection of fearful fisherfolk and town guards. They are reluctant to speak with those being pulled out of the shrine or even look them in the eye. If they have their choice, the entire process will be done in silence. If you try too hard to upset them, the guards will sternly bring you to heel.

❖ THE CELEBRANT
The infrastructure of an entire festival ground seems to be built around this shrine, and as a result, there are an usual amount of people present. While most keep their distance, a few will engage with the local guards that arrive to capture the Aions, complaining that this is going to interfere with their preparations for the upcoming Lover’s Festival. They are pushed aside in short order, and the rest of the retrieval will be done in a stern but business-like manner.

❖ THE MARTYR
At first, those arriving to capture the Aions will be hesitant to even enter the barren crater this shrine is held within. Once the presence of the new arrivals becomes clear, however, they will run in as if crossing the no man’s land of a battlefield and complete their work with gusto. It appears to be mostly military folk and they seem to lack any patience or sympathy for those they capture.

❖ THE SOVEREIGN
The captors here seem to be a mixed bag, almost as if two separate squadrons have arrived at the same time. One is a gathering of people who give off the impression of mountain folk, while the others are well armored soldiers. Though it will be hard to make out the specifics, there seems to be some manner of disagreement between these two parties over what should be done, but the ones kitted out in full military attire win out in the end. By then, they are completely out of patience for further resistance.

❖ THE ARTISAN
The people here seem to have mixed feelings about your arrival. On one hand, it seems to be a moment of considerable trepidation, on the other, they seem unbearably curious about your nature. They will ask questions about any unusual features you have, or what your skills are, while others from the group try just as hard to shush them. Ultimately, they don’t seem that enthusiastic about having to capture you, but they also don’t seem to think they have much choice.

❖ THE INNOCENT
Among rolling hills of flowers, at first it seems as if this shrine may not be visited at all. Before the arriving Aions can escape it, though - naked and weakened as they are - a group of fairly normal looking townsfolk will arrive. They pause as they spot you near the shrine, almost like they are hesitating about coming at all. In the end, they will converge upon you and ask for you to please cooperate. They won’t hurt you, as long as you come with them.

❖ THE SEEKER
Armored soldiers are the ones to first pull you from the shrine, but as you arrive outside of it you'll see that it is situated at the edge of a great forest. An ancient observatory is build into the cliff face behind the shrine, and your captors are apparently in the process of negotiating with a series of robed individuals that have emerged from it. According to them, the soldiers kidnapping you are trespassing. Unfortunately, they are not the ones with weapons.

❖ THE WANDERER
When you first emerge from the shrine, it will appear as if you have just missed a skirmish. There are a few bodies scattered about, all wearing woodland armor made of leather and fur. The victors, it seems, come in the form of fully armored soldiers. Thoroughly irritated by the fight that just happened, they will not waste time on niceties. If you try to ask them what just happened, the best you may get is a sneer about ‘those damn forest people.’ You may spot a couple more bodies on the trail leading out of the forest as well.

❖ THE FIREBRAND
The first thing to be seen beyond the cavern entrance is a sheer drop into a raging canyon river far below you, with only a narrow path leading up the steep cliff face. It would be a difficult situation, even without black-cloaked warriors making their way down it to collect you. Struggle too much and you'll be at risk of being thrown into the chasm. These masked assailants are largely unmoved by your protests and will drag you the entire way up the cliff if you force them to. "Your soul will be claimed," they say.

❖ THE VISIONARY
The view from the mouth of the cavern is awe inspiring, revealing the foreign shapes of a world you've never seen before. Unfortunately, the altitude of this shrine means you will also be greeted with sharp wind and biting cold. Fortunately, or not, a party of mountaineers and three black-cloaked warriors will arrive to collect you. Despite their seeming inability to defy the orders of the warriors, the mountaineers will toss you some shoes and blankets for the trek down, even if they are taken away from you later. If the warriors speak at all, it's mostly in the form of ominous utterances.

❖ THE CHAMPION
Even if one were to stagger out of the shrine's cavern before being approached, the Aions arriving here will swiftly find themselves in a hopeless situation. Not only are there soldiers here to collect there is a moderately sized military barracks built around the shrine itself, and this particular squadron is not on your side. You will be swarmed before you can get far at all. There seems to be a mix of two squadrons here, some wearing heavy armor and red accents, while the others wear full face masks and dark cloaks.

Once you've been captured and pulled from the shrine, you will given a formless white gown made of moderately comfortable fabric, with sleeves reaching your elbows and its bottom reaching down past your knees. You will not be given pants or shoes. You're in for a journey, apparently - no matter who plucked you from the cave, most of the heavily armored soldiers in the prompts above will turn out to be 'Hylician soldiers', while the smaller number of black-robed warriors are referred to 'Achamites'. After the initial dealings with the shrines, all prisoners will be passed off to a squadron of Hylicians, though a few Achamites may follow along depending on the location.

Where are you all going? Back to Hylici, apparently.

WAITING

After you've been handed off to the the Hylician military, you have a long road ahead of you. Loaded up onto carts, and then eventually onto river borne boats, the people collected at the shrines will all be brought to a forest in the center of Horos. Along the way, the squadron ferrying you will combine with others from neighboring shrines, more and more captives arriving in your group the closer to your destination you get.

Along the way you will be fed and watered well enough (though only with military rations), and at night you will be given flimsy bedrolls to sleep around the fire with. Captives will be under constant watch by the Hylician guard, and anyone who shows any signs of resistance will be required to be bound by one of those magic whips, usually around the ankle or wrist. The rest of the trip is spent being pulled along in carts or the storage bays of boats. After the groups start converging, captives of the same legacy will not necessarily be kept together.

The final muster point of the Hylicians and their captives will be among forest ruins. For what purpose you have arrived they will not say, but the entire group will be camping there until preparations are complete. Sadly, you won't be allowed much space to explore - not without being bound and under watch. If you've behaved yourself it's possible to move about the central ruins, but only if the guards are confident they'll be able to wrangle you when necessary. It does allow for moderately private conversations along the pillars and walls of the ruins, but venturing out into the forest itself is definitely out of the question.

From beginning to end, characters will spent about two weeks in transit and waiting in the ruins. To what end is yet to be seen, but if you listen closely, you may hear whispers of a 'ritual space' being prepared.

QUESTIONS

Are everyone's homeworlds really gone?
That's a complicated issue, and while the fate of their world is not without hope, they may certainly get the impression its been destroyed from the dream they had. Alternatively, they may refuse to believe what they felt and attempt to dismiss it as only a vision. More about this situation will be revealed as the game goes on.

Can I only experience one end of the dream sequence prompt?
Characters may experience one ending, both endings, or neither. If they experience both they will struggle to recall which came first or which feels the most 'true' to them, as both will simultaneously be the thought they are reborn with. If your character refuses to pursue either path they can simply linger in the middle until the infinite worlds above them start being extinguished one by one, eventually expelling them into darkness in a similar style to the light prompt. Which dreams they experience will not dictate their intial sect affiliation.

Is it possible to pull another character back from the end of the light or darkness dreams?
Yes! If your character is able to resist the pull of either end, they will have the chance to try to pull another character back from the edge of the abyss or the edge of oneness. Whether or not they succeed is entirely up to the other character, though.

Do you come out of the chrysalis wet?
For most intents and purposes it's the same experience as hatching out of a real butterfly chrysalis, so yes, a bit.

Can my character resist the influence of the whips?
Those possessed of particularly strong wills may be able to struggle with the whip's control in brief spurts, but not long enough to make a full escape attempt. They may be able to take an impotent swing at one of the guards or fight against being pulled along, though. Naturally, doing this will indicate to the Hylicians that you are a problem, and their handling of you will become harsher the more it occurs.

How cruel will the Hylicians be to the player characters?
The Hylician military are not friendly people and come across as being a bit callous even at the best of times. However, unless you provoke them, they will be primarily focused on just getting the job done with as few interruption as possible. If your character makes a habit of pissing them off, either by constantly fighting back or just by being persistently obnoxious, their treatment will get worse. If driven to it, they may take the opportunity to take out their frustrations on particularly troublesome prisoners, via physical punishment, humiliation, or deprivation.

Comments

nehan | granblue fantasy | seeker

[apathie]

a: capture (cw: nudity)

[nehan bares his fangs once, before quieting down-- a warning, rather than an attempt at intimidation or an impending attack. without his gun or his knife, nehan cant actually do much to them, but he hopes that the sight of his teeth, accompanied by all the scars on his body, the tattered fur on his ears, will deter more abuse.]

I can walk. [he already has a leash around his neck, like a dog. he doesn't need to be dragged. but, miracle of miracles, they allow him to walk by himself, even if nehan cant actually control the route he takes. this is enough-- he was already close to being a person, in stardust town, away from the magasin as he tortured six, he'll be damned if he lets them drag him around.

he's not even ashamed of being naked in the woods, looking larger than his obviously small frame, several inches shorter than his captors. though he does narrow his eyes at any other captives around him. trying to size them up.]

b: waiting

[nehan wanders the edge of the forest and around the ruins, having shown that even if he has teeth, he's going to be an obedient dog. for now.

but he's well aware that others did not, and he wanders back around to the captives that they have, the ones who don't have the freedom that he does. and he singles out those who are by themselves, well away from the others. curiosity makes his ear flick, makes him wander over to his fellow captive.]

Did you fight them? [he may ask that, but nehan is already under the impression that they did.] Strict, aren't they.

[not really a question.]

wildcard
[[ bring your own prompt! feel free to pm me if you want to talk it out. i also have info and permissions on his journal if you want to read up on him first. please read the permissions especially, since nehan comes with a lot of warnings. ]]

b

[sweetsong]

N-no...

[ he didn't. robin could barely put up a fight in the first place. as big as his heart may be, that doesn't necessarily translate to being strong. sheepishly, robin pulls his knees up to his chest while keeping his eyes off of nehan's potentially judgmental eyes. ]

... did you?

Sayaka Maizono | Dangan Ronpa | The Lover

[destage]

dreaming

[This isn't the first time Sayaka has woken up in a place that she didn't expect; at least the first time had the courtesy of being the place she actually intended to go, even if the circumstances were far from ideal. To wake up in a place this different, that feels almost like a dream or something different in entirety...it's not something that puts Sayaka at ease at all. No, she needs to get back, to what she knows, to those that miss her, to everything familiar--

But despite the mental turmoil in her head, the blue haired girl is all smiles and ease; to any untrained eye, she almost appears fine with this. She's always been pretty good at keeping her anxieties locked away, and despite everything, despite everything she refuses to acknowledge, she knows what she has to be. An idol. A symbol. More than anything, if she can do that for at least one person--

Well, she will. She has to, doesn't she?

Sayaka presses forward, and when the path diverges--well, that's when she might come across you. With practiced ease, Sayaka smiles and folds her hands in front of herself.]

Excuse me? I hope I'm not being a bother, but... [Sayaka looks to either side, the side of the light or the dark.] I have to admit, I'm not exactly sure which direction we should be going in. Could we maybe walk together for a bit?

[Basically, you choose your own adventure here. Sayaka's always been pretty good at following, after all.]

waiting

[So the trip here is anything but peaceful, all be told. Sayaka goes quietly, if rather nervously, onto the boats containing those who woke up with her; it's probably the most emotion she's ever shown in her time here, but she is positively freaked out the whole way through. Mostly just shuddering and shaking, wondering--is this all just going to end up like Hope's Peak, that her dreams have died entirely and yet she's still going on--

And yet, if anything, that's what manages to keep Sayaka going to a certain extent. She can't be the idol that everyone at home needs, but...perhaps she could be like those heroines, those selfless women she's seen in various shows and news stories. Sure, it's another unrealistic standard to hold herself to, but she's been an idol. It surely can't be much worse than that, can it?

So she tries to keep hope. Tries to talk to people, tries to analyze and look out for them; she may be acting her part as a helpful young lady, but if she wants a chance to keep living in this new world, she should make friends, right? People who are strong, perhaps. People who can keep her safe. Sure, she'll try to serve as an inspiration, but it's not selfish to want to survive and maybe try to help others do the same, right?

Well, Sayaka doesn't really know, but she also doesn't care. She wants to live, and she has to adapt or she'll be forgotten. And as a (potentially former) idol, that's worse than death itself.

She may be around doing any multitude of things; trying to keep morale up, for one. Joining people, getting to know them--for instance, you might have her coming up and waving to you, walking over tentatively.]

Excuse me, but...do you mind if I join you for a bit?

[Of course, she's also keeping an eye out for those injured by the guards--sure, some people are going against them and getting some just desserts in a way, but Sayaka can't help but find it a touch disgusting. If you happen to be injured, well...if nothing else, Sayaka's good at replicating things she's seen on Tv. Tearing some of the bottom of her robes up into a long strip, she might come over to you if you're injured, concern dripping from her face.]

Hey, are you doing okay? You don't exactly look too good...

[Or maybe even at dinner, you might be getting some food passed to you. Not that Sayaka isn't hungry--because she is, she completely is. But it's...selfless, isn't it? To make sure those who may not be getting anything to eat for whatever reason can do so. So if you happen to be one of those people...]

Here. You probably need this more than me, right?

wildcard

[Wanna do something else? Feel free to PM this account or private plurk me at cityescape!]

waiting

[bloodsins]

[Vicious is indeed one of those dumbasses who picked a fight with the guards and suffered the consequences. This isn't even the first time it's happened; he knows better, certainly, but the boredom is almost worse than the beatings. This last one was a little rougher than was really necessary and he's actually sporting a few smaller cuts this time. They're enough to bleed but not enough to be seriously worrying - mostly injuries from being knocked to the ground a little too roughly, cutting his arms a bit in the process.

And yet here's someone coming to his aid despite that not being necessary at all. Vicious laughs and lifts his shoulders a bit.]

Woulda been a different story if I could've fought back.

[But if she's going to fret and worry about him then whatever, he'll present his arms for her to look over. She might need a couple of makeshift bandages, but at least she won't need to tear her robe too much for that.]

You do this for everyone? [He jerks his head in the direction of the others, but maybe he's just indicating the whole camp at this point.] I'm not the only one pickin' fights.

Vicious | Tales of Crestoria | the Firebrand

[bloodsins]

I. DREAMING - DARK

[It takes Vicious a long moment to remember. What he was doing, where he was, who he was. But he does remember and he releases an exhale that's almost a laugh.]

Shoulda been my doin'.

[But any bitterness he may feel about all this doesn't last long. There's a path to walk, and only one way to go. To the shadows, to darkness, and far, far away from that blinding light. It's where he belongs, after all.

He isn't particularly interested in the path or even those around him, merely walking at his own pace, arms folded up behind his head. It would come across as carefree were it not for the slightly ticked expression on his face. Eventually his steps begin to quicken as the end comes into sight - he steps off the last fragment and into complete silence and for a brief moment, all is still.]

...Really, that's it? Talk about boring.

[Thanks, Vicious.]

II. CAPTIVITY - THE FIREBRAND

[If he thought breaking out of a crystal cocoon and being stripped of his powers (and clothes) was bad, then this is worse. Vicious is not one to do as he's told, though he's hardly in any state to actually do anything about it. So instead he's resorted to... well, it'd be generous to call it "picking a fight" when the effort is so damn pathetic that the soldiers don't even bother beating him into submission. Instead, he's now got a restraint on his ankle and he's questioning their captors as they walk. What d'ya mean my soul's been claimed? and Where the hell are we? or So where are you takin' us? Things along those lines that are ultimately rather harmless, but are annoying in the sheer volume of both his voice and said questions. Vicious earns complete silence for his troubles, but at least he hasn't been thrown into the canyon (yet).

This (perhaps thankfully) doesn't last for long and eventually he'll turn his attention to you, fellow captive. Surely you will give him more attention than the soldiers.]

Where do you think they're takin' us? You'd think they'd at least bother answerin' a few basic questions.

[The soldiers don't react to the very obvious barb, unsurprisingly.]

III. WAITING

[The trip is boring, but at least the people are somewhat interesting. Even once they've finally reached their supposed destination, Vicious really could not care less about it. Forest temple? Sure, whatever, but the people are more important. And not their captors, who still refuse to give Vicious any sort of attention even when he pesters them nonstop. Sure, he's picked a few more fights to try to get a reaction out of them, but most of the time they just knock him down and tether him somewhere for a little while until they think it's safe to let him wander again. It's really damn boring.

But whatever, the important thing is that there are more people gathered here now, which means more people to talk to! So if you happen to be sitting by the fire, hope you don't mind Vicious coming to join you! He flops down nearby then holds up a hand in greeting.]

So what kinda ritual do you think we're bein' sacrificed for?

[Given his tone he's clearly joking and not taking it seriously at all, but he probably should?? It's fine (probably).]

WILDCARD

( Feel free to throw something else at me and I can roll with it! You can hit me up at pokerap if you want to discuss a different setup! )

ii

[demoon]

[As if the questions weren't annoying enough, now they're pointed at him... For a long moment, he stares straight forward, almost as if he's intending to ignore them, as well.

But, well. They're questions he has, too.]

Do you think any answer they could give us wouldn't open twenty more questions?

[Similarly, Guren's restraint is around his leg. He had put up a fight at first, of course, but upon realizing what the whip did, it seemed like a waste of nearly-depleted energy. Currently, he's taking in the path that they're walking, occasionally glancing down the cliffs as they move.]

Do you recognize anything here? [A genuine question, because he sure doesn't.]

koriel xii (dextera) • baroque • the martyr

[passio]

I. rebirth

[ the sensation is not new.

dextera has been reborn countless times, freed in a dream-like state from an artificial chrysalis not so different from the one they're all in now, but the automatic movement of his body from memory fails him now. trying to get away from the crystal means he only stumbles forward onto his bare knees. his dark hair is damp and sticking to his face; he breathes like it's the first time in his life and he's trying to remember how. ]

…

[ then he sighs, stands. there's a large twisted scar on his right hip, bared for all to see without his clothes. he does try to cover the scar with his hand, but anyone else nearby, he approaches on shaky legs and without too much modesty. ]

…!

[ a soft gasp of breath, like he's inhaled to say something but nothing comes out. he doesn't look surprised—he's genuinely trying to communicate. ]


II. camp, watching

[ now dressed in the robe given to them all, dextera waits. he causes no trouble and doesn’t look particularly capable of it anyway. he just sits, miserable, and occasionally stands miserably as well. the complete and utter compliance has afforded him a measure of freedom when he does start to feel restless. he’s able to explore the ruins a little—or he would.

unable to speak thanks to circumstances out of his control, dextera stares at whoever is nearby. he's not the type to discrimnate between who looks amenable to exploration and who looks like they might kick his ass. he just stares… and stares, from a distance that is a little too close for comfort. ]

…

[ eventually, surely he thinks, someone must ask him what he's doing. ]


III. camp, trying and failing

[ also during their tentative stay in the ruins, dextera seems compelled by the wildlife that is able to pass through the camp. most of what he sees are insects, but the occasional bird flies overhead or calls from the forest that they're not allowed to enter. it is the only time the deeply quiet captive seems to show any kind of reaction—at one particularly close-sounding cry, he does make an effort to push the borders of the camp they've made before a guard thwarts his efforts with one of those whips and sends him sprawling. ]

…

[ his single resistance failed, dextera just stays on the ground even after the guard scolds him and moves on. ]


IV. wildcard!

( surprise me! i’m also happy to work out anything specific or write custom starters. i haven’t completely chosen between two legacies yet, so have mercy, lmao. i went with martyr for the TDM since it seems a bit more accessible looking at the spread so far! if you need anything, PM me or contact me at pavaal! and—yes, dextera is mute. )

II

[lachtara]

At first, the staring is ignored. Emet-Selch keeps his focus on the campfire in front of them even though he can still feel the eyes of this stranger. Hopefully, they would find something else fascinating enough to gawk at soon enough.

Though the staring does not cease. After some amount of time - and an increasing lack of personal space - he finally caves with an obvious heavy sigh.

Emet-Selch turns to where the stranger sits. "Well, spit it out, then." He says sharply. "If you've something on your mind, better not to tarry."

Cid Garlond | Final Fantasy XIV | The Artisan | no endwalker spoilers

[youngprodigy]

I

[It isn't the first time he's had people ask questions about his third eye. It's why, in all honest, he hides it. He would have preferred to stay with the people who reacted to him in what might have been fear as opposed to the well-armed guards, but there's naught to be done about it. Given the compromised situation, and general... well. Behavior of his captors, he's as terse as he can be without testing the guards.

He knows too well how the Garlean Empire treats prisoners; Cid isn't taking any chances at all.

If anyone looks like they're getting too antsy, or like they're ready to fight, he'll try to catch their eye.]

Don't test them. I've experience with this sort.

[Which isn't to say he likes them. At all. It's obvious how much they anger him, how clearly he's swallowing his words. The fact that their captors seem like they don't know what to do with him isn't doing anything for his nerves.]

II
[He doesn't talk much until the group stops for the first time, taking in their surroundings. He hadn't been in a position to explore the shrine, but now in the forest, he looks around with great interest. At least, as far as they're allowed to go under watch of the ever-present guard.

It's not nearly enough for him to get a grasp on where they could be, beyond it's nowhere on Hydaelyn.

Cid isn't the sort to take stock in dreams, but what he'd experienced had been... well, he doesn't know for certain, but it sure felt like the descriptions of the Echo he'd been told. Not that there's anything he can do about that.]

Strange that we've been brought to ruins. It bodes ill.

ii

[aquaveiled]

[ Normally seeing old friends would be something to celebrate, but given how the past few days have gone by, finding herself walking side by side with Cid isn't what she would call good news. That is, unless, the visions were to be believed. If their star really was destroyed--

--no, there's not much they can do for the moment. Not until they find out what these people want with them and where they're going.

And to that end, she follows Cid's gaze when he speaks. ]

...Unless they mean to continue some sort of ancient ritual?

[ Comforting words, right? ]

Those usually happen in ancient ruins.

[ Yes, she's helping. ]

rime solano valera ( last legacy ) firebrand

[yandeere]

I.THE DARK DREAM.

[ Choosing the path of darkness was the easiest choice for Rime. Ever since he had been brought back to life, he couldn't help but be drawn to it. Hatred, jealousy, emptiness. It called to him just as the Lord of Shadows did when decided to ally with him to get his revenge on the ones who took everything away from him. Felix, who brought him back to life, and his newest friend, who stole the heart that belonged to him. It was petty, and evil. This he knew. But Rime found that he didn't have it in himself to care. Especially not now, not when all of those bad memories were coming back twofold.

Oh, how the mighty fall. Dying a hero's death and now wanting to cause the death of heroes. And even then, he couldn't seem to do it right no matter what. He couldn't kill the one he wanted to kill, the got bested more times than not, and then he ended up associating with them. Why? Because when faced with the death of Felix, he wanted to do whatever he could to bring him back to life. Anger, jealousy, longing. The darkness, though it called to him, did not make him any stronger than he hoped it would. And that's what made him a failure.

It upset him. So much so that looking at someone else pissed him off. Did they live better lives than him? Were they more successful than him?

Anyone walking the path of darkness would find themselves getting approached by a very angry deer, with his arms stretched forward and his hands around their neck to choke them. But it is only briefly. For a second, Rime gets a hold of himself and his hold on the other person's neck would significantly loosen until his hands slowly slid from their neck and came back to his side once more. ]

You...

[ Rime didn't know what to say for a second. But apologies were not something he could dish out. It was simply impossible. ]

Watch where you're going.

[ But blaming others for problems caused by him? Easy as pie. ]

II. FIREBRAND'S CAPTIVITY

[ There's nothing worse than waking up naked in a strange new place. But it gets a whole lot worse without anything to protect yourself with. Rime always made sure to keep his dagger on him at all times. And if that wasn't available, he also had access to his relic and other magic. But he knew it wouldn't be possible to use any of it. He was naked which meant that he didn't have any access to his dagger. And there was a familiar emptiness there as well. Even if Rime had the energy, he wouldn't have tried to summon his Relic or use magic. Either way, Rime was at a disadvantage because he was in an entirely new environment.

Everything was gone. But he didn't want to unpack that whole can of worms. Especially when he was being dragged somewhere against his will. In his mind, he was doing his best to fight against it. But his body would not move. He could admit that it was an impressive piece of magic. But it wasn't so impressive when he was the victim of it. If there was one thing that Rime hated more than losing, it was not being in complete control. Especially of himself. But he didn't exactly have any choice to fight back, did he? So, Rime shut his mouth and decided to not make a fuss. For now.

They only wanted him to go with them. But the question of where they were going still worried him just a bit.

After being dressed, something he is reluctantly thankful for, Rime found himself being forced to climb a steep cliff face. He'd have struggled if the possibility of falling to his death wasn't a thing. Your soul will be claimed, huh? ]

Well, it seems we're going to die.

[ He said it casually, almost not seeming to care about the outcome. He decides to make conversation with his fellow captive. ]

Any regrets you want to get off your chest before you die, friend?

III. WAITING PATIENTLY

[ Plotting? Rime? Noooo, never...

At least that's what he hoped that those guards were thinking of him. Rime had been on his best behavior for a while now, earning at least a little freedom now. Now that he had the chance, he was already plotting an escape plan. The worst that could possibly happen was that he would end up bound again. And if his plan worked, he could escape and find out what to do with himself now that he was free. It would be a challenge to navigate the world but not impossible.

Given silent permission to explore a little more, Rime made sure to get a good look at his new environment. And looking around doesn't exactly yield the results he was hoping. There was a whole lot of nothing that could help any of them escape. And while rocks made good weapons, they were also quite heavy. ]

Well, this was useless. [ He kicks a random pebble. ] There's no escape if there's no weapons, after all.

[ If only he had his Relic. Or his dagger, at least. Anything. ]

IV. WILDCARD

[ Hit me with anything! ]

ii

[galdorleod]

[ The man struggling up the steep cliff face beside Rime has his wrists bound together in front of him. The solider on the other end of the whip seems completely unconcerned with the difficulty of the climb or whether being bound might make it even more difficult. And, the reason for his apathy is perhaps immediately clear: the bound man has clearly been roughed up a bit already.

He turns his head at the question and squints. For a moment, he doesn't answer, as he processes the question. ]

Is that an attempt at humor? [ If it was, it provided him no levity, judging from his empty expression. ] I have no intention of dying here.

amos burton | the expanse | firebrand

[baltimores]

> dreaming; the dark outside

[ He's never seen anything like this before.

He has, in a way. Amos has lived most of his life in space. Doesn't intend to live anywhere else. Had just been on his way back up. But this... isn't that. He shouldn't be able to see so much, not all at once. Space is cold, and dark, and empty. It isn't colourful or full of life. Parts of it, sure. But not like this.

He turns to the darkness, because it's what makes sense. The further he ventures in, the more sense it makes. The world made him empty. And now, everything is. It's comforting, in its own way.

Amos catches the eye of someone nearby, gives them a slight nod in greeting. ]

You too, huh.

[ It's probably not a good thing. It's where they are now. It is what it is. ]


> captivity + transit
(cw: some suicidal ideation, allusions to past csa)

[ The whole crystal thing, he could handle. Even the part where he's naked — it's fine. Not great, but nothing's happening.

The whip around his neck is hell.

Amos follows, because he has no choice. His body is tense and on edge, though; fight or flight fully activated, and he's only ever really known fight. He's too weak to fight. But losing all agency, in this state, weak and helpless and open and— It's too much.

He peers over the narrow path's edge, frequently, wondering how much energy it'll take for him to send himself over. If he can make it quick, at least. Or if he'll run the risk of being even more weak, even more helpless, even more at the mercy of someone else. So it's probably noticed, the forceful way he's made to stick to the path, emerge above on solid ground, join the caravan, lose any real chance of removing himself from the equation entirely.

After the first attempt at fighting back, making an escape, clawing at the whip attacking its wielder getting away any and all of it, after the first time he gets beaten down for the trouble, he... shuts down.

It's a defence mechanism. His eyes go vacant; his body limp, pliable. He's present in physical form, will go wherever guided, but the rest of him is buried deep down. Message received. It's better to just not be here at all.

He's still in there, of course. He's still reachable. But there's no telling if trying to get his attention will result in slow but reasoned response, or provoke something violent.

... Good thing he's not capable of much at the moment, huh. ]


> waiting

[ Amos doesn't explore. Makes no attempt. He's only just starting to come back to himself; doesn't think he earned any of the guards' favour along the way, though.

So he sticks to the ruins. There's some security in the walls and pillars, in having something solid and sturdy at his back. It's the most okay he's felt since. All that darkness, probably.

Doesn't mind when he spots someone else — as long as they're not a guard. The whole ritual thing sounds like bullshit as far as he's concerned, but everything about this has been kinda bullshit, hasn't it? His voice is dry, but there's an exhaustion to it as well. ]

If they're gonna kill us, kinda wish they'd hurry up and get it over with.


> wildcard

[ got him from towards the end of s5; arii#6412 or cadiai for any plotting! ]

Waiting

[brutallyefficient]

[ He's set out to explore what he could of the ruins. There's not much near the camp, but something is better than nothing.

Connor looks back at the stranger, giving them a cursory assessing look. It's...strange when people approach him so casually and start a conversation. In any case, They seem impatient and frustrated. Understandable given the "unusual" circumstances they find themselves in. ]

They wouldn't put this much time and effort into escorting this many people without a reason. It's likely we have some value to them.

[ Ergo, it's unlikely they'll be killed. For the moment. ]

Howl // Howl's Moving Castle // The Celebrant

[galdorleod]

[ The void is not so foreign to Howl. It reminds him of the space between space, the gap he passes through every time he tinkers with his castle door's exits. This void, however, is much more spectacular, and as he follows the light and begins to hear the other people and places here with him, all at the same time, he forgets the vague familiarity entirely. He knows this place, somehow, and does not need to wonder what it is or why he's here - the wholistic verity of it all keeps him from questioning it. Until, without warning, it's all torn away, replaced with an undeniable feeling of demise.

Hours pass before Howl feels the sensation of air on his fingers. It makes him feel triumphant and panicked all at once; as happy as he'll be to get out of this... whatever he's been stuck in, he somehow knows that he will not have any idea where he is once he's out. Ingary is gone. He doesn't know why or how but he knows. Shards of crystal clatter to the floor as he frees his head, gasping air into his lungs. As he feared, he has no idea where he is, but the need to free himself keeps him from contemplating this disturbing situation much more than that.

It isn't until he's sprawled out on the ground, shivering and exhausted, that reality starts to truly set in. Despite being so bizarre, this is no dream. There's no use trying to conjure himself some clothing, or attempting any other spells for that matter, as he can tell without trying that no magic will come to him.

Could he have been attacked, perhaps? Is he under the thrall of some very elaborate curse? That has to be impossible. No wizard could cast something this all-encompassing, this elaborate and convincing - not even with a contracted demon's help.

The thought is once again pushed aside when Howl realizes he hears distant voices. No, not just voices - the jingling of broken bits of crystal hitting the ground. ]

a. helping hand

Can you hear me?

[ Howl can only get so close to the partially-hatched person, considering the bareness of his feet and the sharpness of the broken shards littering the ground. He hugs himself, trying to stay warm, and paying no mind to his lack of clothing. It seems that they're all about to get quite familiar with each other, in a certain type of way.

Frowning at the treacherous-looking floor, he sweeps some of the glass-like fragments away with the side of his foot and takes a step forward. Maybe they can't hear him, much less answer him, or maybe they can. Surely they'll make some kind of signal at a minimum, right? And if they don't, well, he might just have to risk getting closer to help them escape. They don't look so good - although, he's sure he looked dreadful as he was escaping and continues to do so now. ]

b. camp

[ The flimsy white robe is better than nothing, but it brings Howl no relief. He had no intention of cooperating with any of the soldiers, and that had earned him a swift, sedating lash from one of their whips. With that, the "conversation" was over before it'd even begun. After a few more whip-bindings, which eventually became interspersed with persuasion of the painful variety, he's been forced to accept that there's no point in resisting. (At the moment.)

Now, after a few days of travelling and merging with other groups, he lays on his bedroll among the other white-robed hatchlings circled around the campfire. Exhaustion has further mellowed his belligerent attitude. For the first time since he left the shrine, he finds himself willing to talk, if only to try to calm his own nerves. ]

Are you cold?

[ He keeps his voice low, not wanting to give any of the soldiers an opportunity to eavesdrop. Howl's marble-like blue eyes are fixated on the person beside him, to whom the question was posed, but his expression is otherwise blank. ]

We could pull closer to the fire. I doubt our wardens will scold us for that.

c. wildcard

(or, tag him! and feel free to assume/handwave any other legacy for A!)

b!

[lifespanned]

[ Misa's in a similar position herself; earlier on in the trip, she'd decided to be difficult instead of a docile little prisoner. Constantly talking the guards' ears off, asking where they were going, generally just being very irritating and obnoxious (some of the best skills in her arsenal in the grand scheme of getting her way). Several many retaliations from the guard's end have dampened that stubborn resolve, as she's accepted she has no choice but to play nice and try to get back on their good side. ]

They seriously get mad over everything... [ Which is an exaggeration, but she gets the sense this person is also in the mood for complaining about their predicament. She gives a long, woe-is-me sigh, rolling over onto her stomach to better meet the man's eyes. ] Do you really think it's fine? I don't want them to think I'm gonna like, steal a log from the fire and throw it or something.

[ After enough acting out, she's become a little afraid again of getting in trouble; there's no telling if worse punishment awaits if she keeps doing what she's not supposed to. At present, she's resigned herself to just laying there, unmoving. ]

alice | tales of symphonia: dawn of the new world | visionary

[conceivesfrenzy]

a. | and if you go chasing rabbits ♡

[ By the time she gets to where the paths start branching off in different directions, Alice seems visibly tense. The more she remembered about where she was before here, what she was doing before waking up in this space, the more she started to get more and more visibly irate. That feeling that she was nowhere near that and none of it seemed to matter keeps her from lashing out at anyone that so much as looked at her, but that didn't mean she couldn't at least stew over it.

Even that seems to mildly dissipate as she looks up. She stands in the middle of the crossroads, looking at the open expanse of stars and galaxies with awe. ]

What is this place? [ more thinking out loud to herself than anything else, as she finally tears her gaze away and looks at the two options in front of her. It doesn't take long before she spots someone else in the same position, and she trots up, whether they look like they want company or not. ]

Hey! Which way are you going?

b. | and you know you're going to fall ♡

[ It takes a good amount of struggling and effort before she's able to break through the chrysalis, finding purchase on some kind of weakness in the membrane and all at once forcing her way out and hitting the ground with a ceremonious thump. She heaves, trying to lift herself up and into a less prone position, but her upper body strength isn't quite there yet right away, and any attempts to help her up are rewarded with a quick and aggressive bat of her arm. ]

Don't touch me.

[ Uh... thanks? ]

c. | just remember what the dormouse said ♡

[ Alice eyes the guards as she walks around the ruins. By the account of her split lip, it's probably obvious to anyone that she's not going to be allowed to move around a whole lot. But for now, that's fine. They're all just sitting ducks at the moment, anyway, regardless of how far they're allowed to roam.

She fidgets with the gem attached to the back of her hand, rubbing her thumb absentmindedly, as she makes eye contact with someone. Once she does, she'll give the guards around her a glance, before moving over slightly. ]

So we're not going to let this whole "ritual" thing happen, right?

[ She twirls a part of her hair around her finger as she talks, keeping her voice down.]

If we can get those whips out of their hands, its as good as ours, right?

wildcard. | feed your head ♡

[ Anything else you want to do with her? Hit me up here or at my plurk at hnnng! ]

c

[solitudehunter]

[Life once again reaffirms that not wearing sunglasses is absolute bullshit. Simply making eye contact earns a small "tsk" under his breath, but Rovan decides to play ball in the end. May as well collect any information even if it poses the risk of being stuck with a brat. Although kids are still human bodies; a resource or a future zombie.]

By all means, you first.

[Rovan stops just short of rolling his eyes as he crosses his arms.]

As far as I'm concerned, I'm tripping from tainted food supplies. Claiming souls or whatever? I'll believe it when I see it. This is probably some damned cult adding another group to the horde. Something my unconscious would be cooking up, yeah...

matt jamison | oc | probably the lover | ota

[semicharmed]

waiting v1 - everything's in ruins
[ Thus far, Matt Jamison has been a model captive: responsive and pliable, easy to chivvy from spot to spot. Part of that is because his physique, which could generously be called "willowy," doesn't really lend itself to resistance. But mostly it's shellshock. His mind is drenched in confusing dreams–communion, being one with the heart of all things; bitter isolation, fangs sinking into his throat. The pit of his stomach holds a cold, iron-heavy suspicion that even if he gets out of this, there's nothing to go back to.

It isn't until he arrives at the ruins and is left, somewhat, to his own devices, that his brain begins to wake up.

Obviously, Matt's first thought is magic. He finds a little alcove in the stone, obscured from the gaze of their guards but with nowhere for him to actually run, and tries a spell. Just a simple one, the first he ever learned: light. Matt steadies his breathing, clears his mind. So with our song that prays and serves attentive, lord of spreading light–

Nothing happens.

And as Matt tries spell after spell, the same nothing continues to happen. He tries to stay calm, to keep his breathing even and deep, but his heart feels like it's going to pound out of his chest. Agitatedly, he rubs the crystal embedded in the side of his neck. It's the left side, he can't help but notice. V's favorite. His nails start to nip into the skin around it. ]

waiting v2 - so meet me at the checkpoint
[ Okay, magic isn't going to solve any of his problems. Matt's doing his best not to contemplate the cosmological implications, namely: if his power comes from the animating energy of the universe, the one true source at the source of everything, does his lack of power now mean that his universe really is dead?

That's exactly the kind of shit he's not contemplating! Instead, he's watching his fellow captives from the shadowed side of a pillar, looking for opportunities to speak to them. Directly ahead of him, the forest beckons, full of verdant possibility.

You'll probably notice his nest of dark hair before anything else. Then the flutter of the robe on his frame, awkwardly loose. Should you wander close enough to catch the crystal shard in the side of his neck, he'll murmur: ]

This might seem like a random question … but how good would you say your wilderness survival skills are?

waiting v3 - you look good by siren light
[ It seems that their captors didn't entirely prepare for the number of interlopers they'd been transporting. There appears to be a bedroll shortage. And there was only one bedroll??? Matt shuffles guiltily off his cardboard-thin pseudo-mattress, gathers it up in his arms, and holds the bundle out to the nearest person. ]

Ah–here. You can have mine. I don't think I'll be using it.

[ What this soft-handed twig is planning to do instead, one may well wonder. ]

[ ooc: More info about the character here. Prose or brackets fine! PM or hit up artistformerlyknownas with plans, questions, schemes, dreams, etc., etc. ]

v3. and there was only one bedroll

[skirka]

[ It's outrageous. How is it that she, of all the nameless beasts transported all this way, is being left utterly untended? It isn't that she'd been looking forward with any genuine anticipation or appreciation to the prospect of rest, and it isn't that she would have reposed in any grace upon the paltry bedroll provided her. It would never have suited, it would never have been appropriate for a woman of her station, and she would have made her displeasure known.

To be offered nothing, however - that is twice the insult. It would seem that no one is particularly troubled by the realization, if they have realized it at all, and there is absolutely no effort made to correct what is so egregiously wrong.

She is adamant in her refusal to acknowledge this great indignity even when it is clear that no apology or recompense is forthcoming. Seated, she begins to wonder with mounting dread if she will in fact be left to make a terrible nest of grime and dirt and stone. Then, at the sudden sound of a voice addressing her, she looks up, her displeasure vivid on her face.

She is not only addressed, but offered exactly what she is lacking: a pale imitation of a featherbed. Her gaze cuts in cold judgment down to the man's hand, and she resents him at once for holding forth this awful piece of bedding instead of a sword. And even if she has now what she should have had at the start, it is still a great deal less than she is owed, and she glares her disdain at the stranger whose ill-fortune has placed him beside her. ]

Do you honestly think I am going to sleep on that repulsive thing? I could have you killed for even making the suggestion. [ As if it had been her own idea all along to nobly refuse the humiliating accommodations. As if some part of her is not at this moment yearning to lay herself down on even this wish-thin piece of... cotton? Wool? It does not bear thinking about. She is only certain that it is most decidedly not silk. ]

Meteion | Final Fantasy XIV | The Innocent (Endwalker spoilers possible within)

[perfectlygoodbird]

Dreaming: The Dark Outside (sing to me...)


Wasn't it always meant to be this way? The countless cycles spent searching, and her sisters finding so very little to offer their creator. Poor Hermes. He'd hoped for so very much--that's why Meteion--and the Metaia, her sisters, had even been created in the first place!

And each and every one of them, they had failed. The driving force of their creation--their potential, dead before it was realized.

Like so many other worlds she and her sisters had seen. Crushed under the weight of their own despair. Hurting. Hurting.

Come with us, Meteion...

Her sisters had tried.. We all had tried. But it was no use...A sorrow so deep, only emptiness remained...

We have seen the end.

Meteion turned away.



Captivity: sweet talking to despair

There had been plenty of Ancients in Elpis, and no one there had ever truly acted aggressively--only to put down unruly creations. Even Hermes himself had been pushed to aggression. So to be approached by so many people, filled with uncertainty...

It called similar uncertain feelings in Meteion herself, and she hesitated when she probably should not have--not that flight would come to her now. Not that she knew where she should go....

But they promised she'd be unharmed if she cooperated. So for the moment, Meteion has acquiesced, watching the townsfolk with wide eyes. The entelechy doesn't seem frightened, per se, only immensely curious.

It didn't hurt that they gave her a robe, either.


Waiting: without the courage to leave

What is there to do but wait, then? Wait. Watch. Be silent--though if approached during the course of their travels, or during the evening, the birdlike girl will listen and speak.  Meteion has been a good girl. Not that there is much to be said for being obedient, save for greater freedom.

Though the soldiers haven't ignored the harpylike claws on her feet--or the wings on her head--and are all too careful to keep an eye on her. Just in case Meteion gets ideas.

Even if she herself hadn't, there are certainly others who have.

She isn't certain if she could help, or should--but Meteion also worries about this 'ritual place' she's heard tales of. The Ancients hadn't really used ritual, ever.
Creation magicks came so easily to them. Ritual was nowhere near as necessary...
It doesn't make her feel any better--assuming the feelings are also entirely her own. She catches your gaze--though she's hardly unused to stares.

"Do you think we should do anything?"  Not that she's sure what that is...

[ooc: if nothing here floats your boat, or you've got another idea, feel free to PM me!]

Waiting (hello baby bird)

[aquaveiled]

Taking stock of all that have assembled is important to do. At this point she believes that most suffer the same consequences of captivity and...well, whatever it was that brought them here in the first place. Her magicks are lost and many seem to be at a similar disadvantage. It levels the playing field, though not in their favor.

In this case, it may be for the best. For as she has been both relieved and worried at spotting familiar faces in the crowds, there is one she could not have anticipated. And one that could spell disaster.

Meteion.

Yet, as Himeka watches the entelechy from a distance, she sees...only the quiet familiar--nay, the quite girl who had been so keen to stay close to her creator's side and in his good graces. She's quiet and looks so small in this cavern so large. Knowing the threat she may pose, Himeka is not resistant to the same tug of fondness she felt for the girl back in Elpis. (Being something of an "other" herself in such a place.)

So she approaches, albeit a little cautiously.

"I think we'd all like to," she says with an equally cautious smile. "But it's a little difficult when we can't...do what we normally can do."

Which includes Meteion. Doesn't it?

Damianos of Akielos | Captive Prince | Champion

[giantanimal]

I

Three things are immediately apparent about Damianos: that he is extremely large (by which I mean tall and muscular, but yes, he is large in all ways), that he has a lot of scars (one on his shoulder, one near his stomach, and then a whole horrifying tapestry of them on his back), and that he is completely indifferent to the fact that he's naked.

That isn't to say he's happy with the situation. He'd much rather have some armor and a weapon. But he's not self conscious. He moves with a fighter's grace, eyes sharp and wary. Any new person who approaches he sizes up as a threat, and while he won't attack unless provoked, he won't let his guard down either. He's naked, not stupid.

Mostly, anyway. Anyone who appears in need of protecting, he'll protect as well as he can and as long as he can. Things being how they are here, that might not be long, but dammit, he'll try. Do him a favor and assure him later that you're all right. He doesn't need the extra guilt.

II

Damen's been a captive before. He spent months as a slave and learned the hard way that going along with the captors who have you outnumbered and overpowered is much smarter than fighting them. You might get your chance to run if you cooperate. You won't if they keep you chained.

So he fully intends to go with the soldiers without a fight. Right up until he hears the crack of the whip and his vision whites out.

The next few moments are marked with a lot of violence, but when Damen comes back into himself, he seems hardly aware of what just happened. What's clear is that several soldiers are on the ground, and several more have whips around him. On his neck, on both arms, around his waist, on one leg. The soldiers are shouting, pulling on the ropes, but Damen isn't struggling. Not anymore. He can't. It's frustrating as all hell.

Later, he'll learn that his rage and panic kept him moving even when the magic whip first connected with him. The soldiers don't know whether they needed the extra whips or if it was just a matter of timing and letting him burn out.

III

They aren't taking any chances, either way. They keep him tied up with at least one whip at all times, hands lashed together except when he needs to eat or bathe, and they keep him under heavy guard when that happens. When they move, he's lashed by his wrists or neck to keep moving behind the cart. From what he can see of other resistant prisoners, he doesn't need to be half this trussed up. He's been marked as a problem, and they're treating him as such. Great. At least it's nothing new. He can survive this. He survived Arles. How much worse could it be?

"I won't run away," he tells one of the guards as they bind his hands together again.

They give him a hard look. "We know. Because you can't."

He doesn't mind the army rations or the thin bedroll. He may be a king, but he's Akielon, and he's also been a soldier and a slave. He can make do without luxuries. He would very much like to not be tied up anymore, though.

When the guards aren't directly supervising him he trains himself to resist the power of the whip. It's slow going, especially as he can only do it when there's no guards paying attention but sometimes, sometimes he can break free, just for a moment.

A moment can be enough, though, if he picks the right one.

III

[perfectlygoodbird]

The entelechy's interest has been piqued. Here, Meteion is definitely disinclined to make trouble--but she's also a distraction all in and of herself, what with birdlike legs, a feathery tail, and wings that sprout from the sides of her head.

"I'm not very hungry," she says to the very large man, holding up her share of today's rations to him. As an entelechy, she truly doesn't eat at all, but why let that on to the soldiers? There are plenty of others on short rations that hers might help!

Nor does she mind asking the soldiers questions, precisely as if she were the child she appears. If she's aware that she's irritating them, she doesn't let on.

moiraine damodred | the wheel of time | the champion

[velvetoversteel]

i. waiting

[ It is not an entirely unfamiliar feeling, being unable to touch the True Source -- but that does not make it a pleasant one. There is not, for a mercy, a sense of being entirely cut off -- saidar is there, but lingering just out of Moiraine's reach. She cannot channel even the simplest of weaves, and even if she could, what would she do? Her life is not in danger, at least not by any means she can sense; her captors are cold, but do not seem inclined to brutalize her.

She does what she is told after some initial resistance acquaints her with one of the whips, a binding akin to a Compulsion weave. Her Warder is not here to defend her with his blade, she is surrounded by armed soldiers, and Moiraine is herself unarmed and clothed in naught more than a thin white shift. She has never taken especially well to being ordered about, but allows it only now because it seems the most practical thing to do while she considers her options. This is not what she expected, but the Pattern weaves in many ways one does not expect. It is what she tells herself, to keep her mind off of the vision of her own world's destruction she witnessed before arriving here. (It cannot be true, she reasons; besides the fact that there might be many reasons to have her believe her world is dead, Moiraine has never been especially gifted in Foretelling.)

There are others, more white-clothed people in similar straits as herself, and perhaps in such a time it might do her well to make acquaintances, if not yet friends or allies. She approaches someone who looks as if they have been particularly ill-treated by their captors, or who even simply looks lost or distressed. ]

This will not last. [ She pitches the words to sound reassuring, a certainty in her voice and bearing that she only partly feels. ] I imagine we are of some value to them.

[ Or they would already have killed us are the words she leaves hanging in the air. ]

ii. wildcard

( hit me up! Moiraine is mostly TV canon with some book stuff sprinkled in for flavor/backstory. PMs are welcome for discussion if you like c: )

[fingergunning]

[Jensen's in the 'lost' category. He can do well on his own- when he has orders to follow. He was a team player, good under pressure, but he worked best when he had people he was working with and for. Now? He wasn't sure if anyone he knew and loved still existed, if his world was real or not, and this whole situation was so surreal, he was wondering if it wasn't a bad hallucination.

He looked over at the words and where they came from, noticing the crispness in the tone and that surety that maybe she knew something he didn't. He also is pretty sure he picked up those unspoken words. He was a soldier, after all. He could read between the lines in a situation like this. He rubbed at his face, missing his glasses, then nodded, leaning against a pillar and scowling out over the forms of the 'better equipped than us' captors.]

Hostages usually are. Until they aren't. Trying to figure out what exactly it is we're of value for. As workers or food.

[God, he hoped the former. He didn't mind doing manual labor, and slaves could form a revolt of some kind, but winding up as some kind of blood sacrifice or pig slop wasn't exactly something he could recover from easily.]

Jack Mouton | Visual Prison | Firebrand

[evilsong]

( note: Jack is 18, but he's a vampire who was turned as a child, so he appears physically about 8. )

I. REBIRTH

( Small fingers press out against the shattering of the chrysalis as soon as it gives. He grunts, clawing at the shell of his prison until enough breaks, and then he falls, tumbling onto the stone below. He rolls once, grunting at the impact, one of his hands wrapped around his center as he tries to push himself up. Horrible— it feels horrible. Cold air bites his skin and there are shards sticking out of his body everywhere. He plucks one out of his arm now, chucking it aside in disgust. )

What...—?!

( It's weaker than he normally would feel. Even that small action has him doubling over again, breathing hard against the rocks and chunks of crystal around him. He realizes that he has no clothes, but that bothers him less than the fact that he's somewhere foreign, that he's just been freed from some sort of trap, and that he can't see anyone he recognizes anywhere.

In his state of alarm, his eyes glow bright red. Pushing himself up, he stands, wobbly as it is, and squints around the cave. He's about to call out to try and find someone else when his steps send him stumbling forward, crashing into some poor, unsuspecting soul who's just wound up nearby. )

II. CAPTIVITY

Stop it! Get away from me!

( Jack's voice is loud when he wants it to be. He yells out now, thrashing away from the strangers approaching him with whips. But of course, like everyone else being rounded up in this cave, he's caught. A whip wraps around his wrist and causes his weak steps to hault in their tracks. On reflex, he calls out: )

Saga!!

( But of course, Saga isn't here. He hasn't seen him at all. Instead, he finds himself moving through grit teeth. Without the ability to resist, he follows the others in this group. Out of the cave, towards... )

Where are you even taking us? I'm going to throw a fit if you don't leave me alone!

( Surely a child's tantrum would win these guards over, right? )

III. WAITING

( For a good portion of the camping, Jack sulks. He hasn't touched any of his food, he's complained loudly, he's thrashed and tried to run, and so of course, he's bound with one of the whips, glaring across at any of the guards watching over him and the others.

He's been a brat, really. Loud, disruptive, completely uncooperative. Still, when night falls and the guards are less active (though still watching), Jack does try to make contact with the other captives. )

You can have mine, if you want.

( A strangely pleasant comment from the boy who's been throwing a tantrum for days now. He's offering his dinner, nodding towards it with a shrug. He doesn't want it, and he's sure someone else who needs to eat would be happy at having more of a portion. )

But can I ask you some questions? It'll be a trade.

iii

[raimaidou]

[The woman Jack approaches is far, far taller than...not just him, but really, most people clad in the white clothing that separates the captives from the captors at their makeshift campsite, almost a good three feet taller than he is. It's why when she looks down to give him her attention, Barbara follows it up by leaning over to try and close the distance between them somewhat.]

I don't mind answering your questions, but it's not a good idea to go without eating anything. Especially if you're still growing.

[Her voice is gentle and polite, a stark contrast to her sharp teeth, horns and the wild, dishevelled mane of thick black hair that reaches just below her waist.]

queen ramirra (player oc) | pathfinder: kingmaker | probably firebrand

[doomsight]

i | REBIRTH

[ Another one of the crystalline cocoons gives away, shattering outward with a sound that is somehow at once brittle and wet. The woman that tumbles from this one, landing gracelessly among the fragmented pieces of her birthing rock, is an odd sight to see. Maybe it's the the slate gray of her leathery skin that does it, or maybe the lank tentacles that grow like oily hair from her scalp. Maybe it's the black, glossy bumps of chitin that dot random swathes of her naked skin, or maybe it's the jagged teeth bared as she coughs iridescent rock chewed to gravel onto the slick ground.

What's odder than the way she looks, though, is the sound that leaves her mouth. Laughter, or maybe ecstatic weeping—it's a high, strained noise, as if her lungs can barely draw the breath to utter it. Her forehead drops forward, knocking against the cave's stony floor. Beside it, her palms lift and slam against the cool ground—once, twice, again—and in her fervor, the broken shards of her cocoon bite into her arms' unprotected flesh. ]

Ahh, ahhh, the Rough Beast, He—!

ii | WAITING

[ Once she understands her situation, Ramirra is far more subdued. Of course, the path to her comprehension involved a great deal of biting and thrashing in the beginning, so when it comes time to squat among the forest ruins, she isn't allowed to wander much farther than the length of a whip.

It's insulting—and worse than that, it's boring. She flops down on her stomach like a petulant child, drawing spirals in the dirt to pass the time. The familiarity of the pattern soothes her, meditation in the act of scrawling that repetitive shape—but, even so... ]

If someone here has a blood ritual to do, they should hurry up and get on with it already. [ She kicks her bare feet through the air as she complains aloud—to no one, to everyone—fingers picking at the scabbing remains of those self-inflicted lacerations peppering her forearms. ] Aren't the gods or spirits or whatever we're being sacrificed to going to get impatient?

iii | WILDCARD

[ You can reach out for plotting @ salroka, or a PM to this account. ]

ii ;)

[conceivesfrenzy]

Must not be a terribly important one, if we have to be fit into their busy schedules. [ Alice giggles, standing over Ramirra as she sulks. Naturally, she's not allowed much more of a leash for similar reasons, but at least she gave it more of the old college try. ]

Maybe they're just a bunch of sickos that like to watch defenseless people get taken advantage of and starved? That seems more likely, at this point.

Yoo Joonghyuk | Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint | The Champion

[regretsor]

I. Rebirth
[He had experienced plenty of different things, which were mostly unpleasant, but this probably is one of the more bizarre and uncomfortable experiences he has had.

Yoo Joonghyuk wasn't particularly fond of being imprisoned in any capacity.

He struggles out of his confines even when his body starts to protest and ache until he finally breaks free from whatever it was that he was encased in. He crawls out of his confines and takes a huge breath of air. After he has gathered his bearings, he finally takes in his surroundings and himself.

His body is still littered with countless scars that he had gained through his experiences from the scenarios, but none of his items are on his person. No coat. No sword. He's just bare and naked.

What's more puzzling is how he looks back at the hollow crystal that he had come out of.]

Tch.

[He's one of the first few to get out, so he carefully observes the other crystals and his surroundings. It'll also give him time to mull over the dream he had.

While not the most caring and gentle soul, if someone is struggling to pull themselves together, they'll have this very scarred man with a very intense glare hauling them to their feet.] Watch it. [His bedside manners could be improved on.]

II. Waiting
A.
[There's a bit of a commotion happening.

It's a problem really. On one hand, he should just behave and go along with things for a bit. On the other hand, fuck that. Violence is always the answer. Also, he thinks that the normal thing to do is to try and rebel when they're being forcibly detained. He doesn't know where they're taking them. He's suspicious and he rather struggle with his suspicions than idly accept whatever fate was handed to him.

The soldiers seem to have no qualms manhandling the six foot tall man nor did he seem keen on relenting. In the end though, they eventually disperse after a bit. They yell at him to get up or they'll make him and to hurry up and move.

The scarred man doesn't look all that pleased and lays there for a moment before finally starting to get to his feet. There's something new attached to his ankle that most others don't have.

He glares at anyone who makes eye contact. The white gown he was wearing was dirtied and he's slightly bruised and even bleeding a little. Some bruises look more fresh than others. This probably hasn't been the first time he had caused trouble.] What do you want?

B.
[Joonghyuk has more or less settled down if only because he has no choice. He's weaker than he should be and the whips that they have are doing wonders in keeping the man (mostly) docile.

It's night out and there's a fire roaring where they're circled around. Joonghyuk sits a bit farther away from everyone and is looking up at the stars in the night sky as though he's searching for something.

He doesn't think he'll get sleep. He's used to keeping watch and he doesn't think he'll be able to fall asleep with him in such high alert. It's late, so he doesn't expect others to be awake either.] You should get rest. It looks like we'll be traveling for awhile. There's no point to waste your energy.

[Big words for a guy who doesn't seem to be going to sleep anytime soon.]

III. Wildcard
[If none of these options work, feel free to hit me up with a starter of your own. I'm also more than happy to plot something out/write a personal starter that works!]

iii omg hello i picked the worst canonpoint for this...

[salvageable]

[ It's a face he could recognize anywhere, pick right out of a crowd without a hint of hesitation—A face he's burned into this memory written first by strokes of a keyboard to spin together sentences, and then through an eventual encounter.

His eyes shake and his breathing grows short. Once upon a time ago he would have been overjoyed. He would have cried out that name in happiness, and buried a smile behind his hands. But now, the only emotion he feels is the overwhelming guilt that drains what color's left from his face and threatens to collapse his legs out from under him.

No, he'd made his peace. Or at least convinced himself that he had.

But it'll never be enough. So as long as Dokja exists, the knowledge that he was the reason for the ruination of everything he's ever loved and held dear in his pathetic, powerless life will always come back to haunt him.

Just like Yoo Joonghyuk has.

So he stumbles back a step, barely any strength left in his legs, and then another. He turns away, a desperation to run but to where? There are guards laid out all throughout the encampment. Even so, he has to try. This isn't something he can face. ]

Silco | League Arcane | Visionary

[zauneyete]

≻ rebirth

[ Its slimy, and wet. Constraining, like being pressed far too tight, swallowed on all sides, like being pressed together in the shaft of a mine. It's claustrophobic, in it's own way, pressed all together, and he struggles, trying to press against the sides. One eye open -- always open -- it searches for a sign of something, but covered in slime, it might as well be as closed as the other, as he pushes against it.

He'd never been strong, fast maybe, but not strong -- and weak arms flail out, pressing, trying to fight. The more it presses back, the harder it is, the harder he fights, clawing, lips peeled back in fury like an animal as he sifts, and kicks -- trying to break free. Break that too-claustrophobic presence, pressing on all sides. It is a long, and agonizing process, spurts of weakness -- did his stomach hurt? -- before he fought again, and finally, finally it yields to persistence.

His fingers claw through, almost like running through sinew, before he pulls, and twists, slipping free, breathing heavy -- angry somehow. So angry for the indignity of it all, or for the effort it took. It's a moment, before reality really rushes in, like being clapped on the head, a ringing in his ears, a wheeze, trying to suck in enough air from eternally pollution-laden lungs. His head whipped around, glowing eye landing on one detail after another, shivering. It was a deeply unpleasant afterlife he'd found himself in. Not that he expected anything less. ]

≻ captivity

[ Clothing in the forms of shoes and blankets -- a paltry offering -- was welcomed, although Silco continued to shiver, his body numb from cold -- or was it pain? That echo of a rip into his entire mass still echoed down to his fingers, made his toes curl in his shoes. One of which, at the ankle, there was a whip. Unpleasant and insulting, Silco tried to resist the orders. Of course he did. He'd grown up in the Undercity, where you fought every scrap of authority, and even his own he would expect any good Zaunite to do the same, until they were culled back into obedience.

Except that is where he found himself now, captive, cowed, cold, and searing with fury, as they led him away. His eyes took stock of the black-covered warriors, and the others, but both were an enemy, if you were going to be ineffective at getting him freed. He seethed in rage, every now and then, tried to step in a different direction, before he was tugged back in line. Sour, his stride sometimes petulantly slowed instead, before he finally found his way back down with the rest of them, the soldiers tugging him along like an untrained animal by the end.

The look on his face said, very clearly, that he was not a happy man right now. Approach only at your own risk. ]

≻ waiting

[ Have you ever seen a fucking crime lord wear white?

No? Well now you have.

It would be an insult to his station to call the way he sat petulant, but with the furious look to his face, the tilt of his head, the intensity of that one scarred, glowing eye, he does not look easy to approach. His hands twitch, periodically, as if a tick, whenever it looks like he's about to stand, and cause a problem, his fingers lace through his hair, and it's back in place, neat and orderly, with a single white stripe over his blackened eye -- not soothed, but under control again.

He doesn't talk. Not really. He doesn't bother to say much of anything, unless spoken to. There's the sense that he isn't friendly, whether from the large glowing eye, the sour and angry look on his face, or maybe just his generally hunched demeanor... it's difficult to say what it is about him.

There is one conclusion that can be made. He is not a happy camper right now. ]

≻ wildcard
[ Want do do a dreaming one? Something else? Go for it! I can follow your lead! ]

rebirth

[deushexmachina]

[His own journey left him gasping, chest heaving, limbs sprawled along the stone floor made slick with the fluids that bore him. Jayce, unmoving, watches those reed-thin limbs—backlit as little more than pinched silhouettes—squirm and beat and claw at the iridescent enclosure. Lying on his back, mouth an open invitation for air, Jayce still watches. Exhaustion weighs down his marrow, even as the impulse to help rises from between tired ribs.

There's the breaking—fingernails cutting against shard—and the release. A desperate wheeze, a furious sputter. One aquiline nose and unmistakable black pit of an eye.

Jayce's heart drops to the acid curdle of his gut. He rolls to his stomach, his still-slick hand slipping for any broken snap of geode sharp enough to hurt.]

Akua Sahelian | A Practical Guide to Evil | Sovereign (?)

[wolof]

⟳ Dreaming
[ Nothingness is... expected. She's not quite sure why, yet. Not really. She's formless, but alone. That feels wrong. Formless isn't the concern, no. Has she been like this before? Has she been nothing before?

Yes, the void echoes. Or is it her soul? Blackened though it was, she is -- ah, yes. It is her soul, it's her memories, isn't it? Quick to put things together, she remembers, bit by bit, the strands of roles and names, the pattern being something to follow -- until it wasn't. The question then, is why is she here? Oh, she was dead before, certainly, but her soul had been housed after the Doom of Liesse. She'd still been present, if not alive. That nothingness had been cold, particularly when faced with Catherine's fury.

She shivered, despite herself. She was alone? For the first time in...quite some time. At one point in her life -- was this still her life? -- she would have welcomed it. After all, someday, she would have been the Dread Empress, yes? That was a role for one who was always alone. After so many years, however, either with Cat alone, or after their trip to the Everdark, and after --

She didn't quite so fancy it anymore. Imagine that. She'd thought she wouldn't be alone here, but perhaps this is what a true death was? But no, she walked, and there was the impression of figures. Others? ]

Who's there?

⟳ Rebirth

[ It's so different than the mantle of Woe. Being trapped there had been... cold. Particularly after Cat had been the sole mantle of the Winter Court. This, in a story of opposites, was warm. Akua wondered, then, if there was a story to be found here, as she found herself somehow stirring awake. Her mind already working through. Would sorcery be the thing to free her? She was tempted, but her body still felt weak, her mind numb, still. The vaguest stirring in her mind about something she was supposed to be doing kept her locked in.

The coin, forever spinning. The balance that could only be achieved by above and below.

She stirred, and as she tried to claw herself out, the first pushes were weak, but another, after another. She had something to do. Her body moved, almost possessed as she clawed her way out. She was Akua Sahelian, and she would not be trapped again. She would have the freedom of choice. She would be free. Her fingers slipped to open air, and she found the home she'd been born in -- the chrysalis -- shattered. On the ground, on her knees, naked and cold.

She looked up, golden eyes searching, before she tried to reach out for the magic she held so dear, a precise computation of sorcery, before her fingers stopped. Would that even work? No -- careful. She will not use it yet. Careful.

She sat, shivering, arms wrapped around herself -- one alive, the other withered and dead, curse-touched -- while she slowly examined the space around her, trying to find an answer to the millions of questions bursting forth in her mind. ]

⟳ Waiting

[ It was an uneventful trip down, Akua found. She played nice, the temptation to wreak havoc, create a working to disrupt these guards was so very tempting. But there would be no answers. The former Heiress instead allowed herself the indignity of being captured, and when she found herself garbed in a white robe, her lip curled, but she wore it all the same. ]

White, dearest? [ She asked the guard, but they were hardly going to put up with her slight teasing. Somehow, the formless robe looked fetching on her, a tie at the waist found to at least give her something comforting. She felt... at least somewhat better, with clothing, although White would have Cat laughing at her, she knew it. Perhaps it was for the best, that she wasn't here. Then again, Cat likely would have attacked the guards, and cut herself to the bone to escape, knowing her.

This was for the best.

She sat, instead, almost poised atop a a stone structure, and watched. Her golden eyes scanned the gathering, looking for...information. The guards wouldn't give it, and those in the white robes were like her. They were the only ones talking, though. She wished she could see like Cat saw, in this moment, that gathering of stories, the strands that united people. Perhaps she was across the sea? Elsewhere? She didn't know anyone here. It was concerning, as she knew most people in Praes.

She hopped from her perch, and approached the first person she saw, her lips quirked in what she hoped was a friendly smile -- although it was likely more haughty. It couldn't be helped. ]

Excuse me, perhaps you would answer a few of my questions?

⟳ Wildcard!

[ Feel free to choose anything else! I'm pretty flexible! ]

waiting

[velvetoversteel]

[ As undignified as she herself feels in the thin white shift, Moiraine has other things that take more of her attention. Her mind keeps wandering back to the vision she'd seen before coming here, though that was days -- weeks? -- ago. She refuses to believe it's true, of course -- but it's not an easy thing to shake off feeling the death of one's world.

That she doesn't know why she's here, what this ritual their captors have spoken of entails, or what, exactly, is shielding her from touching the Source only adds to the feeling of restlessness that actually has her pacing somewhat. Hearing a voice -- a woman's voice -- is at least a distraction, and she pauses to turn towards the stranger. ]

If I have the answers, yes. [ An agreeable enough request, she thinks. ]

eustace | granblue fantasy | firebrand

[lockedon]

REBIRTH

[ The escape from his crystalline prison takes more out of him than he expects, and Eustace spends a good handful of minutes just lying on the ground, breathing deeply in and out as he tries to orient himself and regain feeling in his limbs.

It's as he's sitting up and wiping hair from his face that he catches sight of it out of the corner of his eye; a strange glint on the right side of his face reflecting off the hollow walls of his now-broken cage. A cold feeling spreads in the pit of his stomach, ice frosting over his insides as he steps closer for a better view, turning this way and that as he tries to see if any other part of his body has been tampered with.

Movement to his right has him turning. Another body, another person like him broken free. Without wasting time, he strides (read: hobbles) his way over, eyes scanning across every inch of their body.

If he doesn't find what he's looking for (your shard), he orders brusquely: ]

Turn around.

WAITING

[ He sits by the riverbank, his too-short white gown now dirtied and torn from two weeks on the road. Leaning nearby against one tree is a guard, whip hanging loose from his belt, attention only half-trained on his detainee. And why should he pay too close attention? All his charge has been doing for the past half hour is skipping stones, one after another. Bo-ring.

For his part, Eustace is careful not to rouse suspicion, varying his throws even as he takes note of the size and shapes of the rocks littering the riverbank, and the weight of them in his palm. Hardly the type of weapons he's used to using, but better something than nothing. What's a handful of pebbles going to do against a cadre of well-armed guards? Probably nothing, but it doesn't hurt to keep his aim well-honed in case whatever oncoming 'ritual' is more than any of them bargained for.

He waits until the guard's looking away, roped into a brief conversation with one of his compatriots, before precisely flinging another stone over the river. This one doesn't skim across the surface; instead, it hits a dragonfly perched on a log some distance away and knocks it into the water, sending ripples across the surface. He doesn't smile, but his ears twitch once in satisfaction. ]

ETC

[ when you play an antisocial asshole and all your prompts are boring....feel free to wildcard something of your own or leave me a general vibe and i'll write a custom starter! happy to roll with anything. ]

waiting

[eolja]

[His own guard is engaged in that conversation, so Seonho is free to do what he came to the river to do. He dips a hand into the water, and then runs through them his admittedly dirty hair, as he watches Eustace skip stones.

All he's been doing while shuffled around like a playing card is watch, honestly. The road, the soldiers, the others. At least this view is interesting. He's tired of seeing the cowed, frustrated expressions on everyone's faces (a perfect reflection of his own). There's something refreshing about seeing this small act of rebellion,

even if this guy does have dog? wolf? ears.]

Are you planning on slipping a few stones up your sleeves?

flamebringer | arknights | wanderer

[hurricaneofblood]

[ cw: severe illness and suicidal inclinations ]

rebirth;

[ Well, okay.

He's naked and on the ground. His eyes try to focus on anything, but he eventually gives up.

Flamebringer felt it just as he woke up -- the end of his world. It felt so final that it freezes his heart. The purpose and reason for his life may be lost to him. His shoulders drop as he feels the weight of that truth press down on him.

He opens his eyes and is able to finally look around. Honestly, he can't tell that there is an additional crystal in his body because his body is littered with crystals already. Black crystals jut out through his skin along his arms, limbs, around his face. Some of his veins share the same black color and show through is pale skin.

Ugh, this is worse than an attack.

Flamebringer rolls himself over to see someone hobbling along nearby. ]

Hey. How you doing? I'm on the floor.

[ Not so much a request to be helped up, but more a greeting. He has an arrogant tone and smile that makes it seem like he is completely unbothered by the current state of affairs. ]

captivity;

[ There is only one person that he is willing to listen to, and that person was burned away with his world. He refuses to go on along with these guards; he struggles, weakly, pathetically, but he struggles. Every step of the way, he makes it as difficult as he can manage.

The whip is around his neck, but he is a troublesome dog all the same.

He sneers and calls and makes snide comments the entire time. Eventually, the guards break -- or rather, they have someone that they can take their frustration out upon. Flamebringer only laughs after the first beating; his laughter filled with blood. He calls them cowards for being unwilling to finish the job, for being too soft to kill him.

The Sarkaz carries on like he's won until he can't.

But they don't kill him. They understand that he's seeking death -- even a humiliating one where his head is crushed beneath the heel of their boot. He's left severely beaten and alive; his body lying out on the ground for anyone to see.

The "nice white gown" that he was given is stained with old blood and torn; it leaves him little cover. But that's also to further humiliate the swordsman. He lies on his side, barely moving, breathing slow and painful.

Rations meant for him are thrown in his direction. Whether it reaches him or not doesn't concern the guards at this point. They don't even care if the food gets dirty with the blood still pouring out of Flamebringer's latest wounds.

Really, he's brought it on himself.

But still, even as he breathes so slow, so careful, he laughs to himself. ]

wildcard;

[ Feel free to wildcard it. Can PM if wondering about anything. He's just incredibly edgy. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ]

Captivity

[lachtara]

From nearby, Emet-Selch glances in the direction of the individual. This person had spent quite a while making a ruckus. While he had watched with a mild amount of interest as to how the guards reacted to such a thing, now here they lay, beaten and bloody with little to show for it.

He makes no move to help them and instead turns to look at the nearby campfire with mild disinterest. "Put on quite the show, didn't you?" He asks the stranger. "Thrashing around like a wild beast."

shaye | oc | firebrand

[allusive]

[ And at the end of all things, there is darkness.

There's a strange validation to it, as she looks upon what she assumes must be the fragmented pieces of her misbegotten existence. But it shifts and changes before her eyes and she sees pieces of her life, shards of people she once knew fluttering by. The Viper, the Fox. Amarys. Shaye resists the urge to reach out to her, brilliant beacon of light that she is. It sputters, darkens like everything else. It shrivels up and all that made her home something she loved - the cobblestone streets, the aging architecture, the looming tower - begins to fade away. If there are others here, be they people or memories, she pays them no mind. All that she was and all that her life might have been seems to fade away.

In a moment, everything is dark. Not a whimper, not a cry. A selfish clawing at what's left of her(?) seems to think, Good. Good, let it all burn. There was nothing left worth the blood and the pain it has asked of me. Of all of us.

But even that is swallowed by the emptiness, leaving not even numbness but void. ]

captivity.
[ She should struggle. Some part of her wishes to, most certainly, like a frightened animal crowded too closely into a corner. But there is a cold detachment to it all, perhaps the numbness finally settling in, in the wake of witnessing such total destruction even if she cannot verify if any of it was true. If any of it could have been real. Just hours ago, she likely would have thought herself mad with despair or intoxicated beyond belief.

Perhaps she is and hasn't come around just yet. But all of this feels a little too painfully real for her to deny it, after all.

If there are others trying to fight, she shoots them a stony look that belies something simmering between frustration and exasperation, a scrap of emotion she manages to cobble together somehow. ]

You're like to get the rest of us killed, too, you know. [ No blades. No familiar burning in her blood. It's a surreal and frightening feeling, this lack of protection. Her voice is quiet and could be mistaken for soft if one isn't paying attention, though she's anything but. ] Keep your eyes on your surroundings. If nothing else, we should know the path.

[ Because if the opportunity presents itself, they should know how to get away and to find this place again. If they manage to. ]


waiting. (cw: implied self-harm for blood magic purposes)
[ The ruins would be something to appreciate if they weren't all under watch. Not that she can blame them, not with how tempting it is to fight. The urge to try to fight is so, so tempting, but she's managed herself thus far. Enough that she seems the docile type and enough to earn her a little bit of distance...but certainly not enough for there to be funny business.

Her fingers long to skim the rock and they do, though briefly, as she doesn't want to seem like she's looking for anything in particular. Just a jagged piece of stone somewhere, anywhere, if it means she can shed a little blood. Perhaps the magic is only cloistered away and with a little coaxing--

Would they stop her in time? There must be something else she can do to distract. And there are others nearby, close enough she can get their attentions. It might work. Shaye sighs quietly. ]

Why continue to make us wait?

[ A ritual space. She can assume what will come next...but doesn't want to consider that for long. ]


( ooc: info here, please PM me with questions or any further info needed. please pardon my slow and rust, haven't touched the rp scene in a few years. )

Waiting

[hippocarnival]

Maybe they're not ready for... whatever they want to do with us. [Yuya rubs his arm as he looks up at Shaye. Equally docile, except his isn't just a front. There's a desire to run, but not a lot of faith he'll do better than the people who are bigger, stronger, who have failed every time.]

Hiccup Haddock III | How to Train Your Dragon | Visionary

[dragon_rider]

1. dreaming

Wow...

[ The soft sound is as breathless as it is dazed. Despite a certain weight pitted in the bottom of his stomach, there's no denying the beauty of a million galaxies lighting your way. A distant, far off dream for any Viking — Something that catches in his throat and makes him swallow hard.

The awe labored against twisted uncertainty. For as much as he wants to lose himself in it, he can't ignore the strange feeling of loss that accompanies it. Or the awareness that all he knew was not here. There are strangers here, but he finds no comfort in them, even as they've met at the two crossroads.

The warmth of light calls to him and he turns his head in its direction. But there's something there, too, just under his skin — uncertainty, self-doubt that makes him cast a glance into the other path. Scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand, he grinned dubiously at the person next to him. ]

— So does this [ He gestures to the two separate paths. ] Feel like you're making some important decision you have no idea about or is it just me?

[ It feels like some test. He's not exactly in the mood to be tested. ]

2. captivity

[ They've barely any real time to get adjusted to their surroundings — air so bitterly cold worry of frostbite gnawed at the corners of his mind — when the mountainers and the soldiers appear. Help, maybe? Turned out it wasn't.

The mountainers take some pity on them, but his thanks falls on deaf ears when he takes the blanket. Diligently, they seem to only be listening to the strange black-clothed warriors that came with them. Hiccup can't help the way his gaze falls over them. ]

So not friendly. Check.

[ Given an even bigger check shortly later when they decide to move them on without answering any questions. When he stepped forward to press for more of an answer and was promptly given the short end of a whip — as if he was dangerous. No better than an unknown dragon, to be treated with caution and wariness. Times it by twenty, with extra hostility.

He chooses to bear it and grit his teeth instead, taking the trek down the mountain more carefully than he'd like — Taking survey of those with him, antsy as he asks wryly: ]

Don't think they're taking us to a feast to welcome our arrival, do you?

[ Despite it's attempt at light-heartedness, from the way he speaks he seems almost certain that it's not the case. ]

3. waiting

[ For all that the tribe may have joked he wasn't very viking-like all those years ago, there's one thing that no one could deny he lacked: An independent and free nature. It's not only that he detests being contained, boxed in and trapped, he also hates not knowing what's going on.

Ever patient and always the diplomat, even Hiccup has met the embrace of a whip more times then he would like. They never answer questions, never let them too far out of their eye, and don't treat them as human. It sets every instinct he's gained over the years on edge and try as he might to keep calm he finds himself constantly looking for an answer.

Several days into waiting and he's barely slept a wink, investigated as far as their grace would allow, and through dirt and a stick, remapped the wrote they took. Talk of a ritual feels him with cold dread as he leans fist into cheek and frowns at his drawing.

A breath and he gets up, patting dirt off the white robe uselessly before lifting his face to stare at the canopy. He speaks quietly, to himself, everyone, or no one is hard to say: ]

Here's the real question: Why us?

[ It's a fate hard to fathom and if dreams are to be treated as fact... A sliver of him thinks it'd be better if it was someone else. Or maybe he just doesn't want to be alone. He shoved it down for the moment, turns his head away, and tries to focus on the here-and-now (a way out, answers, but alas none would come just yet). ]

4. wildcard

[ Please feel free to come at me with anything else! You can either spin a random thread, PM me for plotting, or message me on plurk sunfiresparks ]

Waiting

[meredy]

[ She is waiting the same as everyone else, looking incredibly worried to boot! What was going to happen to them? It seems no one knows for sure.

She looks to the person next to her and puts a hand on her chest. Her voice is quiet and she speaks with a hint of some indistinguishable accent. ]

Meredy does not know...

[ She sighs. ]

It seems like no one knows for sure. Are we in trouble?

Jinx | Arcane | Firebrand

[contentsunderpressure]

1. Rebirth

[So your world has gone boom! kablooey! Absolutely and totally bit the dust! Jinx stumbled out of her cacoon and stumbled, before righting herself and...laughing? It all felt like some kind of cosmic joke, why was she here, and naked to boot? Who knew! Because she certainly didn't. She was loud, that was for sure and her incessant laughter would spread far and loud.]

2. Waiting

[Well, Jinx had been an utter pain in the ass to everyone who had managed to drag her this far. Her skin that was visible was marked with scratches and bruises, while her face still wore a look of what appeared to be amusement. She still hadn't figured out what was going on but was taking it in what appeared to be in stride, as far as that meant annoying the living hell out of her captors. Without the small arsenal, she normally possessed the girl's resistance hadn't been anything these fine folks couldn't handle. But her glee about everything had instilled in them that she was more than a bit odd.]

3. Wild card

[feel free to annoy jinx. Hit me up on plurk@witchqueen for plotting and other things.]

[waiting] c:

[fistcuffs]

[ Honestly Vi’s not sure anymore what’s keeping her feet moving. Jail is jail, whether she’s on her feet or sitting in a cell, and that part, at least, is nothing new. She can play this game. Knows what buttons to push, knows how to figure out who she can afford to antagonize. She fights when she can, because fighting is what she does. Because fighting, in some fucked up way, is what’s always helped her wrench back some fleeting sense of control when there is none. This is a pattern she knows, and she falls back into it like a boat into water.

There’s more to this situation (because of course there is). Vi grits her teeth against it, holds it in like a bloody rag to an open wound. She can’t let herself go there. Not yet. The world just-

It can’t be gone. It can’t be gone because if the world is gone, that means Powder is gone. And Powder (Jinx)-

She stumbles, foot twisting on a rock. The pain startles her, jerks her out of whatever fucked up stuper she’d been on the verge of sinking into. And that, impossibly, is when she sees her. A flash of bright blue. Vi’s heart stops.

It can’t be. It has to be. ]

Powder?! [ Vi pushes forward, shoving past one person, then another. ] Powder!

Majorita | Disgaea 5 | Firebrand

[killandrecycle]

Rebirth

[Shame filled the girl as she lay motionless on the ground. Moments before she had groveled before her enemies, begged for the mercy she had never shown to anyone else, and had just been left on the ground as if she doesn't even matter. She wasn't even able to be angry about it. Hearing motion behind her, she glances over her shoulder, tears in her eyes, to see the only person she respected looking down at her. She opens her mouth, not sure what sort of excuse she could make, but before she can even speak, the world around her fades away.

The negative emotions only have more time to stew as she struggles to escape from the chrysalis. With no idea what the dreams had meant, no idea what had happened to her, and no idea why she could not move, panic set in long before she managed to escape. By the time she manages to free herself, she barely has the will to move, only bothering to stir once she hears someone moving nearby.]

You better explain yourself quickly, if you want to live.

[She has no idea who she is even addressing, and the weak, soft sound of her voice makes it rather nonthreatening.]

Waiting

[Surprisingly, her captivity had put a new purpose into the girl's heart. The disrespect these fools were showing her would not soon be forgotten. Though she looked like she was docile, curled up on one of the carts with her knees drawn close and her arms wrapped around them, the expression she wore was anything but gentle. All it would take would be a simple glance into those hate filled eyes to figure out she wasn't the gentle, harmless little passenger she might seem to be at a glance. Whenever anyone came anywhere near her, her attention instantly shot to them, looking for any sign of weakness, any sign of distraction.

But it never came. Even if it did, she was too frail to fight back without her magic at her disposal. Deep down, she knew this. Finally, she just gives up, and turns to the person behind her.]

I suppose you have no idea about any of this, either.

waiting

[contentsunderpressure]

[Jinx looked like she had taken the second route through the ordeal, appearing visibly scratched and bruised from various struggles. But still, she remained her odd self despite, well, everything.]

Not in the least. Far as I know the world went POOF! And now we're here.