(no subject)

[initiates]

Date: February 1st
Location: The Initiative Hold & Courtyard.
Characters: Everyone.
Summary: New Transports have all arrived and have been shuffled into the Courtyard after their initial briefings, while older Transports are returning from the mission to Uruguay.
Warnings: None.

While those who have been guests of Exsilium since at least the last wave of Transports return from their desperate mission and are pressed out of the Transporter room and into the Courtyard, the Initiative prepares to receive a second wave at the same time. And if you're in that second wave, the fresh meat, then you've just been hustled and bustled through mazes of information and literal, wide corridors of the Initiative Hold and you've been equipped with your weapon—be it a gun, a sword, or even your existing powers. They've handed you this light netbook and a small pouch of coins (or a debit card, if you're more inclined), and there are several Transports before and after you going through the very same motions. You can hear the Greeter's voice as she walks alongside large groups, telling them all about the history of this place and sharing with you your purpose here in a hurried and urgent tone. "You're in luck that we have enough rooms for all of you; the housing building is getting awfully full. Please, let me show you into the courtyard."

You pass what looks like huge gymnasiums, all with dummies and targets strewn and splayed around the room. Training areas. There are even classrooms, and a few small offices. You're rushed past a large library while the Greeter informs you that you can find almost all your information there, if you've got the time to look—and trust her, you'll have time. You don't spend a lot of time in the bank, and it's a bit of a blur of exchanges with more and more of these strangely-accented and oddly polite-seeming members of the Initiative.

Soon enough, you're in a massive courtyard bustling with all the other Transports. It's not exactly what you'd expect, and it looks more like barracks than anything—huge walls of concrete and stone, separating you from all of the hallways you'd just passed through. It's raining heavily, and dark clouds loom in the air, though it hasn't turned to snow. It's a chill cold, and there are shelters—long cloth hangings that extend from the walls of concrete to house you from the rain, but not enough. Most notably, the courtyard is filled with a marketplace. Even in the cold and the rain, there are several citizens seated at their covered booths and tables, bundled up against the weather. They're selling all manner of their own handmade goods and foods, and citizens and Transports alike are traveling from one small covered shop to another in search of all manner of necessities.

The Greeter's voice has become so faint now, but you swear you can make it out in the back of the crowds as she tells you, "Good luck. Be safe!"

Her voice is drowned out by the busy marketplace, though even the transactions taking place are somewhat subdued. Nobody is overly happy, really, though most citizens can be found with smiles on their faces. It doesn't seem like they're that shocked to see you, either; even if you're not bound in tattered rags and wrapped in heavy shawls as they are. You're welcome to walk up to a shop, and find yourself something to eat—hey, maybe you'll even find something akin to a raincoat. Or, you can join the others under the coverings against the walls. Where am I? What war? She was talking so fast, and it didn't all make very much sense… did anyone else catch it all?

Welcome to the courtyard. Welcome to the Initiative Hold—and most importantly, welcome to Exsilium

Comments

[arcanepower]

[Belthazar is doing his food shopping for the week and also peeking at the new arrivals because he doesn't have many hobbies outside of books and people-watching. There is something EXTREMELY OFF about this fabulous-looking man over here... and, using his height to try and blend in better, he stares unabashedly at Wrathion from a distance, trying to figure out what the hell he is.

All the while stuffing his face with some futuristic Chinese food.]

[indirection]

[It doesn't take long for Wrathion to feel eyes on his back. He turns to face Bel, his confusion quickly turning to pleased surprise. A blood elf. How wonderful. He lifts his hand and calls.]

Hello there!

[IS IT ME YOU'RE LOOKING FOR?]

[arcanepower]

[Reflexively, his telltale ears lower and flatten. HE DOESN'T WANT TO BE NOTICED. But he realizes he's shrinking, and he doesn't want to look like prey, either, so he finishes whatever bite he was on and steps a little closer.

Still out of arm's reach, however.]

I haven't seen you before.

[indirection]

I'm brand new. Just arrived. Fresh off the teleporter pad and so forth.

[he holds out his hand.]

My name is Wrathion.

[arcanepower]

[Belthazar does not shake his hand. In fact, he keeps his arms firmly wrapped around his little bento box, like Wrathion is going to take his lunch.]

You reek of magic. What are you?

[indirection]

[He inclines his head, smiling, wide and toothy.]

The very last of the black dragonflight.

[arcanepower]

[He knows exactly what a black dragon is: BAD FUCKING NEWS. It shows in his body language though he's the type to try and act tough. He can't bite down the initial reaction of fear, which makes him step back.]

W-- well, black dragon or not, you're trapped here like the rest of us. I heard even the Dragonqueen was here at some point. If you misbehave, the Initiative will correct you.

[indirection]

[Wrathion spreads out his hands in front of him, a gesture meant to suggest harmlessness.]

Oh, my, the Dragonqueen. Well, worry not, I have no intention of burning the place to the ground or any other such barbaric thing. I'm not like my father. Not at all.

[arcanepower]

I don't trust you.

[He shoves another bite of post-apocalyptic food in his mouth, chews it, and swallows.]

[indirection]

[He shrugs.]

Well, you are free to have your own conclusions, but I mean only the best for this world--the same as I meant for Azeroth, before I was taken away from it.

[arcanepower]

How long have you been rehearsing that, I wonder?

[indirection]

You wound me! I am nothing if not genuine.

[he siiiighs. Resistance from the natives of Azeroth is to be expected, of course. He'll just have to work harder, clearly.]

Please, just give me a chance.

[arcanepower]

Oh, you said please.

[He continues to glare a bit.]

Here is a tip, from someone who has lived in Quel'thalas for some time: anyone who says 'I am nothing if not genuine' is most likely not being genuine.

Others may be entertained and perhaps swayed by your pretty words and elegant manner, but those are tools used by politicians to gain favor and blind the weak-minded. Even I know that.

[indirection]

Aren't you a sharp young man. [he takes a step forward. STILL SMILING.] If words won't do, I suppose actions will have to suffice. Just give me time, hm?

[arcanepower]

[He's sharp and tough, displayed prominently in the way he TAKES A GIGANTIC STEP BACK.]

... It will be interesting to watch.

[indirection]

I hope so. I do love to entertain.

[arcanepower]

What else do you love to do? Pluck unsuspecting adventurers off the hills like sheep?

[indirection]

[He leans forward, his grin widening to show maximum teeth.]

Oh, absolutely. That's my morning exercise. Their screams as I slowly devour them are so musical.

OMG DYING

[arcanepower]

[Belthazar is doing long neck reaction.png as much as he can without like, falling over backwards. BUT THEN THERE IS TEETH and he is unable to keep from yelping.

He tosses a meat bun at Wrathion's face and tries to duck into the crowd because FUCK THIS NOISE]

[indirection]

[Wrathion catches the bun handily, then takes a big bite. Well, it's not great, and it's overcooked, but it'll do. He waves as Belthazar flees, calling.]

Thank you kindly for breakfast. I hope to see you again soon!