here they talked of revolution, here it was they lit the flame

[initiates]

Date: October 1st
Location: The Observatory.
Characters: Everyone.
Summary: New Transports arrive and are shuffled into the Observatory for the show of the year. Initial briefings are very brief this time around, and that Greeter just won't stop crying.
Warnings: new confused people and old sad people??

Your arrival here has been very unceremonious. One second you were somewhere else, and now, very suddenly, your feet hit the glowing white of the Transporter pad, and you're here. You aren't alone, either. There's a crowd of others around you, each seeming just as bewildered, angry, or confused as you might feel. At the head of the group is a woman in purple robes, with eyes red as if she'd just finished crying. She hurries over a quick overview of your intended purpose here, and gives direct answers when asked for them, but to most things she simply shows you how to access the tablet you've just been given. There, you can find the history of this place and a record of what your new cohorts have experienced — although it won't have Network access for another 8 hours. Someone stands on hand to give you a weapon, and though the armory is now greatly reduced, you should be able to find something to suit you.

You're shepherded down a walkway tunnel and into the Observatory, where you will find screens mounted on three sides of the wide room. The only lighting comes from dull red emergency lights, and the scenes of a dreary, rainy city from various cameras up on the screens; the largest of the screens opens up to a view of Earth from a good distance away -- this one isn't a screen at all, you might realize, but a window. As you watch, all screens in the room fill with light, impossibly bright. It consumes the buildings, the people, everything. There is no sound played, perhaps mercifully, only that white light -- and then nothing.

Through the large window, there's a pinprick of light over one of the landmasses on the blue planet. It grows to a tiny blossom and then dies away, but a cloud begins to mushroom outward in the same spot. It pushes the natural clouds out of the way, claiming that small portion of the world and wrapping it in a uniform gray.

Strings of numbers begin to fill the blanked out screens as the base's AI begins collecting data and calculations, but the show seems to be over. You're free to explore the base, visit and use any of the VR rooms, or discover your new room and roommates, but try not to step out of any airlocks if oxygen is a requirement for your system.

Welcome to the moon base, with front row seats to the grave of Exsilium.

[[ooc; reminder! The Network will be down for 8 hours after the wave of new Transports.]]

Comments

Altaïr ibn La-Ahad | Assassin's Creed | Open baby~

[theflyingone]

[ The stars outside are disorienting. Altaïr is a man from a time where people still debate whether the Sun circles around the Earth. From the shouts and conversations in the Observatory, he has gathered that a great catastrophe has befallen their blue planet. He wouldn't have known what he was looking at otherwise.

Altaïr is still getting used to the idea that people can leave it in the first place. He is on the moon.

He has found an ally in this strange, cold, dead place, a woman he met once before in his own world. He counts his blessings. However, this is beyond the realm of anything he imagined he'd encounter in his lifetime. He does what he can, having finagled the translation function on his tablet, mapped out the corridors in his head, all while passing a watchful gaze on everyone. He realizes that he doesn't know who is part of the Initiative, and who is a captive like him. He hopes that he will not have to draw his blade in order to free himself and others. But if it comes to that, there will be no hesitation.

Altaïr explores everywhere, memorizes everything. If anyone needs directions, he has them. He is dressed strangely: a hood and white robes dusty from travel, and an array of sharp weapons. In spite of his own clothes looking nothing like anyone else's, he is interested in remaining unassuming. Coolly he observes all the tics that define each passing person from beneath the shadow of his hood. He wanders the halls, keeps near the walls in rooms, sits on benches in the cafeteria (and makes a face when he tastes what passes for coffee there).

He can wait patiently, as he does when stalking targets... but part of him is almost livid. Altaïr risked his life to free those trapped against their will. Now, he is a captive himself. ]

[aheroipray]

[ after a little while of wandering about, rubbing tired and red-rimmed eyes (she supposed being empathic was a curse, as well) allumette's knelt down against the wall of the hallway, bringing her chocobo with her and letting him curl up. out of her satchel, she took out a green, crisp head of gyshal greens, feeding him gently and patiently and petting his beak. her tablet serves as a plate for the greens she's already broken off. poor thing was probably shellshocked. (she was too, but she was an adventurer--she'd taken down primals before, she'd taken down ifrit, she'd be okay.)

she raised her eyes, feeling a prickle down her spine, looking over her shoulder.

how had she missed that strange figure? ]

Is there aught I can do for you?

[theflyingone]

No.

[ No, that is his usual response. And, no, it isn't what he means at all. Altaïr has even less reason to trust people around here, and yet... all the more reason to do just that. These circumstances are more than just foreign; they're worlds away.

He isn't surprised that she didn't take notice of him right away. His footfalls are quiet out of habit, and since arrival he felt discretion would be the wisest path. He'd been blending in, just a blade in the crowd. ]

...I suppose you can tell me what that creature is.

[ It's not like any bird he's ever seen. ]

[aheroipray]

[ she glances over to cloudline as the chocobo curls and sets his head down, smiling as she sees his eyes close. chocobos are scared little things, but even terror can tire someone out. looking back to altaïr, hands folded in her lap neatly, she speaks. ]

A chocobo. He is my mount, and he is named Cloudline.

[ a light pause. ]

Seems to be that chocobos do not exist in this 'Earth' place. I imagine they don't exist where you come from, either.

[ quietly; ]

New experiences for us all, it seems.

[theflyingone]

[ He shakes his head, agreeing with the fact that he hasn't seen anything like this bird mount, on Earth or on the moon. He hopes the Initiative had the foresight to collect feed for any animals that were taken as well. Occupying his mind with little things like that is helping keep him grounded. It helps to do that when one finds themselves on the moon. ]

I did not wish to come here. I had business back home. What advantage does this Initiative think they'll have, throwing together an army of people who share no common goal, other than to leave?

[ His displeasure is showing. Talking to strangers about this instead of remaining silent and discreet. ]

[aheroipray]

I suppose they think that they'll find, in the pile of those who want to go home, those who have nothing to lose by fighting their cause.

Perhaps they think there are some that will help out of wanting to help.

[ she cracks the stem of the greens once more before she covers them up with a thin cloth, tucking them back in her bag. ]

Not very good advantages, but advantages. From what I've heard, they are hopeless if not for the help of this makeshift army.

[theflyingone]

That does not change the fact that we are being held against our will. Take everything from a man, and he may well give you loyalty. That is the way slavers think.

[ It's not hard to tell that Altaïr's a little offended by being whisked from his world and conscripted like this. After all, didn't he just get done with a whole summer's worth of freeing slaves slated to become brainwashed and sent to help the Templars' secret war? And after that, assassinating the high ranking officials in charge of that atrocity... ]

"...and that's why I started making you keep your dirty socks outside the tent."

[givetheslip]

[With the story of their mutual adventures told, Maria feels no small measure relief as she walks the corridors with Altaïr. Despite her own lengthier experience in this world, she doesn't know her way around the base any better than he does, and she tries to memorize it as best she can. It doesn't help that it all looks similar to her eyes. Blasted Initiative. She'd prefer the endless rain.

Glancing at her companion, she tries to set petulant thoughts aside. She's told him what she knows of his future, but that doesn't mean she's told him everything. But how to start?]

This place...it's strange, isn't it? And I thought it was odd when I found myself in a city besieged by rain, down there.

"If you did as much running around as i do, you wouldn't complain."

[theflyingone]

[ Altaïr had the benefit of being instructed on the customs and practices of any new places he'd travel to. When he arrived, he was also able to take some time and observe the people and the streets. Being on Earth would have definitely been preferable to suddenly waking up on a glowing platform on the moon. Some part of him wonders if the Apple didn't addle his mind when he looked at its pretty light show. ]

I heard that city was destroyed. It seems we must adapt, but when do things ever go as planned? I have been trained to suspect that something will go wrong.

[ Yes, perhaps his mind was addled. Already he is talking to someone he'd crossed blades with days ago, as if she is an ally. His other eyes do not lie, but that doesn't stop it from feeling a little strange. It's almost as if she is a different person. ]

[givetheslip]

[If she knew what he was thinking, Maria would have assured him he was at least in good company. Anyone who fled the Earth itself to the skies above had to be addled, to come up with the very idea.]

The city and beyond, I expect. I can't even imagine the destruction.

[Her expression grows sad for a few moments. Even if all the Transports were successfully brought to the base, people died. There's no way around it. Beyond that, so much of what people had worked for is so much dust now. She tries to shake it off before she can grow too morose, though.]

Altaïr...there is something else you should know. Did anyone explain to you that from time to time, people have been known to vanish, seemingly returned to their homes—and that they can be brought back again?

[theflyingone]

[ He watches her face. He's still somewhat on alert, at first because he thought she was an enemy, and now mostly because he's in captivity. He can't fail to notice her sadness. Her compassion is touching. It reminds him of the way he felt about so many of the wrongs he witnessed, before his empathy turned instead to a cold anger in his chest. When he was young, he used to share warmth with others, before he was taught not to. Al Mualim considered it a weakness.

He's not sure what to say, and leaves Maria to continue filling his silence. ]

By now, I expect anything is possible. Does the Initiative purposefully cause them to vanish, or do they simply escape?

[givetheslip]

[She shrugs, wishing she could explain this part, and a little annoyed that she can't.]

I've never had occasion to question the Initiative on this, and I'm not sure I'd trust their answer if I had. Those who return claim that they did nothing to cause it, but there's no way to know for sure. And some return and don't remember ever having been here.

[She pauses for a moment, not sure how he'll take this.]

You're one of them.

[theflyingone]

[ Just when he thought he had gained a bit of wisdom in the last few months! He's almost seething. His dark eyes blaze with indignation. ]

And I was fool enough to be captured again?

[ His mind races with questions. What happened to his memories? What did he do while he was here? Did he escape? How is this even possible? He lowers his voice, but it is still harsh with confusion. ]

You are right, I don't remember a damn thing. If the others found a way to escape, I doubt they will remember either.

[praevikaan]

[There are characteristics unique to predators that she has often observed in the wilds and in herself and others like her. There are many hunters in Ambegonza, and fusiri are the fiercest carnivores in the Hab. There is a reason that they are left to those who have extensive training and not slaughtered wholesale as Prithee would have done had they conquered Ambegonza a century past. She has heard stories of a single creature ripping the smaller boroughs to shreds, slaughtering dozens in a rage.

But she has seen them at peace, also. They act as if they are never alone, but there is a quality to them, a stillness. The smallest noise will coil their muscles and bare their fangs in alertness, but they act as if they see and know everything that happens in their domain. Hunters are trained, in pursuit of the fusiri, to blend in with that domain as much as possible. To disturb little, and leave no trace of their passage.

But others do not often understand that. In Shazahd, everyone is concerned with being loud and messy. As loud and messy as possible, to secure the attention of those around them. It is troublesome and tiresome both. She would rather-- observe.

As this man seems to be doing.

She cannot be certain. She has her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee and she's perched on a bench, and she too is watching those that come and go. Learning. There are snippets of English drifting past, and she commits to memory what she can. Shazahd was not built in a day, but necessity does breed invention. She can learn, and she hopes it will be sufficient to help her here.

But he interests her. Perhaps because others are ignoring him almost as they are her. Inconspicuous. A learned talent, not something taught. She tilts her head to one side, and on a whim she gathers up her mug (it is awful, compared to what comes from the west, but it is all they have and she will not complain) and goes to stand in front of him. Her tablet at the ready for translation although her first statement is in heavily accented English,]

You-- are watching?

[theflyingone]

[ One has no idea how easy it is to pass unnoticed in the cities – unless they have done it themselves. It was easier when he had the lay of the land, memorized every street from atop high towers and minarets. An entirely new way of moving around was opened to him the day he climbed his first roof. Up high, one could see all. It was the way eagles hunted, and the Assassins often used birds as signs and insignias. Did not the name of their fortress mean "eagle's nest"?

The Assassins performed their work in broad daylight, taking out corrupt officials in full sight of the people around them. Yet they melted into the shadows right afterward. The results of their work were enough to secure the right kind of attention, and the fruits of their training did well to prevent the wrong kind. Altaïr was taught to hide in plain sight, a blade in the crowd.

From what he has overheard, almost no one speaks the languages he knows. At best, they speak a mangled future version. He keeps his tablet on and ready, for overheard conversations were a way to gather knowledge. Altaïr eyes her carefully from beneath his hood. This person has singled him out, approaching with a quiet step like his. That does not bode well. He does not move, but the cords of his muscles tighten a little. He answers in his native tongue, the Arabic coloring his translated words with an accent. ]

What else is there to do? I do not see this invisible enemy we have been told to fight.

[ He is skeptical of the Initiative at best, hostile at worst. They took him against his will, did they not? ]

[praevikaan]

[She tilts her head. His language is... familiar. Zekelue? Almost. She mentally relays his words - the ones truly spoken, not translated - in her head. Yes, she can pick out similarities, mostly in regards to sentence structure, but it is not a language she's overly familiar with. Of the nine trading tongues in the Hab, she knows only three. Clearly an area she should have given further consideration. But it is closer than anything else she's heard so far to something familiar.

She wonders if this man might teach her, if she asked. She always has loved linguistics.]

Did you watch? That-- [someone else had used the word] -- bomb? Perhaps we need only patience, to strike.

[theflyingone]

[ Similarly, there are many dialects of Arabic where Altaïr comes from. His in particular is the Levantine variety spoken in the Holy Land during the 4th Crusade. Perhaps later, he will make a friend and teach them some of the words of his childhood, as well as the other languages he knows. But not now, not when he is so on edge.

He had picked up on conversations after he'd left the Observatory. This "bomb" sounded like an especially powerful Greek fire, enough to obliterate a city. Such madness befits war.

Altaïr flexes the fingers of one hand, a little restless from his arrival, but he speaks with the directness of a focused man. ]

It is troubling that there exist tools than can destroy a city in one blow. I will avoid them. I have patience enough. It is purpose that is the problem. Our captors see fit to dictate it to me when I am unwilling. Have they told you the same, that you must fight for them?

[praevikaan]

[She tilts her head to one side, as if listening to more than what he's saying with words alone.]

Yes. But I do not mind so much. If they need help, why should I not give it if I am able? I may disagree with their methods of bringing me here, but that is no reason to deny them my aid. One sometimes must do distasteful things to achieve results.

[It seems a practical enough circumstance in her mind. In lieu of having the manpower to stage an effective counterattack, why not bring in outsiders? They have the technology and it seems at one point the resources to manage. And they have been kind enough, here. Anyone powerful enough to pull people across universes from their homes could just as easily put them all in cages.]

[theflyingone]

[ She listens with a cocked head, much like the birds he so often saw on rooftops. ]

I like to be able to choose the distasteful things I do.

[ Altaïr is not convinced. He is aware that cages come in all sorts of forms. A man he had trusted had recently betrayed him, and that man had kept him in line with his silver tongue; spinning circles and hoops for Altaïr to busy himself with while treachery went unnoticed. A cage is not always made of iron bars. ]

[originalgaangster]

[ Sokka is wandering the cafeteria, munching indolently on whatever the meal of the day is when he spots the strangely dressed man on one of the benches. Weird, Sokka had almost looked right over him as if he weren't there. But it's the weapons that catch his eye. Swords are something he has an appreciation for, especially if the one slung over his shoulder is any indication. He strolls closer to the older man and raises a hand. ]

Hey! That's a pretty nice looking sword you've got there.

And. Other stuff, too.

[ Now that he looks closer, this guy has a LOT of weapons. Cool. ]

[theflyingone]

[ By now he is used to encountering strangely dressed people and even stranger tongues, which necessitated keeping his tablet always on. Of all the foreign things to happen to him here in so short a time, this is... oddly familiar. It's like being approached by another novice newly initiated into the order. Yes, of course it's a nice-looking sword; he earned it, along with his rank. Though an old part of him may swell with pride, he has half a mind to tell this boy that it took years of hard training, and his gawking is embarrassing them both. ]

Trapped as we are, I doubt a sword will do much good.

[ As far as he knows, only the Initiative has the knowledge of how to transport them back to where they came from. Fighting anyone here on the moon seems pointless. ]

[originalgaangster]

[ Sokka shrugs at the older man's response. Sword might be useless in some ways, but he's not going to let that get him down. He seems oblivious to the other's gruff manner, at least for the moment. ]

A sword might not be much good, but the most important part of a swordsman is his mind.

[ He learned well from Piandao. He he hopes he did, anyway. He lets his own sword hand long his side, fingers tapping idly against the scabbard. ]

Besides, you never know when something might be useful.

[theflyingone]

[ At least this guy who acted like a novice was not a total simpleton. Altaïr nodded once. ]

It is the mind that dictates one's actions. And I am thankful I have at least that, here.

[ Recently encountering nearly all of the inhabitants of his home village wandering around as brainwashed thralls had done nothing to increase his trust in others. He is indeed thankful the Initiative isn't controlling everyone with the power of ancient artifacts. That would be troublesome. ]

Being prepared is something I intend to do at all times. I may not be able to draw my blade in many places without undesirable consequences, but I intend to keep it close.

[ And, it helped to have smaller blades than the longsword, for stealthier activities. ]

Now with less borked html

[originalgaangster]

How's that saying go? Keep your friends closer and your enemies closer? I dunno if that applies here, really...

[ He rubs his chin, feeling suddenly awkward int he older man's presence. ]

But, uh, I was wondering if you ever wanted to spar some time. Or maybe just. You know, discuss sword pointers. _{Heh, "pointers."} I've got a lot to learn and I'm always looking for teachers.

POINTERS vfdklishflsj sokka pls

[theflyingone]

It is wise to keep close to enemies, yes. [ ...close enough to stab them at the right time, that is. ] That is best done when they do not know you are there.

[ He bristles, though his version of bristling in public reveals little more than a tensing of muscles and furrowing of his brow. ]

I did not come here to teach. I was brought against my will, and I intend to return to my land as soon as I find a way out. And anyway [ he relents ] the first thing I would teach is not to do with the sword.

[ Though, it is related. Learning to use one's eyes and move about quickly helped him take down his targets. ]