transport log » ❝ welcome to Exsilium ❞

[initiates]

Date: January 3rd
Location: The Initiative Hold & Courtyard.
Characters: Everyone.
Summary: New Transports have all arrived and have been led to a banquet room within the Hold.
Warnings: None.

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

[for_guild_justice]

[Well, at least he gets one term right. He hasn't met that many elves in his time, more the Gate Runes War rather than the more recent Dunan Unification war. Still, he relaxes a little a the confirmation.]

It's... another name in my world for elves. They are known to be pale, fine and fair, which I assume is where the term is coined from.

[What is he? He shrugs.]

A human. Is that a problem?

[curufinwe]

[ Feanor nods, speaking an 'I see...' to the explanation on the term, but at the statement of what the other is, he lifts an eyebrow. ]

Should it be? There are no humans in my world.

[ Yet, though he doesn't know this, well... yet. ]

[for_guild_justice]

[He frowns at that, finding the idea of no humans in a world very odd. He supposes he shouldn't judge, and he wonders if what he knows applies to what this elf is.]

So you don't even know what I am then. It doesn't matter. According to my world, humans don't live nearly as long as elves, tend to start too many wars, and breed like overgrown cut-rabbits.

[curufinwe]

[ Feanor's lips twist in an amused smirk at that description. ]

Sounds like an... interesting species - and one to be wary of.

[for_guild_justice]

[Well, who better than to describe his own species anyway?]

Well, at least you won't be disappointed when it all comes true to form.

[curufinwe]

I suppose not. [ He pauses. ]

Tell me, human. Do you have a name?

[for_guild_justice]

[Well, a name is better than being called 'human' all the time.]

It's Clive. Yours, elf?

[curufinwe]

Fëanaro.

[ One name for one name. Besides, of his names it is the one Feanor prefers most - and in his own world it is the one he is best known by, albeit in a language he does not yet know exists. ]

Well - if damply - met, I suppose.