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

[iorhael]

[he leans over, studying the planes and lines of th hammer. He doesn't know much about metalsmithing or the like, or much about weapons, but it looks very well made]

[Frodo has gone a little quiet while the Elf speaks. Sometimes it seemed as if the Ring indeed have a Will of its own. Something that might be some of the Enemy and something of itself]

Some things are better left as they are, without thought or will. And you know much about this process?

does Frodo actually have the Ring here then?

[curufinwe]

Only what I have experienced and studied with my own eyes.

[ He pauses, giving Frodo a curious look. ]

I wonder if you have encountered something better left unmade.

[ By which he means he wants to know what Frodo is thinking, and something in the hobbit's expression has indicated that there is, perhaps, something more to know. ]

Yeah

[iorhael]

But you have come across it more than once, enough to study it?

[Frodo meets the look, and something seems to close off to Feanor; he's gone very reserved and noncommittal]

Well...One may call a fair number of things in their life by that, particularly parts of one's tween years, but I am curious about the matter.

[he looks down at Sting strapped to his hip, hoping to divert the subject]

If it is so draining a process, I imagine we won't all find ourselves with weapons that may think or speak.