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

[rescuer]

Oh! No, not exactly. Mog is a Moogle... a little creature that can transform into things like this. [ Meaning the bow. ] Sometimes he gets stuck, but he changes back eventually. [ Little does she know that's impossible here. ]

[autocratic]

Oho? He changes form according to your whims? [ She gives Serah's bow a more pointed stare, then blinks, as though she notices something. ]

If he is a spirit or some sort of magical construct as you describe him as, I should be able to sense something of that sort, yet I feel nothing from the bow.

[rescuer]

Well, according to my needs is more like it. He helps me fight when I need to. And when we're not fighting, he switches back.

[ She frowns at the assessment, looking down at the bow herself. Could it be possible that Mog had somehow separated from it? ]

Are... are you sure?

[autocratic]

[ She nods and crosses her arms. ]

If he is as attentive to your needs as you say he is, he should have responded by now. Why has he not now?

[rescuer]

...that's a good point.

[ There was really no other reason he would ignore her like this. He's simply isn't here – something she would have to accept. She looks a little worried. ]

I hope he's okay, wherever he is.

[autocratic]

Understandable as your concern is, should you not worry for yourself? If he is can transform into such an elegant weapon, perhaps there is hope for him.

[ ... Is Saber's roundabout way of trying to assuage this girl's concerns. ]

[rescuer]

[ She's silent for a moment, then nods in agreement. ]

You know, you're right. He can probably defend himself better than I can.

Thank you, um... what was your name?

[autocratic]

[ This girl has optimism, at least. Or a lot of faith. Either way, she nods and straightens her posture. ]

You may refer to me as Saber. And yours?

[rescuer]

Serah Farron. It's nice to meet you.

[autocratic]

Mmm, and to you as well! May we stand fast in the of face of being allies for the prospect of this war.