exsiliumlogs | (no subject)

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[~~pardon him while this hobbit (and most hobbits) are new to this CONSTANT DANGER, YOUR HOME IS NEVER SAFE thing~~]

You're right, though I wonder if home shall be the same should we ever return to it. [he doesn't mean the return from Exsilium to Middle-Earth; it has been on his mind since Mordor's reach could be felt in the Shire

He looks up at the reassuring touch. He feels tired and old]

Again, you speak in riddles, and I would ask you don't when it comes to Gandalf. How can his story continue?

[~~at least it won't last long!! ...after the scouring, anyway. aragorn got you covered.~~]

It will, Frodo Baggins. In time, it will be. [for one who has endured enough of sauron's corruption in his home, whether by fate or by the will of his own people, his home will be returned to how it used to be, until the age of elves fades completely. for hobbits.. he has more hope for them.]

I am told he fought with Durin's Bane, and he was defeated. Yet his spirit was sent back, I would guess, until his task is finished. [a quiet moment, his gaze dropped, before he looks up again.] Though I know not what difference it will make, I fear I should say no more than this. But have faith, Frodo Baggins. A wizard does not die so easily.

[..someone tell that to saruman.]

[he hopes that is true; a day has not gone by where he has not wondered about the Shire]

I hope you are right, Legolas.

[Frodo listens as Legolas continues about Gandalf, puzzled but a faint hope has begun to hesitantly take root.]

So you mean to say that...he lives? I must know, please!

[he tries not to laugh-- it's mean, and rude, but it is good news that he has, hopefully.]

He does, Frodo, he lives. Though I am uncertain when or where in your journey you will meet him again, know that he is alive.

[some of the weariness and grief that has begun to line Frodo's face, ever since Moria seems to ease]

Thank you. Even if we never see each other again before the Quest finds its end, at least Gandalf lives.

[he's glad, for that. it's been some time since he's seen a frodo baggins unwearied, by worries or by task.]

Aye, at least he lives. Though I am not yet there, I believe that there will be an end, and for the better.