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exsiliumlogs2012-06-23 08:33 am
initiatesnpc) wrote in exsiliumlogs2012-06-23 08:33 am
TEMPORAL TURBULENCE: STONEHENGE&WOODSTOCK
Date & Time: 3089 B.C./1969 A.D.
Location: Assorted
Characters: Anders, Anora, Castiel, Lea, Mukhari, Nathaniel, Raven, Roslyn
Summary: Group #1's adventures spent lost in time.
Warnings: Drugs and hippie nudity?? (notify Elle or Liz of anything else worthy of labeling)
The mission was set. Team members were given their equipment: The cloaking devices would acclimate to the area and disguise them based on the historical data pulled in. There was a weapons check: The Initiative was insistent about having those chosen weapons along for the ride. Four operatives were introduced as beacons: They would stay in contact with the Initiative and relay any alterations in plans until the mission was deemed a success. And it had to be a success, or disaster would be the only thing left.
1890 A.D.
There was a man, not very well-known as far as famous men go. A writer. His existence alone was not the significant factor in the timeline's disturbance, but his profession and his choice to tell a particular, peculiar story.
This man, the Initiative states, helped sow the seeds for modern time travel centuries before its prime. What was a captivating fiction in that man's time was the reality of today, and without his account of the Time Traveler, there was risk of the very existence of so much. The recruits absolutely have a stake in this.
To the export room — the massive, rather bare and bleak place where so many were to exit and put a stop to what was putting a stop to the writer's tale. It was as yet unclear, but the Initiative is certain they'll know it when they see it, that it will be revealed once their reluctant soldiers set foot on ancient soil.
One last check, one last insistence on the urgency of their task. One, final urging to avoid as direct an impact as possible without ruining their chances; keep your temporal footprint as light as you can.
Good luck. We're counting on you.
A flash, a bitten-back breath, a blink...The room was gone.
But this wasn't right.
Out of the many who were assigned, only eight remained. Eight, and an Initiative's operative, who was immediately aware of a problem. A big problem.
STONEHENGE, 3089 B.C.
They had made it to England, all right, but far too soon. This was an ancient place, so far lost to history the cloaking devices struggled to attribute safe disguises. It was a cloudy place in the timeline, where the things they knew about it were things they were going to know about it: Those nine lost people were to bear witness to things never remembered, but often fantasized, of a monument so wildly famous in the future.
WOODSTOCK, 1969 A.D.
The Initiative's attempts to recalibrate and move its soldiers to the right place in time had another hiccup, and the nine were once again off the mark. An overshoot — nearly a century too far and an ocean away.
Luckily (or unfortunately), their issued technology quickly recovered to suit the time it had ample information on. Beads, tie-dye, hemp, denim...There were mountains of books on this time. This place. This mother of all music events.
From Stonehenge to stoners. It was hardly the smoothest of transitions.
Location: Assorted
Characters: Anders, Anora, Castiel, Lea, Mukhari, Nathaniel, Raven, Roslyn
Summary: Group #1's adventures spent lost in time.
Warnings: Drugs and hippie nudity?? (notify Elle or Liz of anything else worthy of labeling)
The mission was set. Team members were given their equipment: The cloaking devices would acclimate to the area and disguise them based on the historical data pulled in. There was a weapons check: The Initiative was insistent about having those chosen weapons along for the ride. Four operatives were introduced as beacons: They would stay in contact with the Initiative and relay any alterations in plans until the mission was deemed a success. And it had to be a success, or disaster would be the only thing left.
1890 A.D.
There was a man, not very well-known as far as famous men go. A writer. His existence alone was not the significant factor in the timeline's disturbance, but his profession and his choice to tell a particular, peculiar story.
This man, the Initiative states, helped sow the seeds for modern time travel centuries before its prime. What was a captivating fiction in that man's time was the reality of today, and without his account of the Time Traveler, there was risk of the very existence of so much. The recruits absolutely have a stake in this.
To the export room — the massive, rather bare and bleak place where so many were to exit and put a stop to what was putting a stop to the writer's tale. It was as yet unclear, but the Initiative is certain they'll know it when they see it, that it will be revealed once their reluctant soldiers set foot on ancient soil.
One last check, one last insistence on the urgency of their task. One, final urging to avoid as direct an impact as possible without ruining their chances; keep your temporal footprint as light as you can.
Good luck. We're counting on you.
A flash, a bitten-back breath, a blink...The room was gone.
But this wasn't right.
Out of the many who were assigned, only eight remained. Eight, and an Initiative's operative, who was immediately aware of a problem. A big problem.
They had made it to England, all right, but far too soon. This was an ancient place, so far lost to history the cloaking devices struggled to attribute safe disguises. It was a cloudy place in the timeline, where the things they knew about it were things they were going to know about it: Those nine lost people were to bear witness to things never remembered, but often fantasized, of a monument so wildly famous in the future.
The Initiative's attempts to recalibrate and move its soldiers to the right place in time had another hiccup, and the nine were once again off the mark. An overshoot — nearly a century too far and an ocean away.
Luckily (or unfortunately), their issued technology quickly recovered to suit the time it had ample information on. Beads, tie-dye, hemp, denim...There were mountains of books on this time. This place. This mother of all music events.
From Stonehenge to stoners. It was hardly the smoothest of transitions.
no subject
It really is. [ a beat, and then she manages to drag up the remembrance that they're on a mission. ] How's the mission coming?
no subject
It's not coming along at all. None of us has any idea why we're here, or what we're supposed to be doing. According to the operative who came with us, we're nowhere near where we're supposed to be.
no subject
They'll probably figure it out eventually.
no subject
You're not worried that we won't make it back?
no subject
It's not my area of expertise. I don't know what I can really do but be hopeful we'll make it back all right.
no subject
[Giving up control, what is that?]
no subject
[ Something Roslyn learned to do young and then unlearned. ]
no subject
[Except for the crazed druids who kidnapped Pounce and Lea, and wreathed them in mistletoe. They didn't have anything like that in Ferelden.]
no subject
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[He gestures towards the large stage some ways away]
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[ a curious glance at him. ] You've never heard of it before?
no subject
There's nothing like this in Thedas. I've listened to a bit of the music from this world, but it was... calmer.
no subject
What's Thedas like?
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Primitive, compared to this place and Exsilium. We don't have electric lighting, or computers, or cars. The country I'm from, Ferelden, is fairly rural. Lots of flatland, with low, rolling hills.
[His lips quirk into a smile.]
Most foreigners describe Ferelden as smelling like "a wet dog."
no subject
That's not a very flattering description.
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Maybe not, but I loved it there. The wide expanses of land, and the rolling hills dotting the horizon. No tainted water, no smoke coming from cars. Animals everywhere. It was beautiful.
no subject
It was nice, but I had electricity. I'd miss it.
no subject
Even after only having been in Exsilium for a few months, I think it would be hard for me to adjust if I ever returned home. Being able to turn on cold air at the turn of a dial is definitely nice. [He smiles.]
no subject
[ She casts him an almost roguish smile. ]
Want to go check out the concern more up close?
no subject
I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.
[He stands slowly and offers his hand to Roslyn.]
no subject
Not only will it not hurt, it will be loads of fun.
no subject
Fun isn't really something I have a lot of experience with.
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I learned more... formal... dances. My mother made me attend a lot of balls when I was younger.
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Okay, no, this isn't anything like that. Dancing here, it's less about rhythm, more about just throwing yourself out there. [ Dancing is something she'll always continue liking, if she doesn't get to it quite as often once she grows up. ]