ｉｎｉｔｉａｔｅｓ ＮＰＣｓ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
initiatesnpc) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2012-06-23 09:04 am
initiatesnpc) wrote in exsiliumlogs2012-06-23 09:04 am
TEMPORAL TURBULENCE: AUSTRALIA&ENGLAND
Date & Time: 2214 A.D./1890 A.D.
Location: Assorted
Characters: Eridan, Feferi, Hope, John Watson, Kaidan, Martin Septim, Riku, Shepard, Sollux, Sora, Vanille
Summary: Group #2's adventures spent lost in time.
Warnings: Violence, possible torture (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 eleven remained. Eleven, and an Initiative's operative, who was immediately aware of a problem. A big problem.
AUSTRALIA, 2214 A.D.
Right away, it was wrong. The climate, the landscape...Wrong for England on so many levels.
The unmanned fighter jet streaking across the sky in the distance only made it more certain.
There was an air of tension about; an unspoken oppression that would only make itself more palpable as the party moved from its initial landing site. The goal had been England, but they were in the New British Kingdom — English by extension. Australia was the stockpile, hoarding some of the most dangerous weapons and warriors the world had to offer at the time, and the world was starved for it.
War.
ENGLAND, 1890 A.D.
At last.
The Initiative operative would nearly collapse with relief, finding the instruments ringing true with their destination. This was it. They were finally in the right place, the right time...
Now, to find the right man.
Harvey Graham-Wellington, the data stated. The writer, the one to whom all time travel as the world knew it ought to bend a knee. Though, for now, it wasn't even on paper. It had to be. Whatever calamity was to befall the man and hinder him from this task was what these soldiers had to hinder.
No time to waste.
Location: Assorted
Characters: Eridan, Feferi, Hope, John Watson, Kaidan, Martin Septim, Riku, Shepard, Sollux, Sora, Vanille
Summary: Group #2's adventures spent lost in time.
Warnings: Violence, possible torture (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 eleven remained. Eleven, and an Initiative's operative, who was immediately aware of a problem. A big problem.
Right away, it was wrong. The climate, the landscape...Wrong for England on so many levels.
The unmanned fighter jet streaking across the sky in the distance only made it more certain.
There was an air of tension about; an unspoken oppression that would only make itself more palpable as the party moved from its initial landing site. The goal had been England, but they were in the New British Kingdom — English by extension. Australia was the stockpile, hoarding some of the most dangerous weapons and warriors the world had to offer at the time, and the world was starved for it.
War.
At last.
The Initiative operative would nearly collapse with relief, finding the instruments ringing true with their destination. This was it. They were finally in the right place, the right time...
Now, to find the right man.
Harvey Graham-Wellington, the data stated. The writer, the one to whom all time travel as the world knew it ought to bend a knee. Though, for now, it wasn't even on paper. It had to be. Whatever calamity was to befall the man and hinder him from this task was what these soldiers had to hinder.
No time to waste.