TEMPORAL TURBULENCE: BRAZIL&NORWAY

[initiatesnpc]

Date & Time: Brazil, 1200 A.D./Norway, 1201 A.D.
Location: Assorted
Characters: Alistair, Bariyan, Chloe, Martin Darkov, Natasha, Robin, Sark
Summary: Group #4's adventures spent lost in time.
Warnings: Violence? (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 seven remained. Seven, and an Initiative's operative, who was immediately aware of a problem. A big problem.


BRAZIL, 1200 A.D.

The village the eight found themselves in was in no way even close to the one they were targeting. Already, the cloaking devices were fumbling to find disguises to suit, lacking the historical data for an appropriate match for an undiscovered Brazil. Historically undiscovered, anyway; if the ghost city they had arrived in was anything to go by, humans were not strangers to this land.

But it was empty. Birdsong echoed off great stone structures, some decorated, some bare, but all vacant. There's a faint scent in the air of salt from an unseen but not-so-distant ocean, and a thick, heavy humidity causing a sweat right away.

Over six centuries too far back, the data relays. And no answer as to how to get back.



NORWAY, 1201 A.D.

The heat is very suddenly gone, replaced with a breath-stealing cold. There is snow to the ankles and a sharp wind blasting through. Mid-gust, the party has arrived in a land so far away from the last, but barely a blink away in time.

One whole year. The dismay in the operative's report cannot be disguised, nor was there any attempt to. Whatever was going on with the equipment back at the Hold was serious trouble.

Speaking of serious trouble. Unlike the first, there were no quiet and empty cities to wonder at; this frozen land was very much alive, filled with the scattered shapes of horses and ironclad men racing to a location unseen in this bone-chilling darkness. Flickers of firelight on metal, the loud whinny of a horse and a man's shout straining to echo far...Something was certainly up.

Comments

[stonefaith]

"That doesn't matter," Bariyan said. "I'm sure they'll hurt all the same."

And I? He wondered. What would I do? Neither good nor strong, barely even alive, less than the sliver of a heart left in him.... Not even enough to know if his words were fueled by something genuine, or by some blurry ideal that meant little to nothing at all.

"I just hope you realize that death is a very permanent thing. That's a hurt your family won't recover from," Bariyan said. Then he smiled, the expression cold and frozen. His fist unclenched.

[theguideless]

Martin lifted his eyes up and stared dimly back at Bariyan. What did it matter? All Bariyan wanted to do was get rid of him. And why?

Someone has to. He said so. Some kind of obligation. A fetter. And in that way, it was like family. In all the ways he was not — blood, work, upbringing...There was, at least, that. Having to deal with a burden like Martin Darkov because someone has to.

"It won't hurt much," he said, though the strength of his voice had already withered before saying much at all. His shoulders shrugged up, settling his cheek down against his knees, arms coiling tighter. "'ll be fine."

[stonefaith]

"Childish," Bariyan said, again, "and selfish." There was a bite in his words now, cold and bitter and grieving, but it was perhaps stronger in his voice than it was in his heart. His hands in fists again -- when had that happened?

He had more to say, a whole deluge of words, but the cold that he could not feel froze them in his throat. So for the moment Bariyan said nothing more. Let his accusations hang on the air. All the clearer and sharper for this land and weather.

And what about you?, he wondered. Had he not once felt the same way as Martin-- did he not still? He did, despite all the good that it had done him in a different life. Hypocritical, pathetic.

[theguideless]

No it's not, he thought, curling fingers against his sleeve at the shoulder. Even if it was, it wasn't. He was...almost certain of that. And even if it was, it was the only thing he had to do. So he'd do it.

But he wouldn't cough up a good enough excuse for it, that was certain. He let Bariyan's words hang there, true or not, without any open protest. They were probably true, anyway. Even if they weren't. He didn't want nor expect encouragement; didn't deserve it.

I killed three people. It's going to be four.

[stonefaith]

The cold passed. Bariyan's hands were suddenly all action, fingers stiff, ten fingers tangling into his hair, nails digging into his scalp.

"I am not saying... that you shouldn't save your sister, or that I don't believe you can. I am saying that you should not go in with this idea that--" He stopped. One palm dragging down to cover his eyes. "That your life is yours to throw away."

Whose, then? A question that Bariyan had never been able to answer, one unanswered question among a sea of others. He had not lived long enough to unravel all the queries he'd had about living.... But he held tight what he did know and what he did believe, still, even after all this time. Even if he did not want to admit to it.

"You can save her," Bariyan said, shoulders falling. "Don't die for her."

[theguideless]

It didn't make a whole lot of sense to him, half-listening, half-working it out. Martin scowled into his sleeve, hiding his face more, as if doing so would close the topic. Make it stop; it's not what he came out there for.

Why does it matter, anyway? Why on Earth Bariyan was so insistent in protecting him, wasting his time on him still eluded him. Especially since it seemed to do nothing but aggravate him so. It wasn't like he was actual family, actually obligated.

He made a sound, muffled, but unintelligible.

[stonefaith]

Hearing no coherent response, Bariyan crouched down, closer to Martin. He still loomed over the boy, but the tree overshadowed them both. As did the vast white cold of this land, as did the lights and colors still hanging in the sky. The strangeness of it all.

Bariyan frowned down at Martin's hunched shoulders.

"Are you listening to me, Darkov?"

[theguideless]

I don't want to anymore, he thought miserably, feeling his stomach do another turn. The fire under his skin was ebbing out, leaving an unpleasant feeling behind. He'd rather be numb.

Martin took more time than he needed to turn his head and peek up past his bangs at the shape Bariyan took crouched over him.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled blandly into his sleeve. So we don't have to talk about it anymore.

[stonefaith]

"Are you, now." Bariyan folded his arms over his knees, still staring, still frowning. He was beginning to wonder whether all of Martin's yessirs meant the exact opposite.

He sighed, and hung his head to turn his stare back to the snow.

"Look, Martin. I can't... I won't be there, when you return home." If you ever return home. If I can ever make good on that promise. "So I can't control what you do there. But when we're done here, when you go...."

Bariyan trailed off. His clear lines of thought had dissolved away, lost in his grip. If they were ever there at all.

He shook his head. "Think about what I've said. That's all."

[theguideless]

The second yes, sir was virtually inaudible, drowned out by Bariyan's sigh. Martin's forehead wrinkled along with his grimace, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the dead man went on talking. It would've been better had he been yelling at him, calling him out again on his stupidity.

"You don't have to be kind," he croaked, ducking his head down again.

[stonefaith]

An unhappy smile at that, hidden behind a hand. Kind. He could almost laugh. He'd tried, he'd wanted to, but he had tried for and wanted many things in his existence and made very few achievements.

"I don't think I have been kind," he said. "If that makes you feel any better." It certainly did not make Bariyan feel any better, but that was his own fault. His own doing.

[theguideless]

"No, it's..." Martin fidgeted, frowning down at the snow. "It's not...right. Watching out for me. You don't have to. Nobody's supposed to. Just Darkovs or nothing.

"And...it bothers you." He shrank back again at that. "So don't do it anymore."

[stonefaith]

Bariyan's hand fell back, over his knee, knuckles trailing against packed snow.

"It doesn't bother me." Bariyan was looking at Martin again, eyes narrowed, thoughts shifting slow through a sea of memories. Had he ever said such a thing? Or even hinted at it? Bariyan had made quite a few mistakes in his time but he did not think that was one of them. "What makes you say that?"

[theguideless]

Because you're always mad or sad or... Martin swallowed, feeling the tingle of heat on his face anew.

"M'sorry," he said to the ground. "I just...Don't think it's good. Having to go out of your way. I'm not supposed to bother anybody anyhow, but it's always getting twisted around."

[stonefaith]

"Martin. I don't have a way to 'go out' of." Bariyan reached out, hesitantly -- still remembering what had happened the last time he'd tried such a gesture -- and let his hand fall to rest on Martin's arm. "You're not a bother to me. And I doubt that you are to anyone else."

[theguideless]

The warning feeling was well dulled in the weather and Martin's mood, among other things. He simply winced in the eyes, feeling guiltier than before. See, out of the way and kind. He's doing it again. Never actually stopped.

"You don't have to," he said bleakly, certain he was arguing in futility. But he had to anyway. Trying despite the results...it's all he could do, wasn't it?

[stonefaith]

"Yes. I do." Said before, said again. What else could he do? There was nothing left to him, little other purpose in his life except to try and live up to the person that he'd once been. The person he'd once hoped to be.

"But you--" Bariyan looked up, and his eyes were sad again, empty and red, "--you have to watch out for yourself, too."

[theguideless]

No you don't, he wanted to say, but the protest just remained in a furrowed-brow pout, withered and washed out to an unhappy frown.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, defeated. "I will."

He couldn't very well save his sister as a corpse, after all.

[stonefaith]

"Please." For my sake.

All of Bariyan's doubts, his misgivings and his reluctance, it all boiled down to that one thing, didn't it? That as soon as Martin went home, he would be out of reach. Gone. Left to his own devices, his life in his own hands, so far away that Bariyan could neither help nor hurt him.

Though perhaps that would be for the best.

His teeth clenched as that thought slipped to the forefront of his mind. No. That was the way Martin thought. Bariyan would not go down that same path. It was only that he was tired, angry, barely able to string together a coherent thought.

It seemed that these days, every talk with Martin left him increasingly exhausted. And he could not even be certain that he was making a difference.

[theguideless]

"Yes, sir," he said again, a little louder. Bariyan hadn't heard, perhaps. "I'll be careful." He had to be.