transport log » ❝ welcome to Exsilium ❞

[initiates]

Date & Time: Sept 23rd, 2012.
Location: The Initiative Hold & Courtyard.
Characters: Everyone.
Summary: New Transports have all arrived and have been shuffled into the Courtyard after their initial briefings.
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. "This isn't standard," she's saying, walking perhaps faster than most of the people she's dragging around. "We don't normally have so many Transports at once. 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. 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. 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

[ofthegrey]

"Precisely." As for the rest of it, he's not completely convinced he has gone anywhere or that it's real at all. He has first-hand experience with how real certain things can seem in the Fade. If there is a powerful demon or spirit at work, it could show him anything it wished for him to see. He'd have little chance of breaking free on his own, until his life force was so drained that there would be no saving him back home. He suspects there may be no saving him back home regardless.

"Wishful thinking. I'll readily admit it." No, the currency issue is the very least of things. "That sounds like a dreadful arrangement. For thieves." He wouldn't have been able to make any sort of living on the streets in a world like that. Who would have thought something could ever make him grateful for Val Royeaux?

He bows slightly at the waist. Water drips from his beard and the end of his nose to hit the pavement. "Blaine, it has been a pleasure. I'm going to continue trying to see what I can find that may be of use. I'll contact you later if I find anything of real interest." He taps the tucked device.

[strategic_guile]

There was nothing like the Fade or even virtual reality that was indistinguishable from real life in his world for him not to believe what he saw. Powerful narcotics might produce these effects, but he'd wake up soon enough if that were the case.

"Exactly right. I've got not problems giving money, but I don't want someone to take it." Blaine was thoroughly soaked himself and pushed his hair back with a run of his fingers through it. Here's to hoping he didn't catch a cold. "Likewise, Duncan. Call me if you have problems with that," and he pointed at the tablet tucked away.

[ofthegrey]

"Thank you. I shall, and well met." With a final slight bow, he eases off into the milling crowd. He feels slightly better if for no other reason than he understands something more, a tool of dubious but not worthless value, and has started to make tenuous connections that could prove beneficial down the line. It's a beginning.