Intro Log: Off my chest

[hadrielmods]

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for April.
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: April 10th-13th
Warnings: Newbies, explosions, and things that are definitely treasure chests and not evil monsters out to get you.

Welcome to your first day in Hadriel! Enjoy your surroundings, meet your fellow travelers, and be sure to start exploring so you can collect as much loot as possible!

On the ground around you may notice bang snaps, scattered haphazardly. Try not to step on any of them, or you might burn your feet! Feel free to gather them up and use these baby fireworks however you see fit; there are dozens strewn about on the ground. Popping them will emit clouds of smoke of various colors, and... well, not much else.

Is there anything else lurking around? Glad you asked! If you look around, you may find a few innocent-looking treasure chests. Which you know, normally means free loot- except, in Hadriel, nothing is quite the way it's advertised of course and the chests are actually dangerous mimics. Mimics- often disguised as treasure chests- are monsters with surprisingly quick movements and gaping maws filled with teeth. They exist to try and fool an unlucky traveler into thinking they've gotten something good... only to lunge at them in their moment of triumph and prove that life is actually terrible and nothing comes for free.

Good luck!

Once you've managed your daring escape from the colosseum, feel free to go explore the rest of the city! Find a house, find a new monster, or simply scavenge for supplies. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers April 10th-13th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well!
► All characters now arrive with phones that have network communication.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

Comments

Carlisle Longingmouth [open]

[tongueamok]

One second, he'd been in the base camp, trying to take a count of just how many people were left, and the next... he was gone.

With the Tranquility having fallen into the ravine, several of the crew members had taken it upon themselves to find elsewhere in the jungle to live. That was of who was left; some had simply vanished into thin air, disappearing as the ship did the same, the fog below the cliff swallowing the vessel hole. It was as though its presence had tethered them there, and without it holding them down, they'd drifted into the void, out of sight and out of existence. Those who'd remained at the camp were going to have to find a new life for themselves, or die trying.

And so Carlisle had been scavenging, looking for who and what was left. The jungle was as inhospitable as ever -- he'd paused to clean his glasses, removing them from his face to wipe them with his glove. He'd brought a hand to his eyes to quell his growing headache, putting pressure on them as he squeezed them shut and tried to drown out that heavy thudding between his temples. And when he'd opened his eyes, he'd found that the entire world had disappeared, as well.

His legs nearly gave out from under him from the shock, his mouth agape as he took in his new surroundings. Gone were the trees and the walls of the base camp, replaced with derelict stone and crumbling ruins; the remaining tents were replaced with boxes, numerous, enticing chests strewn about in a place they had no business being. There were people around him, ones he didn't recognize, all as wide-eyed and disoriented as he was.

Well, maybe not that wide-eyed and disoriented. It was hard to beat him when it came to being in a state of panic.

Carlisle stepped backward, his hands curling tightly around the handle of his mace -- he'd found it in the ruins of the ship one day, and had thought he might eventually work up the gumption to use it. It seemed fate wanted to test that theory. "Wh- what is this?" he uttered to himself, his eyes on the sky -- not that there a sky to be seen. He took another step back, and—

POP

Carlisle yelped, stumbling sideways as something snapped loudly under his foot, producing a puff of green smoke. "Augh, what—?"

POP

Back the other direction he went with a clumsy leap, his legs wobbling beneath him as he landed with all the grace of a cat wearing shoes. "No no no, what was—!?"

POP POP

"Stop! Stop stop stop stop!" His legs tangled together in his frantic efforts to escape whatever unseen force was attacking him, and he fell backwards onto one of the boxes. The sturdy, wooden frame caught him, and he sighed in relief... just in time for the box to open on its own and try to swallow him.

In bad news, the box wasn't big enough to devour him in one go, and so it attempted to snap down on his middle, dividing him into much more manageable bites; in good news, Carlisle had managed, against all odds, to hold onto that mace, and it was just long enough to prop the box's mouth open, preventing creature from impaling him on its teeth. What terrified screams managed to make it from the cleric's throat were drowned out by the sound of the mimic creaking and groaning, its disguise still intact despite the fact it was actively trying to devour him at that very moment.

Carlisle managed to escape from the mimic's jaws at the last second, the creature's maw snapping his mace in half as it finally shut. That meant two things:

a. he was alive and in one piece, albeit a little covered in mimic slobber
b. he had no weapon

And he'd thought that dealing with the heat of the jungle would be the worst of his concerns when getting up that morning.

[foundafamily]

The sound of the little fireworks going off is enough to catch Firo's attention and bring him meandering into the area. He stops a few paces away to watch the battle with the chest, very nearly moving to jump in when it looks like the thing's about to gobble him up. He holds back when the poor guy manages to free himself--maybe he'll do all right.

"...You know, for a minute there, I thought you almost had that thing."

[tongueamok]

With his nerves wound up from all the pop pop popping at his feet and the monstrous box that tried (is still trying, albeit it several feet away) to snap him in half, all it takes is a single voice to knock Carlisle over the precipice into complete and utter terror.

"I said st—!"

He did say stop, and while he'd meant it toward anything and everything that was assaulting his sensibilities at that second, he hadn't meant himself. However, he freezes on the spot when his eyes land on Firo Prochainezo. His face is two parts apprehension and one part relief: he's all too aware of how Firo feels about him, of the wrongs he committed against the man only weeks before, and yet, he is admittedly glad to see someone he recognizes. For a second, he'd thought this all might be another mask-induced hallucination or that he'd been spirited away to another plane. He's not alone in this. That's good. That's very good.

"Ah, Mr. Prochainezo,," he starts with an audible sigh, only vaguely aware through the thundering in his head and chest that he's lost all conversational skills he might have had -- at least the name came out right, if a bit guttural -- "I know we're not on the best of terms, but I'll be the first to admit that I'm v—"

And then he's cut off a second time as that monstrous box, having decided that the few feet between itself and its prey is a few feet too many, takes a sudden leap toward Carlisle and latches onto his right arm, its teeth closing on the bend at his elbow with a sickening crunch. There's a new sound in the arena aside from that pop pop popping: a scream of complete and utter agony.

[foundafamily]

Firo's entirely still at the look--it seems almost like recognition--and even more so at his name. That's not the kind of name people just guess. His eyes harden into wariness, "How do you know--?"

He's too distracted to see the attack until too late, and he takes a defensive step back while Carlisle gets chomped.

"Hey, get off!"

At least the thing's mouth is occupied, for now, so he tries to kick at the side of the box. Whether it distracts the thing or discourages it completely, he doesn't care so long as he does something. He can't stand there and watch this guy get eaten. That's gross.

[tongueamok]

The toothy box doesn't seem terribly pleased about the part where it's being kicked, but it's not eager to let go of its prey to do something about it, either. It shakes its entire frame in an effort to hop shortly to one side, avoiding another blow and taking its cargo with it. Carlisle's panic ramps into overdrive with the blinding pain in his arm; as the creature opens its maw for another bite, he can see through all the blood and what he assumes is a piece of bone that those are definitely teeth impaling his limb.

All those other times he thought he was going to die? Not his time. This is definitely the end.

It takes all he has not to reach out, to influence others to come to his aid, to compel Firo to do something marginally more helpful than kicking the box monster. He can feel the urge at the back of his mind, his own abilities threatening to turn against him for the sake of survival -- that's how it all starts, though. That's how he got in trouble last time.

So he bites it down, expending his energy in other ways... namely struggling and more yelling. "Do something! Get it off get it off get it off get it off let go let go—!"

Another crunch, and his hand hanging outside the box's gaping maw goes limp. That's not good.

[foundafamily]

Exasperated, Firo breaks off his kicking with a groan. "What do you think I'm tryin' to do?! Why don't you try and help yourself?"

But it's undeniable that it isn't working--he has to try something else. He reaches back to whip out one of the knives he pilfered from Rage's armory and tries to cram it into any opening in the mimic's mouth. If he can get some leverage, maybe it'll be easier for the guy to escape.

"If this thing opens up, you get back, okay? Don't hesitate!"

[tongueamok]

Between his curse and the tremendous pain he's in from having his arm gnawed on by a monstrous chest, Carlisle doesn't catch a single word Firo says. What he does manage to note is how his rescuer has changed tactics, trying to use a knife to pry open the creature's mouth. It's working, slowly but surely, but the beastly box fights back, pressing harder and harder on Carlisle's arm as it refuses to give up its meal; its teeth are well through his limb by now, its tongue wrapped around his elbow, trying to leverage the rest of him in. He can't feel his hand, the tendons severed by the creature's fangs, muscles torn and shredded like old, discarded documents; wrenching away from the creature just puts him in more agony. The mimic pulls against him as well as it tries to weasel away from the knife forcing its maw open; it lets out a hiss, blood spraying through its wall of teeth.

Somewhere in the pain and the panic and the utter disgust of having his own blood spit back on him, Carlisle loses it, and helps himself in the only way he knows how.

I said LET GO!

Whether it's the knife, the command, or the fact that Carlisle belts that order at the top of his lungs, the result is the same: the mimic, seconds before so insistent on pulling the cleric into its jaws, releases him with little fanfare, its tongue unraveling from his arm, mouth held open to give him a chance for escape. He does just that, pulling his ruined limb off the row of teeth that had pinned him in place.

The box waits patiently while its prey takes five steps away and collapses, his working hand straying to the other as he turns on his back and does his best not to pass out from the pain. His hand is still there, still attached, if barely. His forearm and elbow took the worst of it, the teeth having skewered through his limb with ease, flesh and bone and muscle all pushed aside to make room for the impaling fangs.

He tries to take a breath, but it catches in his throat. He can't even think of the consequences of his sin -- again, again -- nor can he deal with the fact that the box is still there, still a very real threat. There's one thing he knows he can do, granted he can focus long enough. It's either that, or lose the arm, and he'd rather not do that.

But concentration doesn't come easily, especially when there's still danger around and his mind is so flooded with pain that he can barely breathe -- and without that concentration, he can't maintain control over his influence. The mimic snaps back to itself after only a few seconds, and seeing that its prey has somehow escaped, it goes back on the offensive, lashing out at anyone nearby with its massive tongue.

[foundafamily]

The forceful shout shocks Firo, and he finds his grip slackening before he even knows what's happening. He nearly drops the knife into the mimic's slavering maw before he grabs at it again.

It's with another shock that he notices that the thing has let go of its victim. He draws back with his weapon, unwilling to stay too close to thing if he doesn't need to.

"Are you kiddin' me? It lets go when you ask nicely?" What the hell.

But there's no time to celebrate or catch their breath--that thing looks ready for round 2.

With little compassion for the extreme pain the almost-former-snack probably feels, Firo reaches for his collar and tries to pull him along. He'll opt for dragging the guy if he has to--it was hard enough getting that thing to let go in the first place, and he doesn't intent to stick around and see if Carlisle can pull off that trick again.

"Let's get you the hell outta here, okay?"

[tongueamok]

The tug at his collar drags Carlisle both in body and mind: with what little focus he has torn from his arm, he kicks off the ground automatically, following his usual instinct to run despite the fact he can't even recall through the pain why he needs to be doing that. It's something about a box and teeth and oh that felt like he was blacking out just a second and Desth this hurts.

He manages to make it to his feet and stumbles to Firo, his legs barely holding him up as he clutches his injured arm and does his best to concentrate for even a second. He's been severely injured before -- his being twice-cursed is proof enough of that -- and while he's healed his own injuries in the past, he's never had to mend anything so serious on himself. It's a challenge he never wanted to undertake, and, should he survive this, hopes to never undertake again.

He lets out a hiss through his teeth, feeling that white-hot burning stemming from his good hand as he pours energy into his wound. He only manages to repair some of his bones -- the fragments shift back into place with an audible crack -- before his focus is lost again to the excruciating pain. He can see why his fellow healers usually get someone else to do their dirty work when its their own lives on the line.

It all happens in the span of a breath or two; he's unresponsive a moment, then he jolts back to awareness, clenching his teeth as ink starts welling at the sides of his mouth. Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Passing out would be terrible. "I just- I- I need a second! I can- I can fix this, but- but- I—"

He tenses again, and hopes Firo got the gist of that.

[foundafamily]

This is too weird. Firo realizes that he's in a creepy cave run by "gods," but all this? Is still really weird.

It's not like the immortals Firo knows, but could it be close? Maybe it's a trick from the same book, which could lead to nasty surprises down the line if he's not careful.

As for the blood coming out of his mouth--Firo assumes it's blood, because what else could it be--that, too, is just really weird.

But that can all come later. Firo listens to the words fighting their way out of the man's mouth and thinks that he understands.

"You'd better hurry up."

With no further preamble, he releases his hold on Carlisle and whirls around to see if the mimic is still on their trail. He'll protect--or try to protect--the guy while he does whatever the heck it is that he's doing.

[tongueamok]

With Firo no longer hanging onto his collar, Carlisle's legs give up and buckle under him. It might be easier to do this without worrying about standing up, he considers miserably. Of course, it might be easier when they're not running for their lives -- boxes, killer boxes, he remembers, suddenly recalling why escape is very important -- but he doesn't have that luxury. Time to get to work so they can continue the escaping part.

He pulls in a breath, trying to ignore the sound of the box monster leaping after them, its gnashing teeth now after the man standing between it and its prey. Healing energy pools beneath his fingers, electric sparks pulsing through his injured limb and to his wounds. There's another sharp crack, a yelp of pain as the rest of the bones snap back together and pull themselves into his arm -- Desth, that really really really hurts -- and as the muscles wrap themselves around the bone, he stops. The wounds are still open, blood spilling from what are now deep gashes and punctures, but it's enough that he can move more readily.

Or he could if his body wasn't revolting against him. He starts to get back to his feet, only for his legs to collapse beneath him. In good news, he isn't passing out, as he'd feared he might; the bad news is that he's hacking up an awful lot of ink.

[foundafamily]

Firo's occupied with the mimic now, first kicking at it to make it keep its distance, then simply dodging its lunges and focusing on leading it away from Carlisle.

"Tell me when you're ready! I can't play with this thing forever!"

But from what he can see out of the corner of his eye... he's not sure if that guy's going to be ready any time soon. He looks in pretty bad shape, regardless of whatever he was fixing just then.

[tongueamok]

The mimic bounds along after Firo, faster and faster, each hop longer than the last as desperation sets in -- it's deceptively quick for its size and shape, hunger driving it to fight.

As for Carlisle, he's anything but quick: his world has come to a complete standstill, his hands and knees holding him off the ground, his eyes affixed on the pool of ink spreading beneath him, one that grows with each wracking cough that escapes him. His wounded limb still aches, the punctures bleeding profusely, crimson trailing down the tears in his gloves and mingling with the black mass that swallows and stains his exposed fingertips; however, it's his abdomen that's a distraction now, stabbing pain cutting through him like a hundred knives, all aimed at the scars across his middle. Though he'd expected this pain, it's no easier to deal with. It never is.

Another pang hits him, and he squeezes his eyes shut; his bloodied hand, now working again, claws at his old wounds, the other curling into a fist as he forces himself to breathe. It'll pass -- it always does.

And as the seconds tick by, it does dissipate, slowly but surely; the pounding in his head clears, and as he opens his eyes and fights that dizzying moment of vertigo, he becomes fully aware of the clunk clunk clunking of the mimic as it bounds after Firo. They can't stay here.

He pushes himself off the ground with his feet, cradling his wounded arm. "I'm fine!" he calls behind him as he takes off, even if it is a stretch of the truth. "Go!"

[glacius]

Having already escorted one injured individual out of the colosseum, Glacius finds himself making a return trip, where he has now seen to the safety of many others. The latest batch of confused and frightful newcomers are the only reason he's here now: though he'd originally been planning on seeing if he could investigate the area where the Door seems most active, he doesn't enjoy the thought of putting himself back into danger when there are yet more monsters afoot. And while he has no especial love for humanity... knowing that there are people trapped within this ancient arena that are going through the same thing that he was when he was first brought here not too long ago isn't something he can turn a blind eye to. Underneath his cold facade, and despite everything he's been through, the alien still has a good soul.

Of course, he's not sure how much he can help them deal with the confusion and the sadness of being torn from their world, but he can at least make sure that none of those slavering chests get to sink their teeth into the new arrivals. Which is exactly what this one appears to be doing--Glacius had followed Carlisle's panicked yelping right to the source, and sees him falling back from the chest-monster right as its jaws snap over his weapon. Just another drawback in being human--when your limbs can literally become weapons, you are much harder to disarm. The alien warrior takes advantage of that ability now, coming up behind the mimic as it snaps its jaws at the clergyman; he raises both of his arms up, and his forearms liquefy and shift into two gigantic axes, which he brings down on the mimic's body with all his strength. The sickeningly loud CRACK of wood being splintered under the force of the cleaving blow rings out; the ice alien leaves one weapon embedded in his target's body so he can keep it forced to the ground, but the other strikes the monster again and again, effectively chopping it to splinters.

[tongueamok]

Free from the jaws of the toothy box, Carlisle finds his legs no steadier than they had been: he tumbles to his hands and knees, spins reflexively on the ground, and skitters backward, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and his impending demise. He gets his bearings just in time to see a new threat arise behind the chest: a giant being appears, his arms shifting in shape, becoming weapons as monstrous as he is. In the second before the newcomer slams his hands-turned-axes into the mimic, shattering its wooden facade into a thousand bloody splinters, Carlisle can't help but think how strikingly familiar that ability is.

His thoughts are disrupted by the alien's assault; Carlisle curls into a ball as fragments of both wood and flesh come flying his way, his head in his hands, knees pulled up to his chest. He's only like that until the onslaught is over -- he isn't entirely sure whether or not the giant will be coming for him next, yet he struggles to muster up the willpower to move from his spot on the ground.

So instead, he peeks out from behind his hands, hoping he won't find those axes poised over him.

[glacius]

When the chaos of the moment has passed--when the dust has settled and the quiet has fallen back in--and Carlisle looks up, he will not find the axes poised over him. Glacius had reverted his limbs back the moment he sensed that the battle was over, and now the icy alien has lowered himself into a partial kneel as his large icy white hand extends downwards towards the clergyman. It becomes apparent that it's an offer of further aid that's on display; this human looks particularly panicked, and while consolation is not his strong suit, he can at least offer his support.

"You are..." Glacius begins to speak, then has to reconsider his words. He'd been about to say safe, but given that there are still monsters about--and given that beyond these walls he will only be subject to further harrowing events at the behest of the gods--that is not entirely true, is it? "...Unharmed, I hope, human?"

[tongueamok]

Carlisle's face runs the gamut of emotions in the span of about five seconds. There's lingering terror that he's about to be split in half. That's followed by relief that no, the axes aren't poised over him, or even in existence at all. Then comes recognition, and a genuine smile of both gratitude and ease that one might offer to an old friend. That smile is slowly replaced by growing confusion; it fades as his brow furrows, his eyes skimming up and down his savior a second, then third time. After that comes a brief flash of denial, irritation furthering his disbelief. Momentary excitement, then trepidation, and finally, bewilderment comes back for a second and final round as he draws his eyes to meet his rescuer's, and finally takes his icy hand.

"It's... it's Carlisle," he offers as a reminder, though he has the sinking feeling that Algidus didn't revert back from his green coloration overnight.

[glacius]

Glacius isn't one to express much to begin with, but watching Carlisle's face go through those shifts so rapidly is... well, it's highly confusing. For one second the human is looking at him like he knows him, but he's quite sure he's never seen this man before in his life. His mandibles click in confusion and consideration (a mannerism that should also be familiar to Carlisle) as he helps him to his feet; his grip is strong and sure.

"Right... Carlisle." That response should also be familiar, given that it was the exact same wording that Carlisle had used when trying to get another ice alien to call him by his first name. The tone of it is different--slightly more confused than conciliatory--but the voice, well. It's the exact same voice that the clergyman has heard before, and the glowing green eyes staring warily back at him are probably a little bit too familiar as well. Unfortunately... that is all there is. There is no recognition in them.

[tongueamok]

Oh. Oh, this is all so familiar, and the more it is, the more unsure Carlisle becomes of this entire scenario. He's suddenly found himself in a strange place, surrounded by strange creatures and strange people, and yet some things are terribly, awfully familiar in a way that twists his gut into a knottier lump the longer he thinks about it. This isn't like when he was pulled to the Tranquility, when his entire world and everything he'd known had been left behind. It's more akin to when he'd found himself in the hallucinatory world behind the mask, before he remembered who he was -- he could feel bits and pieces of things that ought to be, but simply weren't, and he couldn't figure out why.

It's clearer here, but only because he knows himself; it's everything else that's maddening. The way the alien clicked his mandibles, the glow of his eyes, his voice, even his bare response -- unless all of Algidus' people are nearly identical (and it does cross Carlisle for a moment that he absolutely should have asked about Algidus' kind more often), then surely this must be him?

But as Carlisle gets to his feet and gives the alien a polite smile, he watches his face, searching for any hint of remembrance, any trace of realization that the icy giant knows this particular human... and he doesn't find it. Algidus liked to unnerve him, and his features, as inhuman as they were, were often hard to read, but Carlisle had gotten the hang of it over time. They weren't friends, perhaps, but they were certainly more than just acquaintances, and that had been a breath of fresh air for him.

And it is gone, just like that. This is worse than having everything he'd known stripped away; this is having it stripped, then dangled in front of him, a tantalizing scrap of food to a man starved by isolation.

Is this real, or another figment of his imagination? Is this another world? Had he been pulled here by some other entity that ought not be sentient, but somehow is, and is malevolent to boot? Or perhaps he's dead, he considers, and this is his punishment? He hasn't had the chance to make amends to those he'd wronged -- AJ, Rey, Firo. Perhaps he never will get that chance, now.

He attempts to push all of those questions out of his mind for the moment -- they really should be saved for when there's not still dangers looming, and he's not being terribly rude by making his rescuer wait in silence. He has manners, and he ought to use them. "Ah, right," he starts, finally averting his eyes; they hit the ground and stay there, intensely focused on some fixed point as though it was the source of all his problems. "That's right. Thank you for your, er. Assistance. I'm not much of a fighter, I'm... not a fighter at all, really."

And it was Algidus who had told him to learn to stand up for himself when he'd made that excuse, he realizes with a sigh and a slump of his shoulders. Perhaps this is some kind of punishment after all.

[glacius]

... Wow. Glacius has been through some silence--and he normally enjoys it, if he's being honest-- but this one is a real doozy. The gap in conversation stretches on, and on... until the air hanging between them becomes thick with awkwardness and discomfort. Something is clearly bothering the human, something about him, but it's not the usual "oh no you're just another monster please don't eat me!!" business that has become so damn tiring to the alien. It's something else, something more personal, which is extremely uncomfortable to the alien because he's never engaged with humans on that level before. The pale ice alien tucks his head back slightly, not sure what to do... he's almost glad when Carlisle speaks up again.

"Not everyone is," Glacius responds, attempting for a calming tone of voice. "It is alright. Protecting others is why I learned to fight." Not for any senseless conflict, which unlike his double, this alien seems to detest. "And I was in the same position as you, not too long ago--torn from my world and deposited in this very arena as monsters attacked. I will not leave you to suffer, but we cannot linger for long. Are you alright to move?"

[tongueamok]

Carlisle nods, offering this unfortunate stranger who is so like Algidus, but not, another smile. Though he does his best to shake off his disappointment and make it appear as just nervousness that's wracking him, he finds it difficult. He's not a bad diplomat, and is no stranger to stretching the truth, but when it comes to outright lying to a friend -- or someone who reminds him of one, rather -- it's harder than it really should be. Perhaps if he'd had more practice (or friends), he'd be more adept in this area.

But he's not, and so he continues to fumble over his words. "I'm fine," he starts, forcing himself to make eye contact. Is he sure this isn't Algidus? Perhaps it's just a bout of amnesia, one he'll recover from any moment? "It's fine. Everything's- everything's fine now. I, ah. Don't know how I got here, or why I'm here, or where here even is at this point, but I'm sure I would have, um. If you hadn't shown up, I'd have probably... ah."

The more he talks, the deeper he realizes he's digging the hole he's in. "Sorry. Got carried away there. Talking. I'll be fine on my own, I think. You can help others, people who might also be in, ah. Peril of some sort. Now that I'm all sorted out. Thanks to you."

He's doing his damnedest to hold that smile, but he can feel his gut fighting against it with every passing second.

[glacius]

Glacius is no master of human facial expressions, but he can tell that there is something awfully uncomfortable hiding behind that forced smile. The alien hems and haws for a moment--and honestly does consider leaving for Carlisle for a brief minute, if not just to extricate himself from this profoundly disquieting scenario-- then huffs. Loudly. Freezing mist billows out from beneath his fluttering operculum.

"Of course I will not leave you, human. I doubt you know the way out of this colosseum. And even if you did, there will be more of those monsters between this point and your escape. Come with me; I will escort you." With a simple gesture indicating Carlisle to follow, the massive ice alien turns and begins stalking away. "And in the mean time, perhaps I can answer some of those questions you have about this place--about the where and why of your being here."

And maybe he can figure out just what about his presence is bothering this human. Carlisle honestly seems more weirded out by him than by his current predicament, which is also unsettling and confusing to the alien.

[tongueamok]

The second the alien turns from him, Carlisle's smile shifts into a grimace as he claws his hand down his face. Is he positive this isn't Algidus? With the freezing huffs and the exact same tone of voice and the fact that the big guy won't listen to him no matter what he says? The coloration of his ice-covered skin is different, and this definitely isn't the jungle where the Tranquility crashed,, and he's got a few spikes here and here rather than there and there, but the similarities are far too close to be blamed on species alone. After all, Carlisle himself is the heir of the Longinmouth line, and he's not much like his father -- a direct blood relation -- at all. Maybe Algidus has a brother? Or a twin?

Wouldn't that be the most damning luck, Carlisle thinks as he adjusts his glasses: two people of the same family taken to two different realms. That is if this is indeed a different world, and not some elaborate delusion. It can't be, can it? It all feels so real. Of course, the world behind the mask had, as well.

And who had stopped him from walking to his demise then? An icy alien much like the one before him, albeit a bit greener. The parallels are either an unnerving coincidence, or a purposeful choice... perhaps from a goddess who feels he had debts to pay, or a god who is just looking to torture someone who had wasted his time by dying once already.

These are puzzles to ponder later. For now, he has an alien taking the lead, waiting for him to follow, and offering to answer a few questions. At least he seems marginally more agreeable than Algidus in that regard. He falls into line behind the icy giant -- it's a feeling he knows well at this point -- and his nervous smile returns, tugging weakly at the corner of his mouth. "I appreciate that, Mister, ah..."

He pauses, awaiting a name, praying it's not one he knows.

[glacius]

... Oh, right, this human is probably expecting him to introduce himself after giving his own name. The alien's head raises slightly, but he keeps walking. "My name is Glacius."

For some time he seems content to let the conversation hang there so that he can make the rest of the trek through the colosseum in careful silence. Though the alien does not seem particular tense, all of his senses are tuned outwards; his eyes are scanning for any sign of movement and his ears--hidden behind slight depressions in his skull above his mandibular support--are straining to hear the telltale creaking of wood or snapping of latches that suggests one of those chests is tailing them. Thankfully, the creatures seem to be busy elsewhere, and they eventually make their way out of the arena.

At that point Glacius lifts his head, a forlorn look playing briefly across his features as he considers the caves' ceiling, and the crumbling city that lays beneath it. Then he turns around, straightens his back and squares his shoulders, and lets his glow green eyes fall back on Carlisle. "I must admit, you are much more open-minded about meeting... someone like me than most have been. If you have questions that want to ask of you, you may... I give no guarantees that I can answer all of them, but I will do what I can."

Little does he know what a can of worms he may be about to open! He still has no idea that Carlisle has met him before, or at least another version of him, in a separate universe.

[tongueamok]

"Glacius," Carlisle repeats once given a name, inwardly relieved that no, this isn't some strange, other-world Algidus. If only he knew. "Glacius, good. Because you're cold. That makes sense. Hah."

And then he falls into silence -- an awkward one on his end -- as the alien does, knowing well enough what he's doing. Even if he didn't have experience with another of his kind, he knows how careful trackers are when on the hunt: it's an art that requires all of one's senses to be attuned to their surroundings, as even the tiniest of movements can signal the presence of nearby prey -- or a predator, depending on who was hunting and who was being hunted. The latter was one of the main reasons Carlisle had never found a taste for the sport himself. Too much danger involved, all for some thrill that supposedly comes with catching and killing another creature. It seems cruel, at the very best, and absolutely monstrous at the worst.

Speaking of monstrous, Glacius certainly looks the part as he turns to Carlisle, his glowing eyes piercing the relative darkness around them; the cleric freezes on the spot, his entire body stiffening with reflexive discomfort. He relaxes a second later, glad he's not being admonished for whatever reason would be appropriate: his cowardice, his constant chatter, his inability to fight boxes, etc.

"That's, er. Generous of you, admittedly." More generous than some aliens, surely. "I've got questions. Good ones. Not that other people might not answer them, or that it's unusual that someone of your stature would be gracious enough to field them, of course..."

Though there's that howling at the back of his mind that he should probably quit while he's ahead, his mouth keeps on going. "I mean, it's not that I'm more open-minded than others -- not that that's a bad thing, being open-minded. It's just I've met other giants a lot like yourself. Or one. I've met one, and he wasn't too bad once you got to know him. Just took some warming up."

Wrong choice of words. "Not literal warming up. That'd be terrible for a being like yourself! I... I didn't mean it like that. I'll stop talking now, if that's fine. Maybe ask some questions? I do... have those."

And he finally manages to shut his trap long enough to realize he's probably eaten both of his feet by now.