hadriel_logs | Intro Log: Off my chest

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Intro Log: Off my chest

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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

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.

Edited (TENSES, MAN.) 2016-04-13 01:18 (UTC)

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.

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!"

Edited 2016-04-13 02:59 (UTC)

Carlisle readies himself just in time--Firo's surprised by how quick the hulking chest is, and he's not sure how long he'd be able to keep up his defense and still have wind to run. Luckily, one of the perks to immortality is that he can run himself to pieces and recover, but he has to break first for that.

So it's with relief that he takes several large steps back from the monster and then turns to run after Carlisle.

"Yell if you start fallin' behind."

He doesn't want to have to slow down and deal with that thing more, but... well, Firo's resigned himself to the fact that he's gotten soft over the years. Leaving a person who hasn't yet offended him to die just doesn't sit right with him.

He aims to run as far out of the colosseum as they can. From there, he'll aim to lead Carlisle down the streets of the city, simply seeking to lose their attacker if they can get that far.

Even with his head start, Firo outstrips Carlisle in a matter of seconds, and it's all the cleric can do to try to keep up. He steps on another bang snap after only a few steps; though he leaps into the air as though dodging a bear trap as the firework pops loudly under his foot, he does not stop, lest the boxes catch up with him and try to finish their meal.

Into the streets they go, and Carlisle can't help by try to look around as they run. There's no sky above them, no trees around them; the air is colder, thinner without the humidity that the jungle had in abundance. There are welcome signs of civilization too, buildings and lights -- it's not home, but it's neither the jungle nor the Tranquility, and for that, he's grateful.

Or he will be once he can stop focusing on the sharp pain still cutting through his arm, each step sending a jolt through it. It seems like they've been running for a lifetime -- it's actually only a couple of minutes, but he's not exactly the pinnacle of good health -- when he slows down. It's another couple of seconds before he finds the breath to actually call out to Firo, and even then, it's more of a wheeze. At least the monsters are out of sight.

It's only when Firo hears that rasping cry that he realizes they may have overdid it with the running. But, hey, the guy's still upright! So then he was fine with the exertion despite being gravely injured. Probably.

He stops, first casing the area as he does so with a quick, sharp look. Can't relax just yet, not until he sees that all the corners appear to be clear.

Only then does he slip his hands in his pockets and turn towards Carlisle, surveying him. "You all right?"

This guy's a trooper, he'll give him that much.

Leaning up against a nearby building, Carlisle's up one second, then down the next, his back sliding against the wall as he falls onto his rear. He hisses through his teeth with every breath, trying to swallow both pain and air simultaneously with varying degrees of success. As for answering Firo, he's not quite as productive.

"Need... a moment," he rasps, his fingers tightening on his wounded arm. Though no longer broken, it's still bleeding profusely, the punctures from the mimic's fangs deep, scarlet caverns in his pale skin. He looks down, his vision blurry as he wonders if all that blood will come out of his tabard.

He shakes his head, forcing himself awake. Focus. Don't pass out. Passing out bad. Don't do that. "Right," he agrees with himself, pressing his back into the wall behind him. "A moment."

Taking in another breath, he closes his eyes, struggling to direct his healing; his energy is as frazzled as the rest of him -- exhausted, unfocused. He has healed far worse injuries than this, bringing the sick back from the brink of death, the wounded away from a grisly end; however, he's never attempted such a feat on himself, and commanding the energy required for his art is far more taxing when he's fighting to stay conscious.

It's by pure determination he manages at all, funneling what magic he can into his arm. It's either that, or he risks bleeding to death, and if there's one thing he won't chance, it's a return trip to the Land Beyond Living. He has amends to make, and the person to whom he needs to make them is within his reach. Now he just needs to survive. He has to do this, lest he let his goddess down.

Carlisle bites his lip as his wounds start closing up, the muscles stitching themselves together bit by bit. The burning sensation that accompanies the healing does him no favors, each second that passes making him grind his teeth harder and harder.

But the wounds do heal -- not entirely, but enough that the bleeding stops. What he's left with are numerous, oozing abrasions, the skin raw and unhealed; it is a far step up from what they looked like only seconds before, though. And better is that he's still awake. He's not sure for how long -- his legs feel ready to fold under him again the moment he's back on his feet, his shoulder still against the wall.

"O- okay," he starts, stifling a cough. "I'm fine. Not, ah... fine fine, but significantly—" The cough escapes him after all. "... More fine than I was. Thanks."

It all comes rushing back to mind--the weird ink, the sudden healing that he saw just a few moments ago. And the name, Firo suddenly recalls--the guy knew his name. He needs to ask about that and make sure he's not some enemy or creep. Now that the danger's passed, they can worry about these things.

Firo looks the man over now that the healing--however the hell he was doing that--seems to be over. "You still look like hell," He offers. He's helpful like that.

He holds out his hand to pull the guy up or steady him, whatever he seems able to accept. After all that, Firo supposes something of a rest has been earned.

A physical one, anyway; he fully intends to start his interrogation now. "So. You know me, but I don't know you. Mind tellin' me how that is?"

Carlisle takes Firo's offered hand and uses it to steady himself as he pushes off the wall and tests out his legs. Fatigue weighs him down; his legs feel wobbly and unreliable, but they're functioning for the time being. Better is that his arm seems to be in working order -- he flexes his fingers a few times and bends his elbow, making sure everything is where it ought to be. It hurts, the muscles and skin still tender, but it's better than it was when it still had some teeth impaled through it.

He greets his repaired arm with a look of weary satisfaction; that look dissipates the moment Firo starts questioning him, quickly replaced by one of earnest disbelief. "W- what?"

Firo lets go only when it seems Carlisle has himself upright.

He frowns. "Don't play dumb." Maybe he's just disoriented from pain, but it doesn't do to be charitable when you're trying to get information from someone. "Prochainezo. You said my name before."

Frustrated by the strangeness of it all, he shakes his head and points his finger. "I've never seen you before in my life, so who are you?"

"I- I..." Carlisle shakes his head before repeating himself, now with more emphasis. "I'm sorry, what?"

His look has gone from confused and pained to absolutely incredulous. "You- you've either bumped your head or lost your mind. You can't possibly have forgotten who I am. What I did! I saw you just a few days ago!"

"I lost my mind?"

That's rich coming from a guy who does strange magic stuff. Clearly you have to be crazy to do such crazy things.

He growls, recognition slowly coming into his eyes. Just probably not the epiphany Carlisle wants. "You've been spyin' on me?"

That is the only logical assumption. Never mind that all the evidence so far had pointed to this guy being a new arrival.

For a moment, Carlisle sees recognition creeping into Firo's eyes, and he's relieved; said relief vanishes one second later as he's accused of spying on the poor fellow.

"What!?" His disbelief is so strong that he winces from the outburst, as his arm is still very sore. He leans into the wall again, trying to hold himself up as he parses out this madness. "No! Why would I even do that?"

He shakes his head, taking in a deep breath. He has amends to make to this man, and his lapse in sanity is not helping. "Okay, stop. Start over. You have no idea who I am. You really don't know?"

"I don't know, you tell me!" He leans forward as he yells, as self-righteous as if he really were the innocent victim of this skulking creep.

Though his mood is hardly improved by the need to repeat himself, he does take a deep breath and a step back. "No, that's what I've been telling you. I'm not just pullin' your leg for fun."

Though Firo says that, Carlisle can't help that feeling that this is some kind of trick the man is playing to get back at him, yet he searches Firo's expression for any hint of recognition, he finds... none. Absolutely none. Perhaps he's lost his touch on reading people, or perhaps Firo is far better at bluffing than he'd have ever expected, but his reply certainly is convincing.

"I'm..." Carlisle starts, visibly disheartened. "I'm Carlisle Longinmouth. We met on a ship called the Tranquility. Though that was over a year ago, now. The ship crashed and we've been living in the jungle at this base camp, though you mostly live outside it with Miss Prochainezo and that one lad who pulled a knife on me once. Can't recall if I ever got his name, though it's probably best I didn't, now that I think of it..."

From the way he's talking, he's probably going to keep prattling on until Firo stops him.

Ah. There it is: the slip Firo's been looking for. "Sorry, there is no 'Miss Prochainezo.' I've never had a sister--actually, I don't have any relatives, so nice try."

He thinks he gets it now--this guy knows a bit about him somehow and wants something from him. So he's going to pretend to buddy up so that he can get it. This could be a dangerous situation, but Firo's mostly curious.

He smirks, triumphant at having figured out this plan. It slips when he suddenly registers how weird the rest of the story is--is this guy some kind of idiot? How does he expect him to believe that?

Unless he's not making it up at all... But that's unsettling--how could he forget all this?

Carlisle looks as baffled as ever as Firo smirks, his mind trying to piece together why it is that the other man seems to have no recollection of things that, from Carlisle's perspective, were accurate as of yesterday. It hasn't yet occurred to him that this isn't the same Firo he knows, nor is he the one he owes amends.

And so, he's insistent: "Are you sure, lad? Because she corrected me once, and said you weren't married, and that doesn't exactly seem like the most common family name, does it? Though I suppose she could have been adopted or some such."

It's not a common name at all--Firo'd bet he's the only one in the states, and there probably aren't even any more left in Italy, either. He can't concede that, though, because there's another word that catches his attention. The blood shoots to his face--he couldn't mean Ennis, could he? "M-married? O-of course not!"

"S-start from the beginning." He swallows and tries to will the blush to go down. It doesn't really work. "Who is she? What the hell kinda ship are you talkin' about? The last boat I was on was headed to Alcatraz, and I can guarantee that you weren't on it."

This guy definitely doesn't seem like he'd be an Alcatraz inmate or guard.

As Firo turns red, Carlisle casts his eyes away, sure he's embarrassed the man by pointing out his sudden bout of amnesia. None of this makes sense, but he decides it is in both of their best interests that he does try to help him remember. Making amends will be that much easier.

"Fine, but..." He pushes off the wall, his legs still unsteady despite the moment's rest. "Can we do this somewhere else? Somewhere with a chair, perhaps."

Firo pauses, finally noticing again the man's state. "Yeah, all right."

He thinks of inviting the man back to his place--he's never been wary of inviting strangers to his home, even if he's suspicious of them--but figures the walk would be too far.

"Bar shouldn't be far from here." He jerks his thumb in that direction and starts walking before even waiting for confirmation.

Carlisle starts following, willing his feet to move as he grasps his injured arm, as though holding steady would somehow keep the rest of him from falling apart. With his concentration all on keeping up, it takes him several seconds to even process what Firo said.

"Wh- a bar? There's a bar here?"

He sounds surprisingly warm to that idea.

Firo smiles just a little bit as he looks over his shoulder. The guy's not a dry, he has that much going for him.

"There wasn't until recently. You came at just the right time, pal."

It's coming into view already, and Firo points out the building.

"Delight set it up when she was revived."

The bar is in view, but it still seems like it's a hundred miles away to Carlisle, who is lagging behind the farther they go. He wasn't doing so badly when they were standing still and he could lean on the building, but now that they're moving again, fatigue is definitely setting in.

"D- Delight?" he asks, trying to keep his mind off the fact his muscles feel like they've been pulled through the wringer.

It takes Firo a moment to realize that Carlisle's flagging and a moment longer to decide to stop to let him catch up.

"Sometimes she's there, so you might see her. She's a lady who says she's a god--actually, there's three others like her." He smiles wanly. "She's the one who's the least of a jackass."

Intro Log: Off my chest

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