INTRO LOG: A TAXING JOURNEY

[hadrielmods]

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for December. Watch your step!
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: December 10th-17th
Warnings: Taxxon-related violence, teeth shoes, general unpleasantness, mass confusion.

You wake up in the dust of the colosseum with no shoes on, regardless of the state of your feet when you arrived. There's dust covering your clothing and in your hair, but other than that, there's no signs of injury or bruising. You're also not alone- nearby, there are others, either still passed out or just waking up like you are. Feel free to take solace in that fact. Or don't- some of you aren't human, and are clearly not great people either. No offense.

To your left, there is a door in the wall of the arena, supposedly leading to the halls which will then show you to your freedom. To your right, and scattered haphazardly on the ground, are a myriad of teeth shoes. These shoes might be better than going barefoot right now, but good luck finding a matching set, let alone one that fits you.

When you do eventually try to escape, be careful. The halls are crawling with Taxxons. Large and grotesque, these caterpillar-like creatures have circular mouths and multiple rows of sharp teeth. Their sense of smell is impeccable, and they will stop at nothing to feed when they scent blood. So, you know, try to avoid stepping on anything sharp on your way out.

All done with the horrible monsters and awkward greetings? Try your hand at exploring the rest of the city! Find a house, find a new monster, or simply scavenge for supplies until your little heart is content. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers December 10th-17th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well!
► Characters may find their own shoes scattered around with the teeth shoes if you like.
► 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

[unknowable]

[He doesn't relax, exactly, but those kinds of questions are expected, and much more welcome than threats or demands.]

I was, a couple months ago.

[The rest of the answer is probably not going to be very welcome at all.]

They said we're here to be used as power sources, I guess. It seems to have been an accident at first, but now that we're here they've decided to make use of us.

[respired]

[Koltira's eyes widen.]

Power sources? Perhaps I was too quick to be grateful.

[He touches his own throat. No, he's still grateful. Whatever this is, it's better than what he left behind.]

... what kind of power do they require?

[unknowable]

You were grateful to come here?

[His eyes narrow a bit at that - in interest, rather than suspicion. He doesn't think he's met anyone else who's been grateful to be kidnapped and used as some sort of battery.]

They want our emotions. There are just two of them right now, Fear and Hope, and apparently they're powered off the corresponding feelings.

[respired]

I was taken from dire circumstances.

[He shakes his head.]

Now I don't know which situation is worse. Though they'll have trouble eking either of those feelings out of me.

[unknowable]

They must have been particularly dire.

[For this to be an improvement - well, Adam think he's rather glad he's never thought the same thing.]

They're pretty good at what they do, but maybe you'll be different. I guess you don't seem like the type to be scared easily.

[respired]

[He shakes his head--he's not meaning to be arrogant, only plain spoken.]

The dead find it difficult to fear, as a rule.

[unknowable]

The dead?

[This man - elf? - looks relatively alive. Unless he's some sort of zombie, which at this point Adam wouldn't be overly surprised to discover.]

You seem pretty alive to me.

[respired]

Then your senses are faulty.

[He frowns, his eyebrows furrowing.]

Or you are taking me too literally.

[unknowable]

Maybe? Where I'm from, dead people don't walk around or talk, but I've seen all sorts of strange things since then. If you meant it as a metaphor, I missed it.

[His voice is dry, leaning more toward 'amused' than 'annoyed', though he's still careful not to be too impolite.]

What did you mean?

[respired]

More precisely, I am undead. A corpse brought back through necromancy. But I do not live as you do.

[What with the warmth and flowing blood and increasingly aggrieving heartbeat.]

[unknowable]

...oh.

[That seems like the only appropriate reaction. He offers, tentatively:]

I have a friend who was dead for awhile. But I sort of doubt that's the same.

[respired]

[It's not easy to come back from being 'dead for a while', not even on Azeroth. Koltira arches an eyebrow.]

Was he granted true resurrection?

[unknowable]

It's hard to say. I mean - I guess there are two of them.

[It's just complicated, you know?]

One had his life traded for someone else's, so he died and came back. The other was a ghost until we were taken from our home, and then he was given a body. I doubt either really counts as true resurrection.

[respired]

But he breathes, yes? He feels and he tastes and his blood runs.

[unknowable]

Yes. Do you not do those things?

[respired]

Not since I was raised into undeath. Such things are, in fact, entirely contrary to this state of being.

[unknowable]

So you're an ambulatory, sentient corpse, essentially?

[respired]

[He shrugs.]

Yes, you have the right of it.

[unknowable]

How did something like that happen?

[respired]

A long story. To make it short: murder, followed by necromancy, as is usual.

[unknowable]

Of course. As usual.

Ah, in any case, I'm sorry that happened to you.

[respired]

[Does he detect a hint of sarcasm! Koltira exhales; it's a rattling, unnatural sound, like wind through a broken window.]

It is not your concern.

[He looks beyond Adam, towards the looming spires of the apartments; the landscape of the half-dead city.]

In any case, I'm grateful for the information. I'd have your name, if you would.

[unknowable]

[Fair enough. It really isn't his concern, and he shouldn't pry.]

Adam Parrish. It's nice to meet you, sir.

[He's not sure that is, in fact, strictly true, but he was raised to be polite.]