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TDM // #2
REBIRTH ALWAYS FOLLOWS DEATH
You died. Sort of. You float, sort of, blissfully unaware in a snug cocoon as both your Self and the world beyond slowly align. You're you still, you think, a hazy awareness as your eyes flutter open, and you see... nothing. A viscous substance blurs your vision, faint thrills of panic coiling around your lungs, swelling in your throat; wrapped in an ectoplasmic sheath, you're disoriented at best, frantically wondering where you are and how you wound up here. Whatever here is. Everything’s fuzzy, perception is limited, movement is restricted... and then it dawns on you, glacial down your spine, the nagging certainty that wherever you were before, you no longer exist there.
You're trapped. Your once cozy cocoon quickly becomes your prison, and an overwhelming sense of dread incites you to escape. On your own, you'll tire rapidly, weak still, unadjusted to the Netherworld's configuration. Scream loud enough and someone might come to your aid, though the process will leave you weaker still; as a new Restless, you go from the semi-sensory deprivation of the Shroud into your new existence without warning or preparation, spilling out of your protective husk breathless, confused, and naked. You're free, but at what cost.
Blink. Breathe. Find your footing. When your eyes get used to the twilight-hued ambience, you'll immediately see more Shrouds, everywhere and ripped apart like a vast nest of broken cauls. Through the emerald fog surrounding you, doors. An endless cluster of them, no frames, no jambs. Your name is carved on one of them, and you don't know how or why you know this, but you do. You'll find yourself inherently drawn to yours: maybe it's a pull, a hum, a light, a quiet sound in the static. Instinctively, you know it's safe, and you know that whatever you'll find within, calling out to you, you ought to protect... but before you run and cross the threshold, your focus wanes, and you catch something in the periphery of your vision...
You died. Sort of. You float, sort of, blissfully unaware in a snug cocoon as both your Self and the world beyond slowly align. You're you still, you think, a hazy awareness as your eyes flutter open, and you see... nothing. A viscous substance blurs your vision, faint thrills of panic coiling around your lungs, swelling in your throat; wrapped in an ectoplasmic sheath, you're disoriented at best, frantically wondering where you are and how you wound up here. Whatever here is. Everything’s fuzzy, perception is limited, movement is restricted... and then it dawns on you, glacial down your spine, the nagging certainty that wherever you were before, you no longer exist there.
You're trapped. Your once cozy cocoon quickly becomes your prison, and an overwhelming sense of dread incites you to escape. On your own, you'll tire rapidly, weak still, unadjusted to the Netherworld's configuration. Scream loud enough and someone might come to your aid, though the process will leave you weaker still; as a new Restless, you go from the semi-sensory deprivation of the Shroud into your new existence without warning or preparation, spilling out of your protective husk breathless, confused, and naked. You're free, but at what cost.
Blink. Breathe. Find your footing. When your eyes get used to the twilight-hued ambience, you'll immediately see more Shrouds, everywhere and ripped apart like a vast nest of broken cauls. Through the emerald fog surrounding you, doors. An endless cluster of them, no frames, no jambs. Your name is carved on one of them, and you don't know how or why you know this, but you do. You'll find yourself inherently drawn to yours: maybe it's a pull, a hum, a light, a quiet sound in the static. Instinctively, you know it's safe, and you know that whatever you'll find within, calling out to you, you ought to protect... but before you run and cross the threshold, your focus wanes, and you catch something in the periphery of your vision...
► I. REAP WHAT YOU SOW
a. A CLOAKED FIGURE STANDS BEFORE YOU, EERILY QUIET. It only stares, faceless, towering well over you as you struggle to find your balance on your weakened feet, the air you breathe in scorching your throat. Your senses are annoyingly muddled, and it's enough of a distraction, perhaps, to overlook your state of undress. And then it finally speaks. The Reaper. It's surprisingly polite, its voice a melodious string of low hissing notes as it calmly explains what and where you are; a Restless, citizen of the Netherworld. You were reborn here for reasons unknown, another soul among thousands with seemingly unfinished business, cursed or blessed to roam a world slowly devoured by an entropic force. Hell? Perhaps, if it suits your beliefs, though some do thrive here, and keeping Oblivium at bay is a collective effort.
Around you, others like you break out of their Shrouds, and some walk the land fully dressed, with an ease that unequivocally evokes the passage of time. They've been here for a while, and it shows. You might catch bits of conversations here and there, learn more about your new home and new purpose from eavesdropping. The Reaper that's helped you out of your cocoon is, unfortunately, a poor conversationalist, though it does point its rawboned finger towards the stormy horizon, speaking of an immense city in the far distance that shelters thousands of Restless and offers essential supplies for all. Stygia. It doesn't stay much longer: without preamble, the Reaper vanishes into a plume of indigo smoke, essentially leaving you to fend for yourself. This is your chance to reach and cross the threshold of your very own door, find some clothes, your Tethers, and a device that'll enable you to reach out to anyone willing to listen. Others like you might have answers on the Netherwork-- chattier Reapers, even. Just watch out. The moons above glisten crimson, and Badaliscus roam in especially high numbers across the Shadowlands, aggressive and carriers of plague-like diseases. If you wander, do mind the giant split in the earth as well, surrounded by blackened soil. You can't miss it, strange, guttural noises coming from its depths. A fall into a drop that steep would be deadly, as no light or hope shines at the bottom of the chasm... though l'appel du vide is nearly unbearable. Does it whisper your name?
THINGS YOU MIGHT HEAR OR OBSERVE
► some compare this place to a purgatory
► an old sage has apparently found a "stairway to heaven"
► another restless' acquaintance has recently lost their battle against their shadow and nearly killed them -- probably because they didn't have a soulmate. they now dwell in the labyrinth with other monstrosities
► some restless can be spotted laughing hysterically, or arguing with themselves
► objects never last unless reforged with a soul's essence
► the hierarchy used to send a welcome party for new arrivals but now seem reluctant to leave stygia -- maybe because new arrivals are now a daily thing, sometimes hourly
► no one seems to know what reapers truly are
► ferrymen never speak
THINGS YOU MIGHT STUMBLE UPON
► small fumaroles that emit occasional bursts of molten lava and splatter anyone nearby
► ragged open pits in the ground that spout boiling water and steam at irregular intervals
► scattered rubies; if touched, they'll start shouting and demand that you "unhand them at once, varlet!!", which may attract funny looks or undesired attention
► withered trees, grass, deserted campfires, various debris, bloated corpses, and fog
► mirrors that reflect the back of the person that looks into them
► a mausoleum. the structure appears perfectly normal at first, but examination reveals that there are no doors to allow entry or exit
b. NOT ALL REAPERS ARE AMICABLE. The same cloaked figure unceremoniously yanks you out of your Shroud, a mouthful of mud and ashes as you brutally land on the ground. You feel everything all at once: the acute pain of your rebirth, the pull of your Tethers, the cacophony around you, and the dull voice in the back of your mind. You breathe, and then you don't, shackles around your neck, your wrists, the gravelly soil grazing your skin raw and bloody as you're pulled by your feet. Your screams remain unanswered, though it might catch the attention of a passerby, should they be brave enough to face your tormentor. Now would be a good time to resort to any skill you might have to free yourself, past your confusion and growing agony, lest you be carried to the Forges. It's the only thing it mentions, laughing unhinged as you approach the shores, where a brittle ship awaits you. The good news is that Reapers loathe water: splash it or try to push it overboard, a distraction that should allow you to strike in some way. The bad news is that the Tempest isn't kind to anyone, especially you, and you're sort of shackled. Rest assured that it'll fight back, tooth and claw, a scythe at its disposal as well as blood-curdling shrieks that might deafen or temporarily paralyze you. Scream for help if you've yet to get any: someone is bound to hear.
Around you, others like you break out of their Shrouds, and some walk the land fully dressed, with an ease that unequivocally evokes the passage of time. They've been here for a while, and it shows. You might catch bits of conversations here and there, learn more about your new home and new purpose from eavesdropping. The Reaper that's helped you out of your cocoon is, unfortunately, a poor conversationalist, though it does point its rawboned finger towards the stormy horizon, speaking of an immense city in the far distance that shelters thousands of Restless and offers essential supplies for all. Stygia. It doesn't stay much longer: without preamble, the Reaper vanishes into a plume of indigo smoke, essentially leaving you to fend for yourself. This is your chance to reach and cross the threshold of your very own door, find some clothes, your Tethers, and a device that'll enable you to reach out to anyone willing to listen. Others like you might have answers on the Netherwork-- chattier Reapers, even. Just watch out. The moons above glisten crimson, and Badaliscus roam in especially high numbers across the Shadowlands, aggressive and carriers of plague-like diseases. If you wander, do mind the giant split in the earth as well, surrounded by blackened soil. You can't miss it, strange, guttural noises coming from its depths. A fall into a drop that steep would be deadly, as no light or hope shines at the bottom of the chasm... though l'appel du vide is nearly unbearable. Does it whisper your name?
► some compare this place to a purgatory
► an old sage has apparently found a "stairway to heaven"
► another restless' acquaintance has recently lost their battle against their shadow and nearly killed them -- probably because they didn't have a soulmate. they now dwell in the labyrinth with other monstrosities
► some restless can be spotted laughing hysterically, or arguing with themselves
► objects never last unless reforged with a soul's essence
► the hierarchy used to send a welcome party for new arrivals but now seem reluctant to leave stygia -- maybe because new arrivals are now a daily thing, sometimes hourly
► no one seems to know what reapers truly are
► ferrymen never speak
► small fumaroles that emit occasional bursts of molten lava and splatter anyone nearby
► ragged open pits in the ground that spout boiling water and steam at irregular intervals
► scattered rubies; if touched, they'll start shouting and demand that you "unhand them at once, varlet!!", which may attract funny looks or undesired attention
► withered trees, grass, deserted campfires, various debris, bloated corpses, and fog
► mirrors that reflect the back of the person that looks into them
► a mausoleum. the structure appears perfectly normal at first, but examination reveals that there are no doors to allow entry or exit
if you choose to address the netherwork directly as one of your prompts, reapers or any other npc might reply to you. otherwise, feel free to speculate with other characters!
additionally, if you wind up poisoned or injured by a badaliscus, the occasional scaleberry can sometimes be found in the shadowlands, often rotten and scattered around withered trees. you'll find this kind of information in your smartphone's database, but anyone with healing abilities could also come to your aid: just remember that magic in the netherworld is unpredictable.
lastly, if l'appel du vide is too strong for you to resist, and if no one is able to keep you from falling to your death, a reaper will eventually give you a hand, immediately poofing out of existence afterwards.
b. NOT ALL REAPERS ARE AMICABLE. The same cloaked figure unceremoniously yanks you out of your Shroud, a mouthful of mud and ashes as you brutally land on the ground. You feel everything all at once: the acute pain of your rebirth, the pull of your Tethers, the cacophony around you, and the dull voice in the back of your mind. You breathe, and then you don't, shackles around your neck, your wrists, the gravelly soil grazing your skin raw and bloody as you're pulled by your feet. Your screams remain unanswered, though it might catch the attention of a passerby, should they be brave enough to face your tormentor. Now would be a good time to resort to any skill you might have to free yourself, past your confusion and growing agony, lest you be carried to the Forges. It's the only thing it mentions, laughing unhinged as you approach the shores, where a brittle ship awaits you. The good news is that Reapers loathe water: splash it or try to push it overboard, a distraction that should allow you to strike in some way. The bad news is that the Tempest isn't kind to anyone, especially you, and you're sort of shackled. Rest assured that it'll fight back, tooth and claw, a scythe at its disposal as well as blood-curdling shrieks that might deafen or temporarily paralyze you. Scream for help if you've yet to get any: someone is bound to hear.
► II. OF SOULS & SHADOWS
a. WHETHER YOU'VE FAILED TO FREE YOURSELF OR MANAGED TO BOARD A FRIENDLIER SHIP, you won't escape the storm, a tempest within a tempest.
Grey clouds boil across the sky in a bruise-colored wall, forked lightning and thunder booming overhead. The clouds open, a black and green funnel growing down towards you. As it swirls closer, you see faces, staring out from within and screaming. Gale force winds whip the sails of your ship, debris flying through the air: glass, wood, metal. The ship sways, and you sway with it, the groans of your vessel as it's tossed about in rough waters almost deafening. It's terrifying. If you were being transported to the Forges, the Reaper quickly abandons you, leaving you to your demise. If you were lucky enough to board a safer ship, pay attention. You're holding on for dear unlife as sheets of rain slap against your face, blown off-balance by heavy gusts of wind, but you see them in the raging waves, Restless just like you, shackled and helpless in the storm. You have a choice, your first dilemma: focus your energies on saving yourself and anyone else aboard your ship, or take the wheel and navigate through the winds, screams and flotsam in order to try and rescue them. Coils of rope are available, tarps, barrels and buckets.
b. WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE OR WHEREVER YOU ARE, your Shadow might take this very ill-timed opportunity to make itself known -- if it hasn't already. You're scared, torn, tired, and maybe a little hysterical -- it knows. It's in your head. Literally. It's you, and it's not, a growing onslaught of inappropriate thoughts, impulsive and intrusive as it makes an attempt to figure you and itself out. It's never been sentient before, perhaps even unsure of its purpose for a time. And then, as you struggle against the storm, it speaks:
Deaded things slam into you, spat out of the tornado. The sight snaps you out of your daze, but you don't have time to ponder whether this eerie interlude was real. It won't speak again, never directly. You'll know it's there, viscerally, as your Self and Shadow struggle to come to grips with this new antagonistic yet symbiotic relationship. If you've never been kind to yourself before, learn how to, because it won't be.
Luckily, this whole ordeal may have left somewhat of a positive mark on you: Sparks. Two of them. It's a light buzz in the back of your mind, a tickle beneath your skin as nether magic courses through your veins, an inherent part of you now. The knowledge of what is happening to you is abstract at best, but it's there, and if necessary, you'll know how to use your newfound abilities:
Grey clouds boil across the sky in a bruise-colored wall, forked lightning and thunder booming overhead. The clouds open, a black and green funnel growing down towards you. As it swirls closer, you see faces, staring out from within and screaming. Gale force winds whip the sails of your ship, debris flying through the air: glass, wood, metal. The ship sways, and you sway with it, the groans of your vessel as it's tossed about in rough waters almost deafening. It's terrifying. If you were being transported to the Forges, the Reaper quickly abandons you, leaving you to your demise. If you were lucky enough to board a safer ship, pay attention. You're holding on for dear unlife as sheets of rain slap against your face, blown off-balance by heavy gusts of wind, but you see them in the raging waves, Restless just like you, shackled and helpless in the storm. You have a choice, your first dilemma: focus your energies on saving yourself and anyone else aboard your ship, or take the wheel and navigate through the winds, screams and flotsam in order to try and rescue them. Coils of rope are available, tarps, barrels and buckets.
b. WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE OR WHEREVER YOU ARE, your Shadow might take this very ill-timed opportunity to make itself known -- if it hasn't already. You're scared, torn, tired, and maybe a little hysterical -- it knows. It's in your head. Literally. It's you, and it's not, a growing onslaught of inappropriate thoughts, impulsive and intrusive as it makes an attempt to figure you and itself out. It's never been sentient before, perhaps even unsure of its purpose for a time. And then, as you struggle against the storm, it speaks:
Enjoying your first taste of sea-salt horrors? You can feel it, can't you. The pull. It's eating at you, subtly, but it's there. You can’t run. You can’t
get away from me either, because I’m you, and I’m just as
much a part of you as all the noble ideals you hold. All the awful
thoughts you ever entertained, all the things you were ashamed of or couldn't bring yourself to say, and all the
lies you told... that’s what I am, and you can’t make me go
away. You can’t outlive me. I’m going to remind you of
all the terrible things you did or wanted to do, and I’m going to
get you to do more of them, because you’re still
you and you still have all those nasty little urges
floating around. Only now I’m here to highlight
the opportunities you have to indulge. Don't be shy. If you won't speak your mind, I'll do it for you. If you ever considered redemption, think again. Fight me or silence me if you wish, it doesn't matter. Even if you succeed. I may go dormant for a while, but I'll always come back stronger. I'm your Shadow, and Oblivium awaits us.
Luckily, this whole ordeal may have left somewhat of a positive mark on you: Sparks. Two of them. It's a light buzz in the back of your mind, a tickle beneath your skin as nether magic courses through your veins, an inherent part of you now. The knowledge of what is happening to you is abstract at best, but it's there, and if necessary, you'll know how to use your newfound abilities:
a. Teleportation, allowing you to vanish into thin air and relocate anywhere you wish, the same way a Reaper would. Usable 4 times.
b. Mind-reading, albeit a bit murky. Think of it as a weak signal reception. Pry some information about the Netherworld out of an NPC's mind, or try to find out what a friend think of you. Lasts 12 hours.
► III. THE ETERNAL CITY
IF YOU'VE ELECTED TO REACH STYGIA INSTEAD OF MATERIALIZING BACK INTO YOUR HOME IN THE SHADOWLANDS, you'll be welcomed by fishermen in the Harbors, and most of them seem... well, a little annoyed, honestly. Additional mouths to feed, and all that. Stygia has been at max capacity for decades, and resources aren't always easily obtained. But they were like you, once -- freshly undead, overwhelmed -- and if they sigh and glower as you pass by, quick to dismiss you, you'll soon be guided towards what seems to be a Notice Board, a map of Stygia pinned just below. Make yourself useful, you're told. If you hope to survive here, better start by earning your keep!
If you're injured, a healer will tend to you in Hale. Poultices can also be found in the Marketplace, as well as bandages, etc. The only problem is... you have no coin, and not much to barter with. Pick a job from the Notice Board if you're willing, or find shelter in Serene: most people there will welcome you into their homes, so long as you don't overstay said welcome. Alternatively, if you ask around, a fellow Restless might be able to help you. Steal if you wish, though be warned that there might be consequences.
Meanwhile, if the thought of returning to the Shadowlands is a little overwhelming for now, you will come across empty buildings and houses all over Stygia, most of them in varying states of repair. They're yours for the taking, if you don't mind cob-webs or shattered windows, but all you have is time now, and a little renovation can go a long way!
As you explore your new environment, you might start experiencing odd and subtle changes...
If you're injured, a healer will tend to you in Hale. Poultices can also be found in the Marketplace, as well as bandages, etc. The only problem is... you have no coin, and not much to barter with. Pick a job from the Notice Board if you're willing, or find shelter in Serene: most people there will welcome you into their homes, so long as you don't overstay said welcome. Alternatively, if you ask around, a fellow Restless might be able to help you. Steal if you wish, though be warned that there might be consequences.
Meanwhile, if the thought of returning to the Shadowlands is a little overwhelming for now, you will come across empty buildings and houses all over Stygia, most of them in varying states of repair. They're yours for the taking, if you don't mind cob-webs or shattered windows, but all you have is time now, and a little renovation can go a long way!
As you explore your new environment, you might start experiencing odd and subtle changes...
ooc note
► Welcome to Nightfell's second TDM! All threads can be considered game canon and may be used as samples if you choose to apply.
► Check out the Notice Board for additional prompts! Older quests can be found in the comments if you'd rather do them instead.
► For your convenience: Bestiary, Glossary, Setting.
► If you still have questions regarding the game in general, please refer to the FAQ. For questions specific to the TDM, ask them below!
► We hope you enjoy your first experience in Nightfell!
adopts whatever genshin you play tbh
[ A wave of his hand, as if it wasn't really of consequence now. ]
Thankfully, yes, the water seems to do the trick. If one can overpower them. You, of course, seemed to have no trouble. Those of us with no inherent... capabilities had a tougher time.
[ Silco himself, had needed saving the first time. Of course, after, he'd done his best to drown one of them after, and had succeeded, with sheer determination. It was the best he could do, given everything that he was, but... he would be damned if he didn't make sure he survived. ]
Supposedly, they're trying to take us to make our... souls into weapons.
i'm so spoiled
All that does is that he can't allow them to happen. ]
That so? Then, they're going to have to try much harder than that if they want to make a weapon out of mine.
[ He says it breezily, with an air of confidence coming from someone who knows his own strengths and limits. Either way, he isn't too worried. ]
Are they the only ones who try to drag us there?
[ Are there any other creatures he needs to look out for? ]
It's bc I think you're rad!!
[ When he'd first arrived, he thought it some kind of torture. A punishment that would be fitting for a man who'd grown up mining, and became who he'd become in pursuit of escaping that life. He'd thought they they would put him to manual labor, and perhaps They did some, but Silco expected they would turn him to a knife the first opportunity they were able.
The second question gave him pause, as he considered the answer.]
As far as I know, they're the only one taking us to the Forges. Supposedly, the Hierarchy will throw you in the Gallows if they even assume you've done something wrong.
[ Hands spread, he offered a supposedly unassuming smile. It was the very opposite of that. ]
Personally, that's why I try to keep my nose clean, and keep their gaze looking elsewhere.
wow, no u!!! reverse uno's u.
When Silco mentions the Hierarchy, the older man has his full attention once more. His eyebrow is raised. He doesn't need to ask to know that being sent to the Gallows spells trouble no matter how you slice it. ]
The Hierarchy? I didn't think a place like this would even bother with something like that.
[ If the Netherworld is anything like the Abyss, maybe it shouldn't surprise him, but still — he would have expected that chaos would be expected. ]
What counts as "wrong" in their eyes?
😳
In Stygia, the city across the water, it will make a bit more sense that they're about. [ After all, the city was where there would be authorities, unlike this wasteland, with the reapers and the eerie doors. It's like nothing he's ever really seen. Stark, and empty. Silco itched out here, having only come to hunt down a few more changes of clothing, and to ensure everything was right here.
He didn't like being so exposed, around so few people. In Zaun, one could hardly cough without meeting another person, except for in the high noon, or the very early morning. ]
But anything they see as unsavory, or illegal. Thieves, murderers, the like. I've heard that if the Hierarchy considers you a threat, they will put someone away in the Gallows. [ A Beat, before he raised a finger, as if there was a point to be made. ]
Mind, I've been here no more than a month. Every day, there's something new to learn.
(1/2) 🥰
Still, it's just troublesome to be told that he's going to have to watch his back. Keep his nose clean, and keep their gaze looking elsewhere— or so this guy says. How annoying. Doing anything besides the direct approach will always be annoying to him, but if this place has rules, then he better learn them fast. ]
Huh. I'm not all that interested in giving them a reason to throw me in the Gallows, so I'll keep that in mind.
(2/2)
So— it's only been a month since you died, huh?
[ Might as well get that clarified too. ]
no subject
[ He responded, automatic, now. There were enough people who doubted their deaths, that it seemed...unwise to advertise such a fact. Silco remembered his death, that moment in stark, vivid detail. He'd felt his last breath, said the last words he would ever say, and felt darkness descend. He couldn't imagine coming back from that, but perhaps that was foolish of him to think it impossible.
Perhaps, but he found that unlikely. ]
And mere moments since you did. Supposedly. There are some who...believe otherwise. I have not found evidence of either possibility at this time.
[ Other than what he knew himself. ]
There's plenty of us, they call us Restless, and they've hewn out a city with all of the trappings of mortal life, and then some.
no subject
[ He doesn't know what to think— of course, his gut instinct tells him that it can't be true. When he doesn't even remember how it happened, or who managed to deal the fatal blow, then it's an outcome he can't accept. Not until it's proven to be true.
Either way, he isn't amused, but what can he do beyond trying to gather as much information as he can. He made it here somehow, so it makes sense that there should be a way out. Supposedly. ]
If my death was inevitable, then... that's fine, but until I figure out how and why it happened, I'll play it safe and believe otherwise too.
[ Anyway. ]
So all the Restless can be found in that city? In Stygia?
no subject
[ He said, but Silco doesn't quite believe it. It's hard for him to, given...everything.
Still, he's gotten more careful, than the first moments since he had arrived. After all, between Talis pushing to know details, and others who said they couldn't die... It left Silco to feel like he was the only one not denying reality, but given that the rest of them could use that as an advantage... he would play along. ]
Yes, as far as I've seen. Most congregate where it's safest. It's unsurprising, and the areas outside of the city are more dangerous to most. Although some enjoy the challenge of leaving the city.
no subject
If anything, it's more frustrating to him that he doesn't know how he could be dead. It would be much easier to accept it if he knew some great warrior was the cause of his demise, but as it is, he has nothing, and not knowing who or what could have taken him down is more harrowing than the fact that he could be really dead.
Whatever. He'll worry about it later. ]
I can't blame others if they want to stay where it's safest. That just means more fun for me.
[ He looks towards the waters. Stygia sounds like a good place to start to learn more about the situation... ]
How do we get there?
no subject
Across the water. There are boats. You'll want to avoid the tempest, though, if possible.
Just some...friendly advice. I found the experience deeply unpleasant, the first time I went through.
no subject
[ Oh. That's good to know, but hang on... ]
Are you not heading back to the city yourself?
[ At least, that's what it sounds like from the way Silco is talking. Maybe the old man knows a different way to reach the place and he isn't telling Tartaglia anything. ]
no subject
[ It was short lived, now. He only had so many of them, so he would have to start taking the boats soon, but... at least for now, he could remain safe. ]
You will likely find one eventually. They call them... sparks, I suppose. They're something closer to the stuff of fantasy, like magic. [ Only a little roll of his eye, with that one. Silco knew magic was real -- Hextech made that clear -- but... He also knew that it wasn't for someone like him. He used it because it was available, and useful, but it wasn't something that he wanted to rely on.
Paranoid as he was, he thought it would make him weak. ]
I'll simply teleport back.
no subject
[ If this man says it's possible to find them around here, he wonders if that's how he'll be reunited with his Delusion. ]
How did you find this one? Just out of the blue?
[ A part of him hopes that isn't the case, but it's not like he can be picky about such things. It's already beyond his control that he ended up here so he's sure finding the Tsaritsa's gift to him isn't going to be easy. ]
no subject
[ He shrugged, like it was no big deal. It was, of course, but so many were so used to magic here, and Silco knew better than to admit to his wonder at it.
It was different, unique. It was amazing, and he'd never had power like it before.
But he could feel the spark waning, even now. He only had a few uses remaining. Like all things in this realm, it was all...impermanent. ]
Like most things here, it does not seem to last.
no subject
[ It doesn't matter as much that Silco has received an item that helped him teleport. What has Tartaglia's attention is the last thing that was said: things don't seem to last around here. ]
Can the same be said with things that belong to you? Something from home, for example.
[ If that means his Vision or Delusion won't last, then... that's going to spell trouble. ]
no subject
[ Mind. Silco hasn't brought much. ]
I tried a lighter, and it crumbled to dust within a day or so. Same with a knife.
[ Probably not good for Childe, but Silco's items are incredibly mundane, oddly enough. ]
no subject
I guess it's fitting, given where we are. [ That doesn't make it any less convenient, but. Nothing he can do about it for now. ] ... Anyway, I'm gonna try making my way over to the city.
Maybe I'll see you around.
no subject
[ Silco can note the look on his face, but there's nothing he can offer, in this, can he? No reassurances, certainly.
He'd even heard that the spark he'd gotten will vanish soon enough. More proof that this world is hauntingly impermanent. ]
I'm sure you will, stop by Mirth sometime. I'll buy you a drink, and we can talk business, if you get your feet under you.
no subject
Business, huh. [ He can only guess what type of business this man is referring to, but he's sure it'll be something he's already familiar with. Silco looks the part, after all; probably would have fit right in with the other Harbingers if he came from their world. ] Sure, I'd be interested to hear what you have in mind.
[ He sticks his hand out. ]
Tartaglia, but you can call me Childe.
no subject
Like in all things, Silco was caey. ]
Well then, Childe, I do hope you take me up on my offer.
If you can't find me, just as for Silco, I'm sure someone can point you in the right direction.
🎀
I'll be looking forward to it. Until next time, Silco.
[ He takes his leave soon after, heading for one of the boats by the shore. It's time to see whether or not he'll survive this tempest Silco warned him about. ]