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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!
no subject
[ leaks takes a few steps over to the container of usb sticks and takes one out. he holds it up in front of his eye, then slowly draws his smartphone out from a sneaky pocket in the side of his robes. ]
... I believe this will suffice. This device is very interesting.
[ some kind of method of communication. something more reliable than traditional correspondence, less taxing than placing a curse on an object. ]
Do you have one as well? If we both attempt to use them, then this will go more smoothly.
no subject
though, opposite to that, he wonders if there was supposed to be some greater purpose in providing them with something so handy. was the whole point of this to be some test? a testament of their wills and tenacity? maybe even an experiment to judge their character and see who made it in which parts of the afterlife.
regardless, he decides not to ponder on matters that held no actual stock. instead, he takes his device out and seems to peer it over, attempting to press the usb into one of the slots. it takes a bit of finesse. flipping over, and then peering at it again.
as for getting it to play... hm. ] While sending letters never seemed to bother me in the past, I must admit, this device is far more convenient. [ though, a teleportation scroll or magic was probably equally as handy, but he decides not to mention it.
instead, he focuses back at leaks. ] You seem quite handy. [ ... and by some miracle, he does actually get it to play a movie??? ]
no subject
well. no one dies right now! ]
I agree.
[ he sticks the drive into his phone and finds that it begins to play automatically, but the title card is none of the ones that he remembers. what kind of movie is 'the fast and the furious' anyway. ]
'Handy'? [ leaks sniffs. ] I suppose so. I am not afraid to get my hands dirty, if that is what you mean.
One should not be afraid of the unfamiliar and unknown.
no subject
but, it wouldn't be a lie to state that callisto operated by a similar set of principles. bloodshed came as natural to him as breathing, but he comprehends there was a time and place for action, and it all seemed relatively pointless in a land that seemed to operate so differently from his own. though, not at all in a terrible way. at least, not completely. ]
An admirable trait. I think the nobles back home could learn a thing or two from your values. [ not a complete lie. after all, it was easy for most nobles to simply speak out of their ass in the comfort of their own mansion walls. very little could do much in the face of actual danger.
except for her, perhaps, but he purposely pushes the thought from his head. ] Is that a personal philosophy?
[ he checks his movie... which he's not sure is horror at all.
the bee movie? ]
no subject
leaks pulls the stick out of his and tosses it aside. there's no rule as to what they should do with the ones that don't fit the description, right? and he's not going to just burn or crush it. he'll just have to keep the ones that seem the most useful. perhaps there might be one or two that'll make him. ]
It is. Relying on others can be a fool's errand.
[ the next movie he plugs into takes a moment or two to start, but ends up not being any of the titles they're looking for. actually he hates it. why is this movie called 'cats'. ]
You mention nobles. Are you royalty, or are you one yourself?
[ sucks to be dead if he's important. ]
no subject
but with that said, he's pretty sure this isn't it as he begins to pull it out. though, he can't deny he was a bit curious to what sort of end the two were supposed to meet? was that some sort of court to decide who keeps her romantic attention? regardless, he shakes it off also tosses it aside.
somehow, they may both mutually be creating a larger mess, but if neither of them cares, callisto presumes he's in good company. ] I was the crown prince of the empire. [ but, without saying more, it's quite obvious how that concluded.
with that said, he inserts the next usb he finds. ] What about you?
no subject
he tilts his head. the next stick doesn't provide any of the movies they're looking for. neither does the second, or third, or even fourth. ]
I am a magician. Nothing more, nothing less. Does that surprise you?
[ all of these usb things are useless. when will they find something like 'the ring'? ]
no subject
they probably should have asked for the general gist of the storyline. the only thing he could really take away is the simple fact that it likely was supposed to be horrific? but, callisto wonders how frightening something completely fictitious could be.
he inserts one that actually might been promises, his eyebrows furrowing as he tries to make out the scene in the dark. ]
It does. [ for a lot of reasons, but as much as he can get into that, he decides to keep his attention focused on his present companion. ] How's that going for you? [ he can't envision it's an easy life. as they state, with powers comes... not just responsibility, but a whole lot of trouble. or so he'd say, that his express experience.
with that, he tilts his own screen to leaks as if getting opinion #2? ]
no subject
Hm. Not well, I believe.
[ because there is also a chance they could've found at least one of the specified movies but not identified it correctly, and that is a concern. still, he would like to believe they can find at least one of them before leaving the theater and not go empty handed. ]
Unfortunately, as knowledgeable as I am, I do not think my magic can help us in these endeavors. It would be like reaching into an empty space not knowing what possibilities may be out there and pulling something out that is undesirable.
[ such as the bee movie. anyway. he looks at callisto's device and blinks. ]
... is that It?
[ it. you know, it. ]
no subject
besides, if there was anyone with enough exposure to it, it would be him. the palace had no shortage of talented mages in their employment, after all. but, with that said, he does focus in on his words: ] So there are limits to your magic, as well? [ he asks purely out of curiosity, before staring back at his screen as...
a terrifying image of a clown appears. ] I didn't realize jesters were such a horror to people.
no subject
[ he has already tried. it's like the knowledge hasn't been removed nor the will to attempt it has been stolen, but the fact that when he has tried to raise the dead or even teleport away using the shadows... he couldn't. frustrating, but expected. dying has probably limited some of what he can do. what he can accomplish.
he looks at the clown image and he can feel his fur frizz up. ]
Mm. I suppose there is a fine line between humor and fear. One can use the other as comfort.
[ but maybe this is a match? he doesn't know. ]
This does not disturb you?
no subject
but, as curious as this all makes him, he decisively opts not to push it for now. at least it seemed like they procured something in their search. potential nightmare fuel aside— ]
I suppose it's only right to state that murder should be quite disturbing. But, I've seen worse. [ worse plays? worse in real life? regardless, he doesn't think to expound any further. though— ]
Does it disturb you?
no subject
[ leaks scoffs at the idea of being disturbed by a clown. there are scarier things out there, like water sausages getting waved in his direction or the feeling of water on his fur. those are much more unappetizing things to him. he won't share them though. that's a weakness he can't afford to reveal, despite his kitty ears and tail being somewhat obvious... ]
Murder is not disturbing either. It is a reaction, nothing more or less. Natural or not.
[ the cat, usually bereft of smiles, shows one. ]
Are you a murderer?
no subject
but, despite his own thoughts and the humor that he derived from such a conversation— he's still shocked at that last question. ] If you are asking if I am simply an indiscriminate killer, then unfortunately no. [ he says with a casual shrug, as if the statement was no real skin off his back. ]
But, have I killed... [ an eerie kind of twinkle in his eyes. something that seems to speak volumes on its own. he lets that sink in for a few seconds, before: ] Granted, I have been to war more times than I can count.
And you?
no subject
[ because leaks is certainly one, and he won't try to deceive this man too many times. who knows many words he can speak before they become untrustworthy? assets are assets. allies are allies. would callisto be one of those, he doens't know, but... but.
he tilts his head. his ears wiggle. ]
I have killed. For my survival alone, I suppose... the number of bodies I have left in my wake, I did not count.
[ leaks hums lightly. ]
War, I have no experience with. Nor would I want to be a part of one. I do what I must for myself and no one else. I believe that to be fair when wars supposedly involve many, and the wills of others.
no subject
looks like for the two of them, it seems like quite the amount. ] I would be more worried if you did count. [ as if it were such an activity to do so. hence, he gives a laugh, that despite the conversation, is oddly light. or perhaps, how dark this present topic is something that he was simply just used to. ]
That's not a bad approach. Unfortunately, that simply wasn't my lot in life. [ nor was it simply his style to let others fight his battles. they called him crazy and bloodthirsty, but who was it protecting their borders, really? not that he has any real complaints about what people thought of him. ] But, if you can avoid it, then maybe you won't have to increase that body count of yours.
no subject
leaks huffs. if he cared about the lives he took, then perhaps he would. isn't that more worrying? ]
If I can avoid it? It is more that others would need to avoid me.
[ else he would have more reasons to add to his kda. ]
That is more important than anything.
[ too bad he'll betray his own words later but hey, don't hold him to it. ]
no subject
Are you truly that frightening?
[ because all things done and said, it seems like they may have more in common than callisto thought. not just of their almost blase attitude in regards to others lives, but the thought that maybe this man also does not have very many people he trusts around him. or once more, callisto could have simply been projecting. a matter he isn't entirely blind to. but, what individual doesn't try to see the areas of cohesion between themselves and others? he would argue it was natural to some degree.
that said, these aren't ideas he decides to express. at least not exactly. ] Then, it seems I've risked my life here today. Or perhaps we both have. [ a joke, really. since it seems neither of them are really interested in that right now. almost as moving past his statement, he continues: ]
Should we turn this in?
🎀
[ again, no hesitation. there is no more dangerous being in his land than him. no devil is more frightening. no catte is more nightmarish. he is a magician that was supposed to end his world. but here, he is none of those things. he is again merely an intellectual, a hermit... ]
And yes. You are very lucky. Who knows if merely being in my presence has left a mark upon your future?
[ he turns on the balls of his feet, allowing himself a smug smile. his words are lightly sarcastic, but still... it may be true. ]
Let us go.