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TDM // #1
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
► six bones arranged in a hexagon on the ground. they appear to have been gnawed upon and bear teeth marks
► 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
► six bones arranged in a hexagon on the ground. they appear to have been gnawed upon and bear teeth marks
► 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, you're out of luck. Hale is currently off-limits -- a collapse, apparently -- but poultices can be found in the Marketplace, 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, you're out of luck. Hale is currently off-limits -- a collapse, apparently -- but poultices can be found in the Marketplace, 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 very first 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!
► 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!
text ↪ action
I'll be there in about half an hour. I've got pink hair, you can't miss me.
（ she's really not that far away from him, but she wants to observe him for a bit first before she reveals herself, and that gives her a bit of extra time to do just that. concealing one's presence is imperative to a medic, and the landscape gives plenty of cover. she sneaks around through the labyrinthine tangle of doors until she spots him, a guy that's keeping vigil over several of the creature's bodies.
all things being equal, she still has a shinobi's wariness and tendency towards subterfuge.
except for when wrenches are thrown into her plans.
first of all: he looks enough like sasuke at a distance that she does an honest-to-god double-take. excuse her? that's some rude interdimensional shit on the happen, and she's so briefly incensed by this trick the universe is apparently playing on her that she forgets to be cautious — her next step forwards cracks a branch beneath her boot, giving her easily away. then it's just a matter of making it seem intentional, she strolls out into view with a wave. ）
Hi — Henruit?
（ that's a name, right?
she's so good at this. ）
1/2
For as much as he may look like Sasuke at a distance it only becomes more pronounced in his immediate reaction to the sound, body tensing and whirling to face its origin point with a dagger suddenly filling his hand– ]
2/2 this is so embarrassing i'm so sorry
Ah... who?
[ The word is barely out of his mouth before it clicks. Henruit. The name he'd chosen as his text alias to avoid introducing himself as potentially recognizable royalty, one he's never heard out loud before because it had been Gladio's choice of username in their shared favorite mobile game. Who had he said it was? The name of his favorite author?
Now it's been silent for far too long and the seconds are only continuing to tick by as he stares at her like she's the one who needs to provide an explanation. It's fine, isn't it? The more time he has the more robust and believable he can make his lie, and that'll cover this awkward pause and then some. ]
... sorry, I didn't hear you. [ Or not. ]
no subject
staring...
she clears her throat politely, quite certain he did in fact hear her (maybe he's poisoned after all? hmm, possibilities) but willing to play along at least for now. ）
I asked if you're Henruit. I'm Haruno Sakura — the doctor?
no subject
[ Pronunciation? Actually spot-on. His hand finds his hip, dagger in the other tapping harmlessly against his thigh. ]
Ah, yeah, I figured. The hair gave you away just like you said. Which means I'm Henruit. [ The more he hears it, the dumber it sounds.
He takes a step back, however, eyes lowering to one of the creatures at his feet that's bearing the abuses of an initial incision along the spine, clearly Noctis's first attempt to at least open one of them up. ]
Doctors are usually older, right?
no subject
Right.
（ is she saying that in response to his extremely anaemic confirmation of being henruit or his comment about doctors and their ages? (why does everyone keep asking her this??) ）
I guess we're all so lucky you're the authority on doctors then.
（ her tone is dry as desert sands, but at least there's a hint of amusement there rather than out-and-out irritation. she steps past him to the creature itself, eyes those (frankly, terrible) incisions and then just starts rolling her sleeves up. chakra scalpel it is. ）
no subject
Hah?
No, it's not like that. I just mean...
[ Here one shoulder lifts in an aborted shrug, attempting to downplay awkwardness with his favorite defensive mechanism: feigned apathy. He crouches down to have a better look at the monster she's about to dissect much more skillfully, arms draping over his knees. ]
You must be really smart to get that far at your age. That's not my area but that doesn't mean I don't get that it's hard work.
... I'll watch you do one and then I'll tackle the next one. By the time we finish these couple, who knows. Maybe more will have showed up.
im not writing graphic animal vivisection u cannae make me
she isn't going to say anything about it, though. or even really acknowledge what he said, because she doesn't have the first clue how.
time to work!! and not examine that too closely!!
after a moment, her hand is cloaked in a veil of chakra — visible to him as a luminous, pale green only if he has any sort of spiritual power of his own — and then she's diving into that necropsy.
if it happens that he can't see the aura of the chakra, it will appear as if she's simply parting the animal's skin through sheer force of will. it melts away under her hand, and she digs right into its messy guts without seeming the least bit bothered. going by the diagram... ah. right there.
it's a simple thing, to sever the sacs from the ducts that carry their venom, cauterizing them so there's no chance of it leaking out over everything. the poison is a paralytic as well, but she's primed to deal with that should it happen, half a second away from triggering the byakugou at any given time — and when she pulls one of the two sacs out of the creature's innards only lightly splashed with viscera and gore, it's with a triumphant hah. ）
Here. Can you take my bag off my shoulder? There's a container in there for them.
（ hindsight, 20/20, etc. ）
first of all I'm broken-hearted
Fantastic. So worse than making a fool of himself, he's potentially insulted her somehow. Not a great start for his netherworld netherworking and not a great way to avoid offering more volume to the negative voice in the back of his head, one ready and willing to remind him of his social failings. Fully on his own for not even a single day and he's already getting himself judged by a doctor?
His placid facial expression belies any internal conflict as he instead channels his low-IQ overthinking into a click of his tongue, wisely choosing to refocus on the work they're out here to do. And... is that magic she's using? The chakra is clearly visible to him, a fact he telegraphs with a slight straightening of his back and a narrowing of blue eyes, allowing them to dart only once to her face before he's back to studying her work. ]
Awesome... [ It's muttered under his breath, a quiet appreciation for both her efficiency and the otherworldly skills allowing for it. His head snaps up again, however, when asked, and it's with a quiet "ah" that he indeed reaches out to carefully slide that strap down her arm – odd, that at some point while she was working the dagger he was holding has seemingly disappeared. If she doesn't want him unfastening that pouch and starting to dig around inside of it she'd better say so now, because that's exactly what he's doing.
Please don't let there be any loose razor wire or exploding tags in here. ]
What was that? That energy or whatever that you were using to cut into it. You said you're a doctor but I guess I wasn't expecting a mage, too... [ A doctor mage with blade hands? "Badass," he thinks privately. ]
good. suffer!!! meanwhile, these dummies:
It's just a trick of the trade.
（ she says by way of explanation, not actually explaining anything at all. maybe she needs to take a leaf out of sasuke's book and simply not speak when she's not of a mind to answer anything — can she pull off his darkly petulant glare? hm, one wonders. ）
I don't think it matters what you call it. Magic is fine for now.
no subject
But first. ]
... it pretty obviously matters a lot, but I guess if you're not ready to talk about it I can't force you. [ It'd give him some hint as to where she's from, if they have that or anything else in common, if she's a potential ally, if she's native... but he's getting ahead of himself there too. ]
How long have you been here? Feels like you've got a pretty solid handle on things.
[ So he says as he hoists himself up, languid body language reading "tired" but the weapon that's suddenly re-materializing in his hand, heralded by a wash of blue light and crystalline flecks, is twirled into a backhanded grip that's far more comfortable than it seems it should be. He takes the few steps needed to approach the next body, a new competence and confidence in his first cut into flesh that mimics her own. Sure, the messiness of the innards without the added bonus of a chakra coating to keep his hands relatively clean earns a furrowed brow, but he doesn't complain or hesitate.
Yet. ]
no subject
About two days. I'm not sure how long a day would be here specifically, but about forty-five hours, give or take.
（ she wipes her hands on a rag, dumping a small bit of water over them to clean them off as she supervises his foray into necropsy. she crouches down next to him with her heels flat on the ground, studying the way he's holding the knife (she already guessed, by his reaction to her graceless entrance, that he had some experience fighting, but the way he's holding the weapon confirms it). ）
Is there a nesting ground nearby? This seems like an unusually high volume of the creatures...
my inbox ate this notif I am so sorry, I come back repentant
Maybe both. ]
Maa, who knows... Good question, and if I had to guess I'd say yes. Not that I know what the average amount out here usually is.
But I can say most of the ones I saw were coming from the same direction, past that ridge over there. [ He chooses to nod to indicate what he means rather than wave his now bloody hands about. You're welcome. ]
Why, you wanna' go clear it out? I guess we could set traps, but that depends on how many bodies you need.
the great inbox eat of 2k22 made victims of us all tbh 😭😭😭
she makes a bit of a face, chewing absently at her bottom lip in thought. the more supply you have the more mistakes you can make during the process of refining an anti-venom. she's prepared to try with just two samples, but it might be worth it to be on the safe side... ）
Six would be a decent threshold. I know you've killed more than that here, but I want to be cautious about using bodies that have started to decompose — it's crucial they be fresh, otherwise you run the risk of cross-contamination within the body.
（ the idea of going and mercing an entire group of the creatures doesn't really seem to trouble her, nor does the blood on his hands — she does pull out a water bottle to pour over his palms once he's done, though. ）
Ah, but we should be careful not to entirely eradicate them. We don't know what sort of ecological benefit they may provide here — we don't want to disrupt the natural order of things too much.
🙏
[ It's muttered under his breath as his hand slips free of the carcass below, that second small venom sac gripped carefully with the first... until it suddenly isn't. Both seem to vanish into thin air with the barest flecks of blue light that even then are only noticeable to someone paying close attention, a force of habit on his part. Sure, she has that container at the ready, but faster to use magic of his own to free up hands for a needed wash than to mess with anything more complicated, right? ]
And thanks for the water; this is pretty gross. [ Understatement of the century. ]
We could scope out what we're dealing with. If six isn't a number that'd put a huge dent in it, we may be fine. Otherwise we could always start with what we've got and regroup later... or find a new spot to farm.
no subject
that i totally wrote as 'depression' first and stared at for a HOT MINUTE...she files that little informational tidbit away for later, but in the interim caps her water bottle with gusto. ）Sounds good. Ready to go? Sorry — I'm probably going to get you to do most of the heavy lifting. I'm not much of a hunter, I don't even really have a weapon unless you want me to punch something...
（ she lives on a throne of LIES. ）
But I'll provide whatever support you need.
sakura you filthy LIAR
[ He's back on his feet, stretching up to full height with a glance back at her after that little revelation. ]
Sure, but... [ Doesn't she essentially have knives for hands? It was obvious she hadn't wanted to discuss it in any kind of meaningful detail, but that doesn't erase the ability from existence. The odd look he gives her might telegraph his misgivings since his mouth certainly isn't, quiet with his glance away. ]
Taking out a bunch of guys this weak is pretty easy for me to manage solo. Not saying you need the advice but you might want to get a weapon still for when you're on your own at least.
... right?
she's the absolute worst
I looked into weapons in Stygia... it seems they're hard to come by, not to mention really expensive. Sorry, I don't mean to make you do all the work, it's just that I'd rather conserve my energy in case there's an injury.
（ smooth recovery. she's a genius. thank u. here all week. ）
Don't get me wrong, I can still punch things! I do know how to fight. I'm just not really a front line person.
no subject
This definitely tracks, he's a believer, 100%. SOLID SWERVE. ]
Ah... yeah. Sounds tough. [ :( ]
I'd let you borrow one but right now none of my stuff is soulforged yet. Maybe when that's done. [ Keeping his weapons unsummoned to protect them from disintegration is a tactic he hasn't actually tested the merit of but it sounds good in theory, and might sound good to other people if he bothered to explain it, too, but he does no such thing.
For now, inexperienced tracker Noctis critically eyes the corpses around them before setting off in a partially informed direction with the confidence and nonchalance of a much bolder and smarter man. ]
How long have you been a doctor, anyway?
no subject
I started learning about six years ago. We, um, don't exactly have standard curriculum where I live, so I was apprenticed to another doctor, and learned more by doing than by studying.
（ ... which isn't to say she didn't study, only that it was more hands-on than that. the entirety of the time naruto was away, she spent time in the hospital, treating minor injuries under tsunade's watchful eye until the smell of blood and antiseptic no longer kept her up at night. maybe it's easier with shinobi, taught from youth to conceal pain, than it is for people who are less acclimated to it — but by the time she was dealing with civilians, she'd hardened herself against such things. ）