thebastion | [Day 157/158 ] Open!

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[Day 157/158 ] Open!

Who: The Prince of Albion and you!
What: Prince Rowan has just arrived and may need assistance.
When: Day 157 Arrival, Day 158 actually venturing out.
Where: The Skyway and eventually the Bastion.
Format: Prose?
Warnings: Injuries, bloodloss, derp Prince.

Everything was going swimmingly back home. The kingdom was saved, the crawling darkness defeated, his brother alive, Reaver left town. Sir Walter had died and everyone was still in mourning, but the memorial had gone well and the kingdom was better than it had been in more than a decade.

Which was why Rowan hadn't really felt the need to pay attention while Hobson and his council argued over trivial details about a celebration he didn't really feel like having but knew the people would enjoy. If it was for the people, the Prince - King now, he reminded himself dully - would wave his hand, approve it and let the others work out the details. He was tired, sad and more than a little bereft. Logan had wasted no time in leaving the kingdom once the war was over. Rowan understood why he'd done it, but he wanted more time. They were free from the darkness, free to repair their relationship. Instead Logan fled the country, same as Reaver, leaving Rowan alone to wear a crown much to big for him.

Leading the revolution had been all well and good, but handling all the politics afterwards was enough to make his face feel like it was melting off. So sometimes, when things didn't really matter an no one was asking his opinion anyways, Rowan dozed on the throne, staring out the stained glass windows to the side and dreaming of summers past riding with Logan hunting in the woods or picking flowers with Elise, or even training with Walter. Anything less taxing and confining than the throne after a war.

When he opened his eyes most days, he'd have Page or Ben or someone else staring at him expectantly, waiting for an answer to a question he'd missed. This time he opened his eyes and he was surrounded by rubble overgrown with plants, broken stone floors, tattered tapestries flapping in a light breeze and the sky a strange yellow hue overhead - which was troubling on its own because the throneroom had a ceiling a few minutes ago.

Panic fluttered terrifically in his chest, a hand pressing to his heart as large brown eyes darted around in confusion. There were...statues? Familiar people frozen in time, Hobson with his smug old face pointing vaguely. Touching one out of curiosity proved horrifying and Rowan instantly regretted it with the formerly perfect replica of a person collapsed in on itself and crumbled to the broken ground. After that, he felt a bit faint. The next hours were spent crawling around the rubble looking for answers, shrieking shrilly into the emptiness when he nearly fell off the edge of his castle grounds - floating? The castle was floating? - and generally having a terrible time trying to make heads or tails of everything.

A day passed with the young royal seeking some hint as to the origin of so much destruction - and how he could have slept through it - before exhaustion forced him to take shelter and sleep, his stomach empty and his heart pained. When he woke, uncertain of the time, he struck out, heading for a light he'd seen in the distances while climbing the crumbling stone walls of his family home.

Since there were no answers and Theresa was not contacting him, Rowan could only assume this was a nightmare concocted by the crawling darkness and that somehow, some part of it still lived. It was in his head or in the castle or something, and had affected his mind. It was terrorizing him, and all he could do was try and find a way out. The darkness hated the light, so heading for the light was obviously the only logical choice.

Out on the Skyway the noble encountered a variety of wildlife that looked entirely harmless compared to the things he fought back home, so he made the amateur mistake of assuming nothing was really all that dangerous. By the time Rowan made it even halfway to the Bastion, he was an absolute mess. He was covered in muck from splattering Squirts and their relatives, he was covered in cuts from raging Peckers, bruised and battered from running away from things much too large to even think of fighting and starving. Mercy was he ever hungry!

He would make it to the Bastion on his own, sooner or later, but what looked like it might be a one day trip was rapidly about to turn into a blasted journey. He had nothing with which to recover his health and while his injuries weren't fatal, he was bleeding profusely, tired beyond words and weakened by wounds and hunger. The last time he'd had issues like this was when he'd gotten lost in the Shift sands, and at least there someone had always been looking for him, while right now he felt like the only man left in this crazy world.

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What finds the staggering Hero isn't... Well. What does the King of Brightvale consider 'human'?

Because this being isn't. It's a lot more intimidating than any Squirt or Pecker bird, built like a wall with strange thin arms which end with enormous fists and a head like a helmet. Trying to peer through the slit won't do Rowan any good; there's nothing but darkness and nothing inside. The being, whatever it is, might catch him off-guard with how silent it is despite its size. Almost like it appeared out of nowhere...

There's no sound. No words despite its humanoid shape. No chirping, no gurgling, no clicks. Nothing. It just stares. What's going through its head, if anything? Who can say.

However, it isn't attacking the weak King. It's merely standing ahead on the shattered path before him.

For a long moment Rowan was mildly mortified that he'd stumbled upon one of the largest Hollow Men he'd ever seen. It wasn't impossible to believe. If this was a place of the dead it only made sense for tortured souls trapped by their unrest to be lurking around. When it didn't attack him he wasn't sure what to do in the least.

Then he thought, what if it was one of the statue constructs that obeyed the Crawling Darkness? It didn't have a very familiar shape but there was no reason it couldn't be. Approaching the thing didn't seem to cause an eruption of violent life and if it wasn't attacking him, he couldn't assume it to be an enemy.

In the end, the confused royal just cleared his throat, chewed his bottom lip and lurched forward, leaving bloody footprints in his wake where one of his boots was saturated and left crimson outlines behind. He wasn't limping yet, though he did hold his side with his gun hand, jaw firmly set and large, dark eyes determined. If he couldn't see in the mask and the thing wasn't talking to him, he didn't want to mess with some strange spirit that he might otherwise enrage.

He wasn't a complete idiot.

The sight of those bloody imprints seems to stir something in the creature. It's been given orders, you see. Every one of its kind is indisposed to obeying rather quickly to their respective masters. Some of them more than others, considering certain temperaments... And every Berserker knows not to get on the bad side of their master.

It finally moves, holding out one enormous hand out to the bloody King with a smooth movement. It's an offer of help, although it will just as easily heft Rowan up physically to cart him back if it comes to that.

The prince jumped, startled by the movement, fumbling with both weapons until he had his swords at the ready, pointing warily in the construct's direction. It took a moment for Rowan to realize the motion wasn't in aggression - everything else had been aggressive so far, so it wasn't a stretch to think this thing would be as well. When it came to pass that no violence was offered, Rowan slowly sheathed his sword, dark eyes slowly trailing over the behemoth. What was it? some kind of guardian in this shattered land? A knight?

Despite his lack his of certainty on the matter, the prince was used to having to take the occasional leap of faith, and tended towards believing in the best from others. With all the brittle optimism he could muster, the young royal reached out, putting a gloved hand into the much larger palm of the creature.

"I do hope your intentions are good. If not, do try not to rip off my arm, sir or madam, because I'm rather fond of it."

It was a good thing that sword was put away when it was. "Self preservation" was a higher order than "look for survivors". The Berserker's shoulders relaxed as it was given the hand. Taking a step further, it leaned down to begin to lift Rowan into its arms. That seemed to be the most efficient method of dealing with an injured creature, after all, and it didn't want to waste time in returning to the Bastion. Hopefully the human would be willing with this.

While not exactly okay with it, there wasn't a lot Rowan could do in protest at the moment. He understood the reason behind it, considering his state, but no grown man really liked being toted around like a small child. Still, it was the courtesy of the effort that mattered, not the accidentally demeaning nature.

"Ah, haha, this really isn't necessary, you know? I am still capable of walking on my own. Besides that, I'm an absolute mess and sure to soil your...uh, armor?" he pointed out, cocking his head to the side and raking brown curls out of his face.

"I do hope you're not carrying me off to some cave or other to eat me...that would certainly be an appropriate end to this otherwise dismal affair, I suppose."

Still no answer. It should be said that even though Rowan was now much closer, it was still impossible to see through the blackness apparent in the one opening of the creature's helmet. Did it not want to speak or simply couldn't? Hard to tell.

Regardless, it simply turned on its heel and began a brisk walk back to where it came from. It certainly was not the fastest being about, but there was one advantage. Most of the creatures this close to the general vicinity of the Bastion now recognized the hulking figure and new better than to deal with it. There were Lunkheads... but they were rare this close. There would be no more surprise attacks.

Soon enough, the Bastion began to loom up ahead.

So no, Rowan, not some cave.

"Not a chatty one, I see? Well, that's all well and good, i suppose. I'm used to dealing with the strong silent types. You know, my brother was like that a lot of the time! Once, he and I were hunting in the forest..." Blah blah blah. Exhausted and being toted about like a doll without any evident animosity, Rowan allowed himself to be carted off, all the while talking about his life, his brother and other matters of course.

Anything to distract himself from what was going on around him and to fill the uncomfortable silence. Not that he was even entirely sure the oversized knight really understood him, but at least they were headed for the light in the distance. Precisely where he wanted to go, so no complaints on his front aside from the occasional painful jostle to his wounded side.

Goodness but he was feeling a bit woozy and drowsy. Maybe he was hungry...

"You know, I do believe I might be running a bit on empty?" he murmured, blinking blearily with a crooked smile. "Would it be terribly rude of me if I napped here?" the Prince asked, head bobbing as he danced on the edge of consciousness, oblivious to how pale and clammy he was.

This... was actually the most that the Berserker had ever been spoken to. Not many in the Organization did. It was simply a tool to be appropriately used, although it did understand it it was intimidating to some degree because of its size and position. It listened to the nonstop chatter patiently, not really having any other choice. It was only when it was finally asked a question did it moves its head to look down at the human.

Ah. Humans were not normally supposed to look this way when all was well.

For a moment, it considered using the last of its Corridors for the day to get to the Bastion quickly. Promptly, it dismissed the idea. Corridors of Darkness were not for those already weak. For now, it simply gave a nod of its head.

Had rowan assumed the creature didn't want him to talk he would have politely stopped earlier on. As it were, he usually assumed stoic silence to simply be a tool for those unwilling to appear as decent on the outside as they were on the inside. Saker was a good example; the mercenary leader was a large, stony brute, but a fairly decent person given the chance. The trouble was, the more scary you looked the less people talked to you, and Rowan typically attempted to change that.

Now though, he was having a difficult time keeping his eyes open, never mind keeping his head up. With all the blood loss, being at that angle as he was carried wasn't helping him in the least. In the end, the giant knight found himself quite abruptly bereft of conversation, the battered young noble very unconscious and dangling like a ragdoll. He would not regain consciousness until much later - likely in the hospital, unless the Beserker chose to see him tended to somewhere else.

As it was, the Berserker went first to the one who, in its view, knew everything. It was simply how things were- all Lesser Nobodies went to their higher ups. With the World tattered and destroyed, this was something especially true. Just because they were more intelligent than Heartless didn't mean they were meant to do things on their own. In an unexpected situation, it required guidance.

Fortunately, although by no means a healer, the Berserker's master does know basic healing spells and first aid. The events of the day have already been a bit hectic due to the break in, but Saix leaves that aside when he sees what's been brought to him. Anyone might be useful, after all. Some Cure spells and bandaging later...

Rowan will find himself in a pale but clean hospital room, bloody clothes stripped and set to the side. At least his undergarments are still on... But it's been clear he's been taken care of. The Berserker is standing off by one wall, motionless as a statue. What's new is the blue haired man seated nearby, reading through a book with mismatched gold-teal eyes.

Well "reading" as much as one can when they don't understand the language. Figuring it out helps pass the time at any rate.

When Rowan awoke, doe eyes flickering open slowly and casting about uncomprehendingly, the young royal thought for certain he was dreaming. Then it occurred to him that perhaps he had been dreaming before, and this was reality, because the last he remembered was a world of fractured and floating landmasses. This was...what? A hospital? That seemed to make more sense than a piecemeal world. Perhaps he had been injured in a fight? He didn't recall fighting last he was conscious in his kingdom...

"Good heavens, my mouth is ever so dry," he croaked, suddenly aware of just how heavy his body felt and how dehydrated he must have been. After a moment of squinting at the strange hair of his current watchman, he caught a glimpse of the Beserker, which made him smile and attempt to raise a hand in a small wave. It was sluggish, but he managed.

"Ah ha! If it isn't my erstwhile savior! Hm. But if you're here...then that means I didn't fall from the throne while sleeping and crack my skull?" he asked with a bewildered tone, no longer certain of what was going on.

"Am I still hallucinating?" he asked, squinting at the blue-haired man again.

""If you are, then my responsibility of you is about to be given to someone else," was the dry response as Saix snapped his book shut. Nothing was said to the Berserker itself- it was still somewhat bemused that it was being spoken to instead of its owner. Still, with not a look or a word said to it by Saix, it began to move away to the sink that was in the room.

Saix continued to seemingly ignore it as he looked over the apparent royal. "I know basic healing, but anything beyond that is out of my hands. If you're talking about your situation or my Lesser, then no, you are not being tricked by your own mind."

"Oh...sorry," he murmured softly, winching visibly when the book snapped shut and ducking his head. Resting a hand on his forehead he puzzled over his situation a moment, listening to the stranger while assessing his wounds.

"Ah! Yes, about that. thank you! Both of you, of course. I might have been in a terrible spot of trouble had I been happened upon by Balverines or Hollow Men or some other thing. Hobbes, perhaps. Or those strange fat floating beasts I've seen around," the Prince piped cheerily, courteous as ever.

"My name is Rowan, Prince of Al--...Er, well...hm. King of Albion. Its a sincere pleasure to meet you both...Sir...?" he hedged, tilting his head slightly and indicating he was looking for names.

Balverines, Hollow Men... Creatures from another World. Saix vaguely wonders if they'll come across them while out in the Skyway. They've only come across the beasts of this one so far. Either way it's not an immediate worry. Saix just focuses on the matter at hand.

"My name is Saix," he answers, reaching up to take the tiny little paper cup that only looks tinier pinched delicately between a certain behemoth's fingertips. "This is my Berserker Nobody." The water is then held out to the so-called King, Saix not looking particularly impressed by the title. Then again, the end of the world doesn't mean much for titles as far as he's concerned.

"So you feel fine, then, more or less?"

"Does the knight have a name? Or...is 'Beserker Nobody' his name? Or...her name, I suppose. I've known some very large women in my time," the Prince-King remarked, tilting his head to regard the armored hulk before returning his attention to Saix.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Saix!" Rowan replies, rewarding the duo with a bright smile of gratitude as he takes the cup, sipping politely. He seemed to be well recovered after being just cleaned up and rested, so he nodded in answer to the question.

"I believe so, yes, thanks to you both. I'm fairly hardy, I like to think, but traveling alone in an unknown wilderness was not my wisest decision ever. I'm not even sure what I was doing out there. I seem to have a spot of amnesia, which is a bit distressing. You see, I was sitting on the throne, listening to my council go on about something or other, and then I nodded off. Then I had a bizarre dream about my castle being in ruins and everyone being statues or something. And then...the last I remember was fighting some sort of angry inkblots and your companion here carrying me off. Presumably to this hospital. I believe I struck my head, but it feels fine...very peculiar."

...He's starting to understand why his Berserker mentioned to him that this one was "full of words". It was an easy enough guess, but it's something different to experience it in person.

In all honesty, even Saix knows that there should be someone much better suited to comforting and breaking the bad news to a new survivor. This isn't exactly his area of expertise. Still, everyone else seems preoccupied with the latest mystery and drama, so he'll have to do. He listens to all of it with a calm expression, waiting for the royal to finish.

"First, it doesn't have a name that it can remember. Secondly, that wasn't a dream."

It's a bit blunt, but, well...

"There was a disaster that hit multiple Worlds."

...Very blunt.

Rowan was the sort of person that required blunt people to be around him, more often than not. He was a softhearted and genuinely good person who wanted only good things for people. That tended to make him blind to hard truths sometimes, and his council existed to tell him when things weren't appropriate, or to explain things in the most direct terms where others would try to soft-sell.

"Oh..." was all he said at first, large brown eyes wide as he stared at Saix for a moment, then looked down at his hands, thinking about what he'd seen on his way to wherever he was now; all of the land around him shattered, pieces of places he'd never seen before, people turned into statues.

"Was it the Tattered Spire?" he asked, looking up thoughtfully, hands in his lap clutching at his sheet, his expression the sort of mixture of sad and hopeful that said a person had already accepted the answer wouldn't make anything better.

"Is there anything we can do?" he added, brows furrowing. "Anything I can do? I don't exactly understand but...things like this were spoken of often enough, I suppose it was bound to happen. I just...hm. I thought I stopped the big bad thing. It seems it was worse than anticipated."

"Tattered Spire?" New name, something powerful, keep an eye out for it- they're all thoughts directed to the Berserker. It's highly possible that this Spire is destroyed along with everything else... But Saix doesn't count on "possible". He's dealt with enough people to know that such a thing as "impossible" is rarely so. If it has a lot of power that someone thinks it could do something like this, well...

"No, whatever it is that happened occurred in this place- which was once part of a country called Caelondia. A group called the Mancers created something, and it failed spectacularly. It also dragged various other places into its mess which is why you and I are here. If you want to do anything, I suggest recovering first. After that, you can get used to the Bastion, which is the place you are at. There's a distillery, apartments, and various other things to learn about. After that..." He pauses, eyes narrowing a little in thought.

"...After that, we'll see about taking you out onto the Skyway. You can come along with myself if you want. We'll have to teach you about the Shards."

"May I, please? I would be most grateful to hear more of this place and the events that occurred, as well as honored by your company and guidance," Rowan replied, inclining his head slightly before looking up and around at the hospital room.

"I've never heard of Caelondia...if you say this is another world entirely I have no choice but to accept it. However, it does beg the question of whether or not something can still be done. I find it very difficult to imagine anything powerful enough to wipe out an entire world, let alone multiples. It isn't that I doubt your word, sir. Only that its very hard to fathom. Still, I suppose anything is possible," he sighed, reaching up and raking his hands through his hair.

"I would be glad to hear of everything. but first...is there a place for me to bathe, and wash my clothes? This is all I have..."

"There's a lot to explain." Saix starts to get up, not bothered by the questioning. If it weren't for his own experiences, he supposes he would have difficulty believing all of this as well.

"Anyway, yes, there is a hot springs bathing area. Can you walk?"

"I believe so, yes. My injuries weren't exactly fatal, just numerous. I feel much less exhausted now," he paused, looking at the Berserker curiously before adding, "Thank you again," and turning to slid out of the bed. He teetered briefly, trying to get his bearings then stretched and popped his back with a satisfied groan.

"Yes sir, I do seem to be in working order," he remarked, keeping the hospital sheet wrapped around himself. He was, to his mind, wearing entirely too little for polite company.

"Will...my currency work here? I have no idea how to buy clothes," he realized as he plucked at the bloody tatters nearby that had once been quite expensive and fashionable.

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[Day 157/158 ] Open!

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