Day 276 :: Log [Open]

[treasureling]

Who: Malak
Open: Open
When: Day 276
Where: the Open Plains/Skyway
What: Intro; Malak arrives, flips out, needs rescuing. Feel free to bring in monsters; he will absolutely not fight.
Format: Log, but if you tag in actionspam, it's cool with me.
Warnings: None atm

He is elsewhere. Elsewhere, the only way he can think of to describe it. There were shifting tiles under his feet and a long drop, and now there are grassy plains and pathways and he is high in the sky and nowhere he has ever been before. He doesn't know where to go or what to do, sporadically prays to nameless gods, finally stops and huddles in on himself, shaking. What's happening? Where is he? What's happening?

~*~

"Wait!" calls Malak, after the retreating form.

But there's no question he can ask that would get a satisfactory answer. Where am I, what should I do now, what place is this. All he can do is go and find out.

He steels himself, trying to school his expression into something resembling calm (and mostly failing), and he goes in towards the center, towards the large monument he sees there.

"Hello?" he says, to the people he sees. "Hello? Can you tell me what town this is?"

Comments

[polariity]

Since neither of them have attacked one another, not yet at any rate, he comes closer to indulge his own curiosity. At this distance, his own starvation-brought thinness should be clear with how gaunt his face is, eyes too large and hollow in their sockets, and it's easier to see the thing twisting scars like vines which sweep down from his eyes to his cheekbones and up into his hairline.

An appearance like that might be laughable depending on the god, but 'ghost' is a descriptor even he wouldn't argue with even if he could.

At the question, he shakes his head and reaches up to cross a finger over his throat. No voice. At a guess, however, he has energy form a symbol floating in the air: Ψ . No guarantee this alien will know what it means, but worth a shot.

[treasureling]

Shaken head means at least that there isn't a language barrier, or, if there is, there's some remarkable coincidences going on. Touching the throat, without responding - muteness, Malak thinks. "You don't have a voice," he guesses.

But the symbol, he has no idea.

Malak looks to the symbol, then back to the ghost, then back to the symbol.

It might have something to do with the horns, he thinks, but if so, he can't tell what. "You're... a pitchfork?" he ventures, after a moment.

[polariity]

The laugh escapes him before he can even recognize it's coming, raspy and grating. A pitchfork- now isn't that an image, that gold atrocity She was so fond replaced by a common farmer's pitchfork. He rubs at his throat, a dry grin stretching across his face, and shakes his head.

[treasureling]

Well, he knew it wasn't the right answer anyway. Saying his best guess out loud didn't do much more than demonstrate the depths of his ignorance.

"Is this the land of the gods?" It's the only thing Malak can think of.

[polariity]

There's another rough snort, and he shakes his head once more. A bunch of freaks is what they are, and that's putting it nicely. Gods aren't gonna help them.

But that isn't likely helpful or explanatory. So he finally points to the man before pointing back to the Bastion- a small mass on the distance but not too far away.

[treasureling]

A city?

Malak had dreaded going closer, even as he'd known it might be inevitable. And his dread shows on his face. He doesn't know where he is; he's in the sky, and he's sure there wasn't a kingdom up there the last time he checked, especially not a kingdom where people accidentally found themselves.

Asking what is that is useless. The ghost seems friendly. Malak's instincts don't say to distrust him for any reasons other than he's grey, he has horns, and he's floating magically in the air.

"You want me to go with you, there?" he asks.

[polariity]

Another nod, and the energy shifts into shapes once more. These are more recognizable- stick figures of varying features so much as they can have them. There's a few others that seem to have horns, including one with long curling ones like a ram might have and another with more simple triangles, but they seem outnumbered by more plain ones. An arrow is placed beneath them, pointing to the Bastion.

The other group of pictures are more detailed- birds with long talons, ghost-like figures with long pick axes. This set is pointed out, towards the rest of the fractured land.

[treasureling]

Malak hesitates.

"People," he says, identifying the one group, "and monsters." That seems to be the thought that's being conveyed. He studies the ghost's face, Malak's teeth biting at the inside of his cheek.

"All right," he says, finally.

[polariity]

Possibly not the most varied of choices, but that's how it is.

With that settled, the Helmsman gives a nod to himself and gestures for the human to follow him, floating off with all the ease of walking. Fortunately, there don't seem to be too many beasts lurking around this area. Too close to the Bastion and all its eager fighters and predators, he supposes.

He looks back at his new companion a few times, just to make sure he hasn't fallen off anything.

[treasureling]

Malak may not be particularly goat-like or nimble, but he's careful, and there's no way he's falling off of anything. No way at all. He picks where he places his feet with caution, and he follows.

[polariity]

It takes some time- around half an hour of straight traveling- before they finally arrive at the Bastion. It's going about business as usual, and the Helmsman seems to consider his job done. He floats off, straight for a pleasant enough garden area where an orange tree is bearing fruit.

He thinks he's earned his reward for the day.

[treasureling]

"Wait!" calls Malak, after the retreating form.

But there's no question he can ask that would get a satisfactory answer. Where am I, what should I do now, what place is this. All he can do is go and find out.