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legionworld2016-03-21 09:25 am
got_gud) wrote in legionworld2016-03-21 09:25 am
Entry tags:
The stars are different here
Who| Alexander and anyone
What| A new arrival contemplates his choices and the strange new world he finds himself in
Where| Observation deck
When| N/A
Warnings/Notes| N/A
Little over an hour ago, if one had by chance wandered near the Med Bay, they might have heard one of several exasperated exchanges such as this:
"His vitals have completely flat-lined! We need to get him to the emergency room immediately!"
"Lass, listen, please, I am Undead. I do not have 'vitals', apparently. This is the fifth time this has happened since I have awoken here. Earlier one of your comrades tried to wheel me off to some 'morgue' while I lay unconscious. Please, just leave me be."
He could not entirely blame them, though. This realm was apparently fraught with many dangers, but the curse of Undeath was not among them. To them, he was as much an oddity as this world was to him.
After trying to explain his peculiar condition multiple times to a rather excitable if well meaning medical staff, it was then he met the man, R.J. Brand. The portly gentleman explained the situation to him, about the loss of so many warriors, and the need for more -- thus the impetus to recruit numerous beings like himself, pulled here from other worlds -- if they were to have any hope of protecting the realm long enough to find a way to send everyone home.
And so it was that Alexander of Astora, once Chosen Undead and now the so-called Dark Lord, found himself in the Observation Deck, staring out onto the shining world below and what, to him, seemed like an endless night sky. An oddly anachronistic sight, the tall figure wearing a simple arming doublet and other padding meant to be worn beneath ancient styles of plated armor. He had been told the rest of his arms and armor would be held in safe keeping for the moment. It kept him ill at ease though, as being unarmed for a warrior like him was as if he were wandering around completely naked.
He told Brand that he would think about the offer. Truthfully, the idea seemed strange to him. He did not feel comfortable taking the title of 'hero' for himself, even if it was a so-called tradition for this Legion. Even the thought of fighting alongside others like him, after wandering through the ruins of Lordran alone for so long, felt strange.
Even so, he thought to himself, if he still had strength and powers beyond that of mortal men, he felt compelled to use that strength in defense of the helpless. After all, the world could be cruel, at times the only comfort it offered was that which men like him had once fought hard to maintain.
He stood there, arms crossed, still staring out into the vast ocean of stars before him. He had much to think on.
What| A new arrival contemplates his choices and the strange new world he finds himself in
Where| Observation deck
When| N/A
Warnings/Notes| N/A
Little over an hour ago, if one had by chance wandered near the Med Bay, they might have heard one of several exasperated exchanges such as this:
"His vitals have completely flat-lined! We need to get him to the emergency room immediately!"
"Lass, listen, please, I am Undead. I do not have 'vitals', apparently. This is the fifth time this has happened since I have awoken here. Earlier one of your comrades tried to wheel me off to some 'morgue' while I lay unconscious. Please, just leave me be."
He could not entirely blame them, though. This realm was apparently fraught with many dangers, but the curse of Undeath was not among them. To them, he was as much an oddity as this world was to him.
After trying to explain his peculiar condition multiple times to a rather excitable if well meaning medical staff, it was then he met the man, R.J. Brand. The portly gentleman explained the situation to him, about the loss of so many warriors, and the need for more -- thus the impetus to recruit numerous beings like himself, pulled here from other worlds -- if they were to have any hope of protecting the realm long enough to find a way to send everyone home.
And so it was that Alexander of Astora, once Chosen Undead and now the so-called Dark Lord, found himself in the Observation Deck, staring out onto the shining world below and what, to him, seemed like an endless night sky. An oddly anachronistic sight, the tall figure wearing a simple arming doublet and other padding meant to be worn beneath ancient styles of plated armor. He had been told the rest of his arms and armor would be held in safe keeping for the moment. It kept him ill at ease though, as being unarmed for a warrior like him was as if he were wandering around completely naked.
He told Brand that he would think about the offer. Truthfully, the idea seemed strange to him. He did not feel comfortable taking the title of 'hero' for himself, even if it was a so-called tradition for this Legion. Even the thought of fighting alongside others like him, after wandering through the ruins of Lordran alone for so long, felt strange.
Even so, he thought to himself, if he still had strength and powers beyond that of mortal men, he felt compelled to use that strength in defense of the helpless. After all, the world could be cruel, at times the only comfort it offered was that which men like him had once fought hard to maintain.
He stood there, arms crossed, still staring out into the vast ocean of stars before him. He had much to think on.
no subject
But he needed none of that here. Saralegui just smiled pleasantly, embracing his delicate image for the time being.
"Saralegui of Small Shimaron," he offered in return, and his smile went a bit wry. "But I'd guess that means as little to you as the name of your home does to me. Unless your trips into 'other worlds' might have taken you my way at some point?"
no subject
It had always been odd, seeing the worlds of other Chosen Undead, and how they had been affected by their choices. Like a surreal, distorted mirror of his own world.
"I suppose that means that you are...or at least were in the same situation as I. Tell me, did you accept the offer of the gentleman, Brand? To join his 'Legion'?"
no subject
And he certainly had reasons to want to go home, however fascinating this world was at times. But no need to dwell on that. He turned a curious stare on the man, piercing golden eyes softened only slightly by his tinted glasses.
"But what do you mean, 'chosen by fate'?"
no subject
Perhaps it was also the fact that he hadn't fought alongside anyone else in centuries. Or perhaps he was merely over thinking it. Any of the above seemed likely.
"Fate might not have been the right word. Any Undead strong enough to escape the Northern Undead Asylum and reach the land of Lordran technically met the requirements to be 'Chosen'."
no subject
He was careful to look a little distressed but resigned in saying it, eyes downcast and frowning just slightly. But to some extent, he did mean it. It was almost unbelievable that the whole group could be made up of such genuinely good people, but that wasn't a bad thing. Just...tragic, maybe. That sort of optimism was likely to be snuffed out eventually. Frankly, he was impressed that it hasn't already.
"But perhaps that's all a bit too heavy a thing to consider for someone still getting their bearings here." Saralegui adopted a polite smile, shrugging. "So what do you mean by 'undead'? Or 'chosen', even. Chosen for what?"
no subject
"I apologize, I suppose I must be getting ahead of myself. It has been centuries since I have spoken with someone unfamiliar with such things."
He touched a finger to his forehead, and a small ring of charred, blackened flesh appeared there for a moment.
"I am Undead, cursed to return time and time again each time I am slain. To some a blessing, I suppose, but all Undead eventually go Hollow, turning into mad, soul-starved beasts. This can be delayed through strength of will, or by absorbing Humanity, but all measures are temporary."
He held out an open hand, and a small black sprite flittered across his palm.
"As for being chosen, that is a complicated matter. Suffice it to say, I was essentially given the choice to either renew an ailing status quo in hopes it would improve or attempt to break a tragic cycle of suffering."
He stared blankly at the small sprite dancing in his hand, somewhat lost in thought.
"I chose the latter, though even centuries later it is difficult to tell if that was the right choice. It certainly hasn't endeared me to any of the subsequent Chosen Undead."