Altaïr ibn La-Ahad (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theflyingone) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nysalogs2018-11-13 02:02 am
theflyingone) wrote in nysalogs2018-11-13 02:02 am
[open]
Who: Altaïr (theflyingone) & OPEN to anyone who wants to greet a new arrival
What: Assassins iiin spaaaaace! (and in the snow too)
When: Nov 8-12ish
Where: Thesa and Nadril
Warning(s): I mean, he's a murderer who had his finger removed years ago so he could hide a surprise knife.
A. Thesa Station
All in all, he was taking this well, if repressing all his fears and worries could be considered that. Altaïr did not feel safe, so he could not relax or give in to melancholy. He ruminated just a short while on how he only agreed to this "deal" because there was no other recourse. He almost didn't believe it, not because it was so impossible--anything was possible--but because he never simply accepted what he was told. He only completely trusted in the evidence he saw with his own eyes.
Right now, his eyes were telling him that he was far from home, in millions of ways. He stepped cautiously through the station, feeling naked without his blades--save the one hidden in his left bracer. His hooded white robes were lightly dusted with travel, and his step was uncannily quiet out of habit and caution. To his eyes, the place looked unnaturally immaculate and alien.
Though he viewed everything with suspicion, he had to stop in wonder at a window. In his time, glassmaking had not yet progressed to the point of windows as large as this. The expanse of starry black space beyond it hardly seemed real, the way the distant side of a chasm in the earth looks more like a painting. He reached up with a calloused right hand and gently touched the glass.
B. Thesa or Nadril: Tech Support
Predating the first computers by hundreds of years, it was a miracle he managed to open his communication device. Some words and symbols meant nothing to him, but an accidental brush of his thumb and... mistakes were made. He decided to give in and ask for help. But first, he must pretend to be a harmless, confused, and totally honest wayward medieval scholar. Totally. It wasn't that far from the truth; he did grow up well-educated and with easy access to a library.
"Excuse me," he asked politely, the very picture of a studious, ambitious young man heading for his doctorate. "I do not know how to use this reading tile. Can you help me?"
C. Nadril: Underground Market
He couldn't say no to a universal translator and supplies for trekking in the snow. Just... getting supplies in general was wise, as he had very little, and he was made to understand that his accommodations were temporary. Even through the unnerving haze of not being able to go home, or even having a home to go to, he instinctively watched and observed the people here, trying to memorize how he might blend in as a local himself. When he'd done it as part of his job back home, his life had depended on it.
His brow furrowed as he scanned the market for more conversations to eavesdrop on. He wasn't sure how to use the smooth metal tablet (the datapad), but maybe somewhere down here he could procure some real paper and pen to take notes properly.
D. Nadril: Magda's Communication Tower
With some warmer clothing on top of his robes, he could explore in earnest. Maps did not show a living, breathing colony, nor hiding places or little-known paths. For these, he decided he should climb the tower and use both his training and his other eyes to see Nadril properly. He stood at its base, testing its outer surface with his hand and foot...
theflyingone) & OPEN to anyone who wants to greet a new arrivalWhat: Assassins iiin spaaaaace! (and in the snow too)
When: Nov 8-12ish
Where: Thesa and Nadril
Warning(s): I mean, he's a murderer who had his finger removed years ago so he could hide a surprise knife.
A. Thesa Station
All in all, he was taking this well, if repressing all his fears and worries could be considered that. Altaïr did not feel safe, so he could not relax or give in to melancholy. He ruminated just a short while on how he only agreed to this "deal" because there was no other recourse. He almost didn't believe it, not because it was so impossible--anything was possible--but because he never simply accepted what he was told. He only completely trusted in the evidence he saw with his own eyes.
Right now, his eyes were telling him that he was far from home, in millions of ways. He stepped cautiously through the station, feeling naked without his blades--save the one hidden in his left bracer. His hooded white robes were lightly dusted with travel, and his step was uncannily quiet out of habit and caution. To his eyes, the place looked unnaturally immaculate and alien.
Though he viewed everything with suspicion, he had to stop in wonder at a window. In his time, glassmaking had not yet progressed to the point of windows as large as this. The expanse of starry black space beyond it hardly seemed real, the way the distant side of a chasm in the earth looks more like a painting. He reached up with a calloused right hand and gently touched the glass.
B. Thesa or Nadril: Tech Support
Predating the first computers by hundreds of years, it was a miracle he managed to open his communication device. Some words and symbols meant nothing to him, but an accidental brush of his thumb and... mistakes were made. He decided to give in and ask for help. But first, he must pretend to be a harmless, confused, and totally honest wayward medieval scholar. Totally. It wasn't that far from the truth; he did grow up well-educated and with easy access to a library.
"Excuse me," he asked politely, the very picture of a studious, ambitious young man heading for his doctorate. "I do not know how to use this reading tile. Can you help me?"
C. Nadril: Underground Market
He couldn't say no to a universal translator and supplies for trekking in the snow. Just... getting supplies in general was wise, as he had very little, and he was made to understand that his accommodations were temporary. Even through the unnerving haze of not being able to go home, or even having a home to go to, he instinctively watched and observed the people here, trying to memorize how he might blend in as a local himself. When he'd done it as part of his job back home, his life had depended on it.
His brow furrowed as he scanned the market for more conversations to eavesdrop on. He wasn't sure how to use the smooth metal tablet (the datapad), but maybe somewhere down here he could procure some real paper and pen to take notes properly.
D. Nadril: Magda's Communication Tower
With some warmer clothing on top of his robes, he could explore in earnest. Maps did not show a living, breathing colony, nor hiding places or little-known paths. For these, he decided he should climb the tower and use both his training and his other eyes to see Nadril properly. He stood at its base, testing its outer surface with his hand and foot...
no subject
"Well, you don't have to send the same thing to people," he said. "Or talk to anyone using this. But you can, if you want to, and it's pretty helpful. Better than tracking someone down in person if you want to talk, right?"
Or maybe he wouldn't think so, if he'd never encountered anything like it before. Who knew.
"So...is there something I can call you?" he asked.
no subject
His head was spinning with the new possibilities open to him. Send someone messages instantly? And the concept seemed so commonplace to Roxas. How many other people in this world thought nothing of using these devices?
"Just do not put any name I give you in writing. It is not a common thing to do back home, unless one knew me well. Altaïr." Here, it hardly mattered what he went by, so he used his own name. But the results of being identified by the wrong people through these innocuous records would be the same. If a Templar was able to get hold of them, it could be dangerous for everyone involved.
excuse, he is a nice boy
"Okay. I won't." He nodded. "Hi, Altair, I'm Roxas—oh, wait, I already texted you that." He chuckled again, this time at himself.
What did he say now, though? What would have helped him, arriving in a strange new place? Nothing that he'd experienced really applied. "I know this place is really, really weird," he said. "But you'll get used to it. And some of the people are pretty cool."
Re: excuse, he is a nice boy
"Yes, it is weird. We are said to be among the stars. And the Earth..." He didn't finish. They said the Earth was destroyed. How could anything destroy an entire world? He had his doubts. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was a long way from home.
no subject
He looks away for a moment. This line of conversation is more than he bargained for, but at least he's been awake for a while, with time to get used to everything. What kind of guy would he be if he bailed when it got heavy?
"I don't know if that means forever, though," he added a moment later. "You probably won't believe me, but I've been to worlds that had fallen to darkness before. Everyone who lived there was lost. But eventually, they were able to be saved. Maybe your world could be restored, too."
no subject
"What do you mean 'lost?'"
Lost metaphorically, lost physically...? Of course, the religious authorities he knew back home would not waste time telling people they were spiritually los and needed guidance--their guidance.