nysalogs | [open] Grasping at the wind

Entry tags:

[open] Grasping at the wind

Who: Altaïr ibn La-Ahad (

theflyingone) & YOU
What: Out and about, catchall, event, and open post in one
When: Before and during the Storm
Where: ???, Wyver when the Storm hits, ???, ending in Nadril
Warning(s): injuries from Storm monsters maybe, a dude who had his finger removed a long time ago in canon

Prompts below not necessarily in chronological order, and more may be added layer. Or tag in with a wildcard! Respond in whatever format you like, I don't mind, I just am incapable of writing in anything but prose myself. More CR meme plotting info here.

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A man in white robes shouldered a backpack laden with supplies. Of Natha construction, it clashed with his medieval robes, mismatched in style and cultural origin. It was one of the things that might peg him as one of the offworld outsiders.

He sighed, poring over an unfinished, hand-drawn map. He expected the task he set for himself to be daunting. Properly mapping less explored areas was something he'd normally assign to a group of people, not one or two.

... Crud.

How was it that he had managed to get separated on his way towards Nadril? He was able to escape the fogs of Olympia well enough thanks to his traveling among others, but now that he had made it out of the city he had begun to realize that there were fewer and fewer people around the more he continued. Had he gotten separated from the other refugees? Or did he simply fall behind?

He knew for a fact that he had to be somewhere around Dranbu at this point, but, where exactly? As far as he could see it was simply wilderness. How much further did he have to go until he reached the Northern Outpost?

Ah, perhaps he should simply give up and ask for directions.

Stopping his bike, Phoenix dropped the oversized bag of belongings to his side. (Was that a tree attached to his bag? That was most certainly a tree. AS well as a cage with a rather colorful bird in it. It was amazing that he was able to bike with all of this truthfully.) Looking from person to person until he could find someone approachable enough.

Ah, wait! That man over there was wearing clothing that was often given out up on the orbiter, wasn't he? Did that mean he was Thessan?

"You! Hey! U-um! Excuse me!" Doing his best to flag Altair down, Phoenix waved him over. "Um, do you mind helping me out for a second?"

Please, he's lost and overburdened with things, he needs it.

Altaïr didn't necessarily need to stick very close to the other refugees. He had better maps than many people. He also looked tired, like he didn't want to talk to anyone. He reluctantly turned to the man hailing him. Altaïr had slowed because he was tired and also on foot, but this man with the wheel contraption had no excuse. He should have left some things behind--

Was that a tree? That was a tree. The bird he could understand, Altaïr loved birds more than most tough trained assassins liked to admit, but a tree??

"I am not carrying anything for you other than supplies," he sighed.

"Oh! N-no! Not carrying! I need directions!" Although Phoenix absolutely understood why Altair would jump to such a conclusion. He had quite a bit of stuff... So much stuff.. But that had nothing to do with the matter at hand, and he showed as much as he immediately stepped off his bike, with all those glorious things attached to it, and placed it aside for the time being. "You see, I may be a little unsure of where I am... exactly... This is still the correct path to get towards Nadril, right?"

He stared openly at the bike even as he answered, "Yes. I'll show you on my map. We are here... And Nadril is here." He pulled out a map, drawn by himself. Other than being brand new and using this world's resources, it was very... medieval.

"Why on earth do you have so many things? Are we not fleeing for our lives? Are you prepared to drop them in the event of an attack?" He wasn't going to discount the possibility of the weird monsters spreading all over the planet. And finally, the burning question, "Why does your cart have two wheels instead of four?"

Ah.

So he did go off the path from the major group. But at least all didn't seem to be lost. Despite taking a more remote route he still seemed to be traveling in the right direction.

Man, this was a pretty cool looking map actually. He knew he didn't see anything like it at the market. He couldn't help but passively wonder where Altair had gotten it. Shame he didn't really have time to ask. It seemed Altair had his own barrage of questions.

"Ahahah, hold on now, one question at a time," Although, admittedly, there was something somewhat refreshing about having someone be so curious about his method of travel. And if he had seen the same thing while wandering he'd probably ask many of the same things. "I suppose we can start with my cart. Or I mean, my bicycle? It's just a method of transportation where I come from. I traveled this way most of my life so I'm pretty good with it, and since it's two wheels instead of four it makes it easy to maneuver without having to use any sort of animal or engine."

Entirely powered by sheer human momentum baby.

They couldn’t be that far off from where they were supposed to go, or Altaïr would be a terrible traveler. He was trained to be very self-sufficient. He would be a very poor killer if he got lost on the way to his target. Still, it would’ve been nice to have a horse this time around.

He was always asking questions. Al Mualim had scolded him for it, preferring his commands to be obeyed without too much fuss. He paused to stare at the pedals, clearly like stirrups. He could see where this was going.

"Your mechanical horse, does it turn as well?"

"Turn? Oh! Of course! Hold on," Goodness, it was rare to run into someone who was genuinely asking more questions than he was. It was actually kind of refreshing. Due to all his years of people attempting to conceal things from him being able to have a simple conversation with no strings attached was kind of nice. "You see over here? When you hold onto both handles like this you're able to turn the bar in order to redirect the front wheel. It makes steering pretty effective actually."

And as if to prove by example, he lightly nudged the handlebar of his bike to the right.

It was just nice to see someone appreciating his bike rather than making fun of him for it for once.

If only Phoenix knew just how many secrets Altaïr had.

"The Storm comes to wipe out this land, and we must hurry to Nadril to stop it." He looked pointedly at all of Phoenix’s stuff. "What is so important about that tree?" he asked dubiously. Of all the things Phoenix was carrying (so, so many things), it seemed the most cumbersome. He appreciated the bike, surely, but he was also judging him on how many things he was carrying.

"Ah? That?" His surprise from the question was ridiculously obvious in his expression as he turned back up to look at Altair. He couldn't lie, it was interesting to run into someone who seemed so inquisitive about him, but the fact that Altair was able to point out that tree specifically had managed to throw him off.

That tree was special after all.

"It was from my home. Before the storm got to it. I suppose I couldn't just let it survive one catastrophe only to die in something similar. Especially since it must be the last of it's kind now." Of course, that wasn't all there was to it, but it was the simplest thing to explain. Anything else would have required Phoenix to practically give his entire life story, and he had doubted Altair wished to listen to all of that.

It was not long after the Storm hit. The man in white robes had returned to Nadril looking for answers. He also happened to live here. Altaïr had stayed because they seemed to be the most inquisitive about lost technology, and so was he. He was from the middle ages, so of course a communications device was going to fascinate him (and be the cause of embarrassing typos).

He glowered up at the sky, dark brows knitting together as he wrapped a cloak tighter over his robes against the cold.

"Surely a bit of wind isn't enough to move a moon," he muttered dubiously.

John is bundled up against the cold, squinting at things in Nadri here and there and trying to debate how much he wants to support Nurray. It seems their best shot, given the Natha haven't yet made a move to do anything, but the last time John assumed the Natha wouldn't interfere Darma still managed to do so last minute.

Not that Darma is around anymore, but some other Natha still might turn up -- right...?

The sight of Altair catches his attention, though, not really for the words (John has met plenty of people who have a low understanding of more complex modern sciences) but as much as anything for the way he's dressed.

"It's not wind," he says absently, then: "you don't have a warmer jacket or anything?"

Cold weather gear is advisable if he doesn't want to freeze to death, after all.

Altaïr did not trust the Natha to be there, nor did he trust them in general. They had too much to hide, like himself, except they seemingly had all the power.

"I have warmer clothes for real walks in my room." He pointed vaguely towards the starter housing just nearby, breath visible in the cold air. "I only stepped out to observe the sky." Even so, he'd brought a cloak, which he tugged tighter around himself. Not enough, as the other man said, but he wouldn't die this instant.

"They call it a storm. If it is not wind, what is it?"

Oh boy.

That's a complicated question, and one John isn't sure he's the best person to answer -- it's not like he's an expert on space weather specifically. Explaining the specifics of it even less so.

So he squints, turning over the possible answers in his head.

"Do you know what a magnetic field is?" he hazards. That's a... starting point, right?

"Magnetic stone is used in compasses," he offered, unsure where this was going. He was centuries of electromagnetic science behind, but thankfully still ahead of the average knowledge of Europe. The Middle East was in its Golden Age, and he was an educated man.

"Are you saying... there are stones in space that are large enough to move things and cause storms?"

Maybe it's easier to... simplify.

"Kind of?" John hazards. "See, magnetism isn't just caused by a stone. It's kinda caused by currents, and you see the effect of it. Like, currents in the core of the planet where everything is hot -- where lava and stuff comes from. But the sun is kinda a big ball of molten rock too, right? That's why it's so bright. It's hot. So normally when a... space storm happens in the way that I think of it, a geomagnetic storm, it's because there's some kind of eruption on the sun that changes the the currents. It kinda... is a burst of energy out that pushes on our regular currents and messes with things."

Is he making sense so far? John has no idea. The Natha storm is way bigger and weirder than any storm he's ever seen, and seems to somehow... move and swallow things... but he can at least explain storms as he understands them.

"Is... the sun why we are fighting for our lives?" he asked incredulously. "And the sun is lava?" He'd always thought it was a fiery rock, but of course he didn't have the science in his time to have any real idea. His brow knit, open to the idea of processing any crazy discovery, but also just... needing a moment.

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[open] Grasping at the wind

When the Storm hits

Lets Set It Up So Phoenix Can See Altair's Mad Skillz, Ne?

He'll save you with maps and bride carry you to safety

Why, that is Phoenix's preferred method of being saved! Thanks Altair!

Re: Why, that is Phoenix's preferred method of being saved! Thanks Altair!

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Nadril

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