[Haurchefant stands in the dimly lit hallway of a likely unfamiliar building, his face illuminated by the screen of the tablet.]

Hail, friends!

Joacin and I have been exploring the depths of miss Kesara's tunnels and found a most wondrous place.

The pamphlets say 'tis a museum, one housing the art of Norfinbury. This, I think, could be a precious place indeed to glean information from.

[He sighs.]

Unfortunately I myself have found the artwork and the plaques somewhat difficult to parse. Much of the art has faded or fallen into disrepair over the years.

Still, 'tis quite exciting, is it not?

Characters: Francel de Haillenarte, Haurchefant Greystone
Location Building 199, the museum
Date: Day 143, afternoon onwards
Summary: Following their discovery of the museum, Haurchefant and Francel quietly explore the building together.
Warnings: None.

( Read more... )

[ Howdy, fellow snowhellites, today you're treated to Merlwyb's actual voice instead of just lines and lines of judgemental text. Not to say she isn't sounding particularly displeased, but it helps that she has a distinct timbre clearly better suited to barking commands at her men rather than subtle politics.
But politics aren't what she has in mind for today anyway. Instead, her tone is one of lazy rhetoric barely covering some very pointed barbs... in truth, meant to prick folk into action rather than to simply enrage. ]

I wonder, of the many of you still clinging to this farce of civilization, how many are merely drifting corpses marauding as those still doggedly treading water?

[ Oh boy. Here come the metaphors. ]

Given the bloody embarrassment displayed recently, one should scarcely stand meekly accepting their fate as useless flotsam - or to be dragged under by such - surely some must still retain some spine to resist the tide. I, for one, cannot well sleep soundly with the knowledge of work yet left undone.

[ Here, the Admiral's tone shifts - a resonance of arrogant confidence she's employed in many times before to rouse her nation to task. She's probably dictating to the device while standing with all a manner of gestures to an audience that can't see her, simply from force of habit. ]

To those in whom blood yet runs hot through their veins, 'tis mine intent to move on the offensive. 'Anomalies' need not remain faceless boogeymen to terrify the simple of mind. Know your enemy; bleed them for aught at all that might be of use, then turn it against them to crush them on the reefs - as is intrinsic of all wars of attrition.

[ Translation: going for reconnaissance, not a simple beat 'em up. Fight smarter, not harder, kids. ]

Naturally, such a task entails considerable danger. Pray hold your silence should you lack strength of body or conviction.

[The video begins with a shot up Charles' nose before he moves the camera up and out to the rest of his face- mostly the left half of his face, actually. There's blood smeared on his forehead, and he looks pale. Also pissed.]

Okay, listen. First things first, we didn't start it. Second things... second, he's not dead. For now.

And third thing, I would just really like to know who the hell this guy is.

[The tablet is turned around to show a body on the ground, face down. A hand comes into frame, and it's heavily but sloppily bandaged, red soaking through. There might be one fewer finger there than there's supposed to be. The hand tentatively grabs the nearest shoulder- there's a muttered-] shit- [And then the man on the ground is rolled over. It's Beckett, for those who recognize him, though Charles, clearly, does not. He's unconscious, and there's blood on his face, too. Mostly near his mouth.]

This asshole, I'm pretty sure he just swallowed my goddamn finger, and you probably don't wanna see what he did to Charlie. I don't really wanna smash his face in with a hammer, but it's also really kinda tempting.

[Charles brings the tablet back up to himself.]

For now I just need to know: who is this guy? And why the hell did he just try to kill us?

[A pause. Charles looks uncertain about this next part. Wary, maybe.]

Also... are there... any... doctors listening? I think Charlie might be in trouble.

[Aymeric comes into the feed with the top of a champagne bottle to his side and a book in his hand. It is entitled "Cabin on the Hill". The image is just of a typical wooden lodge, the book itself is a creased paperback.]

Good Evening, ladies and gentlemen of Norfinbury. My name is Aymeric de Borel, and I found a piece of writing in a personal library that could shed some light on the situation we are all in. I have read a couple chapters, it seems to be an account of life here as the snow overwhelmed its inhabitants. I've gotten to the part where the snow began to fall, so I would like to read the passage aloud for everyone's benefit.

[He clears his throat, taking a moment to find where he was.]

( The snow came down quickly now... )

Edit: Now filtered from Kesara, Quark, Frisk, Jim, Alphonse, Emily, Zell, Jade, Tavros, Sora, Ecks, and Steph. Sorry kids!

[Ordinarily, Estinien wouldn't make a network post. Ordinarily, he'd keep to himself and not bother with talking to anyone. However, thanks to this, he's making this post just a few minutes after receiving the ridiculous chain letter.]

Has there ever been record of one of us turning into an anomaly?

[That's it. Such a chatterbox, this guy.]

Characters: Alfie Solomons, Ecks, Fiona, Francel de Haillenarte, Haurchefant Greystone, John Watson, Tifa Lockhart, Royce Melborn
Location around U4/V4, and then in various houses
Date: evening of 138 through morning of 139
Summary: various merry traveling bands are set upon and scattered by a RUDE AS FUCK anomaly
Warnings: n/a; will edit if anything comes up

( Read more... )