sa-hareth | arrival (mingle log)

[groundrules]

WHO: Everyone ever + the local Sa-hareth squad.
WHEN: Arc I: Sa-Hareth arrival.
WHERE: Sa-Hareth citadel, salt mine, the old jailhouse,
WHAT: Our intrepid heroes get commandeered into the frosty unknown.
WARNINGS: the glorious undead, background House of Dew mentions, at least one person's terrible sense of humour.

Comments

[beitangmoran]

Just then, another prisoner is being marched down the corridor to another one of those sturdier cell. Even in the dark, the robes he's wearing are shimmering with silk and silver threads, even if they look a little grimy, and there's no mistaking the way the man is holding himself, even if he's not resisting their captors.

He's pushed into a cell rather unceremoniously, stumbles, and then straightens up again, brushing his sleeve into order again and looking over his shoulder at the departing guards.

"... Well, that was rude."

Moran sighs and looks around his new surroundings. he can probably rest whilt sitting with his back against the wall.

[jeoha]

He pauses as he hears the guards approaching, slipping the rock behind his back as he leans against the back wall, eyes down, seemingly woozy. He doesn't move until the guards are gone, though he almost looks up at the words. A familiar language, again. Still not his own, but... Had he somehow wandered into the middle kingdom...? His jailors seemed far more foreign than that, but--

He pushes off the wall when he is sure they are gone, and goes up to grab the bars to look across the hall into the other man's cell.

"You speak the Han tongue?" He asks in stilted, archaic Chinese.

[beitangmoran]

It takes Moran a second to realize he is the one being addressed, and he turns around to face his new acquaintance. The words, are a little halting, but comprehensible which is welcome.

"This is not what my people call it, but it does appear so, if that is your name for it and you understand me."

Another look around, and another sigh. Huangdao's cells are way better maintained than this.

"I would assume that you do not know how you came to be here either, then?"

[jeoha]

Lee Chang's face did not fall, he had learned how to engrave it in stone in all but the most dire moments. But he did feel the pit open up in his stomache.

"No," he admitted. "I do not. Nor do I know where 'here' is."

A pause. "If you speak their tongue but don't know their name, you must also live very far from Joseon."

[beitangmoran]

"I am afraid I have no heard of Jeoson, no. And this language is that of my homeland, Huángdào."

Moran carefully goes to sit down on the floor, flipping his sleeves back.

"I apologize if I do anything unsightly, but my stomach appears to be a little upset from... whatever it is they've given me. Unfortunately, the smell here is not helping."

And then, a sudden thought. He might have thought it imprudent to reveal his identity at first, but this is clearly not any land he knows or who knows him - they wouldn't have put him alone in a cell like this if they had any idea of who, or rather what, he was - and this person is a potential ally. And there is something, in the way he holds himself, in the way he keeps his expression steeled... that is very familiar.

"My name is Beitang Moran."

[jeoha]

Lee Chang watched him sit, brows furrowing only slightly. Whatever they had drugged him with left him hazy, but it also meant the pain of the open gash on his shoulder was dulled.

"I think we are in a place where such concerns are no longer necessary," He replied a little wryly. This prison is crumbling, Moran, you don't need to hide your mouth behind your sleeve while you drink.

Both the man's name and homeland meant nothing to Lee Chang, beyond a vague thought at the back of his mind about the stars. He paused before introducing himself, but once again reminded himself that he was a simple man, here.

"I am Lee Chang. I wish we had met in better circumstances."

[beitangmoran]

Manners are important no matter where you are. As long as they don't hinder anything else, Moran will cling to them, as a last bid for normalcy.

The small nod Moran gave at the introduction spoke of someone used to having others bow to him, rather than the other way around. As did the way he sat with his back straight, and the richness of his clothing, tattered as it was.

"Likewise, Lee-dàren."

He looks around himself again, and gives a small sigh.

"I don't suppose they have seen fit to provide you with some food?"