westwhere | sa-hareth | arrival (mingle log)

1. Salt Mines

For a dimension called the Void, it certainly wasn't empty.

Eleven rubbed at his wrists and followed the group as they descended into the mine. Had it always been like this? Or was this another corruption of Mordegon's design? It certainly seemed dark and otherworldly enough. He struggled to remember the names thrown around as he'd come to and the fog over his mind lingered, unable to focus his thoughts.

His eyes darted around the other captive souls, at unfamiliar faces. He'd come here in search of one soul in particular, but the scale of that task had grown substantially.

"I'm sorry," he felt compelled to offer those he walked with, utterly guilt-ridden. "I'll do anything I can to help."

2. House of Dew- Arrival

Eleven blinked around once he'd had time to wash up and change. A brothel. In a city located in the Void.

He sat down, far more puzzled than unsettled by the fact he was in one for the first time in... whichever life this was. He still had yet to fully shake the effects of whatever it was that left his thoughts feeling vague and muddied.

"I don't understand," he muttered aloud, like that would make them more tangible and thus, sensible. "How would souls end up here?" He dragged his hands down his face. "Unless this is the next life? But then, how am I here? I wasn't dead when he sent me.."

3. House of Dew- Gen

Eleven took to cleaning and mending without complaint, happy enough to have something to do and some way to repay the inconvenience of sheltering him while he waited for whatever it was he was waiting for. He kept his eyes mostly on his work and the floor, with a proclivity for turning red whenever one of the ladies elected to tease him as they were occasionally wont to do.

He gave a nod to any of the faces he recognized from the group of refugees, accompanied by a small, mute smile on days he lacked the ability to communicate. On other days, rose quartz hung around his neck, he managed a bit more.

"How are you faring?"

4. Other
[Got another idea? I'm game. Also feel free to PM me if there's anything you'd like to ask/plan out first.]

Edited 2021-03-28 02:32 (UTC)

His previous prison had been nicer than this. Sure, it had been a hastily appropriated storeroom, but there had been light and even a little warmth from the early winter chill.

Here, on the other hand...

He let out a long breath and leaned back on the cracked stone wall, closing his eyes and trying to centre himself. Perhaps he was dead, though he could not fathom why the afterlife would resemble this. In the end, it didn’t matter. He was here. It was as real as blood and bone, and he was trapped.

The chuckle started lowly in the dark, gaining vigour as he helplessly gave in to it. It wasn’t even that anything was funny, it was just so ludicrous to be beyond belief.

“I should have known better than to expect any rest,” he murmured to Korean to himself, though loud enough that the nearby cells would be able to hear it. “I suppose corrupt officials are universal, though usually I expect some vague excuse for imprisonment.“

He took another deep breath, shoving himself to his feet and wincing as his mangled shoulder flashed with pain. Ah. Yes. He would need to get that seen to. But clearly it was not a priority of his captors. He shuffled over to the bars of his cell, his feet chained loosely to shorten his gait, and then leaned against the metal, pressing his face as close as he could to get a look down the hall and to either side. Not even any guards, at least not right here, though he could see some figures shuffling a little ways away. A couple of cells down the door was almost rusted through, looking as if it would fall off its hinges at any second. His, of course, was unfortunately sturdy. He looked down at the heavy lock on his door, sighed, and started to search his cell for anything with even a scrap of usefulness.

Fantastic. The man next to him in these dank, appalling cells was laughing and muttering to himself in Korean, which did not bode well for the stranger's sanity or Mingyu's peace of mind. He was trying to angst here in peace, thank you very much. Picturing Fox's own captivity, a million miles from here. But more likely Fox was simply gone, no longer troubled by earthly discomforts. Mingyu swallowed against a dry throat, dragging a hand over his face. He could hear the stranger rummaging around now and he heaved out a sigh, dragging himself up off the cold cell floor to investigate his surroundings as well. Couldn't have the crazy Korean man having one up on him. What would his social media followers think?

Distantly, Mingyu could hear some sort of commotion coming closer. Something like alarm bells, hushed voices carrying against the hard stone.

"Any luck in there?" he asked in English, then tried the question again in Chinese. Just in case. "找到什么了吗?"

1. Salt Mines

[It's cold, much colder than it had been when Xingchen was last conscious, back home. He doesn't even need to see to know that wherever he's ended up is not Yi City; the sounds are unfamiliar, the chill in the air burns his lungs with every breath, and the atmosphere just feels off. It's disconcerting, of course, considering he has no idea where this is, nor how he got here.

But worrying about that isn't going to help things, especially since it seems they're a wanted commodity. They. A group. Xingchen listens as they make their way down below the earth, almost hoping to hear a couple familiar voices.

He doesn't. On the one hand, that worries him more, not knowing where his charges are, but then this land seems harsh. Perhaps it's best if they don't endure this, as well.

The trek down through the mines is hard for Xingchen. He feels...weak and more than once he presses a hand to his lower stomach, frowning when he doesn't quite feel the constant existence of his Golden Core. As if that weren't already bad enough - and it is - this terrain is unknown to him and more than once he has to catch himself against the rough-hewn walls when his feet catch on a crack or uneven patch. No complaints on his blindness leave his lips, but he does purse his lips during these moments and exhale harshly through his nose. Frustrating.

Thankfully, though, this group of theirs comes upon what he gathers is some sort of abandoned camp. So he gathers up a tattered blanket and wraps it around himself, the fabric cold against him at first, but he lets the shiver rush through him before letting his body heat do the rest. Grabbing another blanket, he lays it out on the ground and pats around for any other supplies that may still be salvageable.

Of course, he is still blind, the cloth across his empty eyes making this more apparent. Xingchen can't judge the size of this little camp in the limited time they have. So he turns to his nearest companion.]

Do you see anything else we should take with us?

2. House of Dew

[After the salt mines, Xingchen is grateful for warmth and structural stability. And flat surfaces. Being assigned cleaning duty doesn't even dampen his gratitude toward the lady of the house for giving all of them refuge. He happily scrubs the floor and straightens up the sitting area, among any other simpler tasks the other workers just don't have time to take on.

Of course, he can't be exactly sure how good a job he's doing. Has he missed a spot? Flipped an embroidered cushion upside-down?

Will you tell him or watch and see how long it takes for him to get reprimanded?]

3. House of Dew Again

[After picking up an odd gig of sitting in on some sessions with certain patrons in case he needs to protect the workers attending them, Xingchen has a small amount of money saved up for his efforts. This is good! This is what they need to do!

And then their possessions are returned to them, and Xingchen is visibly relieved when he seeks out his sword, fingers feeling along the delicately carved sheath of Shuanghua, but he is also reunited with his other scarce belongings, including two pieces of hard candy.

Those sweets have caught the eyes of some of the younger workers, making Xingchen popular once again, but he simply cannot split two candies among...well, he can't discern exactly how many voices surround him when they speak at once demanding his "treats," but it's definitely more than two. Choosing two lucky people wouldn't be fair!

He has that money saved up, though.

Surely some more sweets won't cost too much.

So he bundles up and straps his sword to his back and heads toward the door...only to realize he has no idea where the market is. Hearing someone nearby, he turns toward them.]

Excuse me, if I may bother you for a moment? How do I get to the marketplace?

4. Salt Mines Redux

[Okay, so his previous money ventures haven't been as successful as they probably should have been, but there is another way to make money, he's sure. Yes, it's more dangerous, but with Shuanghua at his back now, the undead residing in the mines won't be nearly as much of a problem as they were when he first traversed the depths. Besides, there is plenty of salt down there and seasonings and spices are always valuable. This is a great idea.

Thus, the blind man walks toward the front of the brothel again, intent of making his way out to the mines. By himself. With only his sword for protection.

He'll be fine. Right? Surely.

Right?]

5. Wildcard!

[You know how this goes. Want to bother Xingchen somewhere else? Hit me up!

Aah?

[ Give him a moment, he's still trying to sort out whether he might yet want to just let go and die to wake up from this which is clearly a dream, or the voice he overheard through the borrowed crustal really is the one he thought he is.

Then again, can he risk it if it is?

Xunxian's doing whole body shivers with his robes which are, frankly, not at all fitted for this weather, let alone for being drugged and tied up for a while in it, but he poke his mind to more wakefulness at the question. He blinks for a moment at the white-clad man asking it, the way his hands have not fared well from catching him against the icy walls. ]

Do you think you might want a walking stick? I can probably find something to do as that.

[Ah...this other man doesn't sound like he's doing so well, which is understandable. Waking up somewhere foreign - he assumes - would leave anyone scatterbrained. He doesn't ask his question again just yet, giving the man as much time as he can. While he waits, he'll continue to reach out and pat around, searching for anything he can. Sometimes he finds something he thinks passes as food, others he's not so sure. How long any of this has been down here is lost on him, so collecting anything could be a gamble, but he's willing to take that risk.

The skin of his hands stings, though, both because of catching himself and because the salt in the air dries it out so quickly. When they get out of here, he'll have to see if he can patch himself up. He really hopes his Core is okay...

The question about a walking stick causes him pause, if only for a moment. The other man doesn't sound patronizing, but Xingchen can't help the slight annoyance he feels regardless. He's spent long enough without the use of a stick in his situation that he doesn't want to start now just because he's in some new place. He's traveled without such a tool before, so this isn't any different. It's just that this terrain is more formidable than what he's used to.

Still, he just shakes his head and puts on a smile.]

Thank you, but that won't be necessary. Is there anything here you might need for yourself? Are you warm enough?

It would be easier on your hands. [ But Xunxian shrugs and moves on, ] let me see if there is anything to clean them with, and, warm enough, do you think anyone here can be warm enough? It doesn't seem like the place for it.

[ His teeth might be chattering a little as he speaks, but there is still a hint of a smirk to the words somehow. ]

Is your head getting clearer? Whatever they made us drink or eat, it was pretty strong.

I'll be fine. I've been through worse.

[Taking what he's collected, Xingchen ties it all up in the extra blanket so he can more easily carry everything, but he pauses again to listen to the other man more. His ears catch the teeth chattering and, considering he isn't particularly helping Xingchen gather up supplies, he stands and pulls the blanket from his own shoulders, immediately regretting the loss. It seems some of his body heat has seeped into the fabric.]

It certainly doesn't seem like this place is suited for more temperate climes, does it? Here. May I...?

[Wrap the blanket around the other man's shoulders, that is. Xingchen hasn't met anyone else besides...Zichen...who strayed from another's touch, but after spending so much time with him before, he's gotten into the habit of not assuming everyone else is like him and accepting of it.]

I'm still a little groggy. Tired. I don't quite feel like myself. It worries me, if I'm being honest.

I. Salt Mines

Moran... I hope I can be of use to you even like this.

II. House of Dew - Looking for Moran

III. House of Dew - Music

IV. Wildcard

Hit him up, or hit me up with questions/ideas, etc.

1.JAILHOUSE

[Moran certainly hasn't been enjoying the work, but he knows better than to lord his status from his own world over anyone here, because clearly, no one would care, and mostly, no one would even understand him, from what he can tell. None of the people he has met so far speak any language intelligible to him, and no one understands his own.

They seem to have understood he is a disaster at cooking though - not that the... honestly half-decomposing looking soldiers seem to be bothered - so instead he's been sent to scrub and clean. He's not very good at that either, to be quite honest, and his silk robes have taken quite a battering from it, but doing so has allowed him to try and listen to their captors, an attempt to keep his brain engaged by looking for linguistics patterns in their speech while doing the mindless tasks.

He's still pretty tired by the end of the day, and his eyes are closed until the moment where he feels himself being bound to someone else, and he opens them a slit to examine the person.]

2.HOUSE OF DEW - ARRIVAL

[Contrary to what one might expect, Moran does not even bat an eye at the type of establishment they end up in. He is glad to finally be clean, does not protest one bit about the quality of the food, nor about the slightly repurposed ladies' clothing he attempts to use as robes. Being clean, fed and clothes is more important than the 'how' of it.

If someone protests a bit too much, he will intervene.]

We are being given these for free. Let's be grateful and appreciate it.

3.HOUSE OF DEW - EARNING COINS

[So it will become very readily apparent that housework that is not very simple cleaning is quite out of Moran's usual purview, as in, he's relatively not very good at it. Not necessarily for lack for trying, but he's never, ever had to do these sorts of things for himself, and certainly not for other people.

He is, however, an excellent musician, and learned, so he can compose poetry, even though no one here would really understand it. But one certain evenings, instead of cleaning duties, he ends up int he main room to provide some musical accompaniment for the atmosphere, either on his own, or with Su Xunxian.

And if a guest gets too drunk and rowdy, they might end up being surprised to see that yes, the slightly waify-looking musician can, and will, grab them by their collar and eject them out of the door rather firmly. Fists, thankfully, are a universal language.]

4.SNOOPING AROUND

[This is a strange land, and Moran, always the politician, is eager to know several things. Namely, where is this, what is the history, the political situation, the lay of the land, and who is their rather generous benefactor.

He is, of course, hindered by his own lack of knowledge of the language. Before he manages to secure a quartz bauble, he'll have to rely on Xunxian, and his own learnings as he tries to listen to everything and commit sound patterns to memory.

Once he gets enough money to buy his own personal translation device, he'll attempt to simply have some strolls through the market at first, hidden under a cloak to not look too out of place, simply to listen to conversations. He might volunteer to go shop for food for the brothel on certain days just so he can try and put an ear to the ground and understand what is going on.

... this won't do. Come, sit over here and we can both use it for a little while, then I'll be fine.

[ More or less.

But while he can recognize he needs the heat, the thought of just taking from someone who clearly needs it, too, doesn't work for him. He's always had too much to just take, after all. ]

The voice was clear, even if the far off bells were not, but the tongue was alien to him. He did pause at it, at least, though he didn't reply, and was still considering how to decipher the words when he heard a language he did recognize.

He stood up straight, a piece of broken stone clutched in his hand, frowning as he looked into the dark of the other cell.

"没有." He answered carefully, still frowning as he stepped a little closer. His Chinese was crisp, tutored, but archaic - at least four hundred years separated the men. "只找到石头只有石头碎” Nothing but broken stone. He edged a little closer until he could peak into the dark to see who he was talking to.

"您是谁？您是大明人吗?" He enquired, his voice guarded. Still, it was the first words he had managed to understand without the translator catching up.

Edited (fixing chinese) 2021-03-28 17:43 (UTC)

[There's going to be a gentle hand patting the young man's head.]

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on your circumstances, I do believe we are all still alive. We should count ourselves lucky. Clearly, it is not the case of everyone walking around town.

[Moran gives him a smile.]

You should get cleaned up and put on some clean clothes. Things won't look so grim then.

There was a long pause, Mingyu trying to parse the words spoken to him. He didn't know that term he was being asked, so he wasn't quite sure how to answer. The clipped, formal tone as well, addressing him, a stranger in a jail cell as '您'. Normally he tried to match politeness levels, just good standard practice, but this situation was way too strange for that.

"我叫白明羽,是加拿大人. 你是谁? 讲话怎么呢吗怪?"

Seeing movement, he moved towards the other man only to be taken aback by the state of him. Mingyu could smell the blood from here, could make out the tatters of his clothing—

"谁死了?"

[ Thick treacle and cloyed, the stream of his recent memories snagged and dammed. He steps; stumbles. Descends, dark shroud and white peppered &dmash; pass of his fingers on gravel, the thin yield off a nearby wall, dusted — salted.

He feels his own fever, the spell of lethargy, like wine work. Finds his body slowed, qi fettered, thinks, thinks: wards. No. None cast, none binding, no part of him mutilated. Lessened, but the whole survives. Poison?

Go east. Disruption before, after, when progress bides him a handful of paces forward, balance barely brokered. Water, somewhere, past what eyes, slanted and sedate, can grasp in darkness. He hears threat, before he spies it — knows, in rare, hot surges of instinct, to abide it, and eases soft against rock wall, slides beside it. Rodent or his inhuman captors, something walks with him. He waits it out, calculates —

Starts, hand gentle and failing, to unbind his hair, until the spiked filigree of his guan yields, and he may bind the crown against wrist, end points to his palm. Poor weapon: silver bends, before it stabs. Shame to his ancestors, to consider jewellery reduced to this. He will bear it. Distant, Bichen roils, separated from him. (Soon. Somehow. They were parted once.)

He encounters the boy's shadow, first, arm at the ready to strike — then, lowers it, glimpsing the young man, better than Lan Wangji, more secure on his foot. Good. Unbidden, Lan Wangji falls in line beside him, easy fealty for their one shared trait: human, and living, and warm. The food of my enemy is my friend. ]

Seek light.

[ To help. Stranded in the belly of a blind stone beast, they only live if they secure air, passage, an exit. ]

((Continuing from here bc i'm lazy))

[Her smile is still in place, light and friendly like she doesn't notice at all that he seems a bit exasperated--or maybe just tired? Ah, well. He doesn't have the language required to tell her to stop and she's going to take advantage of that.

He says--something, and her eyebrows furrow a little, not sure if it was a name or something else. But then when he gestures to himself and says something different, she assumes that's probably the actual name?]

Chen Wang. [She sort of slurs the words together by mistake and frowns, brow furrowing again in concentration before she repeats it a bit slower, more accurately.] Chen Wang.

[And then brightening once it seems she's got it. She can't exactly execute a full curtsy like this, but she bows her head and upper body as best she can with the corset in the way before she straightens.

Winnie turns a little and leans over, dragging her finger through the dirt to draw a vague outline of the United Kingdom onto the ground. She points to herself, then the island she's drawn.]

England. [Then she writes down 'England' beneath it.]

[ Beauty sleeps in the eye of the hassled, laughter-prone and deeply confused beholder: the attendant ferries Sun Xunxian to an approximation of his target — if not the most beautiful man who doesn't share his company already, then one of the first who crawled in overnight, scantly seen.

The slight, claustrophobic, nigh-rodents' rooms in the lower-bellied levels of the aged house, mild spores battling gold paint and wreaths of dents on crumbled walls. They offered Lan Wangji better, first, an emptied slot beside a modest-ranked courtesan's quarters — lacking window glass. He understood it in the same heartbeat as the establishment's nature: there must be where violence is brokered, if not against the brothel's workers, than to sully its clients. With steeled eyes and a flinched hand, he refused. They moved him.

Now, he has his peace in servants' squalor, with old wood and deep striations, and straw stabbing his legs, where the silks of his tattered robes yields, between brushwork of pale soot and the mines' bloodletting. Drip and drip and drip, and Lan Wangji has transgressed against both the precepts of efficiency, and those of ablution — dallying, knelt and indifferent and slow, to negotiate removing the stains off his face and neck and arms, with sponge and rusting water. Already, they have changed his wash bowl twice. He thinks, more fool him, the steps creaking hard behind him mean to avail him a fourth time over —

Stills, to see a man beside the girl, and reaches for the silver carcass of his disentangled guan on the floor, raising it for weapon, to show the spiked ends of the crown's construction. Teeth-gritted, growls: ]

No.

[ He is not the son of one sect leader and the brother of another and the leader, tenuous, of a cultivation world whole, so that he might consider his body in the brothel's service. If they have brought him his way to earn his keep — may they not lack for burial grounds in their gardens. ]

1. Jailhouse Rock

[It's all just almost a bit too much. Almost. It's all a whirlwind of sound and information and rushing about, everyone scrambling to get away. Winnie hangs back a little, watching everyone run about with a passive look on her face, like she's analyzing what everyone's doing, categorizing it all.

Then she blinksas soemoneenarly runs into her, looking as if startled from a daydream] Oh! Dear... It's all going topsy-turvy now, isn't it? [She remarks to no one, but there's a slight smile on her face as she turns to follow after some unfortunate NPC prisoners.

Unfortunate because they die moments later when some of those undead kill them. Winnie falls back and hits the ground with a yelp of pain, then freezes, eyes wide as she stares at the advancing corpse-person. Her mind whirls, but it... Doesn't seem at all interested?

She blinks as it just sort of walks past her, barely sparing her a glance. Winnie pauses and then sits up more, frowning as she looks around] I'm not even worth being killed? I'm not sure if I'm offended or not. Oh-- Look out! [She's not sure if the other person can understand her, but hopefully they can understand a warning when they hear one]

2. Can You Hear Me Now?

[FOllowing the rescue and escape into the city, Winnie has taken to the quartz gem with gusto, eagerly seeking out any familiar faces--and perhaps not-so-familiar ones, but ones that at least look as bewildered as one probably should be upon waking into such a foreign world]

Hello! Look! [She holds the rose quartz up with a little shake, beaming] I think we can understand each other now! Isn't this quaint? I've never heard of 'Sa-Hareth' before, have you?

[She doesn't look all that broken up about any of this though, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about it all]

3. Market
[She just wanted a taste, okay? She managed to get some money, she could spend it on some treats, right?? At one stall, she's popped a few berries in her mouth and looks quite pleased until the shopkeeper starts asking her for money.

She pats at her gown and checks her sleeves with a frown, looking perplexed] Perhaps we could just call it a 'free sample'? [She smiles sheepishly, but the guy doesn't look convinced of this great idea.]

Oh dear... [She looks around and turns to the nearest person, grabbing at their arm or sleeve and practically beams at them] Excuse me! Help a damsel in distress? I'm afraid I don't have my money on me and I, er... sampled a couple of berries-- Honestly, it was only a couple, I didn't think it would be that big of a loss, but he seems quite irate now so I suppose I really should pay for it, it'd be rude not to, and I honestly did think I had money but apparently I don't. But I promise I can pay you back!

[JESUS WOMAN BREATHE.

She smiles hopefully. HELP HER OUT]

4. Wildcard

[for other shenanigans! I can do prose or bracket style, whichever.]

[Eleven glances up and unconsciously runs his fingers through his lanky hair. He does need to wash up more thoroughly, but he's not sure he could focus on it at the moment]

I'm just confused. I thought... I was supposed to be sent to the Void, but if that's not where we are, then.. where is this?

[Eleven blinks, then smiles something uncertain. Does this soul already know? Who he is, what he's done, the very power he's lacking?]

I will. [It's a quiet promise, both literal and figurative as the ever-growing dark sends his eyes in search of any flicker of light. A torch, a lamp- anything to ward off the blinding dark and whatever awaits them within.

A weapon would be good too, but the stalactites of frozen salt were more likely to crumble before inflicting any damage. For now, all he can really do to help is keep an eye on the unsteady soul beside him.]

We'll make it out. I'll look after you.

Edited (added more useful dialogue) 2021-03-29 19:41 (UTC)

[ He walks as thieves do: guarded, at twilight hours, before the citadel stirs itself, and just as it brokers lull. When the lion's share of its attention falls on remembering itself, lines of damp wood and thawing snow, preserving its strength.

He cuts fresh path 'home', where his rescuers — unnamed, but omnipresent at each turn when the brothel mistress catches sight of them, purses the vinegary line of her mouth, but bears with — brokered their stay, another day. Another one, further. And another, past that, to ends Lan Wangji has neither wagered, nor riddled. He knew Sa-Hareth before the circumstances of his abduction — a plain citadel, cold but robust, efficient. Qinghe in all but name, married to Lanling Jin commerce. Stay his eyes alert, his gaunt coin purse close, his step fast and considered, and he will fall in step with the city, live, part and poison of its bloodstream. But the merchant who allegedly gave a chosen few the charity of his patronage —

Lan Wangji insinuates himself in the morning crowd like a needle, persisting in his path. Despite attempts to inject qi, the quartz piece that had livened his tongue and ears to converse with the locals stays moribund, inert. He has won nothing of engaging the natives without eloquence, though the people of the port, arriving from lands afar, seem accustomed enough to negotiate meaning without languages known. Lan Wangji has mimed, pointed, mouthed (futilely): the dead, are they many? Some nods. Vicious? Misunderstood. Commanded? The answer, a shrug or a faint frown or the pointing at various offices of the citadel led him to understand he was translated differently than he'd intended. Unhhhhld. Unhellet. Unhalad. His day's gain.

One arm to his back, the other quick to dispel the swarm of travellers that traverse before him — he knows the familiar shapes of Wei Ying's profile even under cloak and caution, falls in line to hiss, by way of greeting: ]

You should not roam negligently. [ Not Wei Ying, a necromancer of exception, in a dark land of woken dead. Not when they are so hunted. ] Wei Yi —

[ ...ah. The — complication. Glimpsed, fleetingly, in the brothel's hallways, not Wei Ying, but borrowing too many brush strokes of his likeness. The name, whispered at some turn. It should linger, like salt on the lip wound beneath Wangji's worrying teeth. ( Does not. ) ]

Apologies.

[Eleven ventures out a little more now that he's armed again. He's only just returned from the market, selling off a few bits of exotic material for a better rose quartz.

Seeing Xingchen wander out in what appeared to be the wrong direction, he called to him]

The markets are over this way, if you're looking for them.

Edited (mixing it up!) 2021-03-28 21:52 (UTC)

[Eleven teeters back a step, then shakes his head. He doesn't remember recall seeing her in the mines, but he'd heard there was another group of refugees]

..Where are you from?

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.

Edited 2021-03-28 21:02 (UTC)

[Their little group is slowly getting acquainted, and luckily enough, there's more than a few of them who have ended up speaking a variation of the same language so that they can communicate between themselves even without the devices

Moran has been making mental notes on everyone. This man is a proficient martial artist, in spite of his blindness. The sword he carries fits him, and he doesn't seem to have much trouble walking around now that they're all much more clear-headed. He's also soft spoken, and quite ready to help out. He's also much more proficient at housework than Moran is, somehow.

This could be a nice occasion to get to know him more.]

Daozhang, if you'll just wait a moment, let me inquire about whether some errands were required for the kitchen and I'll accompany you.

sa-hareth | arrival (mingle log)

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Jail House Rock: Pre Escape

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Su Xunxian | Oh! My Emperor

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Hover for translation

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thats so cool and im definitely not doing that

salt mines | excuse lan wangji, the loopiest of drugged folk

jailhouse!

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poor guy

thine snooping

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