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thecrossinglogs2025-03-09 12:05 am
ourlastadventure) wrote in thecrossinglogs2025-03-09 12:05 am
Bless of Magic Caster | OTA
WHO: Arche and YOU
WHAT: Arche is acclimating to her new circumstances, looking for help getting a staff around, and attempting to be curious without being a pest. Godspeed to her on that last one.
WHERE: Strictly within the lantern's light
WHEN: Shortly after her arrival from the River
WARNINGS: If you ask how she died, you might get an answer (CW violence, death of a teenager); potential CWs for child neglect/abuse mentions & descriptions, existentialism, Arche Needs A Fucking Drink So God Damn Bad
Fifth Tier Magic: Fabricate | Near The Water
If the weather is decent, or seems like it will be decent (more than a few of these instances might get caught out by a storm, necessitating shelter), one can find Arche near the water and, more importantly, near the woody plants that grow by it. She's running her gloved hands along branches and trunks, frowning to herself, pondering. If she only had a decent knife and whetstone...or someone else did...
It's possible that you catch her during another part of this process! Arche is not above sketching blueprints into the dust, displaying a simple staff with rounded bulbs at the ends, though other designs eventually flower - walking sticks, odd little two-handed clubs more like a blunt glaive than anything, and, curiously enough, something that can't be wood.
Do you own a knife? Is this public knowledge? Arche may be asking for help, or at least to borrow the blade.
Skill: Message | Network/You Pick The Location
workaday: Arche, new arrival, seeking information about prior experiences within this hereafter. No expectations had, be as personal or impersonal as you please, willing to meet in private or speak via this strange text-based common communication. Available at all hours presuming my experiments with sleeplessness bear fruit, all daylight hours otherwise. Thank you for your consideration.
Skill: The Goal Of All Life Is Death | Shelters At Night
She's dead, right? They're all dead. And yet Arche still perceives herself as having the needs of the living, and that fact is curious to her. Perhaps that's the 'life' in 'afterlife', but perhaps not. It isn't as if she could seriously hurt herself by experimenting, right? Arche starts by trying not to breathe but this quickly proves to be a difficult mental hurdle (or she has to breathe, but Arche is going to be stubbon on this point). So she aims at something that she's already good at - going without sleep. Why sleep? Why should that be a need of the dead? Undead don't sleep, and that surely is a trait they inherit from death - even fish sleep, somehow, after all.
It's at night, alone with her thoughts and sitting on the roof of her new home(?), when the weight of it all hits Arche. She tries to keep it in, tells herself that she's being silly, being childish. She got a lifetime, same as everyone else, right? She took a dangerous job and it didn't pan out. Death was always on the table, right next to the money she never got to spend because she had to save up for...save...save up for...
The first sob is a hesitant thing, but it blows the floodgates open. Arche cries with ugly sounds and bone-shaking sobs, tears streaming down her face, and when she tries to make herself stop it only gets worse.
Profession (Nerd) | Wildcard
Come at me. Maybe you catch Arche patching up holes in the shelters. Perhaps she's giving that odd look at the hamsters again or conspicuously avoiding the dracolisks with the nervous air of someone who is not used to horses. Or something comes up that you decide! Fuck me up! I'm right here!
WHAT: Arche is acclimating to her new circumstances, looking for help getting a staff around, and attempting to be curious without being a pest. Godspeed to her on that last one.
WHERE: Strictly within the lantern's light
WHEN: Shortly after her arrival from the River
WARNINGS: If you ask how she died, you might get an answer (CW violence, death of a teenager); potential CWs for child neglect/abuse mentions & descriptions, existentialism, Arche Needs A Fucking Drink So God Damn Bad
Fifth Tier Magic: Fabricate | Near The Water
If the weather is decent, or seems like it will be decent (more than a few of these instances might get caught out by a storm, necessitating shelter), one can find Arche near the water and, more importantly, near the woody plants that grow by it. She's running her gloved hands along branches and trunks, frowning to herself, pondering. If she only had a decent knife and whetstone...or someone else did...
It's possible that you catch her during another part of this process! Arche is not above sketching blueprints into the dust, displaying a simple staff with rounded bulbs at the ends, though other designs eventually flower - walking sticks, odd little two-handed clubs more like a blunt glaive than anything, and, curiously enough, something that can't be wood.
Do you own a knife? Is this public knowledge? Arche may be asking for help, or at least to borrow the blade.
Skill: Message | Network/You Pick The Location
workaday: Arche, new arrival, seeking information about prior experiences within this hereafter. No expectations had, be as personal or impersonal as you please, willing to meet in private or speak via this strange text-based common communication. Available at all hours presuming my experiments with sleeplessness bear fruit, all daylight hours otherwise. Thank you for your consideration.
Skill: The Goal Of All Life Is Death | Shelters At Night
She's dead, right? They're all dead. And yet Arche still perceives herself as having the needs of the living, and that fact is curious to her. Perhaps that's the 'life' in 'afterlife', but perhaps not. It isn't as if she could seriously hurt herself by experimenting, right? Arche starts by trying not to breathe but this quickly proves to be a difficult mental hurdle (or she has to breathe, but Arche is going to be stubbon on this point). So she aims at something that she's already good at - going without sleep. Why sleep? Why should that be a need of the dead? Undead don't sleep, and that surely is a trait they inherit from death - even fish sleep, somehow, after all.
It's at night, alone with her thoughts and sitting on the roof of her new home(?), when the weight of it all hits Arche. She tries to keep it in, tells herself that she's being silly, being childish. She got a lifetime, same as everyone else, right? She took a dangerous job and it didn't pan out. Death was always on the table, right next to the money she never got to spend because she had to save up for...save...save up for...
The first sob is a hesitant thing, but it blows the floodgates open. Arche cries with ugly sounds and bone-shaking sobs, tears streaming down her face, and when she tries to make herself stop it only gets worse.
Profession (Nerd) | Wildcard
Come at me. Maybe you catch Arche patching up holes in the shelters. Perhaps she's giving that odd look at the hamsters again or conspicuously avoiding the dracolisks with the nervous air of someone who is not used to horses. Or something comes up that you decide! Fuck me up! I'm right here!
no subject
He's not built for climbing rooftops, but he manages to find a low wall to start off, and to hook hands over a ledge to pull himself up. In the end, he's slightly dissheveled, scuffs of dust and sand on the silk of his black Prelate's robe, a few curls beginning to escape his long braid of silver hair and curl by his pointed ears. He stands for only a few moments, steadying his breathing, his attention falling to the young woman sobbing her eyes out.
"Breathe, min," he says, in his best attempt at comforting. With some stiffness he steps forward, coming to kneel by her side.
no subject
Do the dead need water to weep? Arche feels hollowed and worn, and yet it just won't stop.
Still. Someone else here helps, if only out of the perverse desire to retain some dignity, as if she has any left to lose at this point. Her first attempt at a deep breath, in through her nose, is a deep mistake; she wipes at her face with her sleeve and tries again, hot, ragged breaths out of her mouth that steam in the cold night air of the desert.
"...Sorry. For disturbing you."
no subject
It might sound like a kind lie, but his voice renders it harsher, more like the truth it is. He often found his sleep troubled in life, and in this place he finds the burdens weigh on him still.
He doesn't fish in the pocket of his coat for a handkerchief, having not thought to bring one on what turned out to be his final journey, but he looks away, at least in part to give this young woman the privacy to clean her face without feeling scrutinized for it.
"Wouldst you like to speak of it? I do not mean to offend by saying so but you must recently have come to these circumstances."