Emergence

Entry tags:

Emergence

WHO: Clive Rosfield

oblige, Selipnir Harbard

quibblingfunctionary
WHEN: Mission 011
WHERE: A WW1 bunker underground
WHAT: Prompt // Amnesia: The Bunker - Sinister
NOTES\WARNINGS: war themes, monster stalking, ghosts, true darkness, insanity, PTSD, uh, likely more tbh, gore

Type: Prompt
Conceptual Basis: Amnesia: the Bunker, Sinister
Notes: (1) Although the main event is based on illusions and psychological effects, the custom scenarios are physically real and actually happening. (2) Open to your ideas on how this resolves at the end of the event in terms of long-term impact. It can all simply fade away or you can retain some aspects.

They all wake in separate cells. There is no light but a dim flickering bulb in the hall connecting their cells, and the walls and floor and ceiling are unrelenting damp concrete.

The three of them are in a bunker evocative of WW1, and they are not alone.

The war rages above. They can hear it sometimes, the ground around them shuddering as shells make impact, a tantalizing reminder that there is life beyond and above the bunker. Inside with them is an ancient stalking horror, one that is repelled by light and drawn to noise. They must scrounge for supplies to light their way -- oil lamps, torches, restoring electrical power to the rundown crumbling bunker -- to navigate safely and find the exit.

But they slowly realize that there is a more dire, invisible threat at hand: ghosts with unresolved trauma. They must seek refuge in the light not just to stay safe but to stay sane. The more time they stay in the dark, the more they start to embody roles from that war: one an officer, one a low-rank technician, one an enemy spy. All suspected of collusion and locked in the brig until command could deal with them. Only... command never came back. There are corpses strewn throughout the narrow halls and rooms of the bunker, maybe corpses they think they recognize.

It all just starts to feel so familiar. The ghosts that seek to possess them are looking for a way to reenact their last days, hoping if they go through it enough times, it'll play out differently. With their increasing presence comes increasing knowledge, the technician of electrical wiring and how to restore power, the spy of the layout of the labyrinthine bunker, the officer of where valuable resources are cached. What did happen to them? What is the story the three of them are so desperate to reenact?

That's up to you.

Map Ref

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[After one particular violent rumble Sleipnir jolts from a sleep so dark and deep he cannot even recall laying down to do so. Everything about his surroundings feel...wrong. The air is stale— and the scent which lingers here is off, almost like charcoal, sulfur, and maybe...iron? Then there is the sound, or perhaps more notably: the lack there of. It's almost silent. Every time he has gone to sleep since getting back from Earth Sleipnir has been within castle Stonhyrr with its usual weather patterns returned to it. Perhaps he can hear a distant rumble...? But he can't be so sure. The dark is almost all encompassing, and something here too is wrong, the dark feels off, feels different, like he cannot connect to it... Still, his eyes don't need to adjust, he's been asleep, so why is it so dark?

The ground on which he lays doesn't feel natural, if anything, it feels like...but no. They are back in Etraya and have been for weeks. There is no reason his mind should be screaming, screaming like he had been, scream filling a dead silence save for the drip, drip, dripping of a rusty pipe temporary! It was supposed to be temporary. Pain is temporary...?

Bend. Snap.]

Fuck—!

[Sleipnir gasps out in pain. In. pain. It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts—]

[He wasn’t sure when he woke up, if he was even truly awake, with how thick the darkness around him is. Clive lifts his hand to hold it in front of his face, waves it lightly. He feels the displaced air but does not see the movement. That isn’t good. He needs some light get his bearings, but something inside of him doesn’t feel right.

He’s cold. He reaches for the gifts of the Phoenix and is met with nothing, not even a wisp of smoke. He reaches out to all the others, Garuda, Ramuh, Titan, Bahamut. Nothing. He closes his eyes against the darkness and reaches deeper, groping, searching for anything, and the only thing he finds is a cold, empty pit.

’Ifrit?’ He doesn’t know why he tries talking to his Eikon, but maybe their consciousness split a bit, like it did on Earth. He is met with silence. It’s cold. It’s so, so cold. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this empty, like a part of him had been torn out, stolen. Even before Ifrit woke, he had never experienced anything like this. He had always been there. Always.

Clive shivers, trying to will this away. It has to be a dream, right? It must be. But no matter what Clive does, when he opens his eyes he is met with the same steady darkness. Impenetrable. What the place lacks in visual stimulation, it makes up for in sound. Distant dripping, rumbles from above, how the ground sounds when it shakes. Where is he?

He starts slowly moving, staying on his hands and knees, one arm stretched out before him, groping carefully, when he hears the shout.]

Sleipnir!

[He moves quicker, still tries to be careful. Where is he? He needs to get to him. This place, concrete, cold, musty. No. It was too much like where he found him back on Earth.]

Sleipnir, I’m here. Listen to the sound of my voice. I’m going to find you, okay? I just need you to talk to me.

[ Dion had awoken sooner than the others, it seems. He had assumed himself alone, and from his position, he could see no others. A single light bulb's flickers just beyond the bars of his cell, its wavering illumination causing shadows to stretch long and deep. Further down the hall from it, darkness.

He'd spent his time trying to determine where he was and why. The stillness felt unnatural, much as the structure around him did. It would have been tempting to think it a cold sterility if not for the quality of the air. Old, damp. These qualities suggested something else. For what reason had he been confined, he wonders?

As best he could determine, it was just him. There is no clead method of escape, unlike the Fun Zone, or even Aphaia's escape rooms. Yet there must be a point to this, mustn't there?

He tests the bars a good half-dozen times before a curse rings out from the dark end of the hall. Shortly thereafter, another voice, one he's certain he knows, identifies the first. ]

Clive?

[ He ventures to ask, just loud enough that he might be heard. This is an oppressive place, and he does not trust that there isn't more to this than concrete walls and iron bars. ]

Edited 2025-09-20 04:09 (UTC)

[Pain should be temporary. It's not. It hurts. Where is he? Concrete floor. The same ceiling? No. Clive Rosfield's voice. The ceiling is closer, the sound is different. Clive's voice? Accelerator, that piece of shit, he is going to kill him. Where is he? Bahamut's voice? Sleipnir's groan of pain is more of a growl as he cradles his left hand to his chest. The three of them? Where are they? Are His Majesty and Cidolfus here too?

The breaths he pulls in are ragged and the air tastes wrong. It's not like the warehouse, the warehouse was open spaces, rust, and decay, whereas this place is closed, confined, and rot. More still there is something wrong with the darkness. Sleipnir tries to pull it to him to teleport to the others, but it just won't come. Why won't it come? And why does it hurt? It's supposed to be temporary.

But Clive and Bahamut are here. Is Accelerator here? Barnabas...? Cidolfus?

He hates how loud his breathing sounds in this place.]

I'm. Fine.

[He grits out. Sleipnir must grasp his anger like a life line— if Bahamut and Clive were here and it is not just him then he needs to not fall apart again. Think of the breathing. This of the strange squishy thing. Think of the trees and the open spaces. The stars and the sea.]

Where... are we...?

[Breathe. Pain is temp-temporary. It will go away. It went away last time. It'll go away again. Quit breathing like this, pull yourself together.]

[A wave of relief washes over Clive at the sound of Dion’s voice. A tinge of guilt responds, but is quickly replaced by concern. If the three of them are here, where is everyone else? Are they here, too? Cid, Barnabas? Joshua? If they’re here, too, they need to be found.]

I’m here, Dion. Sleipnir is too. I’m not sure where here is, but we’ll find out.

[And probably doing something stupid to his hand.]

Let me figure out how to get out of this– [Clive’s hand hits iron. He traces is it along, bar to bar, until he feels the opening. Cautiously, he stands and takes a step into the open hallway. He turns his head and, there, in the distance, a single flickering light. Thank the Founder.]

I’m in the hall now. I’ll get to you both. Just hang on.

[He walks carefully towards the light. His foot hits something and he staggers. Something pliant, but firm. Cold. He toes it again and curses under his breath, trying to push down the panic. He knows a body when he feels one.

Please, please, please don’t be any of the three missing companions. He crouches down to examine the body blindly, groping for hair first. Too long to be Cid’s, too short to be Barnabas’. Not exactly a definitive answer, but it eases some of the panic. He traces the facial structure, leans a little closer to sniff. The body isn’t old, necessarily, but it isn’t fresh enough to be any of his companions.

But a dead body means danger. Clive stands abruptly, a chill running down his spine. Was that movement behind him? He steps over the body quickly, keeping a hand to the cells to his left as he moves towards the light. He needs to be in the light. His soul screams for it. Something is there. Something is coming.

He staggers into the dim glow cast by the flickering bulb and sighs in relief. The relief amplifies when he glances down to see that familiar face, those warm amber eyes.

The urge to make a quip rises in him, a bit of humor to break the tension. Cid really was rubbing off on him.]

Hey. Need some help?

[Okay, not as bad as his gut ‘Funny meeting you here’ that he originally thought of.]

[ Dion rises from his position, revealing the object of his inspection: another dead body. This one, too, is not one who bears any similarity to their fellow Dominants. Despite that, someting about the features reminds him of someone. Maybe a soldier he'd met in passing, during his years of military service? He can't quite place it.

Yet it tugs at him, this nagging sense that he almost knows that face. Almost, but not quite. He frowns at the peculiar thought, as though it comes with some unpleasant taste, and steps nearer to the bars with his findings.

He never wishes to disrespect the dead, but the man would perhaps not begrudge him the small, metal item he'd found. Once he reaches the locked door, he offers up the bobby pin. Its dull, scuffed surfaces catches the light. ]

Have you experience picking locks? It seems this gentleman tried, but the angle...

[ Dion is a prince and soldier, but it hasn't left him void of deductive reasoning. The dead man in the cell had clearly made attempts, but the placement of the lock and narrow gaps between the bar were unfavorable for any form of precision work. Were Dion to try, he suspects he would fare no better. ]

[Something is wrong. Sleipnir can feel it in his bones. This, whatever this is, isn't good. The lights are out for a reason. They turned the lights out and left them here. He knows it. He knows this to be true. The dark, this darkness, it holds something the world was not meant to see, not meant to know. It's here, somewhere, lurking, ~~—waiting, watching, wanting, craving, crawling, craven, hungry—~~

What??

Something is wrong. Sleipnir can feel it in his bones. This, where ever they are, isn't good. Pain isn't supposed to be something he can feel, yet he can. The darkness should be something he can manipulate, yet he cannot. Something is wrong. Something is broken. Where are they? How did they get here— ]

A tomb of concrete.

[He doesn't realize he's murmuring.]

They left us here to die.

[He's feeling around his cell, he knows it's a cell without having found the bars because he's heard Clive grab hold of the ones on his cell, and he's trying to find anything of use. They wouldn't have left them with nothing would they? So, he's feeling around— ]

Light...

[ —on his hands and knees. It hurts his hand, but if they don't figure out what is happening soon— ]

We need light...

[ —they were all going to die. His hand lands in something wet. If they don't get light on them soon it might find them. Sleipnir raises his hand and sniffs. Iron. Wipes his hand on his pants and hisses in pain. Feels a little further with his other hand. There. A lump. A boot. There. A... breeze? There. The body's leg. There. The pants pockets. Sleipnir pulls out a small cardboard box, but his elbow slides along air instead of a torso as he does so. Empty air. Again, a slight breeze— there is a bad smell here. Sleipnir shakes the box and a bunch of small somethings clatter quietly and roll. Sounds like wood and something...else... Is the smell getting stronger? His hand shakes and he isn't certain why. Sleipnir slides the box open, sniffs, and concludes the bad smell isn't coming from the box. The breeze. He puts his hurt hand out in front of his face and feels the wall of the back of his cell. Strange. The breeze and the body do not make sense if there is a wall here.

Sleipnir is barely breathing now. It felt like his lungs were making too much noise. Too much, because he thinks he hears something coming from the wall...? His hands move on instinct fiddling with the box and its contents. He's focused on that sound, on that smell.

He strikes a match.]

Oh.

[This sound echoes out of Sleipnir's cell. The only good thing about the noise is that it seems to be moving away from them.

Sleipnir drops the match in the puddle of blood and intestines. Distantly he is glad to have solved the mystery of the breeze and the body. A hole. There is a hole in the wall of his cell. And. And. And he knows what happened to him— or rather, his cell mate.]

I haven’t picked a lock since–

[Since he was in the military. And even then, he wasn't the best at it. He had always tried his best not to mention his conscription into the Sanbreque military around Dion. It didn’t always work, but he truly did not want to bring something like that to the forefront of anyone’s mind right now. There was enough going on as it is. He needs to get the three of them out of here, and that would have to start with dusting off some old skills.

He takes the pin from Dion and looks at the lock, frowning. How the hell had this guy thought he could get through this lock with a single pin? He would need something else to–

A sound, something horrific that scraped at the back of his skull, something that screamed danger, that felt somehow familiar when it truly shouldn’t, echoes down to the two living men still in the light.

It came from the direction of Sleipnir’s cell. He shoots a look at Dion as if saying ‘wait here’ before moving back into the dark. Sleipnir hadn’t screamed, and it sounded like whatever it was was getting further away so perhaps the other man was still safe. He almost trips - again - over the body that was just outside of his cell, only this time he hears the tell-tale jangle of a ring of keys.

Gaoler. Clive drops down and gropes at the body for the second time, this time about the waist. It doesn’t take him much time to find the ring of keys. He grabs them all together, dampening their sound, before pulling the ring off the belt loop and continuing his way to Sleipnir’s cell.]

Sleipnir?

[He speaks quietly, hoping he’s found the correct cell.]

[Sleipnir has just been sitting there breathing, finger pulsing in pain, and staring at the darkest part of his cell— that hole. It's strange, the overwhelming pulse of fear within him. Strange, because he doesn't think he'd normally be afraid right now... perhaps it's a culmination of the darkness not responding, and the concrete, and the dripping, and how pain is supposed to be temporary, but it fucking isn't.

He hears Clive's voice behind him, hushed now, and he almost isn't certain why the man is so quiet, but he supposes it's probably because of the thing in the wall. Oh. His head is doing that floaty thing again. Shock? Is he in shock? Well, that's annoying. Think of the squishy toy. Think of the breathing and the beach. It's fine. They're fine. The pain went away before— it will so again. He strikes another match and slowly turns to look at Clive.

All he says, in a hollow sounding voice, is:]

We need to stay in the light...

[There was something not quite right about Sleipnir’s voice when he spoke. It was like it was his, but it also wasn’t. And that look in the man’s eye… Even after the night he found the man at the warehouse he hadn’t seen a haunted look quite like this one.]

We’ll find something. A lantern, candles. Something.

[Clive uses the meager light from the match to find the keyhole in the lock. He keeps a finger over it between each key he tries so he doesn’t lose it when the match inevitably goes out. When the match fizzles, it feels as if the darkness has its own weight when it fully descends again. It doesn’t take long for the fear to claw its way back into his brain.

They were left here. They were left here to die, along with all the others who had been trapped, who came and went before them.

A shaking hand finally inserts the correct key, and the lock opens with a soft click. Clive pulls the door open.]

C’mon. Dion is down the hall.

[He thinks about the light there, how they won’t be able to stay there forever. If they tried, they would die, from starvation at the very least. He needed to get these men out of here. The bunker was supposed to be safe, not another death trap for those already suffering above.

The second Sleipnir is out, Clive slides the cell door closed, and locks it again. Whatever was int here isn’t getting out this way. Not any time soon. He grabs Sleipnir by the shoulder and guides him.]

Save the matches. We may need them yet.

[Clive does his best to navigate the hall while guiding another person. He can feel the panic slowly rising the longer they are in the dark. How was he supposed to get these men out safe? What happened? Where was everyone? Were they even soldiers?

Finally, he sees the slightly swaying light and is filled with relief. Hurries down the hall before pulling Sleipnir into the light with him, keeping a firm hand on his shoulder.]

I found keys.

[Clive flashes them to Dion before going through the process of trying to find the one that fit.]

[ Dion could only catch the hush of their voices after Clive had hurried off into the dark, the words murky and unintelligible to him. But he tells himself that the sound of their voices is enough. It means nothing has happened to them in the darkness, and he satisfies himself with this.

He waits, hoping that the Phoenix has not found himself similarly caged the way they have been. If there is any mercy in the multiverse, let him be spared this... Whatever this is.

His patience is eventually rewarded when Clive returns, evidently armed with keys. That's quite convenient for them, assuming the keys give them access to more of this building. It seems too much to hope that it might allow them through some manner of exit, but they can only advance one step at a time. ]

Are you both uninjured?

[ He asks, eyeing Sleipnir speculatively. The man looks much as he did the night he'd climbed into Dion's kitchen, though perhaps not entirely the same. ]

[Sleipnir blinks and finds himself within the light. When did this come to pass...? His brow furrows as he glances from Clive to Bahamut, then back into the dark from whence they came. He is not able to contemplate this long as the Prince of Light's voice draws his head back around. With a small glance to Clive whom seems intent upon his task, Sleipnir assumes the man isn't injured, where as he...

The knees of his pants looked bloodied from where he knelt in the puddle earlier, then there was the smear which came from wiping his hand off on his leg. All blood from another, but... Sleipnir slowly raises his left hand, his pinky finger bent at a wrong angle, and winces lightly from the wave of pain it causes. He frowns at it in what looks like disgust.]

Mostly uninjured. Did you two...hear the thing in the walls, or was this a hallucination?

[He remembers they were supposed to be on a mission now. Something about fog and wildly bad reactions their minds were going to have from it. Sleipnir has since lowered his hand and is now using his right to hold the pinky to his ring finger. While he isn't making any noise from doing so it appears he is breaking out into a sweat from it, his breathing off.]

[Clive finally has the correct key slotted into the lock of Dion’s cage when Sleipnir’s words reach his ears.

’Mostly uninjured.’

His head whips up to look at Sleipnir, starting from the top of his head down until he reaches that finger. He frowns. Why was Sleipnir breaking his fingers again? They’ll need to find something they can use to splint that. He sighs and looks back at Dion, making brief eye contact before turning the key. He tugs the door open before straightening.]

I heard the sound. You said its in the walls?

[Clive pats himself down trying to find anything he can use to help splint the finger.]

Did you get a look at what made the sound?

[ Dion frowns at the mention of Sleipnir's finger, remembering well the way the man had twisted at the skin back on Earth. This time, however, he lacks for something to occupy the man's hands with. Perhaps they ought to come up with something he can carry around, to be safe.

In the meantime, he steps out of his cell just in time to hear talk of something in the walls. Surprise flits across his features, or something near enough to it to pass for it. In truth, it comes as little shock that they are not alone.

At the very least, he wouldn't trust with his luck that there wasn't some lurking threat.

His expression hardens into assessment as he takes stock of the hall he couldn't easily see from his cell. Bloody corpses, damage to what surfaces he can see. From whence Clive and Sleipnir had come lies pitch darkness.

A terrible time to be unable to wield his light. ]

[Sleipnir frowns at the Prince of Light, uncertain what to make of his silence. Had he heard... whatever that was? For some reason he feels incredibly uneasy... but to be fair to himself— he isn't hyperventilating anymore, which he had been upon awakening and realizing he was not where he went to sleep— actually, he hadn't gone to sleep at all, he'd been intent on staying awake and seeing whatever a nebula particle was...

He's getting distracted and he's gripping his fingers tighter. Sleipnir shakes his head knowing he has stared at Bahamut too long and now glances between him and Clive.]

...Yes, or rather, no— [clive has asked two questions and the answers are different; sleipnir's brows furrow a little in frustration] I did not get a look at the— [he struggles for a moment] thing? in the wall. It was fast and I— [he was startled] I don't know.

[He stops glancing between the two and looks back into the darkness; a pit of dread opens up in Sleipnir, but it feels more like a maw. He turns back to the men.]

There is a hole in the wall, back in my cell, it is about... [sleipnir holds his hands apart, his broken finger dangling and his face scrunching from the pain, but the space between his palms looks rounded] maybe three, four feet in diameter... roughly hewn. There is also... [he grips his fingers again and looks down at the ground] —a body, or rather, what is left of a body. There is only the abdomen and legs...

[He lets that sit in the air; a bead of sweat runs down the side of his face despite it not being hot where they are.]

[Clive looks down at the key still in his hand from opening Dion’s cell, then looks to Sleipnir’s hand. He removes the key from its ring, grabs the hem of his own shirt, and punctures the thinner fabric just above the thickly rolled edge, tearing off the bottom hem of his shirt.

Without permission, Clive takes Sleipnir’s damaged hand in his own.]

I closed the door to your cell and locked it on the way out, so hopefully whatever it was that came through the wall won’t be able to come back out that way. Take a deep breath.

[Clive glances up at the other man to make sure he listens before pressing the mutilated finger to the key, straightening it.]

Breathe out. Keep taking deep breaths.

[ It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. He uses the hem from his shirt to secure the pinky to the key, then lines up the pinky with his ring finger and uses the rest of the hem to bind the two fingers together, securing it with a firm knot he watched Cid do a couple of times for field dressings.]

I doubt whatever is down here will be kind enough to let us leave without trying to hunt us down. My guess is that it is out of food. Sleipnir, was it able to sneak up on you at all?

[ Dion would imagine the creature had not, between the corpse Sleipnir had described and the man's own condition. Had it managed to ambush him, he doubts the Waloeder would require only a small splint. It's a thought he keeps to himself, however, not feeling that he ought to answer for the man.

He'd no vantage point from his cell, after all.

And so he remains quiet, busying himself with surveying what limited span of their surroundings he can. Something about it almost makes a curious sort of sense to him, though he's never been inside such a structure before. Certainly not this exact one. ]

[When Clive takes Sleipnir's hand he gives the man a look of confusion and almost tugs in back, but the other's words distract him. Had the man locked the cell door? Sleipnir doesn't remember, but he also thinks he blanked out then. Truly inconvenient and poorly timed. He frowns at the thought and at Clive as he takes in the ordered deep breath— before letting out a strangled sound of pain. He continues breathing, but now he is glaring at Clive.

Once the dressing is done Sleipnir will punch Clive's arm with his uninjured hand... it doesn't pack near as much strength he is used to and this only serves to confuse and frustrate him more.]

No, Clive, it was content to announce its presence before letting out the ungodly scream. [he huffs out a sigh] I had no notion the hole was there, much less the thing until I struck the match.

[Sleipnir looks back to the Prince of Light. His quiet disquiets him.]

What about you, Bahamut? You never said if you heard its call. Are there any holes in your cell?

[ It's uncanny, hearing Sleipnir call Clive by name. Etraya visits a great many oddities upon them regularly, but somehow it's that one that furrows his brow as the two talk. To go from adversaries to such casual address in a relatively short amount of time... Couldn't be him.

He remains busy with surveying the scenery, unable to shake that nagging, impossible sense of familiarity when Sleipnir speaks to him. It comes as no surprise that he remains Bahamut, for that is how Odin regards him, though he recalls some variation back in the casino that has since vanished.

Almost reluctantly, he looks away from cold concrete he does and does not know. ]

I heard it, yes. There is no hole...perhaps it mislikes the light.

[Sleipnir's grumpy expression melts into one of stark neutrality at Bahamut's words. Next his lips quiver and tremble as if fighting to remain shut. Then the ends crook up into a smile as he keeps contending with the battle warring within. Very quickly however, a loud laugh bursts out of him before he slaps his uninjured hand upon his mouth. Still, his shoulders shake in evident mirth.]

It mislikes the light? Oh, well this news brightens my day. Hide we behind you if it comes around again?

[The punch does smart a little bit, but Clive’s only outward reaction is to frown a little at the other man. It was certainly a different reaction than the last time he had to splint Sleipnir’s finger. He takes Sleipnir’s impatience in stride. This is a stressful situation and chances are decent his friend had a very close brush with death with that creature, whether he came out injured physically or not.

Clive lifts a hand to cover his mouth, trying to cover his laugh in a bit of a cough. This was not an appropriate situation to laugh during, but dammit Sleipnir. He clears his throat again.]

We’re going to need to find a source of light.

[He looks at Dion.]

Unless you aren’t being affected. I can’t feel Ifrit or any of my other powers at all.

[ Dion huffs out a vexed breath, jabbing a finger toward the lightbulb swaying idly above them. Surely what he meant was obvious. In contrast to his compatriots, his cell is illuminated by this lone source of light, and so he reasons whatever creature inhabits this place avoids it.

Perhaps it is sensitive to light, or averse to it for some other reason, but the corpse in his cell clearly died an unfortunate death from dehydration. Lack of water would claim a man far sooner than lack of food, and he sees no indication supplies were afforded that man at all.

When his hand drops, he frowns into the darkness beyond their limited bubble of light. ]

That may be a matter of perception. I feel no less whole [ That is, he doesn't feel a sense of absence. ] but I cannot channel my aether.

[ As though he were a corked bottle. ]

[The smile is short lived as Sleipnir glances between Clive and Bahamut. Despite misliking it he voices the obvious.]

So, what you are saying is we have been thrown in a different gaol with our aether blocked.

[He crosses his arms and contemplates the feeling, imagines this is what it feels like to be fettered, and suppresses a shudder. Now he looks to the dark hall leading away from their cells.]

As the resident agent of Darkness the duty of traversing such falls to me, yes?

[It would make sense as he is one so at home in the dark… yet something in the pit of his stomach turns. Sleipnir has never had to rely on the light before.]

From the sounds of it, that is probably an accurate assessment.

[A matter of perception... Clive certainly hopes so. He wonders what the difference could be, briefly. Perhaps the fact that Dion has gone his whole life with his Eikon and Clive has only had Ifrit awakened for about half of his, and even then had consistently had issues connecting with it for a time, had something to do with it. But those were things best left to explore after they got out of this place.]

I think our first order of business should be finding a portable light source, second being food and water. We don't know how long we are going to be down here, and I would rather us not die slow deaths of dehydration or starvation.

[Clive looks pointedly at Dion's once-cell mate.]

I take it you don't have access to your aether either, Sleipnir?

[Sleipnir shakes his head.]

I can feel nothing. I've tried teleporting several times during this conversation to no avail.

Are we such poor company?

[ Dion makes a weak effort to sound affronted, but he knows well that he has no penchant for deceit, and he's hardly offended. It is a jest alone. ]

We'd do well to find a lantern or flashlight. I would assume the latter more likely based on what little we have to go by.

[ The presence of an electrical light suggests what manner of technology they might expect, so Dion reasons. ]

[Sleipnir presses his lips together in an attempt to suppress the smile Bahamut was readily conjuring from him. However effective, or not, his eyes dance with mirth as he looks at the Prince of Light.]

[Clive hides his own smile behind his hand, coughing a quiet chuckle. He wasn't aware Dion and Sleipnir were on close enough terms where Dion would joke with him. What a pleasant surprise. If nothing else good came of this place, at least there is that.

He clears his throat.]

I agree. We should stick together, too. It's easy to get separated in the dark and if whatever Sleipnir encountered is what caused the damage to the other bodies he and I have stumbled across, trying to fight it off alone would be less than ideal.

[Clive peers out into the darkness. His baser instincts scream at him to stay in the light where it is safe, but that wasn't an option. The three of them needed to get out of here. They had people waiting for them outside of this place and he'd be damned if he was going to die down here. Fuck that.]

We should maintain some form of physical connection with each other, so we know we are all still present.

[A little tentatively, Sleipnir lightly punches Dion's arm in a similar way to how he had punched Clive earlier. This joking Bahamut is new and he does not wish to ruin it. Sleipnir sense the man could use a little more humor and light in his life.

But after Clive speaks Sleipnir frowns.]

Are you certain you would not wish for me to traverse ahead alone? I could act as a scout... [then he mutters:] what I wouldn't give for those useless little tea candles right now [then louder:] Either way... perhaps we could make a torch? I have matches...

[Sleipnir casts his eyes to Bahamut once more to hear his weigh-in on Stick-Together vs Scout-it-Out.]

[ Dion glances at his arm, as though he expects something to happen in the wake of that gesture. Nothing does, and he doesn't linger on it, turning his attention back to their conversation. The matter at hand — how they proceed — is far more important than his curiosity as to what prompted the touch.

He wouldn't presume closeness, but then, he never truly does. ]

We are each missing a limb, in a manner of speaking. That vulnerability would suggest we rely on numbers.

[ Should one of them venture out and fall, the cost was unpredictable and potentially terrible. ]

A torch may be best, at least until we find more resources. Spare cloth could be used, should we find a base to wrap it around.

I have a rather morbid solution to the question of a base for the torch. It isn't a good long-term one, but it could work.

[Clive thinks of the body back by his cell, bloodied and torn.]

I can go check the body by my cell to see if there is some sort of guard's baton. Short of that, maybe there is a bone that could be salvaged and used. It isn't ideal, the bone would crack from the heat sooner rather than later, but it's an option.

[Sleipnir nods in agreement at Bahamut's limb metaphor and supposes if he too were to fall then the other two would be down four more limbs. A thought creeps to him: does the Etrayan revival work where ever they are? Does it work when all magic is nullified...? He doesn't want to put the question to the proof. He also doesn't wish to spread this new horror to the group.

If only Sleipnir had his usual strength he could break one of the iron bars. He frowns. And when Clive suggests bone he wrinkles his nose briefly. Not a smell he wants to be trapped with- if the dead air is anything to go by.]

Very well. The clothes on the body within my cell are in a puddle, perhaps while Clive checks the body in the hall and the one in his cell we can strip off the fabric from the one in Bahamut's cell.

[As Sleipnir finishes saying that he glances down to his broken pinky... which will make doing anything two handed annoying at best, likely painful, and impossible at worst. Fuck]

[ Dion follows his line of sight. If only he could heal that injury... But had they access to their aether, none of them would be here for more than mere minutes, surely. As it stands, they have their work cut out for them. ]

My hands are fit for the task. [ He opens his mouth to suggest that Sleipnir join Clive, for the dark stretch of hallway is more dangerous, but the bandaged finger gives him pause. Clive may well object, protective as he is. He drags his focus from the injury and back to Sleipnir's face. ] Would you lend Clive the matches?

[ A light source is a light source, so long as the man is quick. If he is not...they will need to hasten to join him. ]

[Sleipnir frowns and sighs, but uses his good hand to pluck the box of matches out and lightly tosses them to Clive in a way which makes them easy to catch.]

Try to use them sparingly, we know not big this place is.

[Clive catches the box and nods.]

I'll be quick.

[Well, as quick as he can be. He hopes there is a baton and he doesn't have to deal with trying to get a bone off of the mangled body. Clive is getting more used to the trek to the corpse and finds it in less time, however, in alignment with what their luck has been like so far, there is no baton.

Clive sighs and feels around. If he can find something without lighting a match, he would much rather save the resource. The longer he is in the dark, the more he feels the hair on the back of his neck start to rise.

Hurry. Hurry, you don't have time. It's dangerous out here.

As if on cue, Clive hears a clang somewhere in the distance. His head snaps up as if he can see anything in the oppressive dark. Another clang. Clive grabs an arm that is already hanging loose, stands to put a booted foot on the shoulder joint, and pulls.

Hurry. Hurry, it'll be here soon. They need you, you need to protect them. Hurry.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Emergence

Wake Up Call

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cw. gore

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