tushanshu | Entries tagged with † albel nox

[This is only a video because Grantaire can't be bothered to fuss with his console right now. Getting onto the system's been difficult enough as is, with how much loathing his more sober, withdrawing self has for the rest of humanity and the like. It doesn't help, of course, that he's been spending every other morning bent over the toilet since his best attempts at rationing his own stash of wine and spirits began to fail. He may have never heard the term porcelain altar before, but he understands the sentiment deeply.

Now though, he's laughing. Not with amusement, but with a disgusted grimace that comes with a dark sense of irony. He's pale, doesn't look nearly as well as he did before, what with his body has been going through since the turtle-wide rationing began. His face is swollen around his eye and nose, and there's blood crusted around his nose and in his mouth. Alcohol withdrawal wasn't the only cause of his current state.]

Bien sur, this would happen the first time I've gone out in days. This is lovely. [His voice dripping with sarcasm, he spits blood into the napkin in his hand before pointing at his face.] This is what your amicable natives do to foreigners when stability begins to crumble. Vagrants are always the first to be blamed when the world goes to shit, and anyone who expects any differently is lying to themselves and everyone around them. Hopeful, optimistic lies like that get the innocent and naive killed. Luckily, I'm neither innocent nor naive, and can handle being bloodied by mongrels every so often. I only hope that I've not broken another tooth.

[He doesn't even bother signing off properly or with any salutation. He just shuts the connection with a wince and a roll of his eyes.]

gaudy

[ The elf on the camera is bristling, cast in the blue firelight of the Fire district. His hair is oddly bright white, as are the almost-glowing lines that trail down his chin and neck, and disappear into the collar of his armor. Over one shoulder is the absolutely massive hilt of a sword, which looks comically out of proportion with him. Fenris had finally figured his device out, but it involved a lot of making a fool of himself in front of the Kedan, which he does Not Look Pleased about.

The effect of his otherwise withering glare is somewhat undermined by the fact that he opens his mouth to speak but compulsively twitches his head to the side to stare over one shoulder for a few moments, paranoid about things lurking in the shadows. He wets his lips when he finally looks back, suspicion and unease written across his pointed features before he schools them into a sneer again. ]

I am not a mage-- [ he practically spits the word, what a pleasant first impression he's making here ] but even I can see that this is not the Fade. In Between, they say. Bah. What nonsense.

[ In fact while he's at it let him just stare distastefully down his nose at the thing in his hands. "Technology?" Unlikely. By its strange glow and stranger capabilities, it is totally obviously something far worse!! ] This place reeks of magic all the same. And I wonder who has suffered to make it so? Magic comes with a cost. It always comes with a cost.

Whoever did this will reap what they've sown. I should like to be as far away as I can be when that day comes.

[ooc: Please don't reply with text!! Fenris is illiterate and kinda ashamed about it, so he would just skip over text replies without saying anything in order to save face.]

aenseidhe

[ Iorveth is set up at one of the cafe consoles inner city for once, and perhaps his first time. While he does seem uncomfortable in the setting, eyes occasionally sliding to passing strangers, particularly if they appear human, he's mostly focus on a book held in his hands over the keyboard of the console. ]

Are there any books of actual, useful content on this damned turtle? At least something aside from volume upon volume of poetry? [ A finger flips a page, and he lets out a deflating sigh, muttering as he glances over the text. ] Particularly bad poetry at that... I know drunken, randy taedh who produce better while wooing uninterested tavern wenches.

[ He clears his throat, adjusting in his seat for a moment to settle the bow strapped to his back more comfortably before continuing. ]

I've yet to find any solid history on Tu Vishan outside of... Old Jinsan's ogre of a great-grandfather... [ eyeroll, that had been a fun hour of old man rambling to listen to ] and civil wars that I assume were responsible for the burnt out villages beyond the outskirts of Keeliai. Which aren't much worth visiting unless you've a liking for rusted gardening tools.

[ A grumble and the book in his hand is snapped shut, tossed aside on a nearby table with some local drink he'd decided to try. ] Nothing giving more detail on the plight of the mainland turtles. Neén en bloede aedd. You'd think it may be a point of interest, considering.

[ Considering Tu Vishan seems like it's suffering a kind of sickness of it's own. A pause and he squints at the console for a moment, thinking. ]

If you've more information, I would appreciate it. I'll be taking another venture out onto the wastelands tomorrow. [ Read: Vague invitation for anyone who'd like to help investigate to come along, but there are definitely some people he will outright refuse. ] Company may not be refused, provided you don't nurse a habit of incessant small talk, or happen to be someone I despise.

Va faill.

[[ ooc; like the last post, I kept elder speech bits in to signal where his accent would change, as he switches between that and Common when he talks, though all the Elder Speech bits would be comprehended just as well /o/
taedh = bard, poet
Neén en bloede aedd = 'Not a bloody shard.'
Va faill = goodbye/farewell ]]

poeticverses

[Jehan has Problem, and this seems to be the fastest way to find a solution for it even though these things still confuse him. So, he turns it on with a shy smile, looking much less beat to hell then in his first request for help a few weeks ago. However, he looks like someone who really hasn't been getting much sleep, dark circles and everything.

He's also in a pink waistcoat that really does not go with his red hair. This is why Jean Prouvaire is not allowed to buy his own clothing. He normally knows better, but lack of sleep leads to weird ideas and he's not one to fight them.

Sorry.]

Does...with so many different people here, I was hoping someone would be able to help me. I haven't been sleeping well, since my arrival, and it is starting to take its toll on me. I am in need of a sleeping draught or laudanum or...anything, really, to aid my sleep. Not wine or--other alcohol, though. That only works temporarily. Otherwise, I am open to any suggestions you may have.

Ah--thank you.

[And he cuts it]

dominare

[ the feed turns on and for a few moments, there’s nothing. Haytham’s giving it a critical eye, a few turns this way and that, before settling it down. The technology is fascinating, and comparable to stuffs made by the First Civilization, at least in the eyes of someone unfamiliar with it all. Haytham clears his throat, purses his lips, and turns the device around to face him finally. ]

I won’t mince words and lie to say this small excursion was anything short of highly disruptive, but what’s past is past, and dwelling on it does none of us any service. I've spoken with the native population, and am quite aware of our— unique circumstances.

[ there’s an almost imperceptible raise of an eyebrow; he has no reason to doubt the locals, but taking their words on blind faith would be completely irrational ]

My name is Haytham Kenway, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, even if indirectly. I normally prefer to converse in a far more direct manner, but we must make do with what we are given to work with.

I seek a guide to Keeliai— if you are intimately familiar with the city and it’s politics, I wish speak with you. Sooner, rather than later.

notamachine

[Dean didn't pay much attention to what the Kedan told him when they dropped him off, but the console was pretty easy to figure out. The number of transmissions flying back and forth made things a little easier. He's ignored most of them. When Dean finally pipes up over the network, he looks tired and sounds less confrontational and more along the lines of vaguely annoyed, like this is a speech he's had to give a dozen times before that nobody has listened to before and one he doesn't expect anyone to listen to now.]

Okay, you six-fingered, four-eyed, however many toed freaks, let's just get one thing straight and everybody gets along. I get what you told me. I don't like it, but I get it. I also know if there's a way here, there's a way back, and I'm gonna find it. You should know that if whatever dragged me here dragged my brother in here with me, I will end all of you. Capiche? Good.

[Message delivered. Yeah, he could have used the voice only setting, but those things already know what he looks like so what's the point?]

aenseidhe

[ There’s a narrow face peering close at the console - high cheekbones and a nasty scar poking out from under the red cloth that covers the man’s right eye. Or lack thereof. He peers for a moment before leaning back, arms crossing as he speaks up. ]

I’m looking for other Scoia’tael in the area. I’d settle for another elf alone, between the mass of humans milling around here. [ A derisive snort, and Iorveth looks to the side for the moment - pointed ears at the side of his head incidentally apparent. ] The dh’oine stink of this place is enough to make one gag.

[ A moment of contemplation and the elf picks at the dirt under blunted nails idly as he speaks. ]

I’ve set my camp in a tree on the outskirts of the wood sector. [ His tone goes a little deadpan, with the same kind of condescension in it, but it’s very matter of fact. ] It’s a mass of wooden planks, rope, rough cloth and a six foot, one eyed elf - it shouldn’t be that hard to miss. I’m giving you dh’oine fair warning - there are traps laid around the perimeter and any who manage to pass those will take an arrow between the eyes.

If there’s a need for me to say it more than once, your race will likely be better off without you.

[ A pause, and he’s about to end the transmission, when he glances back, considering. ]

Gwynbleidd - If you’re here, come speak with me.

[[ ooc; On translations: I left the original Elder Speech words in here, even though they’ll be understood by anyone listening just like anything else, mainly to signal when Iorveth’s accent would have shifted between what he understands as Common and what he says in Elder speech. ANYWHO. Here.
Scoia’tael - directly translated: squirrels. It’s a band of nonhuman guerrilla warriors, though. But all that would be understood is ‘squirrels’ :’|
dh’oine - human. spoken in a derogatory tone
Gwynbleidd - White Wolf. ]]

polyhistor

[Reid hates technology. No, he really, genuinely does. Computers don't move fast enough to keep up with him, and he has a long-established love of hard copies where literature is concerned. But the fact of the matter is, there are very few books here. So here he is, seated at a console, half a dozen of the local books he could find stacked beside him and several empty coffee cups as well. Recently, he's taken to drinking green tea, but a lapse in that particular habit seems appropriate considering his surroundings.]

You know, the terminology relating to a meta or 'multiverse' was originally coined by William James, a philosopher and psychologist in the late nineteen hundreds. His paper, titled 'Is Life Worth Living?' was published in the 1985 October Edition of the International Journal of Ethics. He postulated that, with the decline of social religion all 'visible' nature (that is to say, everything we see and experience) is in and of itself a 'moral' multiverse as opposed to being a moral 'universe'. He was referring to the visible nature of the world - good existing alongside evil, with every imaginable shade in between. Each nuance of the world then became in and of itself a 'multiverse' in James' ideal.

The neologism didn't actually enter into common vernacular until much later and under a drastically different context, but the concept of other worlds or parallel universes - what we today call a 'multiverse' - has actually been around for centuries, generally tied to religious philosophies of the time. Muslim theologian al-Ghazālī believed that it was not only possible but highly probable. His extrapolation was that that Earth was the best of all possible worlds and that humans occupied it as a form of divine right, stating that 'there is in possibility nothing more wondrous than what is'.

[a brief pause, because... he's generally not used to speaking so long without interruption.]

Essentially, the concept of a 'life, death or dreaming' state faintly echoes several Buddhist or Hindu philosophies, though equally suggestive of liminality. The continual repetition of that 'life/death/dreaming' theme represents a trinity; three is often considered a holy number in any number of doctrines. Three also represents the body (life), the soul (death) and the spirit (dreaming). And then, the fact that there are five districts also reinforces the ties to numerology. If you go by the numerical value of the Hebrew letter 'He' or 'five' it symbolizes the universal life, the breath of man, the air, the spirit and the soul.

Oh-- right, liminality. Liminality was another word coined in the same philosophical era as William James' 'multiverse' by Arnold Vann Gennep in his 1908 paper Rites de Passage. It's from the Latin līmen which means 'threshold' and it's a word used to describe the transitionary phase during a ritualistic transformation, during which the participant's own identity is considered to be void until the process is complete and the individual can be reborn. It's almost a contract – during this process you forsake your identity, your sense of self, your titles and earthly possessions all for the sake of a form of theoretical transcendental enlightenment. It's this fluidity of self that enables change and dissolution of old habits or customs to make way for the new. It's not limited to an individual, either; it can be applied to groups of people – such as a graduating highschool class – or to societies and cultures as a whole and I believe it's what we're technically undergoing now.

Liminality is considered a tripartite structure, and each segment of that structure is as follows: preliminal rites, or rites of separation. This stage involves a metaphorical 'death' undergone by the initiand. They're essentially forced to leave something behind by breaking away from previous practices and routines, or by, say, coming to Keeliai.

The liminal rites – or transitionary rites – involve the creation of a sort of... tabula rasa, a blank slate, through the removal of limits and forms previously taken for granted. There are two primary characteristics to this stage of the rite, first: the rite 'must follow a strictly prescribed sequence, where everybody knows what to do and how'. Because this rite is a fundamental deconstruction of the self and self-held values, it's meant quite literally to mirror the act of walking over a threshold between two worlds.

The postliminal rites, or 'rites of incorporation' are the third and final sequence. During this stage, the initiand is re-incorporated into society, essentially born again as a 'new' being.

[CRICKETS. CRICKETS ARE CHIRPING IN THE BACKGROUND, REID. He awkwardly clears his throat.]

All... right so... um, hi. I'm Doctor Spencer Reid. Any questions...?

[for those of you who didn't turn the console off ten seconds into his impromptu lecture??

ooc; also: a permissions post.]

thetyrant

[Logan taps his fingers agitatedly as the feed begins, but that's the only part of him that's anything but stoic. Even with his hair lank and greasy from the sea, his clothes stained and damp and that breastplate surely irritating him, he projects as much kingly composure and calm as he can muster.]

I suppose the first order of business would be to introduce myself. [His voice is deep and rich, a bit of a contrast with his thin, angular features.] My name is Logan. I am the king of a place called Albion, but unless any of my citizens have found their way here, I'm aware I have no authority and will not make any attempts to command.

[His left hand clenches into a fist, hard enough for his knuckles to go white, then relaxes. The movement is repeated rhythmically as he finishes.] The person who brought me here from the Shell's Edge seemed to believe he had told me everything of import, but is there any other knowledge I'm likely to be missing? The natives of a place often take for granted something a foreigner would like to know.

ironwood

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Tu Shanshu

004 | video

oo1; video

002 ❧ Video

Verse 02 - Video

(no subject)

[Video] 01

001; Video | Off my lawn you hipsters

[video || cafe post || action?]

first decree [video]

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