[ Jaina's not the type to normally revert to text. Sure she enjoys reading, but it feels impersonal to speak to someone (or a group of people) through the written word than with her voice. Unfortunately for the time being, this sorceress is lacking in the vocal department and has no other choice. Combined with her current physical state, she sees no reason to worry her allies nor give pleasure to any potential enemies she may have in this place. ]

I'm afraid I must ask a personal favor of the good people of this land. My luck has failed me in the search for a church on my own time, so I will ask it here. Are there any blessed with the Light confident in their ability to purge an infection? Certainly I would be in your debt for such a kindness.

[ Having Jaina owe you a favor is definitely worth it. ] If you could reply to this message with haste, I would be eternally grateful.

[ Surprisingly, she doesn't filter that post. There's no need for her to hide behind the shroud of technology or any shroud for that matter when it came to Arthas Menethil. After witnessing his hesitation first hand, she's out to ensure that he knows she's alive and well. Perhaps not so much of the latter, but definitely full of vigor. ]

( Filtered text to Painwheel )

( Filtered text to Thrall )

[video]

[The room shown on the feed is sparse, bearing a cot and a small dresser. It's early morning or very late evening depending on who you talk to. The only source of light is a small lamp sitting on the desk beside the device, which does much to illuminate the small, skinny figure beside it. Actually, scratch that-- he's got glowing green eyes.]

It's not enough. [His voice is young and bitter with a searing edge of desperation. And his face is pretty much the same.] It's not enough!

[He stares hard at the pile of books and papers on his desk, then reaches over and grabs something. Whatever it is, it's small enough to fit in his hand. His eyes flare brightly, sickly green and hot; he opens his palm, and nothing but dust remains.]

Do you hear me, Initiative?! THIS ISN'T ENOUGH!

[His voice cracks, and that's the last straw for him. He swipes everything off the desk, lamp included, in one swift and violent display of anger. The lamp goes out, and the network feed ends.]

[ooc: Roommates, feel free to barge in if you want. Or... go back to sleep. lol. OTHERWISE OPEN TO ALL. he's been a bit of a hermit since the intro log and um... well, that was a couple weeks ago. |D]

[ a gloved hand covers up the camera for a good moment before the holder slowly, but surely, lets it go. when it stays in place, he retracts his hand completely and smiles gently. Larsa doesn't look as regal as he seemed when he arrived--with a warm, dark sweatshirt on (and that's really all that's visible, though he's traded in his stockings and boots for some jeans earlier) that pretty much covers his still-gloved hands, he still looks like he's drowning in fabric. he still looks tiny in the standard issue desk, at barely over four feet, and most baffling of all, perhaps--

he has blueprints and recipes underneath his fingers. ]

Good evening. Forgive any mistakes on my part; though I've learned my way about this device, it proves tricky to operate outside of theory.

I am [ a quiet little pause that really shouldn't be there, because he really shouldn't be thinking about giving a false name, but... ] Larsa Solidor. Having arrived here naught a week past, there's much yet to learn of this new world and its inhabitants.

Upon searching the market, I have yet to find materials I've used in the past. Perhaps it would be too much to assume that others have suffered this exasperation as well. Are there any materials you have found substitutes for, from your home world?

Thank you, should you decide to answer.

[ ... ... ... ]

Though days have passed since my arrival, perhaps speaking here would serve to be helpful. If anyone should meet a man by the name of 'Judge Gabranth'--or... 'Noah fon Ronsenberg', I would... greatly appreciate if they could pass along a simple message that I am present. He may be in metal armor, though his appearance may yet have changed.

Thank you.

[ end feed. ]

[Nick is sitting at a table in his favorite bar, a glass of beer sitting on the table and a silver-plated lighter in his hand. He’s turning the lighter over and over, tapping it against the table occasionally.

His usual pissed-off look has been replaced with one that’s more somber.]

Y’know, I’ve never actually killed a person before. I’ve killed hundreds of zombies, and my dad took me hunting when I was younger – deer and elk, mostly. But I’ve never killed an actual person until that mission we went on.

It felt… different… than I thought it would.

[He taps a sealed package of cigarettes lying next to the beer.]

I gave up smoking about ten years ago… I’m starting to wonder why.

[The pissed-off look is back as he shakes his head irritably.]

Fuck this shit. We went back in time, right? By our standards, those fuckers had been dead for thousands of years. We were just… reenacting history. Nothing to feel guilty about.

[Terms like 'down time' and 'free time' were somewhat of a foreign concept to Samus up until only a few days ago. Between bombing and catacombing and Mongolian battling and Monster slaying, and then believing it some imperative duty to patrol around the Hold in-between those times like an armored guard dog set on (well justified) high alert, she's not given herself much of a moment to relax. Samus has, however, has made it a point to become in need of a good shower very acquainted with the tablet-formerly-netbook device, and especially appreciates the recent upgrade. Her technology is still far more advanced than the tiny little device, but it suits its purpose well enough.

Much the same, she's made it suit her purposes, if literally. The particularly astute will recognize this video feed is coming from the forearm of this person, fixed in place as if it's just another part of them.

"Person" is a generous term--what's being displayed could be more accurately described as a orange suit of armor from the torso up, heck, maybe even some kind of space robot with how distinctive it looks. (Though, there's also something very organic about the suit, like it were a second skin in some parts.) The voice is quite muffled under the helmet and opaque green visor--to the point of questionably androgyny.]

...

[It's a very talkative robot person. A damage report seems utterly moot.]

More Transports and more Exiles. It really is a testament to how miserable this place can be when the island population never seems to grow despite that. Some of the new arrivals seem... ill.

[Then again, if the last mission was any indication time can change anything, can't it...?]

I suppose an overdue introduction is in order. Here's my resume for what it's worth. Take it or leave it.

( [ UPLOADING ENCRYPTED DOCUMENT. . . ] )

[ACTION for el residentes of unit 406]
[KNOCK KNOCK. HONEY, I'M HOME. Actually Samus might have let herself in and out of here previously just to quickly use the shower, chances are when no one, or Maya was present so no time paradoxes happen and saying nothing more than 'hi' and 'bye' before leaving as quickly as she came.

But now, running ragged, Samus thinks she is ready to give this... roommate thing a real try. It couldn't be worse than the fiasco in Adam's place, or sleeping outside in the dirt another night, could it? Hopefully her roommates are ready to give the big armored person standing at the door a try too.]

[OPEN ACTION]
[When not needed Samus is an elusive creature, but the towering armored person can be found especially if your name is Mia patrolling around the Initiative Hold and in the city--there's still plenty for Samus to explore, being here only a little over a month now.]

[Filtered to: Thrall, Jaina, death knights, any Alliance members, any Horde members except the Forsaken.

Filtered from: Arthas, Illidan, Sylvannas.]

[Varian is looking pretty serious here, and he's hoping he got his filters right for a change. He's been watching the network and all the people showing up. It isn't good news for anyone right now. And if that means he has to suck it up, then for the moment he's going to suck it up.]

Hear me now.

We are in a strange place with strange, foreign people here. Strange things also happen here, that much is obvious. However we now face a secondary problem along with the primary objective of getting home. Not only do we have the Lich King, but also Sylvannas and the recent addition of Stormrage.

Since these beings are a major threat to everyone in this place, not just ourselves, it is our responsibility to keep the people here safe. Should anyone be misled and fall against those beings, that is on our hands.

I am proposing a temporary truce for the time being, and that I step up to try and make some order of our ranks within this place. We will need to keep the other people safe from the monsters that have been brought into this place from our own world. Alone we will not manage much, let us not delude ourselves into thinking that we can deal with this singularly.

If these beings can be brought in, then I dread to think who comes next.

The question now though, is who will join in on this ideal?

[End all filters]

This just gets better and better. I will not say interesting though. I do hope that your days are quiet for you all.

[So it probably isn't every day that a nine or ten year old kid appears on these things, huh? Shelke is holding the device at a slightly askew angle as she studies it, and her unnaturally blue eyes narrow faintly as she realizes she's accidentally set it to transmit. Hmm.]

[From the look of things, she's found her assigned apartment, and is curled up on the couch of the couch in her Deepground uniform, the blue stripes glowing faintly in the dim room. She seems to take a moment, as if trying to decide whether to turn the little machine off or not, before she just shakes her head and lets out a slow, tired sigh.]

Given what I've already learned, I suppose there is little point in asking if anyone has found a way for us to return to where we came from.

[Another pause, another slow, tired breath. After the day she's had back home and here, the fact that she isn't passed out is a small miracle. She's very carefully choosing her words, it seems, and her eyes flick away, considering her room before she looks back.]

I am Shelke the Tra...[A breath.] I am Shelke. I am looking for anyone familiar with the city of Midgar, or the world of Gaia. Vincent Valentine, if you are here...

[This last part is said almost absent-mindedly, and she frowns faintly at herself before she continues.]

...And if anyone is familiar with a substance called Mako...it may have another name here. It would be the distilled liquid essence of this planet's Lifesteam. It would look like this.

[She holds up a thin glass vial filled with a faintly glowing blue-green liquid. It bubbles and shifts by itself, and the vial appears to have a small injector at the top.]

I would be...grateful.

[Another pause.]

That is all.

[Click.]

Oh! Andaran atish’an! This is such an interesting way to talk to people, don't you think? I can see your face and you can see mine! It's like a mirror, but it reflects other people back at you.

[Merrill waves, smiling broadly, her large eyes sparkling with delight.]

My name is Merrill, and I'm looking for my friends. I appear to be a little lost. [She swings the tablet around too fast to really see anything useful. Just a lot of stone.] Did you see that? I'm lost. But I have friends who can help me become, ah, not lost.

Sometimes, when I was lost in Kirkwall, Isabela - she's one of my friends - would swoop down from the top of a building and tell me where to go. She's very pretty, with dark hair and a lovely blue bandana. Oh, and a necklace. It's quite hard to miss her necklace and what's below it. And there's Aveline, but sometimes I worry she doesn't like me. She has red hair, like the sun, and quite a lot of freckles. I like her freckles. I wish I had freckles... [Merrill trails off, tapping her fingers against her cheeks as if counting freckles. She comes back to herself suddenly.] I'm sorry, I tend to get lost in my thoughts. I think that's how I ended up here. Do you ever do that? You start thinking and then you just don't come out. What was I saying before?

Oh, yes, my friends! I have quite a few of them. Isabela and Aveline and Varric! Varric is a dwarf, and he's very funny, but his stories aren't always true. He tells me stories about pirates, but Isabela says they're mostly made up. And Fenris, he's elvhen, like me, but--that's not going to be trouble, is it? In Kirkwall, they make us live in alienages, and they're very dirty. I had a nice house, but it was very small. No one in Thedas seems to like the elvhen very much, and living in the alienage is very uncomfortable...

[She stares past the tablet screen for a moment, thoughtful.] I hope there aren't any alienages here...

If you know my friends, would you tell them I'm looking for them? Ma serannas for your troubles. Or, if you recognize this place-- [She ducks out of the frame, an alleyway filling the screen for a few seconds before she fumbles the tablet and then drops it. Merrill's face pops into the frame again, a worried expression on it.] Oh, dear, I hope I haven't broken you...

[ooc: Feel free to engage the very lost Merrill in actiony posts. As a Dalish elf, she tends to speak in the elvhen language frequently. You can hover over the text with your mouse to get a translation!]

[ When the feed opens, there is one teenage girl who seems to be pretty pissed off. But it's not just because she's been brought here, really.

And in fact, her bored, yet annoyed tone of voice reveals all. ]

Honestly. If you're going to kidnap me, attempt to give me a place to call 'home', and even tell me that I'm some part of 'Initiative', then no thanks, I'd rather die.

[ She laughs coldly after that. After all, she's made yet another joke... even if other people don't exactly understand what it means. ]

Anyway, I'm Yuri, and if anyone can tell me where I can find the people in charge of this place... well. You won't get a penalty game, that's for sure. Because I plan on giving those people as many punches as they can get!

[ And to emphasize that fact, she places a fist near the screen, a grin slowly appearing on her lips. ]

If you have any other information, though, tell me immediately. I won't accept any information that I've already gotten earlier, though. I hate hearing the same thing over and over, after all.

[Among the influx of video feeds there's one of this kid glaring at the screen. Don't worry, it's just his natural expression.]

This is Squall Leonhart of Balamb Garden, ID number 41269. I'm looking for anyone from Garden --

[No, he's not hoping that Quistis or the others are here, what're you talking about?]

-- or from my world.

[Not being one for idle conversation, the feed switches off.]