[ The video opens to a pair of hands. Hands, paper, and a line of tobacco. A cigarette being rolled before the camera is tipped upwards and Sharpe comes into view. He drags a hand through his hair, which is more than slightly wet by the rain. It's obvious after a while that he's outside, sitting below the awning of one of the houses in the Hold. His rifle, leaning against his shoulder, is completely dry.

He takes out a lighter and snaps it on, lighting the homemade cigarette and taking a drag. ]

Convenient things, these. [ Tosses the lighter up, and catches it again. ] Works better than any flint. [ Pause, and he shrugs. ] But I ain't here ta talk 'bout fires.

I'm a soldier and I ain't use ta just waiting 'round here. Even travelling and sightseeing [ he grins at this, because going out to the Outlands was fun but not the kind of sightseeing and travel most gentlemen go for ] gets tiring after a while. [ He leans a bit further back against the wall. ] There any books 'round? [ Beat, then he clarifies, because his accent tends to mark him as illiterate: ] Fer reading, I mean. English'd do, but if there's something in French or Spanish, I ain't going ta say no.

[ He takes a drag of the cigarette contemplatively. ]

Stories'll do as well, if no one's got any books ta read.

[ He makes to switch off the transmission, but then he seems to remember something. Scramble, scramble, oops, ash and burnt paper on the camera, which he brushes away irritatedly. ]

Can someone explain ta me how a man and a woman can share the same house without being married or related ta each other? [ He tips his head ta the side. ] It don't say much for decency or the woman's reputation, no. [ Beaaaaaaaaaaaat. ]

And what's those noises on the thirteen floor of that damned building we've been housed in, eh?

[ This is actually Sharpe's point in making the transmission but he wants books as well. Whatever. Look, it's shut off for real now. ]

a little bit later, 10% (crappily) encrypted to morgana

[ Awkwardly: ] How fares you, milady?

[Drake's little band isn't very discriminate about airing its dirty laundry on the public network, and so Talbot's monitoring and retracing of various conversational threads has led him to the name of a potential ally. He doubts he can trust this man to the extent of involving him in his larger plan for Drake, but refusing to feel out this resource would be a terrible mistake.]

My name is Talbot.

I believe you and I may have a common enemy.

[KAYCEE CHILLING IN BED WITH HER HAIR PULLED BACK IN A MESSY PONYTAIL WEARING A SPORTS BRA AND SUCKING ON A LOLLIPOP she is so classy. she pulls the lollipop out with a loud POPPING sound, and twirls it around with her free hand as she talks.]

So, looks like it's that time of the month.

[PAUSE FOR EFFECT]

By which I mean, it's my time of the month, aka I'm not pregnant, so boys you're free to calm down and stop your worrying.

[WINK AT THE CAMERA.]

It's been awhile since I've got my period, actually. Comes with travel and stress et cetera et cetera. I kind of missed it. Gives me an excuse to be a slob for a few days.

[AND BACK IN THE MOUTH HER LOLLIPOP GOES.]

Long time no see network.

[somewhere out beyond the city there begins the shakiest video post ever. it's clear that whoever handles this device is not accustomed to using anything like it--but eventually, it rights itself, with some muttering and swearing, and then hello, there's Arthur, in his full armor, standing in the barren outlands. there's a smudge of dirt and blood on his forehead, but otherwise he's very clean and presentable and princely (all indignity of technological unfamiliarity aside).]

I am Prince Arthur of Camelot, recently brought to this place. I do not take kindly to being pressed into service, but as our captors have said, they have no choice in our being here. [yeah right. even with his princeface on, he sneers a little at that. but.]

If we take what we have been told as truth--that there is a force that threatens all of our kingdoms--then our way is clear. We are not united, but this threat gives us common cause. [though the way his mouth tightens when he says that indicates how very not pleased he is by that.] I am not content to wait to be told what to do when my kingdom is threatened. So it falls then to us, to organize ourselves. The training sessions that this Initiative provides--I have found them to be wanting, yet they can be used to our purposes, should we chose to.

But we must first know what strength is ours, and what weapons we have been given. No force can be organized without this information. And if this United Earth presumes to steal resources from our kingdoms, we must know what it is that they would look to steal, so we can better protect against these threats when the time comes. And it had best come soon.

I have set the task of collecting this information to my servant, Merlin, wherever the idiot's gotten off to. He will ask each of you in turn, or else you may come to him.

[and you will answer, that's the message here, and with an imperious nod, he reaches to--fumble around with the device again, and the rest of this is muttering.]

Damn-- thing--

[Drake's never cared much for technology, so it's no surprise that the feed starts abruptly and with a loud thud at an odd angle displaying the right horrific mess that has become his room.

Remember that time we all got sent into medieval Russia? Yeah, you might find some familiar weapons around along with some trinkets. Drake's standing with his back facing the camera, his trusty sketchbook in his back pocket, hands on his hips, looking around.

Quite unceremoniously, he shoves things around and they sort of crash into the walls.

Which causes a Mongol Bow and a scimitar he had set up to come crashing down.]

Crap.

((ooc: roommates and neighbors feel free to notice the destruction he's causing, if not, carry on))

[ locked away from Arthas, sorry boo ]

[ This video will not be displaying Sylvanas. Instead, she’s fashioned the device to hang from her neck and record what’s in front of her as she makes her way across the city. Occasionally, a bow with notched arrow, engulfed in a sort of arcane fire, will come into view before being fired off at one of the invading mutated monsters, but she speaks like she’s on an afternoon stroll. ]

Good people of Exsilium, I would have your ear for a moment. [ Look at her pretending not to be the cold and merciless bitch that she is. ] My name is Sylvanas Windrunner, a queen and long time military leader in my realm before my summons here, and I come to you with the proposal of alliance.

As we are, we remain scattered and divided, the Initiative’s leadership not more than a hardly amusing joke. Even between those of us transports brought forth, there is strife building, those that would seek to harm and dominate the others [ coughARTHAScough ], and as when we are laid siege as we are now, we attack in scattered groups, unorganized. Not one of us assured a fellow at our back should we be overwhelmed.

I suggest the forming of a more formidable force and offer the utmost of my military knowledge and combative power to aid.

[ Another arrow sent flying straight into the eye of a mutated dog-thing and she continues nonplussed. ] I ask only your loyalty, and in return, offer an immense wealth of power, security, and safe haven. Should you find yourself hunted or troubled in this place, know that you will have allies to lend a hand.

That is all.

( Some Privated Messages )

[Filtered from Arthas Menethil/The Lich King.]

[ The sight that fills the video is one of magnificence really. Purple and golden fabric drape along the background with various crystals floating in the air and a table centered with an intricately designed teapot (with matching cups). Oh, there's also an orc present. He's soon joined by his ally who presumably set up the device to record. There's a moment of hesitation between the two before the human woman turns to face the screen to address the audience. ]

Good day fellow travelers to this realm. [ Her voice is bolstered in confidence, although her gaze falters from time to time. ] There are many of you here that I have yet to meet and for that I unfortunately must ask that we postpone further pleasantries.

[Thrall isn’t quite sure where to put his hands, so he settles them on his knees and looks toward the camera. At least he thinks it’s the camera. Just when he gets used to using one form of technology, they change it out for something that’s still too small for his hands. Anyway, his expression is serious and faintly contemplative. There’s a lot to be said here, and a lot that he shouldn’t say. Not yet.] The arrival of someone from our world has made it apparent that precautions should be taken. [His brows furrow.] And so we must warn you, and decide what to do from there. This dark conqueror was once named Prince Arthas Menethil, but now he wears the armor and the title of Lich King. He is no man, but a monster.

A monster? [ Jaina cuts him off with her own intrusion and for a moment there, she appears almost as though she wants to argue that. With a gulp loud enough to be picked up by the device, she forces herself to continue. ] That's right. [ Steadily growing more strength with that single phrase alone. ] A monster that if left unattended to will purge this entire world of life. The blight will warp the land and from every living being a monstrosity will be born. Man, woman, creature or child. Living or dead. Their bodies will take up arms against those who oppose him and unlike that with a sentient mind, they will annihilate without any concern for their crimes.

[ Leaning back into her chair, her breathing slowly becomes more irregular as she forces herself to continue. ] There are a number of atrocities he's committed back in Azeroth. So many so that the brave, brave people of our world have risen to take the fight to his doorsteps. I, I was almost there. [ There's a seething edge to her tone with that phrase as she nears dangerously close to a point unlike her. ]

Jaina... [Her name escapes his lips, a soft concerned rumble, before he can stop himself. Seeing all that anger sneak into her expression, the tightness of her knuckles in the tablecloth-- it’s all he can do to keep from reaching across the table. He shakes his head slowly.] The damage he could do to this world is unthinkable, but far from impossible.

Knowing this, what are our choices? Would the Initiative assist us, knowing the danger they have brought upon their country? I have heard of a judicial system in passing, but I am not sure how effective it would be. Whatever must be done, it must be done as a group, with as much preparation and planning as possible. Do NOT engage the Lich King alone. We don’t know if he can circumvent how the Initiative deals with death.

It remains imperative that you do not approach him on your own.

[ Jaina emphasizes on this point in the hopes of drilling it into the heads of those listening in. Rising to her feet, her steps are just a bit heavier than before as her agitation weighs her down in her approach for the device. She felt there was nothing more she can say to this as she cuts the recording short. ]

( ooc note: )

[GODS how do you use this thing? Hiccup will be pushing buttons and every now and then there's a short 'Wow', or 'Well that didn't work.' or... various other mildly frustrated phrases and then finally.]

Okay... so I push this and... tilt it like. Oh! Hey, I think it's working. If that... green light thing means what I think it means.

Okay! So. ... Everyone. I guess. [Man, how's he going to put this? He'll speak slowly, it's obvious he's double thinking this. Enjoy the elaborate hand gestures as he tries to describe his sentences.]

I haaave a question for you.

[More hesitation and some minor background noise since no one responds right away.]

I guess I should just come out and say it then, huh?

Right um. So how does everyone feel aboooouuut dragons?

Not that. You know, it's a big deal or something to be worried about or anything. Just... a general question of curiosity. Right. [Not suspicious, nope. NOPE.]

I'll just... hope somebody actually heard that.

[Alright, so this entire deal? Sounds like a load for crap. In fact, Drake is pretty sure this really is a load of crap. As if being chased halfway across the world wasn't enough, he had to arrive to this place and get bombed less than a day later.

Way to arrive in style, Drake.

At first all that can be heard is a loud snap and a crackle over the feed.]

Hey, ev---one okay?

[He grunts in frustration. Fantastic. Tech from the future and still static. Guess some things never do change, huh?]

St--pid thing. Sully? Chloe? St--- in --- piece?

[This time Chloe's set up in her room instead of the chilly rooftop perch where she'd made her initial broadcast. One, it's cozier, and two-- well, two is that she's still busy enjoying the little collection of trinkets and coins that've been acquired over both the course of her stay in the city and their brief expedition into the past. (The most important of the bunch being Henry's Morgan dollars, currently being rolled over her fingertips as she addresses the net.)]

Well that was a wild ride, wasn't it? Here's hoping we get sent out on destination holidays a little more often. Shame about the mess here, though. Seems like everyone's had a hard time of things this week.

Just goes to show how much we all ought to be watching one another's backs, no matter what kind of a disaster it might be out there.

Speaking of which...[Chloe sets her coin collection down for a moment to hold up a slightly defunct looking digital tablet. Poor thing's seen much, much better days.] Anyone out there know a thing or two about computers? I'm trying to save this one from the scrap heap, but it's been giving me one hell of a time.

I also figured it was about time I put out the call again. If you need something found-- doesn't matter what-- my crew and I are willing to get it for you. Our rates are fair, and trust me, with as lovely a place as this is, you might as well have someone out managing the more tedious tasks for you.

And Koltira, you still owe me. Fifty for the last job, fifty as a down payment on this one. Try not to make me regret placing a little faith in you, yeah?

[He doesn't particularly want to make this post, but he's aware that it's necessary. His voice and expression don't betray his inner exhaustion--they don't betray much of anything, really, given the unknowable glow of his eyes--but rest assured that he's ready to lock himself away and not emerge for quite some time. He'd done all he could, and none of it had mattered. The child was dead; Bariyan had run off. Koltira's heart is a shard of ice.

His words are short, calm and deliberate.]

The business with Martin Darkov is finished. You need not concern yourselves over the matter any longer.

[ooc: despite his tone, he's angry/tired/frustrated/etc PICK A NEGATIVE EMOTION and it's swirling around in him at present, so responses may cut off abruptly/not happen/etc.]

[The sounds of outside filter through the network, distant with little to be heard beyond the faint rustle of the wind, but there nonetheless. A distinctive clink-fwoosh of a lighter disrupts anything further, followed by the slow crackle of burning paper and tobacco and a satisfied inhale and steady exhale. When he finally speaks, it's with a tone that lacks interest.]

Well, isn't this quaint. Doubt I would have believed it were I not seeing it with my own eyes. At least the woman greeting me was persuasive enough. [You can practically hear the dirty little smirk.]

Even so, I'm not quite sure how I feel out of my home and sent on my merry way towards college kid dorm rooms. Or rather, I'm perfectly aware of how I feel about it, just the words I'm looking for aren't for public ears.

Still. Judging by the archives on this thing, there's plenty of you about who know this world, so come on, share your wisdom with an outsider, would you? One can never know too much.

[A pause as he inhales another lungful of smoke, eventually adding with a thoughtful exhale:] Oh, and don't patronise me with the basics. I'm curious, not stupid.

[As the video starts recording, an older gentleman inspects the device, unsure if it's actually recording. After a few seconds, he shrugs his shoulders and decides to leave it be and sits in an uncomfortable looking aluminum chair in front of it. Victor Sullivan, an older mustachioed gentleman, sporting a worn Havana shirt and holding a lit cigar in his right hand. Looking exhausted and in need of sleep, he leans back in the chair casually and looks directly into the camera.]

 

Goddamn, I must have one helluva hangover. I feel like I've been stuffed in a barrel...

 

[He taps the ashes of his cigar on an off screen ash tray, and takes a drag from the cigar. He returns his attention to the camera as he exhales slowly.]

 

Look I don't know what I'm doing here, one minute I'm in this peaceful little village chatting up a friend, next thing I know this, actually pretty cute, woman is talking nonsense... offering me weapons, I think she might have been coming onto me? I don't know I didn't get her number... Then suddenly I'm in this room... cigar in one hand, this little electronic doohickey in the other. Apparently this is to be my "living quarters", hah, as if. Nate, I don't know if this can even reach you, but I hope you're alright. Assuming you are, get over here! Quick! I need you to come pick my ass up, pretty sure you owe me one after I used all our money to bail YOU out. Christ I feel like I'm on lock down!

 

[He puts the cigar down and leans forward in the chair, moving in closer to the camera. He sighs and smoothes his mustache anxiously]

 

Seriously though, if anyone get's this message, anyone at all.... someone please fill me in. I could really use a familia- hell even just a friendly face right now. 

 

[He laughs nervously, his weak smile quickly fading in defeat. He stands up out of his chair and picks up the camera.]

 

Yeah... well it was worth a shot anyway. ... I need a drink...

 

[The video abruptly stops]

[The video feed sparks to life as Chloe taps repeatedly at the screen, offering the net a view of a woman with shoulder-length dark hair and bright eyes, wearing a stylish biking jacket and a few layers of leather necklaces with various little charms hanging from their ends. The city's skyline is visible behind her from a particularly high vantage point, and it's likely that she's found herself a resting place somewhere atop the roof of one of the taller buildings. She wiggles a few fingers lazily in greeting before speaking up with a distinctly Australian accent.]

Evening, everyone. Chloe here. New arrival, in case you haven't noticed. All right, somewhat new. Got dragged into this mess a few days ago and decided to take my time getting settled; never know what's out there if you don't bother to look first.

I was a treasure hunter back home-- one of the best in the business, I might add. Problem is I'm getting the impression that there's not much treasure to be found here on Alcatraz, and I'd prefer to stay sharp while things are relatively quiet. So here's the deal: if you need something of value-- for a price-- I'm more than happy to lend a well-trained hand and fetch it for you.

[She moves to shut the call down before adding, thoughtfully]

And in the meantime, if anyone out there knows a place that serves good drinks, I'm all ears. After all this I could sure as hell use one.  

 [When the feed starts, the netbook's camera shows you a view of the forest floor.  A deer carcass lies among the grass and twigs, and it's obvious that the poor thing did not have a clean death.  It's in the advanced stages of decomposition, even though the blood around its body is red and fresh.  The camera does not linger on this image for more than a few seconds; it pans upward, to show Koltira's face.

 He's standing over the deer, holding the device in one hand, holding Byfrost with the other.  Agony creases his expression: his jaw is clenched, his eyes narrowed, every muscle in his pale, sallow face is taut with pain.  The guttural growl of his voice occasionally rises in octave as he talks, as though something is beating the shit out of him from the inside.]

Were we brought here to fight for something, or to waste time reliving the past?  Send.  Us.  On.  A mission.

[He stabs the tree next to him with Byfrost, and the sword glows sickly green; the tree bark begins to decay rapidly, as though it's practically melting.  Diseased fumes pour out of the bark, forming a nasty miasma around Koltira's body.]

I need a battle. [he hisses, and blood trickles from the corner of his mouth as he bites down on the inside of his cheek.]  Now.

[The video clicks on to a claustrophobic view of what appears to be dark fabric, then abruptly shifts, tipping upwards to reveal a scowling man looking like he's seen (much) better days. Judging from the angle, the netbook is being propped up on his knee with one hand while he sits reclined against a wall; the other hand is pressed firmly to his stomach. It quickly becomes clear that the fabric isn't dark - it's just covered in blood, both beneath his hand and again at his left shoulder. His face is similarly accented by a few cuts and bruises, not to mention a fair amount of dirt.]

Testing, testing- [A strong English accent, interrupted by a cough.] I don't know what the hell this is about, but I'm guessing it's not heaven. Either way, I'd like to stick around long enough to find out. The odd woman said I could get assistance on this thing - so here I am, calling for assistance.

Can I get a sodding doctor over here?