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Fantasy Heroes From Across Time: An Isekai Adventure

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Corrosion

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GUIDELINES
1. IC posts should formatted as character name, title/occupation (if any), location, and interactions.
2. Post with relative frequency. A rate of at least once per week would be the preferable minimum.
3. No god-modding or taking control of other players' characters. You may control or create minor NPCs if you wish.
4. If you have anything to discuss, do it on the official Discord server. DM me for the invite if you aren't already in it.

Jasno Jasno Koyayako Koyayako simj26 simj26 Paperface Paperface Obsidian Obsidian Goonfire Goonfire slim slim
Coffeepot Giraffe Coffeepot Giraffe Casey Jewels Casey Jewels SilverFeathers SilverFeathers

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Nevermore, Capital of the Kingdom of Irdonia, Ematria
Year 1016 Post-Great Calamity (PGC)

c769a2f401aea5f319af4a47cc39f9ad.jpg

The throne room of Wishborne Hold was abuzz with activity. The room, normally quiet and fairly empty with only the King of Irdonia along with his advisors and several Royal Guards, was now filled with men and women garbed in flowing robes, all of them attending to a runic circle that had been drawn in the middle of the room. Every now and then a flicker of light would appear on one of them as they fine-tuned their abilities. After all, this was a very special event, an event in which absolutely nothing had to go wrong. So for the Court Mages, they had to get everything right, down to the smallest detail.

Their task was to summon Heroes from another world, from all points in time and even alternate ones. It had already been nearly a hundred years since the last Calamity, and there was already a good amount of evidence that the next one was set to happen soon. Rather troubling, too, as it appeared that this one was going to occur several years early.

Nevertheless, preparations were already in order. The Kingdom had nearly a whole century to prepare, not to mention the time before the previous Calamity, and the one before. Its armies had a good amount of experience, and if the previous two Calamities were anything to go by, the latest wasn't going to last particularly long. Even then, they had to be prepared for anything. The Demons that came from the Dark Spire that appeared to signal the start of each Calamity were brutal and savage, a threat to all life on Ematria.

Standing next to the ornate throne, Princess Cynthia Stormcrest fidgeted a little nervously. She had heard tales of the past Heroes, and each time they were all described as being a rather colourful bunch, all of them were. There was no way of knowing what each Hero was like unlike they were actually summoned, so she could only hope that this batch was more heroic than the last.

"Do not be worried, my daughter," a regal voice spoke. Cynthia turned to see that her father was gazing at her with soft green eyes, the sunlight that flowed through the openings in the throne room lighting up his light blonde hair, now with several strands of grey intermingled. King Delroy certainly looked the role, and acted as such too. "I have faith that these Heroes will see us through."

Cynthia frowned, heel tapping against the floor and hand on the hilt of her sword, tics she was prone too when nervous, and particularly obvious signs, too. Her golden hair and eyes matched her father's. "I can only hope so, Father," she replied. "If these Heroes pose a threat to the Kingdom or you and Mother, I will be sure to cut them down where they stand."

Delroy laughed, a booming tone. "Please, Cynthia, you need to relax!" He told her. "Surely, if they were to be a threat, the Royal Guard would be upon them first?"

"I am just saying," a small smile came to the princess' lips. "After all, it is just my duty as both Princess of Irdonia, and Captain of the Royal Knights."

"I'm certain," Delroy smiled. "Captain Jourdain taught you well."

The princess closed her eyes and nodded, before she opened then and let her gaze settle on the group towards the far end of the room. These were adventurers native to Ematria, hand-picked to assist the Heroes on their campaign. They were the best, and they were to help the Heroes settle in. Cynthia spied a familiar face, a blonde elf she hadn't seen in some time, ever since she was elected Captain.

After a few more moments, the Mages had finished, and now took their positions by the circumference of the circle. They all turned to Delroy and looked at him expectantly. "The ritual is about to begin," one said. "Shall we proceed, Your Majesty?"

Delroy nodded and swiped his hand. "Proceed."

The mage who had spoken nodded, turning back to the circle. The group collectively raised their arms, and in an instant a set of glowing sigils appeared before them. They began to utter a chant in an ancient language. Crystals set around the circle shook, before lifting into the air and bursting with light from within, and before long the entire circle too began to glow, now appearing to be aflame.

"This is the summoning?" Cynthia asked, transfixed. "I had never thought I'd be alive to witness one in person."

"Perhaps you should consider yourself lucky, Cynthia," Delroy smiled. "That you are both witnessing the ritual and being able to meet the Heroes in person."

The chants rose in volume, light level rising. With a final word, the circle flared, just about blinding all in the room.

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ROOK
Rookie Pathfinder
​
CNE Colony World Huygens-381d "Aeternitas"
May 5, 2219

On a far away world a figure garbed in a full suit of advanced gear made his way through steep, almost horizontal cliffs. The environment here was quite hostile and riddled with wildlife that did not take too kindly to intruders into their domain. Not like he had too much to worry about, though. His Rig was designed to withstand such threats, and the PDW he held in his hands was sufficient to ward off enemies. He had his training to fall back on, too.

"CID," Dylan Rooker spoke to seemingly no one. "How much further to the ruins?"

A monotonous voice answered through his radio. "Approximately twelve kilometres northwest."

"Pity the Kodiak couldn't come this way," an annoyed voice groaned. Rook turned, his HUD marking the voice's owner: Semyon Duskin. There were several more, names above their outlines. They were all wearing similar gear, all of them elite Pathfinders, just like him.

"Relax, this is nothing compared to the 84K," Rook shrugged. His robotic companion followed closely behind, a machine fashioned after a dog named R3X built by his father years ago and officially given to him upon his graduation. R3X's function was to act as a support system, capable of relaying communications and taking advanced scans, and also to act as company for Rook.

"Whatever you say, Rook," another voice said, this one belonging to Jarek Caswell. The former Colonial Marine did always seem to be rather cold towards him. From what Rook knew he didn't like the fact that a rookie fresh out of the Academy had bee placed in command of a experienced team of Pathfinders. Rook couldn't blame him, though. He himself was quite surprised he'd been assigned such a role, only a few weeks after the graduation ceremony.

Rook didn't mind the walk. After all, the payoff would be great. At the end of it all would be ancient ruins left by a long-dead alien civilisation millions of years old. The greatest scientific discovery in history, found only a couple klicks away from the initial colony site. A planetary deep scan had detected thousands of similar ruins all over the planet, though many were buried under ground and otherwise inaccessible. The ruin the Pathfinders of Alpha were heading to was built above ground and into a mountain complex, and the entrance had already been located.

Rook paused a moment to star up towards the alien sky, towards the sun which was a rather fierce shade of red. Here he was, the first to step foot on an uncharted world hundreds of light-years away from Earth. All those years of training had led up to this.

As he moved to continue, he suddenly noticed an odd glow beneath his feet. It was a circular pattern lined with odd symbols he didn't recognise. Staring at it curiously, he spoke. "Hey, guys? Anyone else seeing this?"

"Seeing what?" Harriet Ashworth asked, alert. "More ruins? Wildlife? Goddamn aliens?"

"No, the weird glowing circle thing," Rook clarified. "Anyone else got it?"

There was a moment's pause. "The hell you talking about, rookie?"

Now Rook was feeling a little confused. "You're not seeing them? That's weird. Okay, hang on, I'm gonna try showing a live feed."

The camera mounted to a robotic arm on his back unfolded, pivoting downwards to the circle, which had brightened even more. "There, you see that?"

"There's nothing on—sco—don't—anyth—" there the signal gave way to static, and now Rook could see that his HUD was flickering.

"You're breaking up," he said. "Getting a lot of interference here. Might have something to do with the circle. Let me see if I can do anything."

He turned back to the circle, and just had enough time to watch as it flared before his vision was overtaken by blinding white.

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​
When his vision cleared he now found himself standing in an entirely different location. He spun around, utterly confused as he gripped his weapon tighter. This wasn't the rocky cliffs of Aeternitas, he was now in what he could only assume was a throne room of some kind. There were people around him, wearing outfits that all seemed very out of place, and they all looked just as confused. On the sidelines were figures in dark robes, and Rook's Rig was detecting strange energy readings coming from them.

Before anything else could happen, a booming voice interrupted them, coming from an older man in perhaps the fanciest clothes most of the gathered displaced had ever seen, an ornate crown atop a head of golden hair and a wide smile on his face.

"Welcome, Heroes From Across Time! On behalf of the Kingdom of Irdonia and as its king, I welcome you to the world of Ematria!"
 
Flynn Haas
German SS, Anti-Nazi spy​

Neuengamme concentration camp, Hamburg, Germany
September 29, 1943

German commands rang through the air, followed by the sound of guns being checked and readied. Flynn Haas tried not to react to it all, from where he stood blindfolded and tied to a post, but still a shiver crawled down his spine, and still his breathing quickened. Weeks of torture and pain, just for it to end like this, killed by a firing squad. Yet, neither could his death come quickly enough.

The sounds settled a little, though still clothing rustled, a boot scuffed the earth, and, far away, a bird chirped.

There were no final words, no reading of his crimes. Everyone present already knew him as traitor to Hitler, to the Nazi party, to Germany itself, and any records of his death would be erased as so many others had been.

“At the ready!” SS Standartenführer Max Pauly, head of the Neuengamme concentration camp, called out.

More noise, as the guns were lifted and aimed at Flynn. Flynn’s knees threatened to buckle, though he willed them not to. He wanted to run, to struggle, to do anything but simply stand there, but even without his bindings, there was nothing he could do.

“Fire!”

Fresh pain, as the bullets tore into his body, and Flynn gasped, and then choked. His body jerked back, and for a moment everything felt suddenly distant, before there was a brilliant flash.

---

Then there was no pain, no blindfold, no rope tight on his wrists. Flynn staggered a couple of steps, his breath still harsh and his eyes wide as he tried to take in the scene before him.

He stood not outdoors, not before a Gestapo firing squad, but indoors, in a massive throne room. The strangers nearest him seemed just as confused as him, but he hardly paid them any mind, as he instead patted his stomach, his chest. No bullets. No wounds. No pain—no pain.

Flynn held out his hands and stared at his fingernails, somehow regrown. He let out a harsh breath. The damage the SS and the Gestapo had done to him over the past several weeks were all but gone. Then was he alive? This place certainly didn’t seem like Hell.

At the booming voice, Flynn forced his hands to drop and his body to straighten as he instead looked up at the finely dressed man. Heroes? He still didn’t understand what was going on, but whatever it was, it was clear they had gotten the wrong person. He was no hero.
 
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Lian Song
Assassin-Spy/Concubine
Throne Room, Wishborne Hold(Castle), Nevermore(Capital), Irdonia(Kingdom)
Corrosion Corrosion ​
  • Clad in exquisite light-coloured brocade silk, the worth of which could feed entire families for a year, Lian Song unassumingly made her way down the Imperial Palace's walkways, followed by her palace maids. Exotic fields of rare flowers lined the sides of the path in every direction, emitting a sweet scent and fresh air as she passed by. Her eyes casually wandered over the surroundings as she walked, before landing on a small pot of chrysanthemums in an unused courtyard. As if fascinated, she ordered her palace maids to wait for her on the walkway as she approached and stared at them gently.

    "The cicada has been eliminated and its swallow has fallen ill."

    A voice drifted over unassumingly from the other side of the courtyard's walls. Lian's eyes flickered briefly at the information before she responded with her report.

    "The conflict between Consort Mei and Concubine He has escalated. The Vermillion Palace is restless, I suspect the Empress will intervene soon."

    She responded as calmly and tonelessly as the voice that spoke to her, before smiling softly and turning back around, as if all she did was gaze at some flowers for a moment. Making her way back to her palace as usual, it was only when she was done whispering some orders to her first-rank maid Jia Shu that she let her thoughts coalesce.

    Concubine He was too good of a pawn for the Empress to lose in her current situation, so she will definitely make her move. Now that she has had the opportunity to relay that information back, the Empress's family will be watched closely from here on out by Duke Xiao.

    Thinking of the upcoming drama, Lian couldn't help but curve her lips in a small smile. It was a twisted form of entertainment, but there was little else that interested her whilst she had been sealed behind these palace walls. But after letting her thoughts wander to the chubby little bean waiting for her back at the palace, her smile couldn't help but become less sinister and more gentle.

    Subtly increasing the pace of her steps, she only abruptly halted when her eyes locked on to some strange foreign characters on the floor, placed in a circular formation. Glowing softly, they perplexed Lian as she stared at them.

    What is this? A curse?

    Lian's karma was already a foregone element in her eyes, so she wasn't as afraid of spirits and gods as most of the nobles here were. Scoffing silently, she didn't hesitate to walk through the strange trap as if it wasn't there. But as soon as her foot touched the circle, the glow abruptly brightened and the world went white.

    (See next tab)
 
Illya Ivanov
The Mad Scientist
Throne Room, Wishborne Hold(Castle), Nevermore(Capital), Irdonia(Kingdom)
Corrosion Corrosion SilverFeathers SilverFeathers Casey Jewels Casey Jewels ​

Siberia: Undisclosed Location
January 22, 2022

The Siberian tundra was bitingly cold, the air dry and nipping mercilessly at any exposed skin. Snow crunched underfoot, the serene monochrome landscape disrupted by a series of figures in puffy coats arduously trekking onwards, the only sounds for miles: huffing exhales and the sifting of snow.

On the top of the slope, the figures were slowly making their way up, was a man waiting impatiently, his dark coat stark against the bright cloudless skies. Illya’s lips thinned with displeasure at having to wait for the rest of the research team, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“Hurry.” He says, clipped and concise. He spared them another glance, then turned back to gaze at their destination: what appeared to be a concrete bunker set in the sweeping contours of the tundra, the grey of the bunker blending into the monotony of the landscape.

The group finally made their way to rejoin Illya. Private Nikolai brings his hand up to his brow, shielding his gaze from the glare produced by both the sun and the snow. “Not long now, sir. Just ahead.” He pipes up, “about 3.6 KM, sir.”

Illya levels the weight of his unimpressed look upon the young Private chosen to accompany the group of researchers to the facility. The Private quails under his gaze, falling silent and opting to continue leading them forwards.

As they walked, Illya noticed that the glare of the snow was getting brighter and brighter. He hisses softly, eyes closing momentarily from the sudden sting of the light, turning away from it.

--

A gentle breeze caressed his cheeks -- warm with a touch of dampness that hinted at a humidity not found in the dry tundras of Siberia. When Illya blinked, he was suddenly standing in the middle of a room that was most decidedly not the tundra. The snow encrusted around his boots slowly melted, a puddle forming at his feet. The coat that had been keeping him warm was suddenly uncomfortably hot for Illya who had grown up with the harsh Slavic winters. Still, he made no move to shrug the coat off, too preoccupied with taking in the sight before him.

A stone-hewed building, the walls and pillars appearing to be carved masterfully out of some sort of stone -- perhaps limestone or granite, his mind supplies. Illya’s pale gaze drifted over the elaborate throne and the people standing before it, staying silent. He was never one to say much as it was and at the moment, he was only interested in pinpointing what sort of phenomenon was creating this vision before him.

A dream? Not entirely improbable, but Illya trusted his memory above all. Dreams were merely the firing of neurons during REM sleep. He shifts, movement so minute it was imperceptible to the eye, feeling his wet boots slide on glossy tiles, the puddles reflecting the roof of the building. His dreams were hardly ever something so strange nor vivid. It was also impossible for one to dream of faces they have never encountered, every figure that appeared in dreams was something one had seen before. And Illy knew he had never seen any of the figures currently before him. So not a dream, he dismissed.

Hallucinations? The temporal cortex creating a false auditory and visual perception, every neuron suddenly firing in tandem to create what was before him. If that was the case, then what was the cause of the hallucination? The first theory that immediately came to the forefront of his mind was hypothermia. He had been with the team walking down a snowy slope, perhaps the snow gave way and he was currently buried in the cold, his body slowly shutting down, this sight given as a last consolation or even puzzle to immerse himself in before death. Yet running through the symptoms of hypothermia, Illya certainly did not feel drowsy or exhausted. Quite the opposite. He felt vaguely annoyed more than anything, suddenly being pulled from his work.

If not hypothermia, then perhaps Schizophrenia. But he had his physical not too long ago and the brain scans showed no tell-tale sign of degeneration typically expressed in the disease. And Illya certainly would have seen any other signs. He struck that out as well.

Then the man standing in front of the throne spoke: "Welcome, Heroes From Across Time! On behalf of the Kingdom of Irdonia and as its king, I welcome you to the world of Ematria!"

Illya could understand him, clear as day. Yet the words the man spoke might as well have been gibberish to him. Irdonia? Ematria? These were not any countries that Illya knew. And there was something about the way the man spoke that was strange, the way the words sounded softer, more rounded, compared to the harsh and clipped Slavic languages, despite Illya’s ability to understand him.

His gaze flickered over to the woman that suddenly spoke beside him, taking in his companions at last. Each of their clothing seemed strange for the circumstances, with one man in what appeared to be military clothing, the woman in ancient Asian clothing, and everyone else in some sort of medieval European clothing. Illya frowned as she spoke, but turned back to the man that for all intents and purposes appeared to be the King of this unknown country.

“Yes.” Illya agreed, speaking, at last, “would also like to be returned from where I came. Not China. Siberia.”
 
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location
riccardi medici palace - Irdonia(??)
mood
unknown
outfit
outfit
mentions
Corrosion Corrosion Casey Jewels Casey Jewels SilverFeathers SilverFeathers Lillian_4 Lillian_4
Alaryia de' Medici

Lady Medici
Riccardi Medici Palace, Florence, Italy
July 7th, 1469​


They lied to her. Why did they lie to her? Alaryia's mind swoon as she dashed out of the ballroom, the force of her strength making the doors hitting the walls as she opened them and they swung outward. The cries of her name reached her but she never looked back as she ran. This wasn't fair. No, not at all. Had they actually told her they were engaging her to that man perhaps her reaction would have been different. More calmer. But it seemed her parents and uncle knew she would oppose this arranged marriage and thus decided to pull this stunt. Was she some broodmare for them to trade around? The clicks on her heels on the marble polished floor as she ran were the only sound she could hear. Tears began to blur her vision, proving to obstruct her attention from anything else. If it wasn't for that then maybe she would have noticed the ornate mirror at the end of the corridor beginning to shine. It was only when the light glowed brightly that she became aware. Yet by then, it was already too late.

Throne Room, Wishborne Hold(Castle), Nevermore(Capital), Irdonia(Kingdom)
Year 1016 Post-Great Calamity (PGC)​

This.. was a throneroom. Was it not? Alaryia opened her eyes to find herself in a completely different place. Around her were people who seemed similarly confused as she was. There was a woman who appeared to be of Eastern descent, a pale man with unnaturally blue eyes and two other men in very strange clothing. "Welcome, Heroes From Across Time! On behalf of the Kingdom of Irdonia and as its king, I welcome you to the world of Ematria!" God, what did that mean? She had never heard of any kingdom in Europe or anywhere else in the world named Irdonia and Ematria was just as unfamiliar to her. But that wasn't the most thing she found strange. Heroes From Across Time? That signified something. Something very important. Her eyes trailed over to the Eastern woman and the man with odd eyes who spoke. Those words weren't the right way to start off. The person in front of them was clearly a king, someone of high regard and must be spoken to with respect even if this situation was confusing.

Though this king held a smile on his face and a warm tone what if he was angered by the lack of courtesy from them? And decided to chop their heads off? Alaryia had read enough and seen enough to know that a human's behavior can switch at the flick of a switch. "On behalf of House Medici I, Alaryia de' Medici humbly thank Your Majesty for your ever-gracious welcome." The Medici girl dipped into a deep bow and lowered her head. Once her introduction was finished she continued on. "Forgive me for being rude, Your Majesty but I must inquire. Where is Irdonia and what is our purpose in being here?" She had a sneaking suspicion she already knew the answer to the former. As outrageous as it may seem the possibility of it was quickly becoming alarming. The crest that hung from the banners in the throneroom had never been seen before by her and trust her, she knew a lot of families or countries insignias.
coded by natasha.
 
ROOK/CYNTHIA STORMCREST
Rookie Pathfinder/Knight Princess
Wishborne Hold Throne Room
Casey Jewels Casey Jewels SilverFeathers SilverFeathers Lillian_4 Lillian_4 Jasno Jasno
​
Rook steadied his breathing, as he was trained to do in situations like this. Well, situations that involved sudden and unexpected shifts in environment and conditions, not inexplicably appearing in an actual medieval throne room through methods unknown. He took a breath and glanced around, both gauging his surroundings and studying the others who had seemingly appeared in the same way he did.

The first was a man in what appeared to be a a triped uniform. Rook recognised it as the uniform worn by prisoners in German concentration camps during the Second World War, and the upright red triangle patch marked him as a spy or traitor, if he recalled correctly. His malnourished appearance only further enforced this. The second was a young woman of East Asian descent, in attire that appeared to date back to Han Dynasty China. Then there was the apparent scientist, a rather pale man dressed in a bleached white lab coat and black dress suit underneath. There was also a young woman wearing what Rook knew to be a dress in the style of mid-15th century Renaissance-era clothing.

The fact that their styles of clothing varied so much seemed to enforce what the apparent 'King of Irdonia' had proclaimed them to be: heroes from across time.

This was impossible. Nothing in Rook's brain could come up with an explanation of how they had ended up here in the first place. Yet here he was, a Pathfinder from the 23rd century now standing in a throne room that was seemingly in an entirely different dimension, surrounded by people from various periods of Earth's past. As far as he knew, he was from the furthest point in time compared to the other 'Heroes'.

He almost missed the fact that the Asian woman had spoken, which was seconded by the scientist, both asking to be returned to China and Siberia, respectively.

"I, uh, I think I'll third that," Rook stated. "I don't think any of us asked to be here, did we?"

"You shall address His Royal Highness as such," a voice scolded, and Rook turned to see a young woman by the king's side, in an odd mix of a flowing dress and plate armour. An armoured gauntlet rested on the hilt of her sword. "And you, it is improper to conceal your face in such a situation."

"Cynthia!" The king spoke suddenly. "Please, forgive my daughter. It is simply her duty to be wary in such situations as Captain of the Royal Knights."

The princess bowed. "Yes... my apologies, Heroes."

Rook paused for a moment. "No, I think she's right," he said. "My apologies, sir."

He took a second to ensure that the environment was safe, before activating his helmet's release. It released a hiss of steam, before it folded backwards, revealing his features to everyone in the room. It was a gesture of goodwill, though his hands remained on his PDW. Cynthia's eyes seemed to widen slightly at that, though it was almost unnoticeable.

The Renaissance then spoke, bowing properly as she formally introduced herself.

Medici? Rook noted her name with interest. He'd gone through the history books and he was certain that there was no mention of any Alaryia of the Medici family. Then again, perhaps those records had been destroyed or lost, given how long ago that was. Still, she seemed to take to the situation much better than the others.

The king smiled at her. "I believe that it is time for you to know why you have been summoned here," he said. "But first, I shall introduce myself. I am King Delroy Stormcrest, and, as I have said before, I am ruler of the Kingdom of Irdonia. Now, I am sure that none of you have heard of it before, am I correct?"

Rook glanced around a bit, before returning to the king. "That is correct, sir," he answered truthfully. "There aren't any records of a Kingdom of Irdonia existing, at least where I'm from."

Delroy smiled, as if he was a father who was satisfied that his child had found the right answer. "Indeed that is so!" He exclaimed. "That is because this is not your world at all!"

The Pathfinder already had a sneaking suspicion about this whole thing, no matter how crazy it was. "You mean we've been brought here somehow? To this, to this Ematria? Uh, if I may ask, why?"

"You are here for a good reason," the king began, speaking with a purpose. "For you see, you have been summoned here as this world is under threat, and you all be its saviours."
 
Illya Ivanov
Wishborne Hold Throne Room
Casey Jewels Casey Jewels SilverFeathers SilverFeathers Jasno Jasno Corrosion Corrosion

​
Illya kept his pale gaze on the King, even as another woman spoke up: Medici, she claimed to be. There was a vague flicker of recognition, the synapses sparking. Renaissance, Italian, he recalled, though he knew nothing more of it, never one to be interested in fields beyond science -- much less of a long-gone aristocratic line that held no influence in the modern world.

A soft scoff emerges from his lips at her pandering. At his age, he had climbed high enough in the ranks that politics barely entered his field of vision with the exception of the few soirées that were hosted to keep up appearances, and even those, few bothered to approach him except in greeting, his reputation for coolness being well-known. And even that was not begrudged, for he was the best at his job and he did what he was paid for well, that being enough to please the higher-ups. Even so, perhaps it was better she had to do the boot-licking, as Illya disdainfully saw it, then him.

As the man in the suit spoke up, Illya’s attention was briefly caught, raking his gaze over the sleek metal of the suit appraisingly, almost appreciatively. Now, this was something he had not encountered yet -- both in the free market nor in the R&D department of his organization. He couldn’t quite get an estimate on which country such technology might have originated from. But perhaps with a little more examination… nothing would prove to be out of his reach. Of course, Illya’s field was more in the biological sphere, occasionally venturing into the chemical when he worked on interdepartmental projects. But as a scientist, all sorts of technology held some measure of interest from him.

Illya stayed quiet now, holding back the next scathing retort on his tongue when one of the guards spoke up. Had her comment been leveled at him, perhaps he might have bit back. Still, the audacity to be the ones dragging them -- dragging him from his research to do work for them and still expect his respect of all things.

Still, a new world was… not entirely dull. A place full of unknown fauna and organisms. A place where there were no doubt waiting to be the cradle of new scientific findings. At first glance, it seemed doubtful they would be up to the scientific level his world was at, much less even scientists.

“Saviors,” Illya repeats flatly, unimpressed. “We are to be saviors?”

He paused, letting the skepticism in his voice sink in. “Why would we help?’ Then he glanced over his companions, “what makes you think we can even save your world from this threat?”
 
Flynn Haas
German SS, Anti-Nazi spy
Wishborne Hold Throne Room
Corrosion Corrosion Lillian_4 Lillian_4 Jasno Jasno SilverFeathers SilverFeathers ​

Flynn said nothing as everyone talked, instead using the time to try and calm himself down. There were only two explanations for what was going on. First, he was having some kind of hallucination as he was dying, some kind of final flash of guilt. Yet, the Russian man and the Chinese woman had not paid any special attention to him, though they were both part of the Allied Forces. He did not know where the other two hailed from, just that the man's suit seemed much more advanced than what he had seen in the war, while the woman was on the opposite spectrum, of her clothing seeming from an age past--though he had not learned much history outside of Germany's, and so it was hard to say.

Which brought him to the second conclusion--that this all was real. This did not seem like something his brain would come up with, and especially not in his dying moments. Adding credit to this was the fact that the Russian and the Chinese woman had both asked to be returned home (as well as the man with the advanced tech), again further ignoring him. Though, for three of the five of them to ask... Had their deaths not been as violent as his? None of them looked as if they had just died. Then again, if he had died on the battlefield rather than as a prisoner of war, he would be wearing a military uniform, rather than the simple blue-stripped shirt and trousers he wore now. A picture of perfection, rather than the shell he had become. Though, that for sure would have grabbed the attention of the Russian and the Chinese woman, for a SS soldier to be among them. Then again, if this talk of time was to be believed, maybe they weren't at war with Germany, not in their respective times. If he even believed in this whole thing.

As the Russian spoke, however, Flynn tensed and his gaze shifted between the pale man and those who had summoned them. While the questions were on his own mind, they almost background chatter to all his other thoughts, he never would have stated them in such a manner. This Russian was going to get them all killed.

...Which meant he had to be alive, which meant this was all really happening.

A tremor washed over him. He had accepted the high chance of death the moment he had become a spy against the Nazis, but this was something new, something unaccounted for, and there was no time to process the mess of emotions colliding from his first death to the current present. Instead, Flynn shoved down his rising panic and emotions, as he tried to focus on what was at hand.

"I think what my... companion... means," Flynn said, "is that you seem much more capable than we, of fighting off whatever this threat is."
 
Hathus Roye - Crusader
Wishborne Hold, Throne Room
Interactions: Alaryia ( Jasno Jasno ) • Flynn ( Casey Jewels Casey Jewels ) • Illya ( Lillian_4 Lillian_4 ) • Lian ( SilverFeathers SilverFeathers ) • Rook ( Corrosion Corrosion )

Alas, the day had come. Roye watched the ritual and the initial confusion with bated breath. The burly, wolf-eyed man kept his helmet tucked under his arm and the pommel of his halberd resting on the floor. He remained silent initially; it wasn’t his place to interject while the king delegated their mission.

Roye stared in disbelief at these new people as they spoke. The flood of doubt shook him deeply, his hope slipping momentarily. To him, it sounded as though their answer would amount to a resounding ‘no’. Then, one man clarified on their skepticism. They thought they were unqualified? Ah...

“Per’aps we are capable of figh’ing...” the crusader piped up, resting his weapon against the wall. He spoke with a thick accent, comparable to Scottish in the opinions of some. “... but a war is fough’ on many fronts.” He motioned with his hand to Alaryia. “No... offense to you, lass, but y’ dinnae strike me as a warrior. Yer manners an’ kindness could win the hearts an’ support of many... or perhaps magic would please y’.”

“Wha’ I’m saying is tha’ we dinnae know yer backgrounds, but there mus’ be some reason we received you an’ no’ Attila the Hun, or Vlad the Impaler.” Funnily, it would seem tales of infamous warlords had spread to this world, as well. “I beg of y’. Medita’e on yer purpose ‘ere, if ye must, an’ help rid us of this scourge for a hundred years more.” He stared at the heroes with a pleading expression.
 
location
Irdonia
mood
unknown
outfit
outfit
mentions
Corrosion Corrosion Lillian_4 Lillian_4 Casey Jewels Casey Jewels Goonfire Goonfire
Alaryia de' Medici

Lady Medici
Throne Room, Wishborne Hold(Castle), Nevermore(Capital), Irdonia(Kingdom)
Year 1016 Post-Great Calamity (PGC)​

The princess of this country was a knight? Captain of the Royal Knights no less. This information was surprising, to say the least. If word of such of thing ever carried back home an uproar would occur. But for some reason to Alaryia, it was pleasing to hear. A woman fulfilling what people considered a man's role? How progressive! But the shock didn't stop there. King Delroy told them all something that paled in comparison to knowing a woman was a knight and held a sword. They weren't on Earth anymore. Or more accurately they were in another world called Ematria and they were brought here to be its saviors. What did that mean? Savior? She was no hero nor did she think she could shoulder the weight of saving an entire world on her shoulders. This made her somewhat uneased. They had no say in this and were forcefully taken here by their will. Oh, how ironic it was that getting engaged seemed easier in the face of all this.

“Why would we help?" Huh.. ? Alaryia's gaze trailed over to the unnatural turquoise-eyed man from who the comment came. Why did he say such a thing? How could he say such a thing? Now though she found herself reluctant after finding out their purpose in being here she would never say something like that. A cynical man he appeared to be, truly dreadful. "They would have not summoned us if they were capable of fending off what threatens their kingdom and world on their lonesome, sire." She gave her probably unwanted input to the man dressed in strange uniform. As much as she would have liked that to be true the chances of it were appearing slim.

Alaryia simply smiled when the burly man gave what he thought. She could not refute that as it was true. Though physically she may not be a warrior with her mouth she was. She would rain hell on anyone who dared go against her. Pure Medici blood ran through her veins for christ's sake. How did he know about Vlad the Impaler and Attila the Hun? Two great historical figures from Earth? That is very strange. That was something worth keeping note of. She couldn't help but let her face sadden upon seeing such an expression coming from someone like him. If the Irdonians had to start pleading for their help then this must mean the situation was incredibly bad. Wait.. didn't he also mention something about magic? As in the very magic that's existence has been heavily debated about by scholars and kings alike? Turning towards the man with a thick accent that resembled a Scots she spoke with brimming excitement.

"Sire, does magic exist here?" But then Alaryia felt that question was dumb. How had they gotten here in the first place? Magic of course.
coded by natasha.
 
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