Arrival [It’s the dripping that wakes her. Going to bed cold has been her norm for moons now, most of the volunteers still packing themselves close together to conserve body heat in their sleep. She and her brother, with their smaller bodies, had needed this badly. The sounds of many people breathing and shuffling in their sleep have grown to become a constant companion.
So it’s the sound of dripping liquid, and the absence of warmth beside her, that startles her awake. She tries to blink away the sleep and sees a rivulet of - oh gods, is that blood? Where is she? running down the wall near her head. She must have been knocked out in a fight for there to be this much —
Then a loud, violent crack of thunder and a flash of lightning, and she sees that the flow is only water. But she doesn’t quite trust it until she touches the wall and her fingers come away undiscolored.
She sits up. Wherever she is, it’s a long way from Garlemald. The steel walls are similar enough, but the cold is a damp one, not the dry, frozen, bitter air she’s beginning to grow accustomed to. The air is scented with mildew and the decay of plants. She can feel a rocking motion that suggests waves. A ship, then.
She struggles to her feet, relieved to still be fully clothed and armed. Her rapier provides a faint light, but beyond that all she can see is what is illuminated by the periodic flashes of lightning. Making her way across the slippery floor is slow going, periodically bracing herself against the walls when the ship rocks especially violently in the storm. Finally, she approaches a more open area, an atrium of sorts with a better view of the interior.
But before she can get her bearings, she’s distracted by a figure illuminated by another flash. A person? Or is her mind breaking under the stress? She cups her hands around her mouth and calls out.]
Who’s there?
Seeing is Believing [The scent of decay dogs her steps. She tries to convince herself that it’s just the plant matter covering nearly every ilm of the walls and floor, that the smell of damp earth and rot is a sign only of neglect and nothing worse.
But every so often, her mouth and nose are assaulted by the deep metallic tang of old blood and she has to stop and brace herself against a wall until the smell recedes. And then the sounds begin.
It starts out faintly, barely audible over the rain, but it doesn’t stay quiet for long. She spins around, sword at the ready, when the first scream echoes through the empty hallways. It’s long and drawn-out and anguished, the sound ripped from a throat long since raw from screaming. The kind of scream she’s all too familiar with. She breaks into a jog, then a run, as another voice joins the first. Then another, and another.]
“Help! Someone help!” “Please! She doesn’t have much time!” “Where are you?!”
[flickering lights up ahead and what sounds like a child’s voice and she’s sprinting, heedless of the doorways on either side and the fact that she’s hopelessly lost. She can’t let more people die on her watch. She can’t. Not again-
A gnarled root or loose cable catches her foot and sends her sprawling, pain lancing up her arms as she catches herself poorly. She can still hear the voices, but suddenly she’s too weak to stand. She’s failed, again.]
Alisaie Leveilleur | Final Fantasy XIV
[It’s the dripping that wakes her. Going to bed cold has been her norm for moons now, most of the volunteers still packing themselves close together to conserve body heat in their sleep. She and her brother, with their smaller bodies, had needed this badly. The sounds of many people breathing and shuffling in their sleep have grown to become a constant companion.
So it’s the sound of dripping liquid, and the absence of warmth beside her, that startles her awake. She tries to blink away the sleep and sees a rivulet of - oh gods, is that blood? Where is she? running down the wall near her head. She must have been knocked out in a fight for there to be this much —
Then a loud, violent crack of thunder and a flash of lightning, and she sees that the flow is only water. But she doesn’t quite trust it until she touches the wall and her fingers come away undiscolored.
She sits up. Wherever she is, it’s a long way from Garlemald. The steel walls are similar enough, but the cold is a damp one, not the dry, frozen, bitter air she’s beginning to grow accustomed to. The air is scented with mildew and the decay of plants. She can feel a rocking motion that suggests waves. A ship, then.
She struggles to her feet, relieved to still be fully clothed and armed. Her rapier provides a faint light, but beyond that all she can see is what is illuminated by the periodic flashes of lightning. Making her way across the slippery floor is slow going, periodically bracing herself against the walls when the ship rocks especially violently in the storm. Finally, she approaches a more open area, an atrium of sorts with a better view of the interior.
But before she can get her bearings, she’s distracted by a figure illuminated by another flash. A person? Or is her mind breaking under the stress? She cups her hands around her mouth and calls out.]
Who’s there?
Seeing is Believing
[The scent of decay dogs her steps. She tries to convince herself that it’s just the plant matter covering nearly every ilm of the walls and floor, that the smell of damp earth and rot is a sign only of neglect and nothing worse.
But every so often, her mouth and nose are assaulted by the deep metallic tang of old blood and she has to stop and brace herself against a wall until the smell recedes. And then the sounds begin.
It starts out faintly, barely audible over the rain, but it doesn’t stay quiet for long. She spins around, sword at the ready, when the first scream echoes through the empty hallways. It’s long and drawn-out and anguished, the sound ripped from a throat long since raw from screaming. The kind of scream she’s all too familiar with. She breaks into a jog, then a run, as another voice joins the first. Then another, and another.]
“Help! Someone help!”
“Please! She doesn’t have much time!”
“Where are you?!”
[flickering lights up ahead and what sounds like a child’s voice and she’s sprinting, heedless of the doorways on either side and the fact that she’s hopelessly lost. She can’t let more people die on her watch. She can’t. Not again-
A gnarled root or loose cable catches her foot and sends her sprawling, pain lancing up her arms as she catches herself poorly. She can still hear the voices, but suddenly she’s too weak to stand. She’s failed, again.]