[Fal-Il was a bit of an old hat when it came to awkward and uncomfortable resurrections, but he had to admit that clawing himself out of his own shallow grave after a particularly bad psionic acid trip was definitely new for him. Unpleasant, but interesting - amusingly novel, he could say? Having his entire being reconstituted atom by painful atom via spooky psionic artefact had been getting a little old, after all.]
Can't let the torture and punishment get stale now, can we? Have to give them props for creativity, though. Thought their shrivelled up brains were incapable of it... ngh, damn, that stings. This is why I hate impact trauma. The Elders couldn't bother to reinforce my bones with something more absorbent? Maybe I should start taking a baseball bat to their spines, see how they like it...
[He continued to grumble under his breath as he fully pulled himself out of the ground - all 7'8" of him - and once free from the grasping soil and roots... flopped like a beached fish, gangly limbs splayed out.]
Ugh. Alive... again. Yay.
✦ II. Springstar and Highstorm.
[Though Fal-Il was a unique individual blessed with the eye-catching trait of towering over most people, he was startlingly adept at blending into whatever shadowy corner or alcove he came across. While Springstar was a little short on shadows, Fal-Il had managed to find somewhere rather shaded to lurk in, and Highstorm was nothing but shadow, his glowing eyes stark beneath his hood as he lazily surveyed the crowd in the same way a predator crouching in the underbrush would size up the weak and infirm at the rear of the herd.
He wasn't really used to being in such a big crowd like this. The hustle and bustle grated in a way that set his sharp teeth on edge, especially as he lacked the comforting weight of both Darkclaw and Darklance. His psionic abilities were dulled too, and while his eyesight was excellent, he felt unpleasantly blind being unable to psionically tag all nearby entities. Had to rely on his mundane eyeballs like some sort of human pleb. How demeaning.
Yet, he remained. As twitchy as the crowd made him, the noise filled the profound and eerie silence that echoed through his skull. The psionic network he had been joined too, the one that had a constant stream of information and thought from all corners of ADVENT had just been... severed completely. Leaving blissful, euphoric, nerve-wracking and unnatural silence. No queries from the brainless foot soldiers, no commands from the Elders, no return of information from the network's Codices, no sniping from his two siblings. Just. Silence.]
Had no idea how boring pure individualism could be. [Mutter, mutter.] And inconvenient. But interesting to see that sentient life is still prone to falling blindly into scams. Meridian and Zenith... just ADVENT painted in different colours with their Elders in different hats.
[Granted, they were handsome and beautiful hats, so Fal-Il gave them some slack for having the decency of not being, y'know, wizened old psychic raisins, but still. Scammers and untrustworthy, the lot of them.]
Wonder what they're getting out of recruiting poor schmucks like us. Not genetic material... too varied and different species, not to say what variances could be found from world to world. Heh, the Elders would be going apeshit right now if they knew what a tiny part of the universe they were... nothing but a dust mote. Heheh...
[Ah, if the worlds truly had been destroyed, Fal-Il really hoped the Elders felt nothing but profound despair at realising how inconsequential their lives were. The sadistic and intense vindication he felt radiated from him like a miasma of malice before he swiftly leashed it. He can be smug about it later, for now...]
Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes, what're they after? Organs, or our immortal souls, or...?
✦ III. WILDCARD
[OOC: if there's anything specific you want with Hunter, just toss a scenario my way and I'll roll with it! Please check my journal for any info about Hunter if you're curious or canonblind~]
The Hunter | X-COM 2: War of the Chosen
[Fal-Il was a bit of an old hat when it came to awkward and uncomfortable resurrections, but he had to admit that clawing himself out of his own shallow grave after a particularly bad psionic acid trip was definitely new for him. Unpleasant, but interesting - amusingly novel, he could say? Having his entire being reconstituted atom by painful atom via spooky psionic artefact had been getting a little old, after all.]
Can't let the torture and punishment get stale now, can we? Have to give them props for creativity, though. Thought their shrivelled up brains were incapable of it... ngh, damn, that stings. This is why I hate impact trauma. The Elders couldn't bother to reinforce my bones with something more absorbent? Maybe I should start taking a baseball bat to their spines, see how they like it...
[He continued to grumble under his breath as he fully pulled himself out of the ground - all 7'8" of him - and once free from the grasping soil and roots... flopped like a beached fish, gangly limbs splayed out.]
Ugh. Alive... again. Yay.
✦ II. Springstar and Highstorm.
[Though Fal-Il was a unique individual blessed with the eye-catching trait of towering over most people, he was startlingly adept at blending into whatever shadowy corner or alcove he came across. While Springstar was a little short on shadows, Fal-Il had managed to find somewhere rather shaded to lurk in, and Highstorm was nothing but shadow, his glowing eyes stark beneath his hood as he lazily surveyed the crowd in the same way a predator crouching in the underbrush would size up the weak and infirm at the rear of the herd.
He wasn't really used to being in such a big crowd like this. The hustle and bustle grated in a way that set his sharp teeth on edge, especially as he lacked the comforting weight of both Darkclaw and Darklance. His psionic abilities were dulled too, and while his eyesight was excellent, he felt unpleasantly blind being unable to psionically tag all nearby entities. Had to rely on his mundane eyeballs like some sort of human pleb. How demeaning.
Yet, he remained. As twitchy as the crowd made him, the noise filled the profound and eerie silence that echoed through his skull. The psionic network he had been joined too, the one that had a constant stream of information and thought from all corners of ADVENT had just been... severed completely. Leaving blissful, euphoric, nerve-wracking and unnatural silence. No queries from the brainless foot soldiers, no commands from the Elders, no return of information from the network's Codices, no sniping from his two siblings. Just. Silence.]
Had no idea how boring pure individualism could be. [Mutter, mutter.] And inconvenient. But interesting to see that sentient life is still prone to falling blindly into scams. Meridian and Zenith... just ADVENT painted in different colours with their Elders in different hats.
[Granted, they were handsome and beautiful hats, so Fal-Il gave them some slack for having the decency of not being, y'know, wizened old psychic raisins, but still. Scammers and untrustworthy, the lot of them.]
Wonder what they're getting out of recruiting poor schmucks like us. Not genetic material... too varied and different species, not to say what variances could be found from world to world. Heh, the Elders would be going apeshit right now if they knew what a tiny part of the universe they were... nothing but a dust mote. Heheh...
[Ah, if the worlds truly had been destroyed, Fal-Il really hoped the Elders felt nothing but profound despair at realising how inconsequential their lives were. The sadistic and intense vindication he felt radiated from him like a miasma of malice before he swiftly leashed it. He can be smug about it later, for now...]
Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes, what're they after? Organs, or our immortal souls, or...?
✦ III. WILDCARD
[OOC: if there's anything specific you want with Hunter, just toss a scenario my way and I'll roll with it! Please check my journal for any info about Hunter if you're curious or canonblind~]