March Adventure: Swim with the Current and Float Away

[lifeaftr_mods]

NEW ISLAND: AI'TUOH

Who: Anyone who feels brave...or particularly lawful
What: A city worth exploring, and a people worth meeting
When: March 10th and onward
Where: Ai'tuoh
Warnings: The themes you might associate with strict punishment and rule-based dystopias will abound, along with nonconsensual drugging/sedation for those found guilty in the streets. Otherwise, mark as needed!

The Overview: Ai'tuoh
The dawn of the 10th will see the appearance of the promised island on the horizon. The smooth, even planes of city walls rear across the expanse of sandy beach, but beyond that, no particular discerning characteristics can be immediately glean. That same morning, characters will awaken from a brief dream, wherein the Storyteller will advise that the new island accessible via mana pool - and they suggest, with some trepidation, that you do not make the location of said mana pool on the new land immediately obvious to the natives. It's clear that something has put them on edge, though they've yet to say what.

Welcome, adventurers, to the island of Ai'tuoh.

Our City, Our Rules
Ai'tuoh is home to a sprawling city, built of smooth, sandy stone. Its architecture is simple, precise, and uniform, valuing utility above all else - function to the exclusion of form. The homogeneity of the people of Ai'tuoh extends beyond the similar, monochrome spectrum of their apparel. Despite the gradations of skin color and the subtle shifts in the shades of their hair - all falling within established limits, of course - they all appear to be more or less human. But most striking of all is the stern warning emblazoned across the city's gates. It translates as follows:

May those who violate our law be cleansed in the Standing Water.

The Unerring Law of the people of Ai'tuoh can be found in the library, which contains little besides some five hundred copies of the same dispassionate lists of various laws, most of which you've probably already broken by the time you've entered.

If you plan on stopping by, we'd recommend taking the time to explore the docks first - those that frequent that particular area are rather more forthcoming to travelers. You might find someone sympathetic to your plight, willing to offer some helpful hints.

Holding Cells: Awaiting Your Trial
Those unlucky enough to be caught by the concealed militia taskforce of the city will be sedated on sight of their violation, and will wake in a small, smooth-stoned room. There are no windows, and only one door - and it won't be opening under your duress. The holding cell into which you've been deposited is beyond barebones; while clean and uniform, it lacks even the basic commodities of a bed and bucket. It seems that there's no need to plan for keeping prisoners in the long term. No one drops by to visit, and no one addresses you if they pass through. Your only company is in your cellmates, who you might be able to hear through the walls, provided you raise your voice over the soft, buzzing hum that permeates the air; a magical suppression field, to ensure that those with particular talents cannot exert them to break the law's hold.

The barracks are sorted into clusters of several buildings, each with variety of cells hidden in secluded pockets. To contrast the uniformity of the city itself, there is no such order here; the buildings are designed to be difficult to break into, and even harder to orient oneself in.

Those who are being kept in holding until their cleansing will not be in complete isolation forever. There are a number of militia who patrol the prison areas to ensure peace is being kept...and some might even be open to conversation.

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For OOC information about Ai'tuoh and the city's laws, please see our recent OOC information post!

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Feeling a tad adrift? Make sure to check the Locations Page, which has details regarding the starting areas and a handy map for those who feel better with a bird's eye view!

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LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

[dedamastai]

It means that words don't buy food, not that they can't buy anything. [The actual Greek phrase is "Many words are poverty." If we were wondering.] Does that mean he understands what I told him? I don't trust you not to whip me if I hand you a whip. I trust that you know what you're doing.

[That trust is misplaced, perhaps, but he still has it. He would hand Laurent a sword, trusting that if Laurent ran him through it would be for a purpose. There would be a plan, even if he didn't understand it in that moment.]

[crosslaced]

Arguing semantics now? I’m so proud of you.

[And Laurent will make sure that trust is placed just fine.]

No, but I'm sure he'll come around. I… I've been distracted by you, but every Storytelling before that they've been making such faces at each other.

[dedamastai]

I learned from the best. [Laurent ruined a perfectly good Akielon is what he did. Look at him, he knows how to lie.] It's good to know I still distract you, though. I thought the effect might wear off eventually, if we lived together.

[Were we talking about Ignis? Ignis who? No, compliment him some more.]

[crosslaced]

[It’s an improvement!]

I thought you'd fantasise something more romantic. Something like. We take turns picking furniture and you leave me Akielon poetry every week.

[Not that Damen needs to fantasise when he could just live the dream here. Laurent is looking at Damen sideways, relaxed on the (Disappointing) bed like a cat dozing. You know what, he's not going to stoke your ego but he will reach out expectantly.]

Give me your hand?

[If obliged he's gonna put that hand on his head. Pet him.]

[dedamastai]

[Damen obligingly gives Laurent his hand and pets him when directed to do so.]

You know the wrong kind of Akielon for me to write you poetry in it.

[It was a little bit like the unspoken meanings and doublespeak in Vere, but poetry in Akielos was almost an entirely different language than conversation. Words meant slightly different things, certain phrases carried meaning that was understood by someone who had grown up learning it but lost to people who didn't.]

And anyway, you don't write poems down. You perform them. Nobody writes poems down - how would you know what they meant?

[crosslaced]

I meant-

[He's not used to criticism meaning nothing. Laurent instinctively pushes himself up on an elbow, relaxing feeling a bit too relaxed in the moment, and immediately realises he just ruined his plans for affection. heck. heck!!!

Well, now he's committed to this pose so hopefully there's an opening to change it before his arm cramps.]

…

[dedamastai]

[Damen laughs, a quiet huff of amusement in deference to the law of the place they were in.]

Do you want me to tell you a poem? I haven't written one for you specifically, but I know the classics.

[crosslaced]

[Give him a moment to Deal with himself.]

… I'd like that.