001 [Nyx Ulric was a no one with borrowed powers he lost.
Nyx Ulric is a no one with borrowed powers.
He's got a pounding headache, made worse by noise around him and the sheer confusion of this entire thing. By now, he's used to being thrown into bad to worse situations. He can't say, however, that he's ever been kidnapped, given fake paperwork, and told go your way while you incite a revolution.]
I'm not paid enough for this.
[It's all he manages to mutter as he starts to slowly rise in his half-drugged state. What does it say about him that this setting is nearly familiar?]
So we're supposed to be okay with just being kidnapped and fighting a war that's not ours?
[Hypocritical, he knows. Nyx signed up for the war against the Nifs after his home was destroyed, after his home was dragged into a war that wasn't theirs at first. Something hurts, something just feels incredibly sore all over the place. Hazy, cloudy, fuzzy, and he can't shake it.
What really gets to Nyx... is his lack of choice. He ran after the first chance he got to destroy and to save. Now he's been coopted into a conspiracy by force.
He needs food and water to push back the drug's effects. The decision made, he starts to slowly walk out of the safehouse and into the alley. Nyx doesn't actually know if it'll work, but he has to try. Gods, he's so damn tired and he just wants to get back to where he was and save the princess and the ring and ...
Nyx's hands suddenly feel... heavy. Oddly heavy. Not a drug-induced heaviness. This is weight. He holds his hands up...]
What the...
[When he holds his hands up, both look... transparent. Crystalline. The tattoos on his fingers are raised onyx bumps soldered onto clear hands with a blue and purple prismatic effect.]
Shit.
[Nyx shoves his hands into the pockets of his black coat before quickly plunging into the crowd. Once a refugee, always a refugee. He's never felt fully at home anywhere since the invasion. Now?
Now he feels like he's got a target painted on his forehead and his back. Would putting on his hood make him more obvious? Nyx doesn't risk it. What he does instead is muster his confidence and swagger to the infinite degree, plays to be a local and goes along with the passersby.
Of course, there's only so far he can go on pure intuition and observation alone.]
Where's a sign when you need it...
[He definitely looks like he's a man in search of a place. Lost, if you will.]
002 [This is your name. This is who you are.
Well, that made for an easy answer.]
[Bad username or site: nyx @ ulric] this thing on? hell of a welcoming party, huh?
nyx ulric // kingsglaive: ffxv
[Nyx Ulric was a no one with borrowed powers he lost.
Nyx Ulric is a no one with borrowed powers.
He's got a pounding headache, made worse by noise around him and the sheer confusion of this entire thing. By now, he's used to being thrown into bad to worse situations. He can't say, however, that he's ever been kidnapped, given fake paperwork, and told go your way while you incite a revolution.]
I'm not paid enough for this.
[It's all he manages to mutter as he starts to slowly rise in his half-drugged state. What does it say about him that this setting is nearly familiar?]
So we're supposed to be okay with just being kidnapped and fighting a war that's not ours?
[Hypocritical, he knows. Nyx signed up for the war against the Nifs after his home was destroyed, after his home was dragged into a war that wasn't theirs at first. Something hurts, something just feels incredibly sore all over the place. Hazy, cloudy, fuzzy, and he can't shake it.
What really gets to Nyx... is his lack of choice. He ran after the first chance he got to destroy and to save. Now he's been coopted into a conspiracy by force.
He needs food and water to push back the drug's effects. The decision made, he starts to slowly walk out of the safehouse and into the alley. Nyx doesn't actually know if it'll work, but he has to try. Gods, he's so damn tired and he just wants to get back to where he was and save the princess and the ring and ...
Nyx's hands suddenly feel... heavy. Oddly heavy. Not a drug-induced heaviness. This is weight. He holds his hands up...]
What the...
[When he holds his hands up, both look... transparent. Crystalline. The tattoos on his fingers are raised onyx bumps soldered onto clear hands with a blue and purple prismatic effect.]
Shit.
[Nyx shoves his hands into the pockets of his black coat before quickly plunging into the crowd. Once a refugee, always a refugee. He's never felt fully at home anywhere since the invasion. Now?
Now he feels like he's got a target painted on his forehead and his back. Would putting on his hood make him more obvious? Nyx doesn't risk it. What he does instead is muster his confidence and swagger to the infinite degree, plays to be a local and goes along with the passersby.
Of course, there's only so far he can go on pure intuition and observation alone.]
Where's a sign when you need it...
[He definitely looks like he's a man in search of a place. Lost, if you will.]
002
[This is your name. This is who you are.
Well, that made for an easy answer.]
[Bad username or site: nyx @ ulric]
this thing on? hell of a welcoming party, huh?
[Nyx Ulric everyone.]