Jan. 13th, 2014

wrnpcs: ([prison guard])
[personal profile] wrnpcs
While attempting to map out the newly-risen archipelago off the northeast coast of Galbadia, navigators came across a castle-like structure in the middle of the ocean, reporting loud drilling noises and disturbed wildlife in the area. Believing the structure to have originated off-world, an Esthar-based energy company with interests nearby has hired SeeD to decommission the rig, whatever its purpose may be, and to bring back as much of the equipment as possible for further research.
[The Headmaster is missing, Galbadia has fallen, and tensions are fraught all round, but that's no excuse to spare the aspiring cadets of Balamb from the usual gauntlet. After all, they might be needed soon enough. That's how Namur and Starfire come to be dropped off at a small port town - on the Trabian side of the border, which wasn't quite part of the initial briefing - and ushered onto a rather battered tugboat, which wasn't either. After that, they're on their way.

The silhouettes of the islands of the mysterious archipelago are visible even through the fog off the shore, but before long, one of them indeed starts to resolve itself into a shape that marks it out from the rest - a tall, slender, multi-spired shape. And as the boat moves even closer, it'll become clear that not all of the haze out here is ordinary fog; it could be smoke or steam, but there's definitely something drifting lazily away from those fairytale towers.

Apart from the noise, that is. The drilling noise is easier to notice, though. It begins as a thrum through the water when the castle is still a somewhat indistinct blur on the horizon, rises into a roar - and then, just as the churning waves threaten to turn the little boat away altogether, subsides, leaving the surrounding waters calm again.

There's another barrier to entry, though: now that they're closing in on it, the castle seems to be perched on a solid block of concrete or something like it, and the walls are both smooth and sheer. The owner of the boat, a chiselled woman with greying hair, mutters something about not knowing where to dock, not wanting to get much closer before the apparent drilling starts up again (it always seems to, she says), and really, really not being paid enough for this.

What now?]

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Witches Reign

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