First Strike - [Accidental Voice]
[Well, if anyone just so happens to be stupid enough to be out in the snowstorm, they may or may not see one of Luceti's newest resident's braving the icy winds and heavy snowfall. It;s a young girl, with bright, pink pigtails and the usual garments worn by New Feathers. She looks slightly unbothered by the snow, and is holding her journal loosely from one side, so it's hanging open at her side and recording her voice.
Oddly...her voice sounds monotone, much like a zombie or perhaps a robot. She holds up her arm to shield her eyes, then presses onward. She's close to the village, but the heavy snow prevents her from seeing too much.]
...Bad. Weather is presently in critical status, temperature is nine degrees Fahrenheit and dropping rapidly.
[She shivers, and though no one can see due to the angle she's holding her journal, her lips aren't as rosy and pink as they should be. They can see, however, that she's up to her ankles in snow.]
Need...shelter. Quickly. Probability of death due to hypothermia is currently eighty-four percent. Visibility due to snowfall is...poor.
[Another pause, before the girl holds her body tightly with both arms, moving forward blindly. The journal finally catches a bit of her face. She's young, perhaps twelve years old, and her eyes are soulless and empty. Anyone who knows this child will be shocked to see there's an obvious lack of a Key Crest on her.
Her voice is hushed, and though it still is remotely void of emotion, there's some desperation in it.]
I wanna go home...
Oddly...her voice sounds monotone, much like a zombie or perhaps a robot. She holds up her arm to shield her eyes, then presses onward. She's close to the village, but the heavy snow prevents her from seeing too much.]
...Bad. Weather is presently in critical status, temperature is nine degrees Fahrenheit and dropping rapidly.
[She shivers, and though no one can see due to the angle she's holding her journal, her lips aren't as rosy and pink as they should be. They can see, however, that she's up to her ankles in snow.]
Need...shelter. Quickly. Probability of death due to hypothermia is currently eighty-four percent. Visibility due to snowfall is...poor.
[Another pause, before the girl holds her body tightly with both arms, moving forward blindly. The journal finally catches a bit of her face. She's young, perhaps twelve years old, and her eyes are soulless and empty. Anyone who knows this child will be shocked to see there's an obvious lack of a Key Crest on her.
Her voice is hushed, and though it still is remotely void of emotion, there's some desperation in it.]
I wanna go home...