(no subject)
WHO: Setsuna F. Seiei and Egil
WHAT: Setsuna sets off to look for the 'false god' Egil, after this.
WHERE: A bar in the Market District.
WHEN: Close to noon.
Setsuna had chosen for himself a cozy corner booth from which he had eyes on both entrances and a quick access to the back exit. Seeing the list of strange, exotic drinks with which he was not familiar, he had ordered a glass of milk and was now mulling over everything that had happened over the past day. His conclusion was simple: madness. None of this made any sense whatsoever. It was like a nightmare from which he could not awake, even if everything he had seen so far indicated that the region was little short of a paradise. Everything was so...peaceful. And the Meisters were no longer the Meisters that he had known. They were supposedly from an earlier time, a time when they had not been through everything that they had in reality, in the loosest sense of the term. Perhaps that was a good thing and he was happy for them. As for himself...there was a dissonance with which he could not reconcile. He did not belong. Even the peace itself felt false and unreal to him, as though he were being lulled into a false sense of security.
And indeed, there was. This man, Egil, called himself a god and used the Islanders to his own gain. Maybe for entertainment, maybe for something far more sinister. Either way, Setsuna was determined to find out and expose the fraud for what he was. A manipulative scum of the earth, like Ali Al-Saachez, using people's coremost needs--faith--to generate personal profit, having no regards for the cost. Such a man could not be forgiven. And perhaps, when this so-called 'god' had been confronted, all would return to normal. Home. Setsuna had never known home in its conventional sense of the word, but as it stood now, he longed to return to Ptolemaios worse than the next person could wish for home.
Finding the bastard, however, was easier said than done. Setsuna sat in the booth, keeping a close mental track of the faces that came and went. Maybe he could begin with a simpler lead at his disposal. People believed in this 'god' because of these alleged 'curses' and seemingly supernatural occurances. Take the journal, for instance. It was probably equipped with a microscopic--possibly nanoscopic--wireless network. Then all he had to do was find it. Simple enough. He took the journal, running his hand across the length of its spine and bindings and its pages... Nothing overly suspicious on its extremity. Then it would have to be disassembled. The most likely location was somewhere in its thick leather covering. He would need a blade of some sort for this job.
WHAT: Setsuna sets off to look for the 'false god' Egil, after this.
WHERE: A bar in the Market District.
WHEN: Close to noon.
Setsuna had chosen for himself a cozy corner booth from which he had eyes on both entrances and a quick access to the back exit. Seeing the list of strange, exotic drinks with which he was not familiar, he had ordered a glass of milk and was now mulling over everything that had happened over the past day. His conclusion was simple: madness. None of this made any sense whatsoever. It was like a nightmare from which he could not awake, even if everything he had seen so far indicated that the region was little short of a paradise. Everything was so...peaceful. And the Meisters were no longer the Meisters that he had known. They were supposedly from an earlier time, a time when they had not been through everything that they had in reality, in the loosest sense of the term. Perhaps that was a good thing and he was happy for them. As for himself...there was a dissonance with which he could not reconcile. He did not belong. Even the peace itself felt false and unreal to him, as though he were being lulled into a false sense of security.
And indeed, there was. This man, Egil, called himself a god and used the Islanders to his own gain. Maybe for entertainment, maybe for something far more sinister. Either way, Setsuna was determined to find out and expose the fraud for what he was. A manipulative scum of the earth, like Ali Al-Saachez, using people's coremost needs--faith--to generate personal profit, having no regards for the cost. Such a man could not be forgiven. And perhaps, when this so-called 'god' had been confronted, all would return to normal. Home. Setsuna had never known home in its conventional sense of the word, but as it stood now, he longed to return to Ptolemaios worse than the next person could wish for home.
Finding the bastard, however, was easier said than done. Setsuna sat in the booth, keeping a close mental track of the faces that came and went. Maybe he could begin with a simpler lead at his disposal. People believed in this 'god' because of these alleged 'curses' and seemingly supernatural occurances. Take the journal, for instance. It was probably equipped with a microscopic--possibly nanoscopic--wireless network. Then all he had to do was find it. Simple enough. He took the journal, running his hand across the length of its spine and bindings and its pages... Nothing overly suspicious on its extremity. Then it would have to be disassembled. The most likely location was somewhere in its thick leather covering. He would need a blade of some sort for this job.