Tartaglia "Comrade Bonzo" Childe | Эйджакс

memshare; Abyss V3

Wed, 02 Jul 2025 04:16:55 GMT

The howls have never been this loud before.

The roaring of the bears is fading now, but the winter winds are sharper than the shortsword in your small hand. And the wolves are close, undeterred by the weapon you'd clumsily brandished at them, untempted by the bread in the satchel you dropped. Your surroundings all look the same, just blinding white snow and dead trees. The smell of the sea is distant and faint; you've strayed too far.

There's a whole pack of them after you, but it's impossible to tell how many there are, and you've been running for so long. The snow is still falling, rapidly obscuring your panicked footprints, as if there was ever a chance you'd be able to follow them back home anyway.

Your father's voice, and your mother's, ring in your head, warning you about this very thing. The dangers of the forest, the dangers of winter.

But I--
I just wanted--

Wolves tread softly in the snow, unlike frightened, desperate teenagers. You have no Vision, yet, only the instincts of a village boy. You can't fight hungry predators off by yourself. How could you ever think you had what it took to go an adventure? All because you were named after some fantasy hero?

One catches you by the leg, and you scream, tumbling into the snow. The sword slips out of your hand, and you claw for it, but you can't grasp it properly. So you use it leverage, and panic guides you to kick back as hard as you can. Your blood mars the snow as you scramble up, desperate to escape.

You won't make it far, if there's anything ahead of you besides endless snow anyway. Still, you stagger to your feet, chest heaving with the pain. You back up, shaking.

The wolves lunge again-- you stumble back, and slip, and fall--

--through a sudden, ominous rift in the fabric of space.

You don't have the energy left for confusion. You only have the strength to reach out, grasping frantically for something, anything to save you. But nothing does. You hit solid ground, and darkness consumes you.

-

It's still very dark when you come to. But this darkness is oppressive, unnatural. The sky, if it can be called that, is coated in bizarre clouds, with dark spires of gleaming black stone stretching up towards them. Here and there, you can see eerie purple light, and the plants scattered around glow enticingly in a way that sets you on edge. Humans don't belong here: this is intrinsically clear. There's the sound of high-pitched laughter, and a distant growl, but it's impossible to tell where they're coming from, let alone how near or far they are.

You're still so tired. So cold. You close your eyes.

Soon, you hear the sound of footsteps, more solid and steady than the ones elsewhere. They approach where you lie, but you don't have the strength to flee anymore. You tremble as you sense the newcomer kneeling beside you, and you squeeze your eyes so hard that stars burst across the darkness of your vision. The hand that rests on your back is icy cold and distinctly inhuman.

"A human? How did you get here?" A woman's voice: Cold, but quiet and calm. "What's your name, boy?"

You do not answer. How can you? You aren't even sure if you're still breathing.

"If you seek death, I won't linger."

Maybe you've already died. Maybe this is the afterlife, and your family will never find your body, left behind to drown in the endless snowfall of your homeland.

...But.

The people of Morepesok are stronger than this. That storybook hero would be stronger than this.

Papa would be stronger than this.

So you crack open your eyes to see a woman, a sword in her hand, watching you with a stoic expression. It takes more effort than your small, wounded frame seems capable of, but you force your lips to move.

"Ajax?"

A beat. She watches you with those strange eyes, her arms and legs glittering like starlight. The shadows behind her move, curling around her.

Finally, she speaks again. "You can't survive here alone." There is nothing gentle about her tone--she is simply stating a fact. In the distance, there is a deep, low rumble. You would assume it's thunder, if not for the way your body shudders involuntarily. After a moment, you realize it almost sounds like a song, or the call of some deep sea creature.

"Get up, and walk with me. If you can do that, I will save you."

It sounds like an insurmountable request. Blood oozes from your injured leg, and your limbs are stiff from cold, your hands scraped raw and pulsing with pain. Exhaustion and hunger have already begun to blanket you; you can't truly move, not like this.

(Your father's voice, again. "Weak men don't have big dreams like you do, Ajax. You'll be a brave hero someday, I just know it.")

So you drag in a breath and, somehow, push yourself up. Your legs shake, and tears stream down your face, but you look at her, determined. She doesn't smile, but you want to think there's something like approval in her eyes.

"Come with me. I'll bandage your wounds."

---

The scene blurs--shifts. It's impossible to tell day or night, if such things exist in this place, but you know that time has passed.

There is nothing resembling that frightened, dying child within you anymore. Master Skirk guides you through hundreds, millions of drills, trains you in techniques for weeks on end, stopping only when you collapse. You learn to eat whatever you're given, and you stop wondering what kinds of flesh you've consumed. You stop fearing the dark--stop fearing almost everything. You learn to stop pretending to be a hero. (Mostly. You can't quite let go of the urge to shout out your technique names, even if it costs you the fight more often than not. You're still so young, after all.)

You rarely look at yourself, but at some point, she notes that your eyes have lost their light. That doesn't mean anything to you, but it sends her into deep contemplation. You don't mind, though. It gives you time to slip away from her and wander the labyrinthine darkness.

You do not yet have the easy, solid aura of a trained soldier, but you carry yourself with confidence now. The sword you're currently wielding--one crafted out of Abyssal energy for you--sits comfortably in your hand. The shadows that curl and writhe in this place still whisper dark things, but they've become familiar, now.

(There is still a bite to these whispers, though. You are not one of theirs--not truly.)

There is a beast in the distance, much larger than you. Nonetheless, you stop and study it, curious and unafraid. Go, the shadows say. Fight it and grow stronger, or die trying. Isn't that what you want? What you seek?

The woman's voice, in your head: warning you about this very thing. The dangers of the abyss.

Is this not what you were made for?

-

You stay there for three months. Then, you part ways.

Just like that, you're back in the snow, but this time, there are no monsters, no predators in sight. You find yourself slightly disappointed. But you do miss home, so you start the long path back through the forest. Your mother and older sister find you shortly after--they sob with relief and thank the Tsaritsa for her blessing, but privately, you wonder if this reunion was your master's doing. You'd be a waste of a disciple if you died of starvation in the snow, after all.

You let them embrace you, and for a moment, you almost believe that it was all a dream. But when they pull back, when they get a good look at your face--at your eyes--you see the first flickers of confusion and concern. You don't know what the future holds for you, not yet, but you understand one thing very, very well, in this moment.

You are still their son. But you are not the Ajax they lost. Not anymore.

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memshare; Abyss V2

Tue, 01 Jul 2025 05:36:04 GMT

The howls have never been this loud before.

The roaring of the bears is fading now, but the winter winds are sharper than the shortsword in your small hand. And the wolves are close, undeterred by the weapon you'd clumsily brandished at them, untempted by the bread in the satchel you dropped. Your surroundings all look the same, just blinding white snow and dead trees. The smell of the sea is distant and faint; you've strayed too far.

There's a whole pack of them after you, but it's impossible to tell how many there are, and you've been running for so long. The snow is still falling, rapidly obscuring your panicked footprints, as if there was ever a chance you'd be able to follow them back home anyway.

Your father's voice, and your mother's, ring in your head, warning you about this very thing. The dangers of the forest, the dangers of winter.

But I--
I just wanted--

Wolves tread softly in the snow, unlike frightened, desperate teenagers. You have no Vision, yet, only the instincts of a village boy. You can't fight hungry predators off by yourself. How could you ever think you had what it took to go an adventure? All because you were named after some fantasy hero?

One catches you by the leg, and you scream, tumbling into the snow. The sword slips out of your hand, and you claw for it, but you can't grasp it properly. So you use it leverage, and panic guides you to kick back as hard as you can. Your blood mars the snow as you scramble up, desperate to escape.

You won't make it far, if there's anything ahead of you besides endless snow anyway. Still, you stagger to your feet, chest heaving with the pain. You back up, shaking.

The wolves lunge again-- you stumble back, and slip, and fall--

--through a sudden, ominous rift in the fabric of space.

You don't have the energy left for confusion. You only have the strength to reach out, grasping frantically for something, anything to save you. But nothing does. You hit solid ground, and darkness consumes you.

-

It's still very dark when you come to. But this darkness is oppressive, unnatural. The sky, if it can be called that, is coated in bizarre clouds, with dark spires of gleaming black stone stretching up towards them. Here and there, you can see eerie purple light, and the plants scattered around glow enticingly in a way that sets you on edge. Humans don't belong here: this is intrinsically clear. There's the sound of high-pitched laughter, and a distant growl, but it's impossible to tell where they're coming from, let alone how near or far they are.

You're still so tired. So cold. You close your eyes.

Soon, you hear the sound of footsteps, more solid and steady than the ones elsewhere. They approach where you lie, but you don't have the strength to flee anymore. You tremble as you sense the newcomer kneeling beside you, and you squeeze your eyes so hard that stars burst across the darkness of your vision. The hand that rests on your back is icy cold and distinctly inhuman.

"A human? How did you get here?" A woman's voice: Cold, but quiet and calm. "What's your name, boy?"

You do not answer. How can you? You aren't even sure if you're still breathing.

"If you seek death, I won't linger."

Maybe you've already died. Maybe this is the afterlife, and your family will never find your body, left behind to drown in the endless snowfall of your homeland.

...But.

The people of Morepesok are stronger than this. That storybook hero would be stronger than this.

Papa would be stronger than this.

So you crack open your eyes to see a woman, a sword in her hand, watching you with a stoic expression. It takes more effort than your small, wounded frame seems capable of, but you force your lips to move.

"Ajax?"

A beat. She watches you with those strange eyes, her arms and legs glittering like starlight. The shadows behind her move, curling around her.

Finally, she speaks again. "You can't survive here alone." There is nothing gentle about her tone--she is simply stating a fact. In the distance, there is a deep, low rumble. You would assume it's thunder, if not for the way your body shudders involuntarily. After a moment, you realize it almost sounds like a song, or the call of some deep sea creature.

"Get up, and walk with me. If you can do that, I will save you."

It sounds like an insurmountable request. Blood oozes from your injured leg, and your limbs are stiff from cold, your hands scraped raw and pulsing with pain. Exhaustion and hunger have already begun to blanket you; you can't truly move, not like this.

(Your father's voice, again. "Weak men don't have big dreams like you do, Ajax. You'll be a brave hero someday, I just know it.")

So you drag in a breath and, somehow, push yourself up. Your legs shake, and tears stream down your face, but you look at her, determined. She doesn't smile, but you want to think there's something like approval in her eyes.

"Come with me. I'll bandage your wounds."

---

The scene blurs--shifts. It's impossible to tell day or night, if such things exist in this place, but you know that months have passed.

There is nothing resembling that frightened, dying child within you anymore. You rarely look at yourself, too focused on training: Master Skirk guides you through hundreds, millions of drills, trains you in techniques for weeks on end, stopping only when you collapse--but at some point, she notes that your eyes have lost their light. That doesn't mean anything to you, but it sends her into deep contemplation. You don't mind, though. It gives you time to slip away from her and wander the labyrinthine darkness.

You do not yet have the easy, solid aura of a trained soldier, but you carry yourself with confidence now. The sword you're currently wielding--one crafted out of Abyssal energy for you--sits comfortably in your hand. The shadows that curl and writhe in this place still whisper dark things, but they've become familiar, now.

(There is still a bite to these whispers, though. You are not one of theirs--not truly.)

There is a beast in the distance, much larger than you. Nonetheless, you stop and study it, curious and unafraid. Go, the shadows say. Fight it and grow stronger, or die trying. Isn't that what you want? What you seek?

The woman's voice, in your head: warning you about this very thing. The dangers of the abyss.

Is this not what you were made for?

-

You stay there for three months. Then, you part ways.

After that, you grow stronger, and stronger still, outgrowing the pitiful confines of your sleepy hometown. Ten years pass, and you grow stronger every day, but you never see your master again. Still, that doesn't stop you from trying.

Eventually, you find yourself in Fontaine--the very nation that represents the Vision the gods blessed you with upon returning to the surface. You get tangled up in a farce of a trial, thrown in jail for reasons you still don't fully understand. But it doesn't matter. None of it matters, because you hear that call again--the very same one you heard in the Abyss, all those years ago.

This time, you're ready to face it.

Fontaine is not.

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catchall; wrio

Sun, 29 Jun 2025 22:21:17 GMT

my canonpoint is very funny now

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catchall; sei

Sun, 29 Jun 2025 22:16:42 GMT

she

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catchall; aventurine

Sun, 29 Jun 2025 22:03:56 GMT

you can't escape me

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yakiniku party

Sun, 15 Jun 2025 02:20:43 GMT

we are celebrating sexy lesbian murder (no) (unless?)

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catchall; hulkenberg

Mon, 09 Jun 2025 21:51:54 GMT

wahoo

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catchall; dan

Fri, 06 Jun 2025 23:38:24 GMT

shitpost later

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this is just the group pc game

Fri, 06 Jun 2025 02:50:32 GMT

aki's suffering

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we deserve this

Wed, 04 Jun 2025 03:28:47 GMT

I just think we do

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thread tracker; crau3

Wed, 04 Jun 2025 03:09:33 GMT

Audience post

Ace
Alex
Anders
Artemy
Astolfo
Aventurine
Boothill
Dan
Essek
Haru
Hulkenberg
Jacopo
Jonas
Kate
Kaworu
Kazuki
Manwol
Maya
Mizuki
Rin
Rosamund
Roxana
Rupert
Ryo
Scaramouche
Seizaburo
Seodore
Shen Qingqiu
Siffrin
Strohl
Tama
Vi
Wis'adel
Wriothesley
Yoru
Group PCs I'll figure these out later: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 Parties: TBA

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catchall; sqq

Tue, 03 Jun 2025 04:32:10 GMT

shitpost later

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catchall; rupert

Tue, 03 Jun 2025 04:30:11 GMT

shitpost later

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catchall; ace

Tue, 03 Jun 2025 04:22:56 GMT

shitpost later

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catchall; mizuki

Tue, 03 Jun 2025 04:21:48 GMT

shitpost later

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catchall; w

Tue, 03 Jun 2025 04:18:42 GMT

shitpost later

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catchall; seodore

Tue, 03 Jun 2025 04:15:00 GMT

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catchall; kaworu

Tue, 03 Jun 2025 04:13:37 GMT

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you know

Tue, 03 Jun 2025 00:29:48 GMT

sometimes things happen

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catchall; maya

Sun, 01 Jun 2025 04:37:03 GMT

shitpost later

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catchall; haru

Sun, 01 Jun 2025 04:36:15 GMT

shitpost later

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catchall; rin

Sun, 01 Jun 2025 04:35:30 GMT

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catchall; tama

Sun, 01 Jun 2025 04:34:45 GMT

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catchall; roxana

Sun, 01 Jun 2025 04:33:07 GMT

shitpost later

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catchall; kazuki

Sun, 01 Jun 2025 04:32:17 GMT

shitpost later

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