I pray one of you know aught of this swiving device.
[The words are spoken as if they tasted foul, a testament to his lack of patience if nothing else.
He honestly doesn't even like using it—machines were not to be trusted, and this one freaking out on him is only validating his opinions. It was bad enough that it won't let him change the typo in his name, but now this... talking, and possibly thinking little annoyance is on the fritz, and he has not the capacity or the patience to deal with it properly.]
It had appeared to be operating well enough—for what little I know of machines—but even I can tell that there is aught amiss with it now. Scant do I know how to use the bloody thing, let alone the wherewithal to fix it.
[There's a growl of frustration.]
If not for the fact abandoning it has proved a fruitless endeavor, that would be my preferred solution, but alas...
4 - action
[Finding rations was indeed on Estinien's list of things he needed to do, but he also was in search of anything that may be used as a weapon. Unfamiliar with schools of this make, he had little idea what he was getting into when he decided to enter the building. There was a sense of foreboding with the darkened halls—a haunting sort of lingering he couldn't quite place. As if something was watching him, while they remained utterly undetected.
It frightened him not, there were worse things to fear than empty dark halls of a building, and most of which he had faced head on before. In fact, it had seemed more on the quiet side than not—until he was rummaging through a room for anything that would prove particularly interesting, or of use.
That was until he heard a far off door slam. In an instant he was at his full height, still and alert. It was not fear that gripped him, no, not even close, but he was wary, for he had thought himself alone. With careful steps, he made his way to the doorway, peering out to see no one at all.]
What in the bloody hells...
[It was a murmur to himself, one that did not go without an answer, whether it was meant for him or not. Soon the sound of children could be hear far off—they were screaming.
Instead of running away like a more cowardly man would have, Estinien followed the shrill sound to its source: a room on the upper level. Without any thought for who—or what—could be in there, he busts the door open with a well placed kick.
No sooner did it open, did the screaming stop, and he was left staring at whomever was inside. With no sight of the children he heard, a scowl crossed his features—not that you could see much of them with his helmet. Said dangerously low:]
Estinien Wyrmblood | Final Fantasy XIV
I pray one of you know aught of this swiving device.
[The words are spoken as if they tasted foul, a testament to his lack of patience if nothing else.
He honestly doesn't even like using it—machines were not to be trusted, and this one freaking out on him is only validating his opinions. It was bad enough that it won't let him change the typo in his name, but now this... talking, and possibly thinking little annoyance is on the fritz, and he has not the capacity or the patience to deal with it properly.]
It had appeared to be operating well enough—for what little I know of machines—but even I can tell that there is aught amiss with it now. Scant do I know how to use the bloody thing, let alone the wherewithal to fix it.
[There's a growl of frustration.]
If not for the fact abandoning it has proved a fruitless endeavor, that would be my preferred solution, but alas...
4 - action
[Finding rations was indeed on Estinien's list of things he needed to do, but he also was in search of anything that may be used as a weapon. Unfamiliar with schools of this make, he had little idea what he was getting into when he decided to enter the building. There was a sense of foreboding with the darkened halls—a haunting sort of lingering he couldn't quite place. As if something was watching him, while they remained utterly undetected.
It frightened him not, there were worse things to fear than empty dark halls of a building, and most of which he had faced head on before. In fact, it had seemed more on the quiet side than not—until he was rummaging through a room for anything that would prove particularly interesting, or of use.
That was until he heard a far off door slam. In an instant he was at his full height, still and alert. It was not fear that gripped him, no, not even close, but he was wary, for he had thought himself alone. With careful steps, he made his way to the doorway, peering out to see no one at all.]
What in the bloody hells...
[It was a murmur to himself, one that did not go without an answer, whether it was meant for him or not. Soon the sound of children could be hear far off—they were screaming.
Instead of running away like a more cowardly man would have, Estinien followed the shrill sound to its source: a room on the upper level. Without any thought for who—or what—could be in there, he busts the door open with a well placed kick.
No sooner did it open, did the screaming stop, and he was left staring at whomever was inside. With no sight of the children he heard, a scowl crossed his features—not that you could see much of them with his helmet. Said dangerously low:]
Where are they?