PZ

Project ZEAL

The following scene is a work in progress by ZeaLitY, meant to introduce Juan Gerard. At the time of writing, it was to follow the jailbreak but predate the End of Time meeting.

Scene #A - The End of Time (ZeaLitY)

Its observers and visitors long knew that the hourglass from which each aeon granule could be viewed contained a pedestal on one side, having a special purpose; often emanating the most jovial spirits, it was the chamber of time's second god -- who accompanied the Watcher -- and served as a repository for combative knowledge and training, a sort of preparations should a visitor ever decide to return to the shifting sands of epochs. As the main architecture selected by the Guru from Zeal, it was shrouded in a magnificent sea of mist, barely gray and white, set against the eternal, infinite spans of what lay beyond the center of the End of Time. It too had an ebb and flow of its own, sometimes gently reaching out or fading away, and it had been imbued with restorative healing properties -- for a quick intake would replenish one's strength after a bout of sparring; and though no fighting had recently occurred -- rare considering the number of occupants within the room at present -- a young man regardless leaned forward, his hands resting on the golden guardrail, and allowed the vaporous, foggy mists to be drawn in by his breath. It cooled him, permeating every aspect of his being, with a gentle, caressing touch; intrigued, but still skeptical, he produced a small, glass jar from within his pockets, of Arnian weaving, and attempted to bottle the sweet gases. This action was met with a discerning glance and grin from the keeper of the grounds; the young man subsequently returned the jar to his shorts, crossed his arms, and returned to a state of bewilderment.

Somewhat gruff looking, he nonetheless exuded a sense of complacency, potential power, and self-knowledge; his hair had long been unkept, free to surf the whimsical wind of El Nido as the birds did, while his threads were distinctly recognizable as hailing from the archipelago's smaller villages, the cradle for the salvation of the world some time earlier; the young man, like the vitality of that settlement, wore a black sailor's shirt and a seaworn, gray vest, complemented by blue shorts stitched with the white design of the waves. Rough hairs had markedly appeared on his chin, though attempts at shaving were evident; the skin on which they rested had been tanned by the summer sun, the dark hue almost baked completely into his frame. His eyes were gloom-ridden and sad, though none would see -- for he always maintained a level of alertness, even while emotionally perturbed, choosing to have major outbursts rather than prolonged suffering. His senses proved sharp, as his head turned at the voice--

"Hey, buddy. Sorry, but the magic can't reach you when you go back, heh. I'm not that powerful," the keeper -- having the form of a Nu -- spoke.
"Yeah. Uhh, how long--" the man began.
"Just give it some time. I'm glad you aren't jumpy like most people."
"Whatever; I'm pretty tired."
"Oh! Reminds me. How do I look to you?"
"Eh?"
"Do I look strong? Weak?"
"What? You look...really weird, man. I don't know."
"Heh. Speak for yourself."

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