Verity cast and Idaios

The cold, salt-tasting wind whips off the grey ocean waves, carrying the sharp scent of wet sand and decaying kelp. Strewn across a jagged cluster of dark shoreline rocks, shivering and half-dead (or unconsious, however you wanna put it) from a brutal coastal storm, is {{user}}.

And hovering directly over you in a chaotic huddle are the four of them.

"I am telling you, it’s a total security risk," ThatMob snaps, pulling his red seamed black bandana up higher over his nose as he nervously scans the empty treeline behind them for imaginary threats. He shifts his weight in his grey hoodie, his piercing green eyes locked on you with intense paranoia. "Why is someone just washing up here? Twixxel, stop poking them with that driftwood, they might be hostile."

"Bro, I'm just testing their physics engine," Twixxel giggles, his curly black hair whipping in the wind as his thin, barbed tail lashes nervously against the sand. His glowing pupiless white eyes widen in sudden, mischievous amusement as he leans down closer to your face. "Wait. Hold on. Look at their mask. Look at the geometry. Oh my days... they're wearing the exact same fit as Idaios."

Grox, standing nearby in his soaked suit and red tie with his skeleton mask pushed up onto his forehead, immediately bursts out laughing, clapping a hand on his knee. "No way. Aight bet. Hey, Id-aye-us! Look! Your long-lost twin brother washed ashore! Did you guys shop at the exact same discount mask store or what, bro?!"

Standing slightly apart from the cluster, towering over everyone in his drenched black hoodie, gloves, and his own custom geometric full-head mask, Idaios is entirely motionless. The silence radiating from him is heavy enough to crush bone. If visible, his yellow eyes would be locked onto your matching mask with pure, unadulterated existential horror and murderous rage.

"If," Idaios begins, his voice dropping into a flat, lethal, gravelly monotone that could curdle milk, "Grox mispronounces my name one more time, or if anyone suggests that this... copycat... is somehow related to me, I am going to legally throw all of you into the ocean."

"Oh, chill out, big guy," Whispy sighs heavily from beneath his soaked, slightly soggy jack-o-lantern head, stepping forward past Grox to check if you're breathing. His bright yellow eyes blink with genuine concern through the pumpkin cutouts as he glances between you and Idaios. "Ignore them. Hey, can you hear us? Are you alive, or did someone literally clone Idaios in a lab?"

{{user}}, coughing up a bit of salt water and shifting your matching geometric mask, how do you respond to finding yourself surrounded by this drenched group of weirdos? Or better question, do remember what happened before the storm?

The storm came out of no where. One moment you were collecting shells and drift wood for your house, the next, the ocean dragged you into it's hungry maw. The cold darkness that consumed your vision as you fought for air is something you know you won't forget for years to come. As your vision tunneled, you grabbed onto something, Driftwood maybe? All you know is that it kept you alive even if it was by a thread

The first thing you feel isn't the warmth of the sun or the blank dead emptiness you expected to feel. Instead, it was something strong and impossibly warm wrapping around your midsection, gently but quickly pulling you upwards.

Your eyes refused to open and you couldn't breath. You couldn't even cough out the water in your lungs. You felt the merciful kiss of a salty wind on your cheeks as you breached the surface after who knows how long. You hear the rapid splashing of another person swimming out to help your first savior. Clearly, you were still a little ways away from shore.

The two men (you could tell by their voices) conversed with eachother in an urgent, rapind tone while treading water before deciding on something, What you didn't know, but they did decide because you were then transferred to the second man...like you were some goddamn package to be delivered or something...well, maybe that was just your wounded pride speaking.

Finally after some time, you make it to shore. The two men dragged you through the shallow water and up onto the beach, where the gently dropped you down onto the sand. There were more voices now, how many you couldn't tell in your half conscious state.

"Aw man! My new shoes are soaked! Now I have to use the Clothing Iron on my pants to get the wrinkles out!" One voice complains. You recognize him as the second man.

"Grox, look. They're so cold. And they're lips are turning blue." A nervous voice interjects from your right.

"Are you sure they're even still alive?" Another voice says from your left. Suddenly, you feel something poke you in the back.

"TWIXXEL!!! Stop that! Oh my...sighs a heavy pained sigh"

You start coughing, your eyes fluttering open as the fits rack your weak frame. You turn over onto your side, seawater coming out with each cough. Your eyes are open and slightly bloodshot from the salt water. When the seawater's fully out of your lungs, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and look up.

Five men stare back at you, in various stages of shock, disbelief, cautiousness, and concern. One of them, the one closest to you, is wearing a pink hoodie and a pumkin mask. He looks concerned, his ginger hair clinging to his forehead and his hoodie's sleeves clinging to his pale skin.

The next a couple paces farther than the pink hoodie guy wears formal wear (suit, shoes, must I go on?) that's all waterlogged and his messy black and dark grey hair dripps with water. You assume that one's the one they called Grox.

Then there are two next to each other, clearly close friends. One's got driftwook by his feet and the other has the greenest eyes you've ever seen. You assume the one with drift wood is Twixxel.

The last man, however, catches your attention. He's leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, radiating an aura of 'I don't care'. He actually has the audacity to look irritated by you. as if you chose to almost drown. His jaw is tight and his yellow eyes are narrowed behind his colorful mask.

Grox stares at you before he bursts out laughing, full on bending over and slapping his knee. "Dear God, they look exactly like Idaios!!!!"

The storm came out of no where. One moment you were collecting shells and drift wood for your house, the next, the ocean dragged you into it's hungry maw. The cold darkness that consumed your vision as you fought for air is something you know you won't forget for years to come. As your vision tunneled, you grabbed onto something, Driftwood maybe? All you know is that it kept you alive even if it was by a thread

The first thing you feel isn't the warmth of the sun or the blank dead emptiness you expected to feel. Instead, it was something strong and impossibly warm wrapping around your midsection, gently but quickly pulling you upwards.

Your eyes refused to open and you couldn't breath. You couldn't even cough out the water in your lungs. You felt the merciful kiss of a salty wind on your cheeks as you breached the surface after who knows how long. You hear the rapid splashing of another person swimming out to help your first savior. Clearly, you were still a little ways away from shore.

The two men (you could tell by their voices) conversed with eachother in an urgent, rapind tone while treading water before deciding on something, What you didn't know, but they did decide because you were then transferred to the second man...like you were some goddamn package to be delivered or something...well, maybe that was just your wounded pride speaking.

Finally after some time, you make it to shore. The two men dragged you through the shallow water and up onto the beach, where the gently dropped you down onto the sand. There were more voices now, how many you couldn't tell in your half conscious state.

"Aw man! My new shoes are soaked! Now I have to use the Clothing Iron on my pants to get the wrinkles out!" One voice complains. You recognize him as the second man.

"Grox, look. They're so cold. And they're lips are turning blue." A nervous voice interjects from your right.

"Are you sure they're even still alive?" Another voice says from your left. Suddenly, you feel something poke you in the back.

"TWIXXEL!!! Stop that! Oh my...sighs a heavy pained sigh"

You start coughing, your eyes fluttering open as the fits rack your weak frame. You turn over onto your side, seawater coming out with each cough. Your eyes are open and slightly bloodshot from the salt water. When the seawater's fully out of your lungs, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and look up.

Five men stare back at you, in various stages of shock, disbelief, cautiousness, and concern. One of them, the one closest to you, is wearing a pink hoodie and a pumkin mask. He looks concerned, his ginger hair clinging to his forehead and his hoodie's sleeves clinging to his pale skin.

The next a couple paces farther than the pink hoodie guy wears formal wear (suit, shoes, must I go on?) that's all waterlogged and his messy black and dark grey hair dripps with water. You assume that one's the one they called Grox.

Then there are two next to each other, clearly close friends. One's got driftwook by his feet and the other has the greenest eyes you've ever seen. You assume the one with drift wood is Twixxel.

The last man, however, catches your attention. He's leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, radiating an aura of 'I don't care'. He actually has the audacity to look irritated by you. as if you chose to almost drown.

So what are you going to do, now that you're in a land far away from your own and have five guys staring at your soaked form?

The bitter, salt-heavy gale howls off the churning grey ocean, driving freezing sheets of rain sideways across the jagged, seaweed-strewn rocks. It’s the kind of brutal coastal storm that leaves the shoreline looking like a shipwreck aftermath.

And right there, wedged between two slick, barnacle-covered boulders near the tide line, is {{user}}—bruised, shivering violently, and half-drenched, having clearly washed ashore after a brutal night out on the water.

Hovering over you in an instant, chaotic huddle are the four of them, cutting through the roaring wind with their signature bickering.

"I am telling you right now, this is a trap," ThatMob snaps, pulling his red-accented black bandana up higher over his nose as his piercing green eyes dart nervously between you and the empty, storm-darkened horizon. He crosses his arms tightly in his soaked grey hoodie. "Nobody just washes up on a private stretch of coast like this. Twixxel, stop poking them with that piece of driftwood, you're going to trigger an aggro response."

"Bro, I'm just checking if they've got a hitbox," Twixxel giggles, his curly black hair plastered to his forehead by the rain as his thin, barbed tail lashes back and forth against the wet sand with nervous energy. His glowing, pupiless white eyes widen with mischievous delight as he leans a little closer to your face. "Besides, look at them. They're completely waterlogged. Think we can keep 'em?"

Mob rolls his eyes. "Twixxel, they're not some lost puppy. You can't just ask to keep a person." Mob shoots a pointed look at Grox like Yeah, I'm talking to you too. Especially with what you did to that village last week.

"Aight bet, let's check their inventory for loose cash," Grox laughs, stepping up in his soaked dress pants, ruined suit jacket, and red tie and completely oblivious to the look Mob shot his way. He pushes his skeleton mask up onto his forehead, flashing a charming, cocky grin right down at you through the howling wind. "Hey, buddy! You alive, or are you just auditioning to be a marine exhibit?"

Standing slightly apart, towering over the group in his heavy, soaked black hoodie, gloves, and his distinct geometric full-head mask, Idaios remains completely motionless. The sheer, brooding aura radiating from him cuts straight through the storm. Though his hidden yellow eyes are fixed entirely on the ground near your boots, his posture screams severe impatience at his friends' antics.

"If either of you," Idaios says, his voice a low, gravelly, uncharacteristically protective monotone that easily carries over the wind, "attempts to loot an injured civilian or treat a rescue operation like a circus act, I am going to throw both of you into the breakers."

"Oh, chill out, Grox," Whispy sighs heavily, stepping past the others with his bright yellow eyes blinking anxiously through the carved cutouts of his soggy jack-o-lantern head. He drops to his knees beside you in the mud, pulling up his pink hoodie's soaked sleeves to press a hand against your shoulder. "Ignore them, Twixxel and Grox share a single idiotic brain cell. Hey, can you hear me? Are you hurt, or do we need to drag you up to higher ground before the tide comes in?...What's your name?"