the stewards (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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agentleooc2019-01-03 11:30 am
thestewards) wrote in agentleooc2019-01-03 11:30 am
test drive 01
So you can feel stronger, you can know peace
► All TDM threads may be considered canon provided both parties agree and are accepted into the game.
► Canon threads may be redeemed for influence and reputation, depending on how you solve the issue at hand or how you engage with the prompt.
► Feel free to switch up your character's Jewel from thread to thread. Get a feel for how a Birthright Jewel may limit or enchance your character's abilities.
► Canon threads may be redeemed for influence and reputation, depending on how you solve the issue at hand or how you engage with the prompt.
► Feel free to switch up your character's Jewel from thread to thread. Get a feel for how a Birthright Jewel may limit or enchance your character's abilities.
GOOD MORNING, DRAEGA
The psychic summons comes with the first light of dawn, waking you from a dream of home. It takes you a minute to remember where you are (a warm, comfortable room in Queen Fayura's residence) and then a moment longer to parse the words.
*Your presence is requested in the training field behind the Queen's Residence. You have ten minutes to get your ass out of bed on your own, or ten minutes to decide you want to be up to your neck in ice-cold mountain water. Your choice.* Gray power flavors the voice. Ah, you recognize that psychic touch. Allairavar, the Master of the Guard.
You remember, too, that he warned the household at last night's supper: if you live in the Queen's Residence, you practice with the Queen's court. You…
i. Drag yourself out of bed with an aching groan, dress with the bleary-eyed confusion of one too suddenly forced awake, and amble onto the training field to avoid the promise of a much more shocking wake up call. Or maybe you make your way quickly with a skip in your step and a twinkle in your eye. You haven't realized yet that Allairavar does not like morning people. Even so, you don't want to get dunked in ice water in the middle of winter.
ii. Roll over and go back to sleep. The Master of the Guard isn't really going to carry through with his threat. In your defense, he doesn't. But one of the First Circle does. You're not sure how you got from your room to a large barrel full of water that could freeze open flame, but here you are, soaked and shivering and very much awake.
Regardless of how you get to the training field, Allairavar pairs you with another Stranger and puts you through your paces. It's barely above freezing, but you're going to need a shower when you're done.
BUILD BETTER BOMBS
There are three rows of four tables set up in the Tinker Guild Hall's auditorium, all heavy laden with materials. Bits of wires, buttons both small and large, ticking clocks. A tank full of goldfish. Sand, canisters of gasses, a strange viscous liquid in a bowl of lead.
"Handle that with gloves," Master Tinker Mari warns you with a wink and a grin. "The bowl, I mean. Don't handle the liquid or you'll lose your hand." She waves her hands at you.
This is supposed to be a crash course in bomb making, and in a way it is. Master Tinker Mari crashes into person after person, pushing them into pairs. She shoves someone up to you. "Blow my mind!" she whispers dramatically, and then she vaults the table, making something in a vial smoke, bubble, and pop.
Around the edge of the auditorium are four chalkboards, each with several diagrams on them. Presumably, these are schematics for you to follow. Smoke bombs, flour bombs. Fireworks and sparklers. Water bombs—maybe she means water balloons? One schematic requires a hamster wheel.
You might as well give it a go.
Note: Master Tinker Mari won't let anyone blow themselves up (or blow up the building). In the event Strangers make something truly dangerous and not just inconvenient, she will hurry over with a much more serious demeanor and disarm the bomb they've created with a suggestion that they take her advanced course.
CHARITY IS AS CHARITY DOES
You were sent here to help, so help you have: by letting the Ebon Council auction off three hours of your time and the power in your Jewels to help with local troubles. Maybe someone's cold box has lost its cooling spell—that's basic Craft and you can help with that—or maybe someone needs you to fetch their cat down from a tree. Whatever it is, you're here to take care of it.
The stage you stand on creaks beneath your feet as a polite older witch bids on you and your partner (the Ebon Council would never let you work alone, no, the landens are too dangerous for you to be out on your own!) with three jars of pear preserves. No money exchanges hands here, just items like non-perishable foods and handmade clothing or blankets.
You'll help the little old witch who needs some rocks moved from the fields just outside Draega's walls, but it occurs to you that only the Blood were at this auction, and only they will reap the rewards. That's hardly charity… but that's also not your problem, is it? Maybe it is. You could always ask that landen couple hovering just to the side of the stage what they need (their roof is leaking, and the man's right hand is crippled, twisted into a rigid claw). Or maybe you won't. They don't have anything to offer, and everything has a price, even your time.
HIT AND RUN
Chill winter air doesn't keep anyone inside in Draega. Stalls line the streets of the Old Town Bazaar, and vendors hawk their curious wares. Blood and landen mingle here, each a little wary of the other but with the affect of those who have accepted they must live alongside their enemy. Expressions are shuttered, but marks are marks no matter who hands them over. No shopkeeper denies a customer just because the money comes from someone they don't like, not in times like these.
As you make your way through the Bazaar, perhaps in search of something or someone or a place to eat (the scent of meat pies is thick in the air), you hear a shout and a cry of pain. People peel back as one, revealing a group of young landen men carrying clubs and wearing cruel sneers. At their feet, a young boy sprawls across a puppy in the muddy slush that covers the road.
You catch the flavor of his psychic scent: he's half-Blood, one of those pitiable creatures accepted by neither the Blood or the landens.
"Y-you can't hurt him!" the little boy cries, curling around the puppy. "P-Prince Verim will stop you!"
The young men laugh. "Prince Verim isn't here," one spits, raising his club.
You could step back. After all, this isn't your problem. You could just alert the First Circle and call it done; they patrol the area, one of those males will surely be here soon. Or you could step in. Everything has a price, and the price of attacking a helpless child and a puppy is a tussle with you.
WALKIE-TALKIE
Catch up with a new acquaintance you met at the Queen's Residence or simply pause to listen to the news playing in a store you're passing through. Far-casters come in all shapes and sizes, from the held-held device that's a bit clunky to the radios that stand at a man's height in some restaurants. If you're spinning the dial and listening to some radio programs, you'll hear…
etiquette with evandra and aren.
[A woman's voice leads. It's a little bit rough and a little bit husky, the kind of voice that gives bad ideas to young men and headaches to fathers.] …just as well. Since you don't want to die for offending a Warlord Prince's lady, what do you do, Lord Aren?
[A man's voice, chipper and bright. He sounds more like an eager boy than the full-grown man he is.] Apologize immediately to her, but meet his gaze so he knows the apology is for him as well. Remember, dear listeners: a Warlord Prince's lady may be all that stands between you and a violent end. Make sure she likes you!
[The woman laughs.] Or at least doesn't think killing you is worth the trouble. If we all learn a little more about each other, we can learn to live together. As always, I'm Evandra.
[With great gusto, Lord Aren says:] I'm Aren, and you've been listening to…
[Together:] Etiquette with Evandra and Aren! [Jaunty outro music plays, a complete tonal dissonance with the fact that the two were just educating landens on how to avoid murder.]
the weather
[A soft-spoken man's voice rumbles out of the Far-caster. He's pleasant to listen to, with a soothing cadence to his voice.] …rain tomorrow with overcast skies through the morning and afternoon. Landen weather devices indicate a decrease in sky-pressure, so those of you who suffer from migraines may want to talk to your Healers or Medicos now.
There's possibility of snow later in the week from the northwest. Questions about snow removal? Reach out to your local Transport Guild rep or your Ebon Council chairperson.
the news
…Blood family of four found murdered in their homes. The Queen's Court assures Draega that no payment for the murders is being asked for at this time. [The man speaks at a brisk pace, hurried and harried as though he has too much to say and not enough time to say it.]
That's right, Garret. [Another man, nasally in tone. He doesn't sound rushed so much as put upon.] Preliminary investigations do indicate the Hunter Guild may be responsible for the deaths.
[Garret:] Indeed they do, Wilt. Evidence at the scene supports the use of Breakers on the family. Turning now from the grisly murder to the surprising way the Queen's Winsol gift to the city is being used to benefit both Blood and landens.
no subject
and, for all her answer rankles ㅡ less at the refusal than at the fact that it means they will be here longer than he has any desire to be ㅡ he doesn't argue. he merely cants his head, considering their target. )
Fine. Then one of us should speak with him, instead. ( "speaks" he says, though the implication hangs heavy in the words. )
no subject
[ it should be clear, without further expounding, that she isn't volunteering herself for the task. a smaller part of it is ingrained stubbornness, though defiance for principle's sake would be absurd. it's merely an unwillingness to do this his way when she has already decided on her effort — and, more than that, no interest in involving herself with a lecherous, intoxicated schmoozer.
the acrid smell brings forward too many associations, even from this distance. ]
no subject
then, after a moment: ) All right.
( it's said as he steps forward, pausing to snatch up a glass of something cold and alcoholic on his way. if nothing else, proximity should lead to a better read. and perhaps he can steer the other man's thoughts in the direction needed ㅡ as bloodless as possible. )
no subject
more ridiculous, even, than waiting him out in a pub. as far as she is concerned, the husband in question isn't so guilty of dishonesty and betrayal as he is guilty of a sloppiness known only to those finding their hopes at the bottom of a bottle — emphasized by his sudden movements when ben moves to approach, hefting his drink in greeting. predictably, it splashes against his front in all of his overeager, amicable behavior, amplified by his lacking sobriety.
both of their fronts, for that matter, but their target is significantly more drenched by the jerking motion than the droplets that have splashed across ben.
it allows, at least, the attention to divert from her as she watches, vigilant, waiting for any wisp of information she can bring back. it hardly seems difficult to loosen the lips of a drunkard. ]
no subject
he manages to contain his disdain, even while covered in cheap beer that smells like it would be better suited as paint stripper. acrid, acidic. he lifts his own drink at the proffered greeting and proceeds to make the sort of polite small talk that would have set even his mother's teeth on edge.
takes a long pull of his own drink as he extends mental fingers to the other man. feeling the shape of his mind, a glancing brush of fingertips that will be forgotten easily in the monstrous hangover that awaits him, come morning.
he learns lot of this sad, strange man. learns that, for all the he is deeply troubled, shame coiling like tightening roots through him, it is not because of his interest in other women — or even other men. )
Gambling debts, ( he tells Rey once he finally returns to her, the worst of the beer dried into an impressive stain. he's tempted to burn the shirt, damn the cost. )
no subject
[ furious is not the word for it. betrayed, however, is — by his decision to dishonor her discomfort and charge ahead with his plan, regardless. for all that it had been conversation, to some extent, she had not been ignorant to the ripple of the force around him — around them. that's damning enough evidence of what ben has done.
and she had been fool enough to believe his concession had been sincere. rey directs that anger inward as much as it displays outward in the harsh accusation it is, forgetting herself for a moment as her voice carries. their mark is too lost in his drink to pay it mind, and rey herself is already standing to leave. ]
no subject
( is he misinterpreting the source of her anger or simply refusing to acknowledge it? he glances back over his shoulder, toward the man, happily into this ...fourth, maybe fifth tankard for the evening. )
He's unharmed, untroubled and we have the answers his wife seeks. Hardly a bad end to the evening, I'd think.
no subject
[ to me remains unspoken in that repetition, heavy in the air, but the truth remains. he'd made a fool of her, and now he intends to treat it flippantly — dumbly, as though he is a child unaware of what she's done. she isn't having it. ]
I'll deliver her answers on my own.
[ if only because she does not trust him to deliver the answers himself, not now, and she has no desire to linger in his company for longer when he has proven what he still is — a warning, in case she has forgotten. once again, she has trusted him; once again, he has gone against her wishes without a care for them. the throne room is still a fresh wound, ringing in her head, but she pushes through the tavern door without so much as sparing a glance in his direction. ]
no subject
oh. )
Rey — wait. ( he calls to her, but she's already pushing through the crowd, headed toward the door. ) I didn't harm him, Rey.
( and that matters. if he'd wanted to he could have cracked the man open like an egg, got the answers they're needed but at the detriment of his possible sanity. someone like that, soft and weak, would have crumbled easily. )
I only skimmed the surface of his mind. You'd have seen it if I'd done more.
no subject
there's a crisp enunciation to each word, pointed, when she next speaks. ]
Remind me, Ben. Did I, or did I not, tell you I wanted nothing to do with that?
[ with his proposed alternative and the wary discomfort it had brought, unwanted reminders of a time when he had violated her own. it's kneejerk, admittedly, but she knows fully well that their idea of harm differs. still, the point remains; he had charged ahead with it, regardless of her protests. ]
no subject
I didn't.
I spoke and I verified what was learned. Which we would have had to do, regardless.
no subject
[ But her irritation settles, chest still heaving in the aftermath, when she realizes the frustrated outburst has gained the attention of a few patrons. One of them lumbers over — tall, Rey realizes when she has to lean her neck backward to peer up at him where he hovers, and portly — to question if Ben is bothering her.
Another event to add to the ridiculous events of the night.
She gapes for a second, at a loss for a good cover now that they've drawn any attention. ]
He isn't. I can handle him fine, thank you. [ There's no sarcasm, no acerbic note, to be found in that reply. For all that it's inconvenient, and for all that it is clear by the rush of words that she's dismissive of his offer, he had still thought to intervene. She's hardly used to that empathy. He looks between them, skeptical. ] We were just leaving.
[ He grunts, and then reluctantly thunders off as Rey releases a breath, and turns her sharp stare on Ben. ]
Don't do something like that again without warning me. [ She tells him, lower, as she jerks her head toward the door. ] Let's go before we're noticed.