test drive 01

[thestewards]

'Cause I have these new fears I carry with me
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.

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.

Comments

[stickypete]

[He gets the gist and barely skips a beat.]

I've got my friend Ariel here [The Little Mermaid is right where his brain goes] and that means you're double outnumbered, because you were already outnumbered the second I showed up.

["Get 'em, boys," says the thug. They attack.]

Oy, always with the fighting and the not listening to my veiled threats. They should teach you better in thug school to stick to your skill level - which in your case is "taking candy from babies."

[What happens next probably looks inexplicable to the landens because Peter starts demolishing them and it's not with magic. He doesn't look as graceful as he could because over the years his fighting style has become very economical, using as little exertion as possible to cause the most damage. That means some of the movements are a little too abrupt to be beautiful.]

[But he still attacks them with the grace of a gymnast and the scuttling speed of the not-quite-human. A kick here, a punch there, and a deft flip kicking off a thug's shoulders gives him enough air to kick one of their faces while defying gravity. As each falls to the ground or into a structure in the bazaar, he shoots webbing to pin them down.]

[Still, there are a lot of thugs. He could probably do this alone but having help means it sure would be less dicey.]

[godsbane]

[ ...Wait, that's what he got out of it? It's a shame she doesn't get the reference.

But she anticipates them attacking. When Peter goes right, she goes left. While graceful, Rhea's movements are about efficiency; they're about getting in there and getting people down as quickly as possible. She goes for the man with the bat to disarm him, twisting his arm and getting him on the ground; she's turning to the next to strike him in the face and flatten him out.

Magic is an afterthought as she goes. She only uses it once, actually, when someone gets too close: a little heated electricity gives the man enough of a shock that he stumbles, and she kicks him. It's all very physical and not like Peter. He's some kind of natural.

At the last, she summons something into her hand and throws it in an arc of light, and..strangely, it looks like an arrow, which explodes in a painful burst of light when it collides with her mark, throwing him from his feet. Her eyes are on Peter, looking to watch his back. He seems to know what he's doing. ]

[stickypete]

[He's acutely aware of the movements of his new dance partner, his spider sense helpfully putting out feelers for threats to the both of them. It's isn't long before all the thugs are down.]

[Peter stickies the last one to the post of a street lamp.]

You know, I'm considering giving a parenting a try? I think I'll practice.

[He wags a finger at them like they've stolen from a cookie jar.]

You stay there for a time out - for oh, maybe about an hour [That's how long it'll take the webbing to dissolve] and think long and hard about what you've done.

[He places his hands on his hips and turns to Rhea.]

That was parent-like, right? Dr. Spock-worthy even.

[He's joking around but his eyes are already scanning for that kid and his dog.]

[godsbane]

[ Whatever power he has, it's magnificent. She's never seen such things before. It looks relatively harmless, too, which means the threat of repercussions should be minimal. Should be, she thinks.

Rhea shoots him a smile and an attempt at a laugh - which sounds broken, like a record creak - that she quickly covers up, lest the sound be too strange. She winces, actually, on hearing it. To save face, she emphatically nods, though her brow furrows with clear confusion at the name he offers, the reference lost on her.

Dr. Spock? Never heard of him.

Peter is looking around and so is she, but there's no trouble finding the boy, now wide-eyed and clutching his dog. He almost looks a little frightened at the display they've given.

Rhea steps towards him, then crouches down. She gestures, mouths, 'You all right?' He glances between them, then looks up at Peter.

"Thank you." ]

[stickypete]

[For just a little while, in his loneliness and bitterness at a world that threw him a thousand hurdles, he'd forgotten that this was what it was all about. This is why he's Spider-Man.]

[The gesture comes easily. He kneels, places a hand on the boy's shoulder, looks him in the eye, smiles gently. It's a gesture that's an echo of a man Peter still sees as far, far greater than himself.]

You're welcome, kid.

["How did you do that?"]

I eat my Wheaties. [He says it enigmatically.]

Listen, I don't know who this Prince Verim is, but he's going to have a little extra help protecting people from now on. [He wiggles his thumb back and forth between himself and his new friend.] If this ever happens again, yell. Loud.

I can't promise we'll be close enough to hear, but I can promise that if I am - [He briefly looks to the girl, makes a guess that he feels is right in his gut] - if we are close by, we'll come running like our butts are on fire.

[The boy nods frantically and hugs the puppy to himself. Peter briefly scritches the puppy's head.]

You and your little buddy are hereby deputized. Let us know if you see anybody being mean, even if it's to someone else, okay?

["I will, sir," says the boy, beaming. He looks to Peter's companion. "Ma'am." Then he runs off, occasionally looking behind, delighted to have found a spot of warmth in an often cold world.]

Literally kicking kids and puppies, unbe-freakin-lievable.

[The First Circle has arrived. Fortunately the bystanders sound like they're giving a fair account of what's happened. Peter nods his head at Rhea to follow.]

Come on. Hup hup. I'm starving and I need to make it up to you for having my back back there. You hungry? I have a little money from taking on a quick courier job.

[Some kind of important document. (He hadn't asked questions.) His webswinging had made it a quick trip and now he had just enough for a cheap meal for two.]

[godsbane]

[ Rhea's gaze is soft on the boy when he speaks to Peter, something reminiscent in her eyes as they travel back and forth between her new companion and the child they've saved. Some of what he says, of course, is lost on her - things like 'deputized' and all of that - but the general sentiment is there.

Hand over her heart, she gives the boy a decisive nod. She doesn't know formal rituals or anything of the kind, but her word is her bond. Or, in this case, Peter's, but it's the same thing.

She smiles as she stands, watching the boy head off on his own. The First Circle finally show, and Peter's encouraging her to stick with him. Rhea turns and follows, boots quiet on the stones of the street. Talk of food sounds decent enough, but she points to the pouch at her side. She has a little, too. He won't have to pay for her if he needs to save up!

But as they walk, she makes another gesture towards where they came, a frown on her face. ]

Veh--

[ Verim. She's trying to say the Prince's name. Rhea's brow is furrowed. She doesn't know the name but...why isn't there more protection for people like that child? ]

[stickypete]

[One of the First Circle agents looks their way and Peter eyes them pensively. His relationship with cops is very...mixed. Fortunately, the agent doesn't follow them.]

Verim? Yeah, I'm wondering about that too.

[He shakes his head.]

If the only protection some of these people have is the occasional royal that thinks they're human when everyone else doesn't, the problems here might be too big for us to fix.

[A pause.]

I'm Ben, by the way. Ben Reilly.

[The Strangers will likely be working together and are too small a group for him to hide behind the mask easily. It's much easier to hide who you are in a pile of 8.6 million New Yorkers. But he figures his face doesn't matter so much as his name. It's a very nondescript face. His name is what could let someone look him up back home, let them find MJ. The divorce is on public record and might not be enough to prevent an enemy from gunning for her.]

[So he's going with a fake name while he's here. Ben, after his uncle, which is Peter's middle name anyway. And Reilly, Aunt May's maiden name.]

With the not talking thing, I think we're supposedly able to talk psychicly now, right? Want to try that? Otherwise, I bet we can scrounge up a pencil and paper somewhere.

[He looks around the bazaar to see if there might be a shop of some kind that sells that.]