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

PERCY JACKSON | CAMP HALF-BLOOD CHRONICLES

[phykios]

GOOD MORNING, DRAEGA (i)

[ percy isn't really a morning person.

but he's used to getting up in the morning for training, and he knows a thing or two about rude awakenings. (chiron sent one of the cleaning harpies to get percy when he'd overslept once. the results were not pretty; there was a lot of shrieking and flailing and no, he's not going to tell you how much was the harpies and how much was him. he was pulling harpy feathers out of his sheets for weeks.) so he's not exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but he isn't too much of a sleepwalker either as he gets down to the training field. in fact, he brightens up once he gets there, looks more alert and interested.

the truth is, he could go for some sparring. he needs to keep his sword skills sharp, and, like all demigods, he can have a hard time turning down a good fight.

he turns to whomever he's assigned to with a slight shrug, pulling a ballpoint pen out of his pocket. it doesn't look like anything special until he uncaps it -- and the pen changes into a shining bronze blade.

that's normal, right. ]

So, uh, how much practice have you had with that?

[ nodding at whatever his partner's got in their hands. ]

CHARITY IS AS CHARITY DOES

[ okay, the whole being auctioned off thing? not his style. especially when the so-called charity only seems to be money going right back into the blood's pockets. maybe that's why he'd been drawn to the landen couple who hadn't had anything to offer, but clearly needed the help. who cares about "charitable" trades? besides, he can help with a leaky roof, probably.

what had really (pleasantly) surprised him was finding someone else just as willing to help the old couple. so as they thank him and his new partner again, leaving them to the work, he turns to his new friend with a smile. ]

I hope heights aren't an issue for you.

HIT AND RUN

[ there's nothing percy hates like bullies.

he doesn't go looking for trouble -- in fact, all he'd been looking for was one of those mystery meat pies -- but the commotion grabs his attention, hand jumping to his pocket instinctively. when he sees what's going on, he isn't exactly inclined to relax. the landen men may be armed and cruel, some bigger than him -- not much taller, but with enough breadth to make it obvious a hit from one would hurt -- but honestly? a couple of mortals who think it's funny to terrorize a kid and his puppy don't scare him. ]

Hey! [ he shouts, makes sure his voice carries. ] How about you pick on someone your own size?

[ him. he means him. maybe he pushes past you -- oops, sorry -- to get to those guys. or maybe you're going to help? or you might just be a bystander, wondering what a teenager is going to do here. ]

WILDCARD

[ feel free to hmu about any other prompts! ]

charity is as charity does.

[fulminatum]

[ It's unsurprising their thoughts run in the same veins. Jason has made an effort to keep out of the way of those he'd taken an instant, visual dislike to — and staying close to Percy was hardly a difficult task. ]

[ Jason smiles, deceptively amiably. The roof is a good jump from here, but guess who can make it in a single bound. ]

Eat my dust, Jackson.

[phykios]

No one likes a show-off, Grace.

[ but, as it always is with jason, his ribbing's good-natured. he wonders, briefly, if jason knows about his sister's phobia of heights; not that he has any intention of asking. if jason doesn't, he won't be finding out from percy. ]

So how much experience do you have with, uh, roofing?

[fulminatum]

[ Jason smiles, the mischief in the expression lingering in his eyes. Percy can get him back if they were near the ocean, or doing anything involving water. ]

Not much. You?

[phykios]

[ he grimaces. ]

Same. [ then, ] Wait. You mean you have those flying skills, and people weren't constantly asking you to fix stuff high up?

[fulminatum]

We split the work.

[ And they took turns. Camp Half-Blood's got their own way, trades and such, Jason knows, but he hasn't grown up Greek. ]

Why, people stuck you on all the water chores?

[seaboard]

(she does want to touch a weapon. They can call her here to train over and over, but the instinct of a daughter-sea comes out of a sense of deep preservation. To never take up arms against another, to denote no pride or willingness to show strength.

Those rules don't apply, Gilia. but in the way she can close her eyes and still feel the beating of waves on the shore, she holds to them. Her eyes stay pinned at her partners feet, her mouth stays a neutral line, hidden behind the great mass of all her hair. Her hands empty of anything but the pen gripped in them, and the death grip she has on her clothes. )

None. ( comes the wobbly little word out of her lips. ) Fighting is for others.

[phykios]

[ standing this close to the son of the sea god, she can probably smell the ocean too. he carries the sea with him, no matter where he is; perhaps very like gilia.

and everything in her tone, her posture, makes her discomfort clear. percy can't help feeling sorry for her; if her meeting with the queen went anything like his, there wasn't any forewarning that they'd be expected to know how to fight. for percy, the expectation had been implicit. he's more than used to higher powers expecting him to fight their battles, and, truthfully, he's not sure he has any other skills to offer anyway. but that isn't true for everyone, obviously.

he says, gently, ] Hey, there's nothing wrong with that. But, um, it might...you know, help to learn how to defend yourself. Just in case someone isn't around to help.

[seaboard]

( At least propriety stops the urge she wanted to tug at. To lean into the salt smelling boy, to bury her face against his neck. To mumble softly that she misses her mothers, her father. That that wave after wave is the closest she could feel to them even when so far apart.

But she does neither. Shaking her head to send little curls tumbling from her head like springs bouncing. )

That is not for me, it is sin.

[phykios]

[ whoa.

his eyebrows draw together at the vehemence of her reaction, at how quickly she shakes her head. this isn't just simple discomfort with the weapons, with the notion of fighting, like he'd originally assumed. this goes way deeper. ]

A sin? How is fighting a sin?

[ okay, maybe that's a bad question. fighting isn't always a great thing, or the right choice. but if it's a sin to her, it's a necessity to him, as much as breathing. if he hadn't picked up a sword when he was twelve, if he hadn't been training at camp all these years, become a warrior down to his bones, he wouldn't have survived all these years. all those quests, two wars, just the life of being poseidon's son. he can't imagine being forbidden. ]

[seaboard]

( She finally looks up at him, fixed behind pinched eyebrows, withdrawn little breaths. )

We swore never to lift blades, to break the sacred accords of St. Loe which laid waste to the shores of others.

( The words that were repeated at the sink of the shoreline, where grass turned to sand. A line of children all in a row, repeating words in soft words, over and over again. Learning the ancient story, repeating ancient oaths. ]

We are children blessed of sea, the children of St. Loe, we swear to be in peace as long as we are left.

good morning

[consecrates]

[ Davina's not much of a morning person either, even more a weapon ... person. But she's been shoved into the middle of the training field with a dagger that resembles the ones she normally uses for magical rituals, and jfc is it cold as hell here? Compared to his bronze sword, her eyebrows rising slightly when he brandishes it before her— ]

As much as stabbing an arm for spells. [ She can at least admit that, returning the blade back to its sheath. ] Mind if I use something else?

[ Like magic? She smiles at him, a bit weary already by everything happening at once, before she holds her hand out, palm towards him. ]

[phykios]

[ um.

HONESTLY, HE KIND OF DOES MIND? and it shows in how he takes a reflexive step backwards, eyeing her hand warily. it's not that he has, exactly, anything against magic -- riptide is a magic sword, and his powers over water aren't what you'd call science -- but he's had some bad experiences with sorceresses. circe, for instance, turned him into a guinea pig. pasiphaë tried to kill his friends, and her son (that's right, the minotaur) tried to kill him twice. he's heard piper's stories about medea. hecate's been on their side since the titan war, and some of his friends at camp are her kids, but. someone waving a hand at him and talking about using magic is still not his favorite thing. ]

Like what?

[consecrates]

[ Well, it's not the first time anyone stepped back from her when she held out her hand like that. But! They told her to train and while they forced her to grab whatever weapon she can use, she's so much more comfortable using her magic. ]

Like this. [ Davina flashes him a quick smile before she starts chanting a spell. Almost immediately, she feels her magic familiarly coursing through her the same way it did back in New Orleans.

A ring of fire encloses him, enough to keep him from taking another step back. She'll try to disarm him next, heating up the sword in his hand. ]

[phykios]

[ well, he does start moving when she starts chanting, because she's not his first sorceress?? witch?? person. but the fire rings him in, and makes him frown. luckily, he has a handy resistance to burns; being the son of poseidon can do that for you. unluckily, he learned that when a bunch of telekhines tried to burn him alive, so he's not a big fan of flaming rings of death.

allairavar, or one of his lackeys, had left a few of those buckets of icy water around -- maybe to motivate anyone who got lazy? -- so percy mentally reaches out, summons enough water to either extinguish the flames, or at least extinguish them enough that he can step away and point at davina pretty accusingly. ]

You know, actually? I kinda do mind.

[ though a part of him thinks he ought to introduce her to leo. ]

[consecrates]

[ Telekinesis, and very good control too? Impressive.

Davina doesn't actually do any more than that, shrugging her shoulders as she crouches down to pick up her fallen dagger. If he's too intimated by magic (or is it frightened, given the expression that briefly flashed across his face?), then there's no point in training with him using it. ]

C'mon, I wasn't actually going to burn you alive. [ Didn't they say something about killing people? She wasn't paying attention to whatever they were saying last time, far too busy studying the Jewel they gave her. ] Though I wouldn't mind it, given how cold this place is.

hit and run

[3x1]

( helping the weak and downtrodden has never been a top quality of the Frost sisters. they were more... big picture girls than helping each individual on the street.

there are no Frost sisters here. there's a single Frost. a long blonde standing in the street as one young man intervenes on the brutality of landen folk against one of the Blood. it's not a perfect allegory for the world that Esme comes from, but it's close enough that she stops to watch how the scene plays out.

then there's another, pushing through to place himself in the direct path of impending harm. Esme frowns slightly at the boyish heroism, but the two still aren't enough to handle these men alone.

so Esme steps forward. )

Really, doesn't this seem just a bit unfair? ( her eyes flash blue as she stares down the men from behind. ) I could always call for more back up. Even the odds, or maybe just turn them in our favor?

[phykios]

[ percy turns when esme speaks, just enough to see her while keeping the landen visible out of the corner of his eye, and frowns. more backup sounds good, though he doesn't know who she'd call (not that he can be picky), but it's the last part that seems especially strange. ]

How would you turn them --

[ and then he sees those glowing blue eyes, stops cold. he's seen a lot of things since finding out he's a demigod, but this is new. ]

[3x1]

( the men seem just as unsure of what comes next as Percy does. one takes a hesitant step forward, weapon still in hand.

Esme turns her gaze on that one specifically. ) Put down your weapon, and walk away. ( with her red jewel, she only need say the command once, though it echoes in the man's head. it's only a second before his gaze glasses over. he sets down his weapon and turns away, just as commanded.

with two left, Esme looks back at Percy. )

Better odds? Or should I aim for more?

[phykios]

[ percy isn't unfamiliar with this. esme's control right now looks a lot like his friend piper's charmspeak. it's a powerful weapon, one he's glad to have on his side (and not against) right now.

two left. it's not that percy doesn't think he could fight them. but also: they're mortals, no matter how awful they are, and it'd be better to avoid a fight altogether. on the other hand, piper's careful about not using her power unnecessarily on mortals.

so he turns to them, says firmly, ]

Now's a great time to walk away. Last chance.

[ they deserve the chance. and those men look at esme uneasily, losing some of their nerve. ]

[3x1]

( so no fighting from the other boy it seems. she was curious to see what he might do, but it's probably for the best. Esme's absolutely useless in a fight if she doesn't get inside their head first.

she flashes another glimpse of blue eyes at the remaining men, who finally seem to think better of it. with more numbers, maybe they might stand a chance. two against two is too even, at least in numbers. who knows how much power they might have together.

her blue eyes fade as they leave, and she offers a smile to Percy. it's not quite friendly, more like they've just shared a secret only she knows. )

You didn't seem like you needed the help, but turning away a fight is always nicer.

charity is as charity does

[stickypete]

[Peter smiles a little crooked smile, like he's laughing at some private joke.]

It's funny, but they've never really been a big issue for me.

[He strikes a strange figure. With his jacket off, Peter looks like a strange hodgepodge of flabbiness and fitness. He has an old man paunch under his threadbare long-sleeve shirt, but the pecs, shoulders, and wiry biceps of a gymnast. He also seems like he's no stranger to working with his hands, isn't getting winded by the work, and doesn't seem to have having any difficulty at all lifting any of the heavy wood they're using to fix the roof, almost like it's made of cardboard.]

[He looks like someone ready for their three o'clock nap and yet simultaneously he's tirelessly hammering away like he's a man in his prime. The only concession to age he keeps giving is the occasional stretch of his neck and back. Hunched over like this, he can't help but be a little sore - his back's never quite been the same since he broke it.]

[Peter feels the same way about finding someone else willing to help with this, and he's willing to say as much out loud.]

You know, it was nice of you to offer to do this, kid. Especially since it seems like help with anything comes at a premium in this place.

[Peter hasn't seen much of this society yet but he's seen enough to already have a bad taste in his mouth.]

[phykios]

[ percy had wondered, at first, if this guy would be up to the job -- he can admit it. but peter proves more capable than expected (like with that heavy lifting). percy's reminded, a bit, of some kind of sports coach -- like those olympian athletes who go on to train the next generation of gold medalists. peter has that sense about him: a guy who was seriously impressive in his prime, but is still way more skilled than your average joe today. he more than does his part, works hard without complaining, and percy honestly couldn't ask for better help.

he isn't too familiar with roofing, specifically, but he's helped his mom around the apartment before, has helped build stuff like chariots at camp. he's tall and lean, deceptively strong, and takes to the job easily enough. he's always in motion, whether pulling things where they're needed, hammering away at the boards, or just fiddling idly with whatever's in his hands; the sea, ever restless, crashes in his veins. his demeanor is easy-going, but he's never quite relaxed, a quiet wariness sharp in his eyes, his bearing.

(they're exposed, high up like this. he hasn't seen any monsters here just yet, but he can think of at least five ways one could attack them now. faint scars on his skin bear testament to that.)

percy shrugs in response to that comment, doesn't immediately look up from the work. ]

They needed the help. And way more than anyone else who was there.

[ it's about that simple, as far as he's concerned. ]

I should be thanking you for going along with it. This would be a lot harder to do on my own.

[stickypete]

[Peter wonders a little about those scars and that wariness, about the kid's restless energy. In the past he was a little fussy about dealing with teens and kids but now, after Miles and Gwen and Peni, now that his heart is a little less crusty and hardened, he's more acutely aware of things that might be...concerning.]

[Just because he was sixteen when he took on the world doesn't mean he likes to see other kids that age doing it - or at the very least, he has new, growing instincts to make sure they don't have to do it alone.]

Eh, I was overdue for some fresh air anyway.

[He's spent too much time cooped up exploring the Queen's residence and hasn't even gotten around to seeing if there's decent webswinging to be had around the city.]

["They needed the help. And way more than anyone else who was there." It's still simmering under the surface, the anger and disquiet he already feels over that.]

Besides, somebody's got to do something to help the have-nots have-something. The class divide here is so wide I'm surprised a stunt driver hasn't ramped over it for publicity.

[phykios]

I know, [ he says, looks up with a frown. ] I don't like it either.

[ there's nothing like unfairness, injustice, to get his blood boiling. the inequality between those with magic and without, rich and poor, is terrible. when the queen had asked for help, said her land was dying, he'd expected monsters. armies. some kind of dangerous quest, probably. not...all this. though there's still plenty of time for monsters, armies, and quests, especially since she hasn't really called in a specific request yet.

and here's another thing that makes him uneasy, the more he sees of this land: demigods are not supposed to meddle in mortal problems, conflicts. the last time children of poseidon (and zeus and hades) did that...well. world war ii happened. but how can he not try to help here? ]

The way these people are treated? It's not right. Stuff like this is the least we can do.