tdm 03

[thestewards]

Oh we were comin' around You threw me back down
You had my trust in your hands You gave it up again

► 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. They also count toward AC.

► Feel free to switch up your character's Jewel from thread to thread. Get a feel for how a Birthright Jewel may limit or enhance your character's abilities.

VIGILANDEN JUSTICE
Newcomers may have heard: just two weeks ago, the Blood attempted to sabotage the power plant just outside the city. For a brief time, the city plunged into darkness and during that time, Councilwoman Vera was shot and killed in the Old Town Bazaar by a young landen man. A small flower now grows where she died. No matter how many times it’s torn up, it grows back.

Following these events, the Strangers overwhelmingly chose to aid the power plant that keeps the lights on. With the perception that the Strangers are on their side, young landen men and women have grown bold. In the night, they creep into River East, where the Blood live.

Some of these gangs of landens do little more than paint Guild symbols on the walls of Blood homes: a hexagon with circles at each joint for the Guilds as a whole, the Tinker's hammer, the needle and jewel of the Crafters, the double-arrow of the Hunter Guild. They cover walls with incendiary words—words like bleeder and bastard.

Others are not so kind. They bring portable muters with them and break into homes. They steal both precious and mundane possessions, frighten children, and terrify parents. They go to the single altar in Draega and smash the treasures of the Blood’s faith, knocking over candles and lighting tapestries that honor the Darkness on fire.

Have you friends in Draega already? Perhaps you met someone at breakfast at the Queen’s Residence, and now as you walk the streets together, you come across one of these landen gangs. The news is full of reports about what they’re doing. Now, it seems, the choice is yours. Do you stop them or join them? The Queen has asked you to help broker peace between the landens and the Blood, but she’s also given you the worst freedom of all: that of choice. Perhaps you think it best to support these gangs in their desire to even the odds against the Blood.


WARM FRONT
The explosion at the power plant caused a surge of power that damaged elektriline heaters in homes across Draega, leaving many in the cold. The Queen, seeing her people in need, immediately dispatched her court to provide heating spells for these homes. She also asked the Strangers, both those still living at her residence and those living throughout the city, to lend their aid, too.

Members of the First Circle provide a quick lesson on how to cast warming spells. These can be wrapped around people or attached to items, such as small stones or large ovens. Depending on how much power is infused into the spell, it can last for an hour or two or upwards of a few days (especially when cast by a darker Jewel).

Many in the First Circle insist on going to the homes in River East—the Blood homes, places where they are more likely to be welcomed. Some certainly choose this because being around the landens makes them nervous and uneasy, but some outright refuse to help the landens, especially those who live in River North where the Guilds do their business. Prince Barret and Lords Jared and Yarl in particular won’t go to the landen parts of town, leaving you and your partner to canvas Old Town, River North, and perhaps even the slums to see if anyone would like your help.

Certainly, this will not be easy, and the Queen has promised a silver mark for each household you and your partner help.


POISONED GNATURE
Warmer weather claws its way across the land, lifting the temperatures above freezing for the first time in months. While much of the city reacts with relief, and the air in the Bazaar improves in spite of the violence and tension that hovers over the city like a black cloud, the farmers outside the city walls are dealing with their own troubles: cold-resistant mosquitoes carrying disease from the frigid mountains of Askavi.

Stagnant water fills troughs and furrows in the earth, becoming a toxic breeding ground for more of these awful pests. The mosquitoes have little interest in humans, but they’re hungry for animal blood. Most animals bitten by the mosquitoes die within a day, their meat rendered inedible.

Food is already scarce and stores run thin. If more animals die, people won’t just be a little hungry or disappointed in the tasteless porridge many are serving as a hold over until summer, they will starve.

The landen Guilds provide a thick, smelly paste that can be spread over the animals, and the Queen requests the Strangers aide the farmers. She, too, can be found working among the stables with Prince Verim or Prince Allairavar at her side, doing her part to ensure the city remains fed.


AIR TIME
Whether you catch the news on a Far-caster in the city or you're spinning the dial on your own device, you'll hear…

etiquette with evandra and aren
[Evandra's voice is a little bit rough and a little bit husky, the kind of voice that gives bad ideas to young men and headaches to fathers.] …understanding that some people— [She’s being polite about it, but she definitely means the Strangers.] —don’t know how to address a Queen!

[Aren’s voice is chipper and bright. He sounds more like an eager boy than the full-grown man he is.] Quite right, Evandra. For Blood females, remembering titles is easy. Every witch you meet should be addressed as Lady.

[Evandra sounds a little surprised.] Even though male castes have different titles of address, a witch is always called Lady?

[Aren:] That she is! A working Healer or Priestess should be addressed by their caste, but if you’re just being polite in casual conversation, calling her “Lady” is enough!

[Evandra:] As they say: whether warm or rainy, when you meet on the street, you address her as Lady.

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.] …rains coming out of Askavi over the next week. Farmers are advised to cover their plants. When outside in the rain, Blood should shield and landens should wear heavy cloaks to protect their skin. Worried about lesions from the rains? The Medicos have a new salve that…

the news
[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.] …appointing someone new to the Ebon Council?

[Another man, nasally in tone. He doesn’t sound rushed so much as put upon.] It’s hard to say, Garret. With the Strangers in the city, it’s likely that Lord Grejor is waiting to see if any are willing to bring the young assassin to justice.

[Garret:] The landen who killed Councilwoman Vera is a member of the Crafter Guild and is currently being held by the Queen. There have been reports that the Queen means to implement some new process for judging offenses by the end of the week…

Comments

Guts | Berserk | Opal

[garmr]

a. Vigilanden Justice

Even without the spirits of the Interstice hounding him, Guts would find sleep hard to come by in the Queen's residence. The expectation of battle that came with every sunset plagued him like the ache of a phantom limb. His restlessness would send him sneaking out into the streets, full gear and all, despite the sting of his still-healing wounds. Figures he’d have the luck to hop worlds and keep every slash, puncture and burn he got while hunting his last apostle.

Maybe it was the eagerness to release some of that tension that motivated him to stick around when a child ran into him full-tilt, clinging to his greaves. Maybe he just felt like being helpful that night. The boy saw the glint of the opal in his hand and assumed he'd found safety, and Guts supposes he did. Tears were streaming down the child’s frightened face, which signaled trouble was going to follow him. Seven or eight bits of 'trouble', running down the alley to meet their prey.

The brief glimpse of excitement in Guts' eyes wasn’t the reaction that belonged to a wounded man - it was more like the twitch of a mad dog. Nestling his jewel beneath the metal of his armor, he waits for them to turn the corner, the fist of his iron arm ready beneath his cloak. The healers that were patching him up were going to be pissed in the morning, but a part of him needed this.

"Stay out of the way, kid."

b. Poisoned Gnature

As soon as his wounds had closed enough, Guts would be found kneeling in the stables, helping slather paste on flanks and backs. He’d left his armor and much of his equipment behind in lieu of more suitable working clothes, though he couldn’t quite get himself to stay more than a few feet away from the colossal Dragonslayer.

The sword would be found leaning against the walls, easily towering just over seven feet. His iron forearm prosthetic, too, was left hanging on a hook. The last thing he wanted to do was end up having to scrape stinking animal mud out of the joints, and it’s not like he could grab anything with it, anyway.

He works quietly and diligently, looking more comfortable tending to the animals than he ever did in the court. In fact, little seemed to grab his attention aside from getting a glimpse of Fayura and some of other Princes down there in the grime and dirt with them.

That sight was utterly alien enough to make him pause, thankful he was far away enough that his own staring wouldn’t be so immediately obvious.

"Never thought I'd see a Queen tendin’ to livestock," he says to no one in particular.

c. Weather - Psychic Thread / Farcaster

[A tiny, talking metal box seemed just as magical as Craft did, at least to Guts. Most of the conversations were nonsense he would never listen to on his own, but the novelty of the device kept him plugged in longer than he'd first expected. Useful, if slightly annoying.

There were helpful reports once in a while, weather forecasts certainly counted as one. This particular report elicited a reaction that was less calculated psychic connection and more blurted thought available for any passersby to hear.]

The hell did they put in the water?

d. Wildcard
[Hit me up with whatever! Feel free to PM here or at hematite]

b.

[theladyofwinterfell]

"A queen does what she must to help her people. I am no queen, of course, but at Winterfell I helped with the smithy to prepare all the armor for winter. A bit of leather can mean the difference between life and death when the sun's gone and doesn't return for days."

Sansa, too, is aiding the farmers and she's glad to see a familiar face. She knows little about tending livestock but one of the things she'd learned as Lady of Winterfell was to ask questions when necessary. As such, she knows just enough to get started and if she runs into a problem she cannot solve, she asks. It's worked well so far.

[garmr]

“Most ones I know are happy to stay in their keeps. The pawns get their hands dirty.”

What a leader should or shouldn’t do rarely factored into the equation. It is one of the reasons Guts normally couldn’t stand dealing with upper crust, though Sansa was leaving a different impression on him.

He gets up, wiping some of the sweat from his forehead. The big brute of a creature was a bit dumber looking than a warhorse, but caring for it brought some warm memories back either way. He give its withers a light pat, perhaps as a silent farewell to the beast, before he moves on to another one gnawing at the ground.

[theladyofwinterfell]

Sansa actually doesn't mind horses all that much even though she's a terrible rider. She's always found them to be lovely creatures, and proud, something she used to be once upon a time. She sees a cut along the forelimb of this one and gently touches her fingers to it.

"He's run across something he shouldn't have. Horses spook so easily. It's why I trust my legs more than I trust the legs of something with fear in its eyes."

[garmr]

Guts watches as Sansa examines the cut. It looked like an old wound from where he was standing.

“Depends on the horse. Some can be pretty reliable, if they trust you enough.”

The rough snort from muzzle in front of him was hint enough of that. A farmer’s work animals weren’t usually all too hot-tempered, but it helped to take the extra minute or two to greet and soothe them.

Even with a full head of height over most men and the physique of a workhorse himself, this mare still had nearly two thousand pounds on him. A kick into the wooden stalls wouldn’t be pleasant, even if he’s survived worse.

In a way, Guts gets it. The smell from the paste was unpleasant enough to deal with, much less being rubbed down by strangers. He’d hate it, too.

[theladyofwinterfell]

"I'll never be a horsewoman but you sound like a knight who has a warhorse he truly loves. Is that the case? Did you have one of your own before you came here?"

Arya had loved to ride, back home, but Sansa has never cared for it. She's just as good at it as she has to be and no more; a proper lady can avail herself of a wheelhouse if she must.

"I never really enjoyed riding. Too messy when one's wearing the sort of fine clothes I used to wear."

[garmr]

He pauses, a tension entering his shoulders and edge of the psychic air around them. For a few seconds, Guts simply stares at the mare's neck, fingers sunken into the thick winter fur. The animal seemed to respond in kind, ears pulling back and nostrils flared. For all the fond memories that came to him in this place, they always lead to that same cursed end.

"I ain't a knight," he says, the dim knot of emotion evaporating with the silence," - Never was."

He lowers down to scoop more of the paste into his palm.

[theladyofwinterfell]

For a moment, Sansa is swiftly reminded of the Hound. He'd always bristled at being called a knight even though he was more knightly than some of those who'd taken the vows and insisted on being called Ser. Sensing the tension, she seeks to soothe it.

"It isn't a bad thing," she says quietly. "Though I understand not wanting the label. I knew a man who would do the same, back home, though he was very much a knight in all but title."

[garmr]

He laughs, and more than anything it is a sound tainted with weariness. No, he doesn't feel like he did anything to deserve that comparison.

"Can see why he would. Honor doesn't stop people from bein' dead. You just do what you can to stay alive."

The tension does fade, as intended, even if what mostly replaces it is a bone-deep fatigue to his movements. The horse in front of him is still twitchy, pawing the ground with discomfort once the first layer of paste gets applied. This, at least, was a problem that could be solved with a little more patience.

[theladyofwinterfell]

"Yes, I do believe the two of you would have common ground. I hesitate to say you would be friends, as Sandor Clegane doesn't make friends easily if at all, but you'd certainly find a kindred spirit in him."

Sansa laughs lightly, good-natured. "But please know the knight comparison is truly a compliment. Honor takes many forms."

[garmr]

"..."

Sansa gets a look over the shoulder, puzzled more than anything else. He must really be going soft if that's the first impression she got.

Then again, he wasn't plagued by the spirits of the dead quite like he was back home. He even managed to get a good night's sleep once or twice since his arrival. There was less reason to bite anyone who got remotely close. Still, it would only be fair to offer a warning.

"Don't know how long you'll keep thinkin' that if we stick around."

[theladyofwinterfell]

"I've been around much worse than you, I assure you of that. Gruff exteriors will hardly cause me to shy away," Sansa says, laughing softly. "As I said, my friend from home who bristled at the title knight was much the same."

The Hound would hate this place, she thinks. He isn't a person who is driven to altruism naturally and only in situations when it involves someone he cares about. Helping Fayura wouldn't be enough of an incentive for him, she doesn't think.

"But, of course, you're welcome to try and change my opinion."

c

[arrogator]

Don't know, don't want to know.

[There's a passerby's two cents as she's walking by. She's still not really sure how she feels about the Far-caster stuff, but knowing that the rain could give you lesions? That's actually important, she can't complain too much about that one.]

I just know I really don't want to end up with anything like that. This city's already a pain in the ass without having to worry about the rain too.

[garmr]

[Guts was never really much of a socialite, but he happened to remember this voice enough to make eye contact when he sees her pass by. This whole thought-sharing/technology thing was gonna take some real brainpower to get used to all at once.]

You in my head or is this part of the box?

[arrogator]

It's the box. I don't want to be in your head anymore than I want people in mine.

[There's her thoughts on that one. It's kind of unavoidable with the whole Master-Servant thing back home, and she doesn't really mind Fayura, but other than that? It's weird and she doesn't know how she feels about it.

And she'll turn around and wave the Far-caster over to show that's the truth.]

I try to limit the amount of voices in there besides mine.

[garmr]

[Okay. Good.

He picks up the far-caster and looks at it. He then looks back at her.

Really, the logical thing would be to just walk right over and talk to her like a normal goddamn human being. But since it looks like they were gonna use these things quite frequently, he puts in the extra effort to grumble to himself loudly enough for her to hear it on the other end.]

At least these things can be turned off.

[arrogator]

No kidding, I don't know what I'd do if I had to hear the crap coming out of this all time time.

[Okay, it's a little ridiculous using the Far-caster to talk at close range, but whatever. They're like those walkie-talkie things people have nowadays. Probably. She doesn't know for sure, Servants have this whole knowing stuff about the time period they're summoned into, but since she hasn't used or seen one before coming here, it's just kind of weird and annoying.]

Especially if it's the etiquette show. Have you heard that one yet?

[She really can't stand the whole fake cheery “tee hee make sure you say the right thing or someone will magic your face off” act that program has. It's important stuff, but the presentation needs some work.]

[garmr]

[Sometimes it's a day where you use your magical talking box in whatever the hell way you want! Guts is still getting used to the fact that he's suddenly gained the ability to read.]

Gettin' all dramatic about your titles is what bein' a noble is all about. The rules don't have to make sense.

[He's not even surprised, just annoyed this particular societal quirk translated across dimensions.]

[arrogator]

Not where I came from.

[Her dad wasn't really super dramatic. And...well, that's probably about the extent of Mordred's experience with nobility. Probably not a good idea to claim it's not like that where she's from when she has just the one example, but she can't exactly unsay it.]

But sounds like you're already used to it then.

[garmr]

[Sounds fake. But he supposes it's possible. A lot of the Ladies and Princes and whatever were pretty tolerable compared to the ones in Midland.]

Here, none of 'em turned into giant slugs.

[The rules were still insufferable, but he can look on the bright side.]

[arrogator]

[Speaking of sounds fake, people turning into slugs? She's so thrown off by that, she doesn't even talk into the thing and just responds like a normal confused person.]

Slugs? Really? That happens where you're from?

[garmr]

[Guts looks at her, slowly raising the far-caster closer to his mouth. His voice was low, nearly inaudible from her distance, as if he were telling Mordred some kind of terrible dark secret through the device.

Maybe he was just having a little fun with it.]

Only if you're real lucky.

[arrogator]

[Well, now she has to ask, so she'll go back to using the caster as a walkie talkie.]

And what if you're not lucky?

C!

[1019]

[This... is basically equivalent to having everyone around you wiretapped. In the brain. That or having a friggin' cell phone or limited internet right in your head. Lucas isn't... the kinda person who's ever actually wondered what it'd be like telepathy. Never particularly been anyone he'd wanna talk directly to. Or, you know, have a direct line to his head.

But he is an Earth fella who was raised in the 2000's. Frame it a different way and it shifts from kids' fantasy books stuff to fun.

And it's thus that as he passes by, hands behind his back with one grippin' the other at the wrist, he turns his head up with a shit-eating-ass grin at who knows what in particular; god knows even he barely does.]

Ho-oooonly one way to find out -- !

[He sounds like a damn crow.

Last sound "lilts" at the end. Rather... "pinches".]

[garmr]

[That sure was a voice in his head. Thanks, he hates it.

If Guts’ annoyed expression wasn’t clear enough, all the feelings associated with wanting to shove someone into a locker are going to be floating around in the liminal space of their psychic thread. His presence has the warm welcome of a disgruntled cactus.

Luckily, he doesn’t quite seem to connect Lucas’ psychic voice to his face, too preoccupied with trying to turn off the far-caster to cut the line of conversation. Sure, the two weren’t connected, but all of this nonsense was weird enough to make him think it might.]