tdm 04

[thestewards]

And I know when it cuts deep down
through your chest into your soul
that's how you know that's how
I know I feel it in my bones

► 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.

WICKED WEAVES
The Blood of Draega have finally had enough with the amphitheater behind the Ebon Council’s buildings. It’s a wonderful place to perform outdoor plays in the summer, but its psychic reek of fear and death makes the Blood uncomfortable. The Queen and Lady Abigail have tenuously agreed to join forces for the benefit of the city.

One cool but comfortable April afternoon, Lady Abigail invites young Black Widows in training and any Strangers with an interest in the Craft to join her in front of the amphitheater. She sets up all interested parties with a simple wooden frame and the spider silk that the Black Widows use to weave their tangled webs.

“The natural-born Black Widows will find this easier than the rest of you,” she explains, glancing toward a group of teenage witches who have the sharp, distinct psychic scent of Black Widows born. “But the process is simple. Attach your thread to the frame of the web and pour your intent into your Jewel and from the Jewel into the thread. Focus on a web that draws negative psychic energy into it. The weave for this doesn’t matter. Do what feels right.”

Though she makes it sound simple, it is anything but. The mind must stay focused in order for the magic to work. A wandering mind can’t build a stable web—and your wandering mind will be more easily snared by the incomplete webs around you. There’s also that horrible psychic reek of death. Probing with the mind reveals a ghastly truth: though there are no ghosts and the feelings are easily hundreds of years old, people were publicly tortured and executed here.

For those who are truly helpless, Lady Abigail sets you to weeding the gardens around the amphitheater. She warns you to ignore the bright red flowers she identifies as witchblood. “Even if you pull them up, they’ll just come back,” she grumbles.

Should you be weeding the gardens when Lady Fayura comes by, she will briefly work with you and anyone you may be working with. She won’t join you in conversation, but before she moves on to another small group, she tells you one, simple truth: “If you sing to the plants the right way, each plant will tell you the name of the one whose blood nourishes its roots.”


ACID BATH
Dangerous rains sweep down from the distant peaks of Ebon Askavi. This poison rain destroys already rotting wood roofs, kills plants, burns animals, and scars skin. With the arrival of spring, these rains come more and more frequently, and everyone in the city suffers.

The farmers have come to Fayura’s Court, asking her to send the Strangers to help them. Locals need roofs replaced, and there aren’t enough hands.

So the Lady asks you if you would be so kind as to address any one of these issues. Repair homes so they are safe for their inhabitants. Assist the farmers in wrapping their livestock in thick, protective blankets or brave the fields to lay tarps or shields over the fragile, growing plants.

Storms come at night, bringing deluging rains. The farmers ask Strangers to stay out at night in pairs to fuel shields over the fields. But with the night come the hungry wildmen, slinking across the dusty plains and blasted forests in search of food. The night is not safe.


BETTING ON TROUBLE
Also with the spring comes trade. Draega is the safest city in all of Hayll in a general sense, but if you’re willing to follow the mercenary bands and commit unspeakable acts in return for protection then Draega isn’t your only option. Rough traders come into the ports as the weather warms and the Heartsblood River swells.

Allairavar doubles the guard around the docks, and enlists any willing body to help him. The sailors are mercenary males and keen-eyed witches, looking to make a coin however they can. Around the docks, they frequent taverns where moonshine runs freely, filling their veins with alcohol. They gamble—and when they lose, they get in fights that damage the docks and the buildings around them.

Some use this opportunity to steal goods stored in the nearby warehouses, and everyone in Draega would prefer they don’t. Whether you’re here at Allairavar’s request or just wanted some rough fun, perhaps you could lend a hand.

A few of the traders with an aristo air and finer manners venture deeper into the city, into the Bazaar. They case shops from which they’ll later steal precious food and supplies. A string of burglaries plagues the city, and it might be nice if you could catch those thieves, too.


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.] Lord Aren, this is very off-script, but I must ask: why is it that Blood males spend so much time insisting their ladies put their feet up and rest?

[Aren is silent for a long, awkward moment, because he knows that any answer he gives is going to end with him on the receiving end of feminine irritation.] Well. Er. That is…

[Evandra sounds exasperated.] My feet didn’t even hurt! I hadn’t been standing that long at all.

[Aren, with great hesitation:] It’s a male’s pleasure to serve? [He sounds like he’s been caught in a trap. He has been.]

[Evandra:] Well, how do you stop such behavior?

[In Aren’s silence is the very obvious answer: you don’t. Finally, he says:] Have you considered giving your lover tickets that entitle him to thirty minutes of fussing at a time?

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.] The Tribunal convened by the Queen to assess whether or not a young landen man killed Councilwoman Vera in cold blood continues to meet today.

[Another man, nasally in tone. He doesn’t sound rushed so much as put upon.] That’s right, Garret. Three of the Blood and three landens meet every day in the Queen’s Residence to discuss this unique case. Many hope they’ll reach a conclusion before either the Guilds or the Council decide this is a delaying tactic and act out.

[Garret:] Well, Wilt, let’s hope that doesn’t happen. In other news, the Heartsblood River…

Comments

The Fool | Realm of the Elderlings

[afoolsgold]

I. Wicked Weaves

Distantly, the Fool wonders if leveraging the Craft in this way is at all akin to the Skill. Yet that gift from his own world was never his by blood, and what little of its power he does possess is weak, borrowed at best. The talents he was born with will not help him in this.

Funnelling his intent into the Rose jewel he wears is not difficult for him, as it mirrors closely the way his Skill-touched fingers have worked with wood (and flesh) in his own world. But making his will manifest through that jewel is where he stumbles, for the bloody history of this place can too easily sink its claws into his heart and present to his mind's eye a mirror--a reminder of what was done to him, not so long ago.

It does not surprise him when he is led out to the gardens, and for a time the simple act of pulling weeds with his hands keeps his mind still, his heart numb. (He does not dare to sing.)

soft gasp...i love the fool

[backtalker]

Serpico isn't one to go out of his way for strangers, necessarily. He's always considered himself a man unmoved by strong emotions, empathy among them, with no space for such things in his little world, but— well, the world is larger lately. And frankly, it's hard to ignore someone looking as downcast as this particular stranger does, when they're mere feet from one another, plucking at weeds in the same garden.

So, alright. Alright. It's Serpico's hand that wanders into view first, to pull out a weed in a fluid motion.

"You missed one," he says by way of explanation. He can do court manners, but everything else in his arsenal is clumsy, like this. "Distracted?"

[sunborne]

"Are you okay?"

Daylight has switched over to his avaform for today, not wanting to spook the residents of the city and the new faces who are part of his group. While it makes handling the weeds more difficult than he'd like to admit, he was still able to do his job. Plus- There's a little bonus for having to keep a slower pace. It allows him to look around, check others out and see how they're doing.

And cue him seeings someone... someone who looks like they could need company. Day doesn't want to be presumptuous and assume their emotions but he can't help and feel like something is up. "The heat getting you? I can grab us water, if you want."

i.

[thedarkbond]

Ren is definitely more interested in the weaving than the weeding here, but he's extremely easily distracted, and so he ultimately decides that he's going to have to bore himself of the venue a bit before he can guarantee he's going to be able to dedicate his full focus to a web. So for him, that means wandering the area enough to find out whether there's actually anything that interesting to it.

It had been hard to miss those who were taken out to the gardens while the weaving was being demonstrated, though. Once Ren notices one of them looking a little more out of it than the others (in a certain sense), he pauses next to them and bends to one side a bit at the hip, which doesn't actually put his head down very far, but it does effectively flop his large and voluminous curtain of red hair into view.

"That's pretty attentive work for something as boring as weeding...do you like this stuff better than what's going on in there?"

Ren's tone is airy and innocent - he'd like to know more, but he's not the type to pursue information in that upfront a manner.

yennefer of vengerberg | the witcher

[violeteyed]

i. wicked weaves

[Now, Yennefer has spent decades—the precise number of which no one needs to know, thank you—studying magic and its many applications; she's familiar with all manner of potions, incantations, enchantments, and lore, but weaving literal webs? Ugh. It's every bit as tedious as sewing, which is a skill she's never bothered to master. Why repair a rip in one's skirt when one can either a) enchant a needle to do all of the work or b) simply buy a new skirt...

A few pointed questions later, however, Yennefer is very much aware that this is one task she needs to do by hand. She isn't thrilled, of course; the way she sharply glares down at her half-formed web is proof enough of that, but as complaining is rarely productive... well, she attempts to throw herself wholly into this task. Attempts. It isn't terribly difficult, once she gets a sort of rhythm going, and yet the feeling of this place—mmm. She feels the beginnings of a headache, honestly, which is why she eventually finds herself focusing on that instead of her weaving. Whoops!]

Oh, damn it all—

[Yennefer pulls away from her wooden frame with a hiss, one hand reaching up to brush her black hair away from her forehead as she studies her misstep. But... oh? Hello? Violet eyes slide over to her neighbor's handiwork, studying it, before she openly studies the neighbor themselves.]

This aura. You sense it, don't you? [She waves a hand through the air, corners of her lips twitching downwards.] Disgusting! It feels like... like a cockroach has wriggled its way into my mouth.

ii. acid baths

a.

[This rain is indeed dreadful, but casting a shield? Easy, especially when you've done it many a time before. Yennefer, protected by both a heavy cloak and a shield, makes her way through the nearly empty streets, using this unfortunate weather as an opportunity to better study her surroundings. But maybe you're not so wonderful at this whole Craft business? Maybe your shield is weak and/or non-existent, because Yennefer sure is giving you a curious look as she passes—

—and then she promptly turns back to approach you directly, because buddy. Pal.]

Either you've no concern whatsoever for your complexion, or you've no idea how to properly protect yourself from this downpour. [A hand goes right to her hip.] Well? Which is it?

[It's a little like being lectured by a schoolteacher, you know? Answer carefully...]

b.

[Standing in a wet, soggy field... is not how Yennefer prefers to spend her evening, but being helpful has its rewards; or that's, you know, what she's telling herself as she crafts a small, dim orb of witchlight to hover above the heads of both herself and her mysterious partner. Suffering through this rain, driving away any and all fools who dare to approach... surely it will pay off. Surely.

But after giving the field's shields a quick tweak, making sure that they're still protecting the plants from the worst of the weather, Yennefer simply can't resist looking back at her partner.]

I'm beginning to think these so-called "wildmen" are nothing more than stories used to keep children in line. Or perhaps they are real, and they've chosen to stay home, warm and safe in their beds. [A quiet little HUFF.] That would certainly be the intelligent thing to do.

[She's not made for this kind of thing, okay! Her heels keep sinking into the mud!!]

iii. air time

[It's a beautiful day, isn't it? The perfect opportunity to sit in the sun, sip a cup of coffee, and listen to whatever is coming across the nearest Far-caster... which just so happens to be the latest etiquette discussion. Oh, lovely. Yennefer takes a sip of her coffee, a small smile appearing on her face as she takes in this brief back-and-forth. Aha...

But as entertaining as the show is, she can't resist leaning a bit closer to her nearest neighbor.]

I daresay they've the right of it. Wouldn't you agree?

[Evandra, or Aren - which one does she mean? Hmm! Well, in any case, she's watching you in what is clearly an expectant—and amused!—manner over the rim of her cup, so please... share your hot take...]

iv. wildcard!

[throw anything my way and i will roll! with! it!! or hit me up over at tuchanka if you want to chat about anything.]

ii-a

[ichaer]

( or a little like a child being lectured by her mother.

her shield, as it were, is nothing more than a thick piece of animal skin formerly fashioned into a cloak but now pulled up and over her in some vain attempt of protecting her from the harsh rains. it just so happens to be working, for now anyway.

much like the animals in the fields there's no telling when the rain might eat through this leather too. )

It was the best I had. I can't just stand around hoping this bloody rain will end before I get to work helping.

( ah- and there's that geralt stubbornness in full force. )

iib.. dont zap him too hard

[garmr]

[Guts' solution to dismal weather was a little more old-fashioned: layer up. He's wearing his heavy cloak as he always does, but also had wrapped his face, arms, and hands with cloth to keep them out of the rain in combat.

His sword was currently draped with heavy fabric as well, but if any wildmen did come, he'd probably have to pull it free. The rain would eat right through the repeater mechanisms of his crossbow and through the throwing knives. The Dragonslayer would corrode, too, but it was thick enough to take the brunt of the damage, and a little surface damage could always be polished off.

His eye glances back at her - all that was left exposed of his face - and it looks annoyed at her attempt at banter.]

You wanna run off? Go and run off. No one's makin' you stay.

[Don't mind him while he swaddles this struggling, escaped goat in a blanket.]

he's slightly rusty, but!! #iii

[portalhate]

[ The noise that escapes Geralt at the question is caught somewhere in the nebulous middle ground between a pained groan and a weary sigh, that exact noise he always exhales when faced with something that he really doesn't want to get into but knows he must, for one reason or another.

Now, Geralt of Rivia sure as hell isn't smooth with the ladies (really, it's a wonder all those sorceresses are actually into him), but let it not be said that he's a complete and utter pillock, either. At least not all the time. THIS SURE FEELS LIKE A TRAP. That much even he can figure out. And so, even though usually he's fairly content with doing whatever Yennefer tells him to, this time he thinks twice about it.

He'd rather not be banished on the couch, okay. ]

Feels like a damned if I do and damned if I don't kind of question.

[ Stalling? Nooo! Honestly, he wasn't even listening to half of the blathering on the Far-caster, instead fully focused on enjoying the calm moment with Yen in the warm sunlight with the fragrance of lilac and gooseberries teasing his nose. ]

i!

[captaincanada]

That's a lovely visual.

[It isn't. He's being sarcastic, if the slightly sour twist to his lips is any indication--but that could just as easily be Kaidan Alenko's intense focus on the task at hand. The manipulation of physical objects through space is quite literally second nature to him, though leveraging mass effect fields with his biotic abilities is not the same as using the Craft. Does one ability influence the other? Does it even matter?

and as for the aura,] But--yeah. [a twist of his wrist to affix the web in place,] I can sense something. [and something in his tone suggests he's trying very hard not to examine what he senses too closely; like ignoring the elephant in the room.]

ii-a

[strikingtwice]

[Shields have never been his strong point with magic, and it's even more difficult here it seems. Meallan has resigned himself to not enjoying this particular downpour at all as the drops burn his skin when they manage to find an opening around his heavy cloak, and a searing trail has managed to work down his neck.

He's so caught up in his own misery that he jumps when someone speaks and glances up too fast, catching a few more painful drops on his cheek and hands as he yanks the hood back down again. He can't really muster the energy to bristle at that tone from a human and settles for pulling back in on himself and dragging the cloak tighter around him.]

...my magic is weaker here.

i

[hotinhere]

[If there is one thing Farnese can provide in her wide-eyed excitement to learn any and all magic it's focus... Except for this exact circumstance. The aura of death is a distraction that is not easy for her to shake and it's showing clearly in her work. The weave itself is amateur but that's only exasperated by the sags and uneven threads caused by her wandering mind. It's not pretty, okay.

In fact, Yennifer succeeds in snapping her back to attention and she hastily starts to move her hand again before she realizes it's not one of the Widows coming to chastise her. Safe from a scolding she drops the frame in her lap with a shudder, thanks for mental image.]

Oh, it's just horrible. They say we can help heal this land but it's so... [The aura affects her as a literal reek, the acrid stench of burnt and charred flesh, and she grimaces bringing a hand to cover her mouth.]

serpico | berserk

[backtalker]

I. wicked weaves

[Serpico is not, by nature, someone wholly comfortable with magic. He's seen it, and by some definition he's used it himself and isn't half bad at it, but still... The residual gut instinct that this is something best left to other people is there, as he frowns lightly down at his incomplete weave.

It might help if he were certain what these were for, but he's already here, so he might as well. It's only weaving...]

It's a little like making clothes, isn't it? If you wanted to make something completely unwearable.

[This isn't an insult, before any Blood start giving him looks— this is just a fact!! It's weaving a tangled mess on purpose! He's quiet after this, working at it, and for the most part he's too distracted by how ridiculous this feels to focus properly on the web itself. It takes him an extra few minutes, and then all at once he's practically assaulted by the feeling of death, and the memories of torture.

Serpico puts his frame down, stands up, and walks out of the amphitheater. He'll put himself on weed duty, thanks. For all intents and purposes he still seems composed, at least, if not a little pale. Ugh...]

II. acid bath

[Now, standing in a depressing wet field, that's Serpico's style. He's used to this one. With the hood up on his odd magical snuggie, he doesn't need a shield to protect him from the rain at all; somehow, the cloak just doesn't get wet! Anyone looking closely enough, perhaps with the aid of their Jewel if they aren't naturally attuned to Magic Stuff, will notice all the little sylphs moving over its surface, doing the work for him to keep him dry.

Naturally, he will not mention any of this, and just be pseudo-mysteriously dry in peace on the way out to the field. He's thinking not of shields but of these supposed wildmen, roaming around after dark...]

Pardon my asking so suddenly, but if we're attacked, will you be able to hold up a shield by yourself?

[Because obviously he's going to go stab some wildmen by himself, duh. He's got a weird sword too, for precisely this purpose.]

III. air time/etiquette

[Alright, so he feels personally called out by this broadcast... How awkward... The clearly romantic/sexual implication it's taking makes him wince, but he takes in the whole broadcast with a sheepish expression, anyway. Ah...

Look... some people just like to help. Some people lead long lives of fussing.]

Giving them tickets seems incredibly degrading...

IV. wilcard

[hooray, wildcard..... do whatever or hmu at jojoveller if u want to plot something else]

i. 420 duty

[garmr]

[Why is Guts within a hundred feet of a Craft lesson? After gleaming some more information about the Black Widows and their ability to travel through and heal the mindscape, there is a part of him that hoped...

...Well, he hoped. Asking Guts to not get distracted by his memories of roiling, stinking death goes about as well as one would expect. The fact that he managed to put a few threads on his net was a testament to the legitimate effort he made to try and learn, but it is ultimately discarded. He is done with this.

When he finds Serpico, it isn’t with the intent to help him pick weeds. It’s a full on march straight out of the vicinity. Were he in a better mood, he may have tossed out a sly hello, but all he could manage is to glance at him in cold, dead silence. There is a high-strung tension in his body, and a slight dampness from a fading cold sweat. The countless sleepless nights seemed to weigh even heavier on his eye than usual.

This is definitely not a good time for the two of them to meet again. ]

ii

[championbittersweet]

I don't imagine it will be a problem. [Being more careful about his... physical needs... means Jonathan has found his energy is far greater than it used to be and tasks like maintaining the shield around himself much easier.

But he is curious about the question and flicks his unnaturally pale gaze to the young man.]

Do you struggle with it?

ii finger guns

[hotinhere]

[The chances that Farnese signed up to shield the crops through the night without mentioning it to anyone? Damn near 100%. It's a good thing her best friend ever Serpico is around.

Despite the reminders from the Blood that all she needs is the use of the jewel, Farnese follows her teaching and draws the sigils around the field to prep for her shield. Even if they aren't truly perfect they help her focus on the task at hand. She's settled in for the long haul under the glowing shield as the sun sets and then Serpico has to say something that makes her Worry. She fearfully looks out at the dark before centering herself and focusing on the shield.]

Of course- Did you see something?

[Hopefully these wildmen follow the rules of demons and beasts. Maybe she have thought this through a little more.]

reynir árnason, stand still stay silent.

[sleepherder]

I. WICKED WEAVES

[ Leave it to Reynir to hear about a lesson in Craft and immediately jump at the chance to learn new things! Anything was bound to be better than the boring lectures he'd sat through during his summer course. Lessons about farm magic had been this close to putting him in a coma, and so when the opportunity arrives to learn other kinds of magic, Reynir is all in.

Or at least... he would have been. The amphitheater's psychic stench of fear and death gradually gnaws at his insides and makes him feel nauseous. He'd experienced enough of that more than a month ago, and would rather not revisit the experience.

So! Weed pulling it is. It's a lot more disappointing when he'd been looking forward to learning a new skill with Craft, but he can't say he doesn't enjoy the fresher air now that he's away from the heavy reek of death. Opportunities will come up again! He's sure of this. For now, he tries to focus on the task of weeding the gardens, a look of concentration on his face as he works. He can at least still be helpful this way... Though the bright red flower that he'd been warned to ignore does nudge and prod at his curiosity, distracting him for just a moment. ]

It's kinda sad, isn't it?

[ he says to no one in particular. Maybe you happen to be nearby and overhear him. ]

II. ACID BATH

[ Hey, wait a minute... This is definitely farm work!

But hmm... It's important farm work that requires keeping others safe, and if anyone knows how to handle livestock, it's Reynir the sheepherder. Wanting to be helpful, he'd volunteered for the task, then arrived hours earlier than expected. There had been some mention of meeting up with a partner to tackle the issue, but for now it's just Reynir wrapping up as many animals as he singlehandedly can with thick blankets to protect them from the poisonous rains.

He finishes fitting blankets over a few goats, then steps back to admire his handiwork. ]

There, done! Don't you all look cozy.

[ Yes, yes. A job well done! The sound of approaching footsteps catches his attention, and Reynir looks over his shoulder to see who's arriving. His partner, perhaps? ]

IV. WILDCARD

[ hit me up with a prompt and i'll get back atcha! you can find me at yuulshi if you want to talk about anything! ]

I!!

[redhued]

[Jed might be a total new hand at these Craft-using weave-building shenanigans, but she is an expert at gardening and assisting with various odd jobs the other weavers need, so she falls into a steady rhythm after an hour or so. She's carrying a box of spools when she overhears Reynir and pauses, looking from him to the flower and then back to him.]

What is?

[i mean there's a lot to be sad about back in the theater, so jed wonders if she's just asking a stupid question but look... she is curious. u can't just talk to urself, reynir it's weird]

II.

[strikingtwice]

[The warning of the rains unsettles Meallan and disappoints him more than he expected; usually he enjoys the rain a great deal and might have made excuses to sneak out into it, but hearing it's likely to do more harm than good puts a damper on that idea. And raises other concerns. His people have little experience with farming, but he knows that these rains cannot be good for crops or livestock.

So of course he volunteers to help out as soon as he can, only to be told when he arrives that his partner had arrived far earlier than expected and was already out in the fields. It's an easy enough matter to pick him out though and Meallan makes his way over to the other redhead with his own armload of blankets.]

You've gotten started early.

i'm here 2 bully

[ilves]

[Did Lalli volunteer to help wrangle livestock? Definitely not, no, but as this is the job he's been assigned—well. There's no sense complaining about things; he just, you know, shows up right on time and hopes that the person he'll be working with a) knows what they're doing and b) isn't too obnoxious.

But the very second he spots that familiar head of hair, it's obvious that today is going to be... a trial. An ordeal. It's why Lalli looks oh-so pleased as he sidles up next to Reynir and glares down at that snug little goat. At least it seems happy? It lifts its head, blinks up at the both of them, and bleats.]

...Pfh.

[Lalli's hot take: everything in this space looks DUMB!]

ii...... i'm also here to bully, but gently

[illequipped]

[Literally all anyone has to say to Emil to get him to do Farm Work is inform him that helpless, dumb animals need his love and care. He's already run around these fields carrying baby lambs for this particular farmer, so it was really no trouble at all getting him to come out here with an armful of blankets and miscellany...

Now when he sees someone is already out here, showing him up(!!) by starting early, he's instantly bothered. These are his helpless, dumb animals to take care of, what gives?

...Ah, but it turns out the person out here is a helpless, dumb animal himself. Emil glances side to side real quick, like hopefully there's someone else he can shirk this Reynir Duty off on, but nope— damn.]

Why are you talking to them?

[Emil, professional at talking to all things sentient and plenty things non: judging this.]

tuuri hotakainen . stand still stay silent

[lumilintu]

i. wicked weaves.

[ usually, focus is something tuuri takes great pride in — she's not learned how to be a great skald by not focusing on her studies! but there is something in the amphitheater that makes her uneasy, something that makes her skin crawl enough for her to decide that maybe starting with the weeding process is a smarter thing to do. after all, she'll have plenty of opportunities to learn the Craft later, with something more interesting than a web!

weeding is a logical process, though not terribly fun... luckily, lady fayura's visit makes it far more intriguing. tapping her cheek, tuuri peers at the plants with renewed interest. ]

In the right way... I wonder what that is. Do you think the plants actually speak, or is it like a telepathic connection? Or a name appearing in your mind?

[ apparently the fact that this whole "whose blood nourishes its roots" thing is rather morbid either hasn't crossed her mind, or she just doesn't care. ]

ii. acid bath

[ things that tuuri should probably be doing: assisting with the animals, or perhaps with the repairs, which with her mechanic background would be easy work done well.

things that tuuri is doing: on the cusp of dusk, she waltzes up to whoever has decided to take on the job of creating a shield over the field (or perhaps is there for another reason, for the wildmen, for protection, whatever it is), and brightly asks, ]

Wow, it's really useful, isn't it? All these crops would be destroyed without the shields!

[ is she here to help with the shield-creating? possibly. does she have any idea how to make one? absolutely not. you'd think that when your brother and cousin are mages, you'd have some idea about how to work magic... alas. and no matter how excited she is to learn, perhaps in the middle of the night isn't the best time for it. at least she's here to keep you company? ]

iii. wildcard

[ you know the drill! ]

i...... :eyes:

[illequipped]

[Is there something seriously wrong with this amphitheater? Yes, for sure. Even Emil, who is beyond terrible at Craft and all its similar magics, can tell that much. Is there also something kind of weirdly wrong about Tuuri being, well, here? Sort of... He lacks completely the emotional maturity to address this at all, so for now, he's not going to!

That's a great idea that won't go sideways for him at all, ever. Tuuri is, impossibly, somehow, here— great! The end. If he's said anything in the past half hour or so about her being here it's only as innocuous as "oh, Lalli will be happy to see you," so. Ultra the end.

Tuuri is also interested in the creepy flowers, because of course she'd be. Emil is here only for moral support; weeding is sooo not his scene.]

I don't understand why you'd want to know, but it's probably the magic one.

[He is an expert in invasive telepathy these days, Tuuri. An expert!!]

Meallan Lavellan | Dragon Age Inquisition

[strikingtwice]

Wicked Weaves
This magic doesn't come easily to Meallan, though he cannot tell if it is because of how different it is or the pale blue jewel he wears that looks like light dancing over water. He's more used to the instinctive surges of power of his own magic, as raw and heady as the lightning he usually commands, so this seems too complicated and difficult for his liking. Not to mention he's not certain how it's meant to work really. He's rather dubious as he tries to picture a thread and a web and his jewel and soaking up negative energy all at once. It feels almost foolish and his thoughts wander, reminded of his lessons with the Keeper growing up...

And all of a sudden there's a reek of death and rot around him strong enough to make him gag and double over, and despite his attempts to fight against it, Meallan feels as though he's being dragged underwater and unable to reach the surface. He realises on a basic level that the webs are responsible but, unable to really see beyond the psychic trap he's made for himself, he settles for sweeping around blinding to catch at other's work in an effort to pull it all down.

Betting on Trouble
This is usually the sort of thing Meallan is more familiar with, a fight breaking out and people reaching for blades and magic all too quickly. But his own magic doesn't come nearly so easily now and he finds himself quickly getting in over his head after only a few spells. The few bolts of lightning he's managed have been weaker than expected, and he feels a painful tug from the Anchor when he tries anything more. He's force to fall back behind the meager cover offered by some crates stored on the docks, his left hand cradled to his chest, and half wonders if he should prepare for a last stand when he spots someone else who's at least passingly familiar.

"A little help?!"

prompt 2!

[captaincanada]

Passingly familiar in the same way most of the Strangers are around here. They all stick out, one way or another.

This particular Stranger is already heading Meallan's way, somehow managing to look tired and beleaguered while simultaneously being lit up from the inside by a peculiar purple-ish blue iridescence. It's an eye-catching enough phenomenon that a couple of the brawlers pause in the middle of throwing their punches to stare in drunken bewilderment--which works out great for Meallan and his ally. With the Opal jewel about his neck serving as his foci, he pulls back a clenched fist already glowing with dark energy, and then unleashes a singularity in the midst of the brawlers.

It would've hauled them all off their feet, back in the Milky Way. It's less effective here, but nevertheless hauls most of them forward towards its center, pulling at their bodies as well as their weapons.

"Should keep them occupied," Kaidan Alenko says, then quickly motions Meallan towards the shelter offered by the nearest building. "Come on, we need to regroup. There's better cover over here."

Hyunseok Choi | OC

[dumbstruck]

WICKED WEAVES

[ It didn't take long for Hyunseok to get kicked out of the weaving group and into the weeding group instead. As it turns out, if you're the kind of guy to lose most jobs you're hired for based on sheer incompetence, it doesn't really change just because you're in another world.

He's not doing much better at weeding than he was at weaving though. He's definitely pulled up some flowers, and had to have the specific weed types pointed out to him more than once now. At least he's getting them by the roots, and seems somewhat pleased that he's making progress--

Up until the queen decides to come join him in silent work, and leave him with that ominous little comment.

He stands there shocked for a few seconds as he watches her walk away, before turning to whoever might be standing nearby and gesturing wildly in the direction of the departing queen. What the hell was that?! ]


BETTING ON TROUBLE

[ He knows what he's been sent out here to do, but he's not exactly sure how to go about doing that. Hyunseok hasn't gotten this magic thing down yet, and he can use it, but he can't use it well. He's created a few messes already, and making thing explode all over a busy trading street doesn't seem all that constructive in stopping a thief.

So when he sees one in action shoving some things into their bag, he does what comes more naturally to him: he charges full force after them. ]

Hey stop! Stop!

wicked weaves!!!

[unwieldy]

[ Is Haein here because he got kicked out of the weaving group?? No. He's here to make a point, and that point is that he hates Hyunseok very much.

Their first meeting in the mess hall the morning after the new arrivals had shown up had gone... terribly. In his more than two month stay in Draega, Haein had put his mind off of much of the matters still left in his world. Hyunseok's appearance had drastically changed that and immediately put a halt on the little progress he'd made during his time away. Hell, his progress had gone backwards.

They hadn't exchanged many words, then. Haein had stormed off in a fury, the very sight of Hyunseok enough to ignite his temper and keep him away from the Court for a few days. While much of his anger had been directed at Hyunseok, some of it had gone to the Queen as well. The fact that she brought Hyunseok of all people felt like a personal insult, even an attack, toward Haein after everything he'd done (he hasn't done that much) for this city.

But now... Now much of his earlier anger has died down, and he's more wary than anything else. It's what has him nearby, with the sole purpose of keeping an eye on the person he hates most.

What he hadn't counted on was Hyunseok turning to him to gesture wildly at the Queen. Haein only narrows his eyes in response, the casual way in which attention is given to him setting his teeth on edge. ]

Don't look this way.

Peeta Melark | The Hunger Games

[notbadcakeboss]

WICKED WEAVES

Gardening wasn't exactly his specialized skill, but this was a different sort than simply using plants to survive (as his last bout in the arena proved. Weeding, aerating the soil were almost soothing, no different than kneading bread. While he could imagine Katniss having objections to this task, he went about it happily.

Up until he was told that singing would encourage the flowers to speak to him. It sounded like something a Morphling might say or some sort of story the children might believe. While he might want to test that (as the first magic of this world that he could wield), he was never a singer...and that talent was one he preferred to keep to a specific memory.

"Do you know any of the songs from this world?"

Re: Peeta Melark | The Hunger Games

[burn_with_us]

"I don't. I could try singing one of ours, though." Katniss tries to say she isn't a singer, not really, but everyone around her says it's a lie. It's something she doesn't like to share with people who would exploit it and it's something she never wants to display as a talent or for personal gain; it's something she does for the love of it.

It seems a little strange to sing to a plant but she's sung to birds before, hoping they'll carry her song through the woods. She starts singing the little lullaby she sang to Rue once, soft enough that only she and Peeta can hear it.

Wanda Maximoff | MCU

[seeingscarlet]

i. wicked weaves, part 1
[Craft to Wanda seems completely backwards. Her power has always come from something deep within her, and while the Mind Stone may have changed her, she had never been dependent on it the way the Blood channel power through their Jewels.

By all rights she ought to be able to figure the basic principle of this out. It was easy enough to picture in her mind: scarlet power from her heart to the Opal and from the Opal to the thread. From there...well, that awful feeling the Blood so delightfully call a 'psychic stench' is impossible to miss. It feels like an awful sludge against her mind, cold and dark and sharp like a thousand needles, an awful feeling in her stomach like she's staring over the edge of a bottomless precipice. In some ways, the burning anger of Ultron's mind has been easier. This...she may understand the theory but she's never tried to push back against anything like this before.

Wanda glances over to her neighbor and offers a small, wry smile.]

I don't know if any weave is going to feel 'right.' This place...I don't understand how they have been able to use it at all.

ii. wicked weaves, part 2
[While this place is certainly uncomfortable, Wanda's mostly been able to handle it. But her focus is pulled in a thousand different directions by her work and eventually the mental walls she maintains to protect herself slip just enough for the feedback - past and present - to crash into her. It's like someone's dumped ice water on her: she stiffens, and for just a moment she swears she feels that damned collar around her neck again.

All the power in her web fizzles out and Wanda whimpers and curls forward, gasping for air against nothing.]

iii. acid bath
[The shield shimmers over their assigned portion of the fields, red but not Red. It casts Wanda in an eerie light, but if it might frighten the wildmen off, well, she'll take it. The best fight is one you can avoid.]

How do you want to do this? Together, or trade?

iv. wild card!
[Want to run into Wanda at the Residence or around Draega? Go for it!]

wicked weaves 1

[theladyofwinterfell]

It's strange Craft, to be sure. It's a lot more delicate than I'm used to doing and in a different arena. I'm much more used to trying to heal with it.

( Sansa, too, has been working on the webs and while she's starting to get the knack of following the threads of them and linking one to the next, it is difficult to keep her own mind separate from the illusions. Would it be easier if she were familiar with magic back home? Possibly. Still, she has three moons of Craft under her belt and it is getting easier as time goes on. She wonders what this web will show when she's done with it. )

Yours looks better than mine, I think.