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

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. )

cries in elder speech

[violeteyed]

[That's her girl! Their girl.]

No, but you can certainly make something better than... this.

[She directs a pointed look down to that makeshift cape, one eyebrow raising the slightest bit. It looks gross? It probably smells? Geralt would definitely approve??]

Really, Ciri, [she sighs, all exasperated affection as she (temporarily) resists the urge to cast a shield over the girl herself.] Whatever shall I do with you? You've Craft for a reason.

;u;

[ichaer]

I hadn't the time to make something. These people are in trouble now.

( let's be real: it probably smells like horses, ciri probably smells like horses. either way, she sputters a little from under her `cloak of protection` in a way that only yennefer can manage to get out of the young woman. )

You know I've not much use in that sort of stuff anymore. It'll be fine, I'll be fine... really.

[violeteyed]

[And this is where she really should tell Ciri that one always finds time for these things, but—well. If a bit of (acid) rain is the worst they have to worry about at the moment, then Yennefer can always be a hard-ass... later. Over dinner, perhaps.]

You'll be more of a hindrance than a help if you're covered in sores.

[A sigh, though—just for that added effect—before she stretches out a hand and drops a quick, simple shielding spell right over Ciri's head. Sorceresses rarely ask for permission? Mothers never do.]

There. That will protect you from the worst of it, but as you clearly intend to stay out here for quite some time... [A quick, meaningful glance up at that cloudy sky before she adds:] I shall come with you. To help.

[And to, you know, just spend time together. It's been so long!]

[ichaer]

( she adjusts the animal hide slightly, clearly eager and ready to move. that alone clearly hasn't changed since she was a child, always squirming and needing to have her hands in something. even traveling across as many worlds as she has doesn't change the very basics of a person. )

And the last thing I need are more scars on my face, huh. ( she says with a half-grin and a chuckle but is clearly grateful when the shield appears, tucking the animal hide under her arm with a deep breath. )

Just until I'm sure everyone has shelter for the night. I can't stand the thought of leaving anyone out here in these elements without something for protection. Thank you too for the shield... and for the help, mother, I know I can always count on you.

( because who else can she trust in this big wide world besides her own parents? )

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.]

[violeteyed]

And leave you to your own devices?

[A quiet not-quite snort, just to show what she thinks about that, as she watches him wrangle that bleating creature. Could she cast a spell to calm it? Yes. Does she have any desire to? Nah. Suffer.]

Tempting, really, but as it seems you're incapable of shielding even yourself... [She pauses, letting that sentence trail off as she gives him a quick once-over. Terrible.] Mm. I think not.

[She judgin'.]

[garmr]

[Guts' own devices successfully wraps this animal into a little blanket burrito. How about that. Granted, it was difficult for him to pull off the whole cold-blooded mercenary image with something furry in his arms, but he doesn't seem to care about that at the moment.]

Then open up the shield. I'm droppin' this off.

[The hooded goat, mostly resigned to its fate, bleats at them both.]

[violeteyed]

[Guts has done one (1) thing, and Yennefer looks suitably impressed—which is to say, uh, not very. One hand goes to her hip as she gives Lil Bleater the briefest of glances, then looks up at this giant mummy. She's, like, even smaller than the boys, but the vibe she's giving off right now? Ice cold.]

That can slip through the shield on its own, and you can focus on other things. Your tone, for instance.

[WATCH IT!]

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. ]

oh my god... i'm thrilled!!

[violeteyed]

[Ah, that's the witcher she knows and loves.]

Hmm. [A soft, amused noise as she takes another sip of her drink, watching him all the while.] Possibly damned if you do, certainly damned if you don't— better to take the risk, wouldn't you agree?

[So it's definitely a trap, my friend, but it's fine; she's in too good a mood to, like, zap a fool for expressing his potentially terrible opinion. The weather is wonderful, the coffee is good, her little family is safe for the time being—she's happier than she's been in... well, in quite some time, and she's making no effort to hide it.]

Come, Geralt. Don't force me to read your mind.

[A tease? A threat? Why not both?]

i'm glad! i love these two so much ;;

[portalhate]

Really putting me on the spot here, Yen.

[ He says it wryly, a small smile curving at the corner of his mouth in spite of being the butt of the joke-- but isn't that just how it goes between them? Yennefer telling him to jump, him doing nothing else but asking how high. He's long since stopped feeling resentful about the power she had over him. These days, it was... almost reassuring. There was no wish and no djinn anymore; just them and their honest desire to be together.

Her good mood is contagious, though Geralt gives the sorceress a look at the threat (definitely a threat) of reading his mind. She knows he hates that only slightly less than portals. But he's always been a pushover where Yen's concerned, and her palpable happiness soon has him relenting with a sigh. ]

He's an idiot. Isn't that how these things usually go?

[ Maybe there's a teasing glint in his cat-eyes now, moving daringly to take Yennefer's free hand gently in his calloused one and rubbing his thumb against pale skin. ]

one of my fav couples of all time tbh... wipes tear

[violeteyed]

[Putting Geralt on the spot is one of her favorite hobbies, as they both well know; it's why she returns that small smile with one of her own, why she lightly curls her fingers around his hand as she carefully places her cup on the table. Oh, he should definitely feel the (good-natured) sass that's about to come his way.]

Usually. Just like a certain witcher usually provides a vague answer when he's trying to hide the fact that he hasn't been paying attention.

[Geralt ain't slick, but that's part of his charm? As, of course, is the way he's currently brushing his thumb atop her hand, because there's nothing, mmm, possessive about it; this is just Geralt touching her because he enjoys being near her, and she can't resist leaning the slightest bit closer.]

Perhaps I should give you tickets. Not for fussing, of course. [Is this bait? It's probably bait, especially when she adds:] And they would be worth far more than a mere thirty minutes of your time.

[Somewhere halfway across the city, Ciri feels terribly embarrassed for no real reason at all.]

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.]

my fav biotic boy... truly i am blessed

[violeteyed]

It was the most agreeable comparison I could think of, I assure you.

[Her tone is sharp, clipped, as she brings both hands up to massage her temples, because Yennefer... has a short temper even at the best of times; this headache isn't doing anyone any favors here, but she takes a breath and shifts her attention back down to his web.]

...How do you stand it?

[The aura, or the weaving? It's both, honestly.]

\o/ happy to oblige!!

[captaincanada]

[a half-hearted shrug, and,] I dunno. [weave weave weave.] Just stubborn, I guess. The faster I get it done, the faster I can get out of here.

[His web resembles a dreamcatcher, and not a terribly good one--but it is the only concept that comes to mind when he tries to envision something capable of sifting night terrors from the air and sending them... somewhere else. Something like this might've been useful, after Eden Prime. And everything that came after it.

--now he's thinking about it, and the grim portent of that aura, and he grimaces, looking up.] It smells like death here.

[violeteyed]

[That elicits a quiet, somewhat amused noise, because stubborn is something she's been called many a time. And you know, that's a very solid approach to this? It's almost enough to make her turn back to her own web and pick up where she left off, but ah, that observation—

...Well. There was a battle, not so very long ago, and there have been many skirmishes since then; even the brief mention of something as vague as a scent is enough to give her pause.]

Mm. The smell, the sensation... [She pulls a slight face, almost like she's just taken a bite of something she absolutely despised.] It reminds me of... necromancy, I suppose. The feeling I'll never truly be clean again.

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.

[violeteyed]

[Even that brief glimpse of his face is enough for Yennefer to see that this person isn't human. It's not that she has anything against elves in particular; it just so happens that a dangerous band of them is currently, you know, hunting someone incredibly dear to her, which is why she unconsciously straightens to her full height. Her expression remains neutral; her voice, when she speaks again, is perfectly composed, but there's still something... obviously stiff about her.]

And yet weak magic is better than no magic at all, given our current circumstances. [A beat, then, as she studies what little of him she can see before smoothly asking:] Elaine tedd aʼtaeghane, yeá?

[Something clearly hinges on his response, if the expectant silence that follows is any indication.]

[strikingtwice]

[He's not in the mood to deal with what's starting to look like an entitled shemlen, and just shoots her an irritated look as she starts speaking something he doesn't recognise on top of a lecture about magic that he's more than aware of.]

Ar tel'hartha ma.

[violeteyed]

[And yet here he is, standing in this acid rain without a shield. Hmm! Well, at least that language is wholly unfamiliar to her; her brow furrows for the slightest of moments before her expression returns to its normal, neutral state, because ah, that certainly isn't anything familiar to her...]

Hen Llinge? [...No? A hand on her hip, then, as she continues openly studying him.] Laith aen Undod?

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.]

[violeteyed]

[Yennefer has a real way with words, especially when she puts her mind to it. Case in point:]

Sickening, [she supplies, keeping a close eye on this stranger's face.] ...Perhaps you ought to take a break? Clear your mind. A loss of composure here is sure to set off a chain reaction.

[AKA "If you're going to hurl, please do so far away from the rest of us," but she doesn't sound annoyed; Farnese appears... close in age to someone else she knows, which is why her eyes drop back down to that mess of a web in the girl's lap. Hmm...]

No one will think any less of you for taking a quick walk.

[hotinhere]

[Thankfully for Yennifer, an iron stomach is one thing Farnese has in spades. She wouldn't have survived in the Vatican's army if she couldn't power through a few torture sessions. Not that she really made it all that far before she defected. Instead she shakes her head and takes a deep breath, trying to center herself.]

There are many unknowns and horrors in this world. It doesn't benefit anyone to turn their heads in fear and pretend not to see them.

[The concern from Yennifer, even if the main concern was vomit, earns her one strained smile from Farnese. Not that that kind of sentiment was new to someone as composed as her neighbor but she still felt the need to reaffirm her resolve.]

Thank you though.