tdm 05

[thestewards]

Though all the scars are healing
you’re always biting back
You know the struggle's real
I lie down then you attack

► 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.

THE WAREHOUSE JOB
Master Tinker Mari is in a tizzy. Last night, supplies from her personal warehouse in Wall Town went missing. And not just any supplies. These supplies were prototype items fashioned for a project she’s working on for Grand Master Niall.

Having left multiple messages on Draega’s far-caster network, she’s finally gotten you to help her. She asks you to investigate the warehouse and track down her missing supplies. By the way, don’t try to crack the boxes. They’re lined with lead to protect you from some of the dangerous, uh, stuff (as she says) inside.

At the warehouse, you find the lock on the back door has been picked. From the door, you can see that no windows look into the alley, so no one could have seen the culprit. Inside the warehouse, you discover a floor covered in a white powder, but none of it has been disturbed except where the door swung inward. On the floor, an area clean of powder reveals where the boxes once stood. They could not have been dragged out of the warehouse. If they had, the powder would have been disturbed. Near the back wall, hidden by shadow, you discover a little glob of silt. Someone tracked this in from the docks.

Landens and Blood worked together to steal these items, and you suspect mercenaries are responsible. Do you go to the docks to investigate, or do you turn this information over to the Guilds and let them deal with this problem on their own? No one would blame you for the latter: if landens and Blood are working together, there are certainly muters on the mercenary ship where Mari’s supplies have been taken. Dare you take matters of the law into your own hands?


WILD WILD MEN
It’s nearly dusk. Pink and blue rays from the sun pierce a haze of sand on the horizon, obscuring the sunset and painting the sky with pastels. The world seems blurry and depth becomes an illusion. You know to be wary: this is the time when the wildmen come out of the hills to the south and west of Draega.

You’re standing guard at a farm where the spring planting is just mature enough that it could be pulled in. This is a dangerous time for the farmers. They can’t defend themselves against the wildmen that raid their fields, and there aren’t enough guards from the Queen’s First Circle to protect everyone.

A scream comes from the hills. It echoes through the still, night air. Wildmen dressed in rags and furs appear on the plains before you, their sight shields dropping. None of them wear a Jewel darker than Summer-sky, but they are all wild-eyed with rage and hunger. Subdue them however you can, but be sure to protect the fields at your back.


SPRING CLEANING
After the madness of the Black Widow coven invading Draega, Lady Fayura has asked Strangers to help weave cleansing webs. Just as there are webs that ensnare and damage the mind, there are webs that heal them, too.

She invites Strangers who have left the Residence to come spend the morning in her private garden, where she teaches them how to weave cleansing webs. These are simpler webs, built like spirals that trap oppressive psychic energy and purifies the air, removing those dark feelings. As she teaches you, she explains that the landens and slums were hit the hardest by the coven’s attack and that the most psychic damage was done in the slums and the area around the Guilds.

You could, she suggests, leave your cleansing webs there, but if you do, you can expect resistance. Strangers wear Jewels, and they will be viewed with distrust and wariness in the slums especially. The Guilds, she says, insist they can take care of their own, but this kind of psychic damage requires a web to help repair it.

The Blood in River East clamor for cleansing webs. Once, there were many more Black Widows, but that caste was nearly wiped out in the Cataclysm. There are few Black Widows among the Blood in River East who can do what Fayura teaches the Strangers, and the Blood are particularly susceptible to lingering psychic malevolence. If the effects of the webs aren’t removed, the Blood will twist and become even more dangerous than they already are. At least they won’t try to chase the Strangers out of River East.

But who you help is up to you. The choice is yours, Stranger.


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.] I admit: I'm a bit confused. Can anyone learn how to be a Black Widow?

[Aren's boyish voice is cheerful and amused.] Anyone can learn how to weave a tangled web. Indeed, Healers weave webs to make their healing more effective. Even though you can learn the Craft, that will never make you a Black Widow. You won't spontaneously manifest a snake tooth, for example!

[Evandra:] Well, that's a relief! We certainly don't need more chance encounters that leave us poisoned!

[Aren:] Quite so, Evandra! And recovering from a Black Widow's venom is a grueling process. There are few things more deadly.

[Evandra:] Let's take a minute to discuss antivenin and how our listeners can brew their own at home.

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.] …plenty of sun over the next few days. It's the perfect time for taking in the spring harvest. With all this sun, consider purchasing Sun Shield, a new cream produced by the Medico and Crafter Guilds to protect your skin from…

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.] News from the Queen's Court suggests that we'll soon know who attacked the city two weeks ago.

[Another man, nasally in tone. He doesn’t sound rushed so much as put upon.] That’s right, Garret. The Strangers have been investigating the Black Widow coven responsible for breaking a young witch and placing malicious tangled webs throughout the city.

[Garret:] A handful of suspects are being held in the Queen's Residence as deliberations take place. The Strangers…

Comments

jaime lannister | game of thrones

[goldfinger]

THE WAREHOUSE JOB

Jaime doesn't imagine himself particularly smart. Not really. Having just gotten here a few days prior with this bizarre jewel (that is, indeed, burning a hole in his pocket-- he doesn't know what else to do with it yet), the only reason he checks the warehouse out is because going too long with nothing to do will drive him mad.

He stands on the clean space on the floor where the door's upset the powder. He stares at the one area in the middle where the boxes had been. There are no footprints, no drag marks, nothing of the sort that suggests physical use... and then he remembers, his left hand going into his pocket to brush over the green jewel there, that there is magic in this gods forsaken land.

But how could the magic have been used? Jaime doesn't know how to use his own, so he can't really imagine anything. (And it's starting to show, in that he feels hungry and tired all the time, but so far he's doing well enough to pretend none of that is happening.)

He steps onto the powder, caring little for upsetting it as he makes his way to the blank space. Jaime crouches in front of it, frowning. Touching the clean space gleans nothing, so maybe...

The sound of footsteps has his head whirling around, and immediately he gets to his feet with his left hand tugging his sword out of its sheathe. He points it in the direction of the door.

Tone loud and commanding, he calls, "Who goes there?"

WILD WILD MEN

It's bewildering how much these "wild men" remind him of the Dothraki army. Though Jaime reels back in surprise when they appear (he's not used to the concept of magic, still), his expression hardens like a warrior's and he draws his sword, uncertain whether he's being brave or being foolish.

"Stay here!" he says to the person at his side, running in to charge, and-- made even more obvious by the darkness around them-- Jaime's sword shines the slightest bit, even without the moonlight filtering down on top of it.

The real shock is when he slashes at the first man (clumsily, of course) and the slash seems to create some green crescent in its wake: thin, yes, and not able to reach very far, but it cuts through three other men before it disappears into the air. Jaime starts, stunned for all of a moment, but another man swings at him and he lifts his right arm and hears the dull thud of metal against metal--

Gods, where in seven hells did that green shield come from!?

While some men go to attack him, however, the others run towards the person he left behind. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to split up.

SPRING CLEANING

Jaime is terrible at this. Absolutely terrible. He focuses, and his jewel continues to be weighty and annoying in his pocket, and no matter what he does he's incapable of making a web that lasts. This feels like his millionth attempt, and as he looks to his side where other Strangers seem to be making the webs with no issue, irritation and shame burn hot like twin swords stabbed into his belly.

"Blast," he mutters, lifting his arms to try again. Focus. He has to focus. He makes the first spiral, a big and clumsy curve, and then another, and another...

And then, unbidden, a brief thought of worry flits in his mind, and the forming spiral fades away with it.

"Fuck!"

WILDCARD

[ Like it says! HMU with a different starter or PM me if you want to figure something out. I'm open! ]

webs

[theladyofwinterfell]

You're concentrating too hard. You have to relax your mind and let your fingers just go where they want to go.

( Sansa isn't entirely certain of Ser Jaime's presence here in Draega but Lord Tyrion has said he means no harm and Jaime had never hurt her when he was on the Kingsguard. It's not much to build trust upon, but it is something, and she'd rather have him an ally than an enemy. Of people to show up from Westeros, it could certainly be much worse.

When it comes to the webs, she's no expert. Still, she's found it does come easier if she just trusts her mind to guide her hands and doesn't try to force it. It requires a sort of floaty blankness that doesn't come naturally. )

It's easier if you just let your mind go blank. Stop thinking of doing well and just...do it.

[goldfinger]

[ Jaime gives her a look. ] Easier said than done.

[ But still-- some help is better than none, he supposes. And in a hilarious sort of roundabout way, it wasn't like he didn't ride North to serve this girl and be of considerable use to her to begin with.

Does she really need a man to make webs for her, though? Clearly she does better than he by all sorts of standards. ]

Is your mind blank, then? When you do this? Somehow I find that hard to believe.

[ Is he stalling? He might be stalling. ]

fighting some WILD MEN

[garmr]

Sure.

[Guts isn't usually the one left to hold the fort, but he wasn't going to say no. Better if he gets space to do his work. Jaime won't find too much help in the magic department from him, anyway. He is only marginally more experienced from being forced to adapt rather than enthusiasm to learn, and it still took a bit of concentration to actually make his rock do some work.

Fortunately, that didn't stop him from being a big dude with a really big sword. That giant heap of metal wasn't built for dueling humans, that's for sure. It'd be a miracle if the thing held an edge at all - much less anything approaching the fine cut of a proper steel blade. No, it looked like it was made for beheading a dragon from the sheer weight and size alone. No elegance at all, except perhaps in the masterful way he managed to wield it.

Guts lets the first crowd of wild men come to him, sword gliding into a lowered stance. He focuses his jewel's energy to form a thin line of Opal up the entire six feet of cutting edge. It'd taken a month to get that far - but it was good enough to break these shields. When he swings, it slices through the entire wave around him with the stroke, severing his opponents from their lower torsos in one fell swoop.]

or being a complete and utter failure, in jaime's case :3c

[goldfinger]

[ Jaime is able to kill one more before he turns to make sure that his companion is all right-- and, gods, he's more than all right, that much is for sure. It looks as if he'd been able to do what Jaime did except ten times more graceful, and while this hurts his pride a little, the sound of an angry call behind him has him whirling around instead.

He holds his sword up to block a hit and hears the shatter of metal from the other side; he doesn't think he's ever been this strong before, this destructive, and he wonders if this is what that woman meant when she bestowed the jewel upon him. In any case, Jaime yelps as an axe just barely misses him as he bends back, and then he shifts his weight forward to slam his head into the man's chest and send him back.

He sticks his sword down into him and the glowing green thing from earlier doesn't happen again. Still, it does the trick.

The only issue, of course, is that in the time it takes Jaime to pull his sword out with his one good hand, he's barrelled into and slammed down into the grass. His sword falls from his hand and lands far enough away he can't reach it with his scrabbling fingers, but a hand does wrap around his throat and press in.

And Jaime gasps, struggling, trying to use his weight to push the decidedly large man off of him. There are the beginnings of a pair of glowing shields trying to form on either of his forearms, but they flicker in and out of existence to match the panicked state of his mind.

The other wild men deem Jaime dead; they won't need more than one person to kill him. And so the last few roar in their charge towards Guts and the field he's meant to protect. ]

nero // devil may cry

[sassery]

THE WAREHOUSE JOB.

[Muters? Mercenaries? Blood and landen working together? Please, as if Nero's scared of the thought of them trying to go against him. He's fought bigger and probably a lot worse back home; demons and humans combined. Jewel or not, Craft or not, he's pretty sure the Guild is going to get into a lot more trouble if he leaves it to them. And honestly, the last thing he wants is more people getting hurt. Better to leave it to the people who can take care of themselves and leave others out of it.

Nero stands from where he is, avoiding touching the powder on the floor, fingers on the robotic arm, a Devil Breaker, on his right side curling inwards. Obviously they've got a job to do, and the sooner they do it, the sooner this Tinker Mari can get out of his hair.]

C'mon, let's go.

[He's fully expecting his partner to go with him. Someone please stop him or talk to him before he does something stupid.]

WILD WILD MEN.

[Protecting people has always been a thing for him, and fighting demons or would-be demons? Even more so. But protecting a field is different, having to focus on much more than one person, or even a few people at a time. It provides a challenge for him though, and honestly, as long as the fighting is good, he doesn't complain much. Even as the sun sets, it's a brief reminder of home and Fortuna, and of the person who's waiting for him to return.

Fuck, he misses Kyrie. How long are they going to need him here?

His thoughts are interrupted as the howl breaks across the night sky, every nerve on the back of his neck standing straight up. When the men come into view, all he can do is scowl, eyes going to their jewels before reaching for Red Queen's handle, fingers tightening around it pre-emptively.

He doesn't have to wait long.]

Shit- [One of the wild men lunges at him, Nero sweeping his sword forward, opal shining for a split second in the dark before his Devil Breaker splits open, electricity forcing its way out in the shape of a claw and blasting his opponent back. Another takes advantage of the moment and comes for him, weapon out and aiming for his throat. It's parried by Nero's blade, and he moves out of the way of another enemy by sliding his feet over just in time, sending the attacker flying.

All in all, it's not bad, but he can't stop all of them. There's too many all together, meaning some are running past him to try and get to the fields and grab the harvest.]

Hey! [Yeah, he's just yelling casually while this is going on, no big deal.] Might want to focus on cleanup duty!

SPRING CLEANING.

[The whole meeting with Lady Fayura is really... weird, to him. Royalty isn't something he honestly is used to- they had something like it in Fortuna, but Sanctus was a leader of a congregation, a group. It was more a cult than actually leading a kingdom. Still, she's talking about webs, and with the recent breaking of that one witch, Nero doesn't mind being brought in to help.

...Oh. Wait. He's actually supposed to make one of these things? Not just deliver them? Fuck.

He's just going to be off in his own space here, a scowl on his face as the webs continuously reform and break, his temper easily getting the better of him. The spirals are muddled, swirling opposite each other, pulling too tight; his mind isn't clear enough to focus on this whole thing and it shows. This is stupid, this entire thing is so stupid, and he sighs loudly in annoyance, probably disturbing whoever else is nearby him. Not that he's really paying attention right now, so you may want to address that.]

WILDCARD.

[HMU with whatever you've got, I'll roll with it!]

the warehouse job.

[goldfinger]

And do... what?

[ While Jaime has held multiple positions in his life, most of them had been related to combat. Sure, he'd been a knight. Sure, he'd been an elite member sworn to personally protect the king. And yes, he'd ended up lord commander of all of them.

But is he very smart? No. All his smarts went to battle strategy and war tables, and he has no idea how in gods' names the clear space on the floor came to be. ]

I'm fairly certain I don't know how to track... magic. Craft. Whatever it is this is supposed to be.

[sassery]

[Jaime holds the smarts in an area that Nero really hasn't ever tried to look into, or even think about. Things like that were for other members of the Order of the Sword, when he was a part of that, and later it was just left up to him. He hated being told what to do in a group, and that's why he ended up being the loner when he was given jobs. It carried over into his work outside of Fortuna after, though working with others was something he eased into after the massive incident that had him meet Dante and end up learning about the truth behind the Order.

Still, Jaime holds a solid question, and Nero answers with a smirk.]

Find the boxes, what else? [Said in a tone of duh, because what else are they gonna do, leave it to the Guild to take care of?]

Shouldn't be too hard, whatever they used. Craft, probably. [He kneels, right hand bringing up the silt from the docks and showing up very clearly on his robotic fingers. He's no knight, but he is a professional devil hunter- and while tracking demons wasn't as elusive as this, it still is familiar to him all the same. He glances back to the other man, showing what he's found.] I'm no genius on this stuff, but I'm pretty sure we can start at the docks, at least. [He knows what silt is like- Fortuna had a ton of docks and while there weren't many beaches, demons and humans carried this around all the time. The easiest way to find answers will start there.]

wild wild men

[brushoff]

[ Unfortunately, the person he's yelling at is Dorian. Who A: looks like he can't throw a punch worth a shit, B: has a sword but doesn't look like he knows how to use it and C: has a very noticeable white jewel around his neck. Dorian had been examining his fingernails, slacking off and not even bothering to help with the fight. That other man had this under control, right? He didn't need to worry about a thing!

As it turns out, he does need to worry. When Nero yells at him, Dorian looks up and over at the men, then sighs like this is a complete inconvenience and minor bother, instead of what might be a fight to someone's death. ]

I thought you had it under control. Too much of them for you?

[ Still, he will head off, running towards the men that god past Nero to try and cut them off before they reach the fields. ]

I'm sorry for him

[sassery]

[Oh, great- not only does Nero have someone who doesn't quite look like they know what they're doing, but they also have an attitude to possibly make things worse.

Scratch that. Dorian has definitely made things worse.

Nero, of all things, has a temper- and while it's miles better than where he was five years ago, certain ticks cause it to flare back, making him open and readable as ever. Most of the time, he's used to being belittled, or even called weak and a shell. That he won't or can't be powerful because he's human. And he really honestly doesn't give a shit because he's heard it all before, it's like water brushing off glass. But Dorian's sighs and his reply set an edge right under Nero's skin, prompting him to action without even thinking.

A clench of his teeth and he exhales, his Devil Breaker extending to shock another approaching enemy, pushing them back into the dirt and then snatching the man's ankle. It's easy work from there to lift the man and whirl around, sending him flying towards the group like a bowling ball going after pins- even if he misses the mark, he's still making a point (even if it's a petty one).]

As if I'd let you off the hook, pal. [You're here for the job too, Dorian, even if Nero feels he can handle this mostly on his own. He revs the handle of his sword and swings in a circle, enveloping another wild man in flames.] But hey, if you wanna tell the Queen you put your tail between your legs and left everything to me, then by all means!

[Two can play at this game.]

The Warehouse Job

[vigilanteclub]

[Sara's crouched down studying the powder beyond the swept-clean spot by the door, searching for any sign that it's been swept back into place after a disturbance. Something about its presence sits wrong - even considering the level of technology Draega operates at, it seems remarkably primitive as a security measure. Primitive and far more high maintenance than it needs to be, requiring reapplication any time anything is moved in or out.]

Hmm?

[She looks up as her partner's voice registers, brow creasing slightly as her eyebrows lift.]

Go where, exactly?

[sassery]

[Nero, meanwhile, has been towards the back of the room, eyes caught on something that seems out of place compared to the rest of the warehouse.

The look given to him is actually one he doesn't mind, brow raising right back at her as he carefully approaches. Silt lies across his robotic fingers, bringing the material into view so Sara can see it clearly.]

Wherever this is from, for starters. [He frowns.] The docks, probably? [More of an affirmation than a question at this point, but who's counting? He's pretty sure that's where they should head, since he's familiar with where silt comes from thanks to Fortuna having so much trade around the sea. He's hoping that Sara knows the way, though- his sense of direction is mostly "I'll go in the direction of the big hulking demon I saw in the city," and not much else. Getting lost isn't always what happens, but it is a thing with him.]

spring cleaning wildcard!!! :D

[garmr]

[Guts isn't making webs either. He's had enough of those to last him a good while. He of course isn't in the state of mind to make them properly, even before the Black Widow attack. He can't really find the sort of calm needed for it while using Craft. It is difficult for him to find much peace of mind at all, really. So it looks like they're both banished to the hopeless failures corner until someone more qualified for this comes along.

Instead of continuing to try, he's in his own corner tending to his equipment. It was all pretty low tech - crossbow and accompanying bolts, black powder, roundshot, that kind of thing, but it was made well enough. His prosthetic, too, was a well machined invention for something from the dark ages, but had its limitations. The most notable thing would be his colossal sword - more like a table with sharp edges than a blade - and it was taller than he was. It's been a while since he's scrubbed the bloodrust off, and as one may expect, a sword like that needed a lot of oil and repetitive wiping to clean.

This, at least, seemed to be mundane enough to keep him occupied from his own thoughts.

Kaoru Seta | Bang Dream! Girls Band Party

[ex_exitpursuedbyabear875]

THE WAREHOUSE JOB
Normally, Kaoru wouldn't know what to do in a situation like this. Solving mysteries? Something like this was out of her comfort zone: she was an actress and a guitarist, not a detective! Still, Miss Mari that she would help find these dastardly criminals, so she would do it...somehow. Perhaps if she drew upon the words and actions of the Great Detective himself, she could be able to figure this out? Yes...what would Sherlock Holmes do to solve this mystery? Well, he would take note of the area.

She walks further in, pausing in the center of the warehouse. Hand to her chin in thought, Kaoru looks around, looks down at the ground, turns back towards her partner...then spots her footprints. Ah ha!

"Elementary, my dear Watson," she says, with a theatrical gesture towards the boxes' former location. "Someone like us must have taken them! After all, a normal person would have had to drag the box and disturb the powder."

Kaoru looks far too proud of herself like she cracked the case...despite the fact that this doesn't tell anyone just where the boxes went.

SPRING CLEANING
It is very easy to clear one's mind when one is a goddamn idiot. Besides, something like this would make Lady Fayura happy...and Kaoru was never one to ignore one of her little kitten's bouts of sadness, even if said little kitten was actually technically older than her. And so, she listens intently as Fayura explains how to make the web and describes some of the places where it might be best put.

Granted, Kaoru's eyes glaze over at certain points and some of those terms are undoubtedly flying over her head. But she's paying attention and trying her hardest to weave a good web as she does so. Her spirals are shaky, but it's definitely the start of a working cleansing web.

"I believe we should start spreading the webs in the slums first. If they were hurt the most, then it is our job...nay, our duty to help those who cannot help themselves. After all, are they not our fellow man? If we prick them, do they not bleed?"

Her web dissipates as she strikes an over-dramatic pose. This is the second time theatrical posing has ruined one of her cleansing webs but Kaoru hasn't noticed that yet.

WILDCARD
[ Cliff notes: Kaoru is a 17 year old idiot who's annoyingly princely and way too over-dramatic, but she's a caring girl and a good egg underneath all the Extra. HMU with a different starter or PM me if you want something different! ]

warehouse. and also KAORU MY GIRL

[kesi]

"... My name is Takame. Not 'Watson'." The two names only share one Eorzean letter, he was just baffled at how this young lady managed to get them confused. He wasn't a detective by any means either, he was a person of action. Not to mention the previous month's events still weighed on his mind making him seem marginally more cross.

He watched her walk by though and do her full turn around for her not-so-brilliant deduction. The entire time he gave that unflinching stare but now he raised an eyebrow at Kaoru, then shifted his gaze to the footprints, then back to her. He'd seen people who behave like her before and yet every time it caught him off guard. To think he was the one to stick out in most circumstances.

"... I believe we've established that the Blood were involved as well. There is still yet work to be done."

Spring Cleaning

[vigilanteclub]

"You're not wrong, but if you want to help them, you're gonna want to actually finish those." Kaoru might not have noticed the dissipated web, but Sara has. She jerks her chin in the direction of the now-empty frame, her hands occupied with her own spiraling web, and does her best to keep from laughing.

Fortunately, she's had ample practice keeping a straight face when met with absurdity - and even more fortunately, dramatic posing doesn't even crack the top 50 absurd sights she's seen this year.

Dorian Gray | CODG

[brushoff]

WILD WILD MEN. cw: blood, body horror.
Dorian had signed up to protect the fields because it sounded interesting. He was regretting that. Granted, he regretted it the moment he saw that the field was just a field and not some sort of fun magitech nonsense like he's seen throughout the city. But he's definitely regretting it the moment the wildmen arrive.

Dorian's fighting them off with a combination of mediocre sword skills and mediocre magic. But his magic isn't the best and his fighting skills definitely aren't the best.

"I need a little help here! I—" But Dorian's words get cut off as a burst of summer-sky magic from one of the wildmen explodes in his face. It's a disgusting sight as Dorian's skin burns and crackles from the magical energy...but it's an equally disgusting sight as the skin on his face starts knitting itself back together, healing itself up at an inhuman rate.

Needless to say, the wildman fighting him is surprised by this turn of events. And Dorian will gladly take advantage of that surprise to shoot off a burst of opal magical energy into the wildman's face. But healing takes as much energy as magic does and Dorian finds himself staggering backwards, obviously weakened. Little help, guys?

SPRING CLEANING
Ostensibly Dorian is helping. In reality, he's slacking off. He's been watching people for the past few minutes instead of actually practicing the webs. This world is interesting and the magic is interesting, but the people are the most interesting of them all. Especially the transplants like he is.

So, Dorian's people-watching. And he's not being all that subtle about it either, as his attention goes from Stranger to Stranger. When someone actually calls him out on that or gives him a look (or Look), he'll flash them a devil-may-care sort of smile. Guilty as charged. Why not lean into it?

"Terribly sorry," Dorian says, in a tone of voice that implies he's not sorry in the slightest. "But I'm white rank. Considering that my webs are most likely going to be ineffective, wouldn't it be better if I studied before giving it a try?"

If he's stuck with this damn color, the least he can do is find a way to make use of it and slink out of actually working.

WILDCARD
[ Trying out a few different colors to see which one I want to stick with. and cliff notes! Dorian Gray is that Dorian Gray, but he didn't die and instead had a lot of fun adventures in a audio drama. He's selfish, hedonistic, petty, and has an insanely bonkers healing factor that's getting nerfed for the game. HMU over pm or toss up a different starter yourself! ]

wild wild men

[mollymocked]

Molly had an idea this one wouldn't be much of a fighter, which is irritating, but he kept all of that commentary to himself as he did his own part in protecting the fields with the hope of decent food for payment.

And, of course, the wildmen show up.

Molly sticks to his own lane first and foremost, but when he feels that summer-sky magic explode just shortly after his own green shields block the worst of his attacks, he sees the shape of the other man's face is in... and then watches it slowly knit back together.

...Not much of a fighter, but that's a fast working cleric who knows when to heal himself. Molly pushes off and releases his shield with a blast of magic, causing the men he was fighting to stagger back and runs to offer an assistance with both of his swords blazing with radiance.

"Hate to cut in, but you look like you're in a tight spot, friend."

Spring Cleaning

[bearbane]

The Look Cassandra's been giving him only sharpens as he gives his excuses, and her nostrils flare like she's fighting the urge to stride over and shake him until something useful falls out. For the moment, she just contents herself with a disgusted snort. The raw Rose Jewel she has set in the hollow between her crossed legs for lack of a better place to put it - she doesn't have the local currency to set the blighted thing, and while it might be merely a trick she's playing on herself, it seems more effective if it's near the piece of Craft she's working on - pulses weakly as she ties off her web, shaky and worn thin in places, but blessedly not imploded like her initial attempts.

"You've had as much study as any of us. Gaping like a hooked fish won't make you more effective."

Cassandra Pentaghast | Dragon Age: Inquisition

[bearbane]

The Warehouse Job (Summer-sky)
The door kicks up a small cloud of white powder as it scrapes open, and Cassandra only justs manages to throttle the reflex to inhale in surprise. She holds her breath as the powder settles, tension shifting her posture from 'straight-backed' to 'human statue', and only then steps into the wedge of floor that has been swept clean by the door's opening. One hand rests on the pommel of her sword, and her gaze sweeps the room, noting the shadows clinging to the corners and the blind spots created by the remaning stacks of crates, more like she's expecting an ambush than engaging in an investigation. Which, given just how light a jewel she wears, might make her decision to enter first somewhat imprudent.

Finally, her gaze focuses on the empty spaces where the missing crates once sat, edges blurred ever so slightly where the breeze from the door has pushed some of the powder inward. Her eyes narrow sightly, and she frowns, the expression taking her features from merely sharp to hard.

"I was under the impression that these Guilds had artifacts that dampened magic."

Wild Wild Men (Green)
The sight shields drop, and Cassandra sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth as she surveys the Wildmen before her, noting the rage in their expressions, and the harsh angles of muscle and bone beneath their furs. It's the latter that will make them dangerous, she decides - rage can be doused by fear, but starvation means desperation, means these men will not surrender, because surrender will only bring a slower, harder death.

And given that choice of deaths, wouldn't it make sense for this visible group of men to sacrifice themselves in a distraction, in order to allow their kin to circle around the mere pair of defenders and take what they could under the veil of invisibility? Not an honourable tactic, certainly, but one more likely to ensure their tribe's survival than an all out frontal assault.

Still, the visible forces can't exactly be ignored in search of possible invisible reinforcements, and so she asks of her partner for the night, over her shoulder, "How skilled are you at shielding with this Craft?"

Spring Cleaning (either)
a) Though she's aware of several of her fellow strangers shifting restlessly nearby, Cassandra has little problem stilling her mind, summoning the deep well of focus, of faith, forged by her training. No, the problem comes when she attempts to externalize that calm. She's no mage, trained from youth to grasp the stuff of the Fade and weave it into influence on the waking world - no, insofar as her training dealt with magic, it dealt with blocking it or snuffing it out.

The first three attempts are entirely fruitless, producing nothing more than a brief shimmer of light and a sense of absence that remains mercifully confined to her frame. The fourth, she gets two turns around the spiral before the more familiar patterns reassert themselves, and her web seems to implode in another shimmer and the scent of ozone on the air, and it will be a small miracle if the effect doesn't spill over onto her nearest neighbour, should they be unfortunate enough to wear a Jewel lighter than her own.

She hisses something halfway under her breath, and though the curse is in her mother tongue, the vehemence behind it makes her sentiments abundantly clear.

b) It takes some time, but eventually, she gets the hang of the webs, and weaves as many as she can before her temples start throbbing with the drain on her energy - or her fingers begin cramping with the repetitive motions required to weave the things. And once the preparations are done, the part she still considers the real work can begin.

Some of the tension slowly eases from the set of her shoulders as she strides along the street, though each step carries her closer to the slums, without a pause to check if her assigned partner has a different opinion on where they should start. To Cassandra, it's the obvious choice - these people were hurt the worst, have the least protection, and are the least likely to be able to offer payment to lure in aid. And if the slums are also the most dangerous choice, well. Physical danger is an old friend, and an honest fight would be far less disconcerting than unfamiliar magic.

Air Time
[Cassandra has, for the most part, ignored her own Far-caster as a slightly-unnerving and largely useless bit of absurdity, but the mention of poison snags her attention, and she pauses to listen a moment longer - be it to a broadcast playing from an empty shop front, or another Stranger listening to their device over a meal.

At the suggestion of home-made antivenin, however, she shakes her head, grimacing slightly.]

Tch. That has all the makings of a disaster waiting to happen.

air time.

[goldfinger]

[ Jaime, who's also been standing in front of said empty shop front (this whole world is so bizarrely advanced, mechanism-wise, from his own), lets out an amused little noise as he considers the woman who'd come up only a few minutes earlier. ]

Does it? [ He knows nothing about Black Widows, not really. Not a lot about Craft or magic in general, either. ]

Have you been attacked by a Black Widow, my lady?

spring cleaning a

[verstoned]

By now, Rhus knows the look of someone who doesn't know how to use magic-- not a newcomer to Draega and its Craft, but one struggling with magic in general for one reason or another. ... Usually because they are, in Eorzean terms, a disciple of war.

And this woman does seem like she fits the bill.

That's what compels the Miqo'te to approach her with the intent of assisting, tail flicking to and fro in his interest to see what kind of student this woman will be, if she'll accept help... Or if she'll be stuck on his obviously non-Hyur features.

He raises his hands to show he's unarmed outside of the greatsword strapped to his back. "You open to some instruction on that?"

lara croft | tomb raider

[tombing]

0 0 1 ¬ THE WAREHOUSE JOB

[ lara doesn't know what she's doing here -- not really. she's in a world full of magic when she's always been sure that that kind of thing doesn't exist, trusting a queen to bring her father back when that should be impossible and is probably going to have dire consequences in some way because isn't that how it always goes?

lara's supposed to be better, her father raised her to be better -- but she's lived years without him and it hurt. if there's a chance? she'll take it.

so here she is. helping isn't a hardship. investigating isn't a hardship, either: she likes puzzles, likes figuring things out. this isn't much of a puzzle: mercenaries, coming from the docks. probably going back to the docks, too. she could just report this. or she could go to the docks herself.

three guesses what it'll be. still, she's not so reckless as to want to go at it entirely alone. so: ]

Hey. You busy?

[ does she know you? maybe she does, maybe she doesn't. ]

0 0 2 ¬ SPRING CLEANING

[ lara can't say she understands this -- but the instructions are easy enough to follow and she learns how to spin these simple webs with others in the gardens. it reminds her a little of one of the nannies she's had who'd knit sometimes, except the knitting didn't help anyone feel relaxed except for janine herself.

(if this works as it seems to -- her world could benefit from this. she could've benefitted, too, after her father's disappearance. that thought is pushed far down.) ]

Where are you going to leave yours?

0 0 3 ¬ WILDCARD

[ hit me up with another starter if you'd like. surely there are pubs or bars, so feel free to run into lara at one of those. or... network(-equivalent) stuff? idk what i'm doing ]

spring cleaning.

[goldfinger]

In the... air? [ Don't ask him, please. Jaime's skill in weaving webs is a notch below decent at best; it's clumsy and novice and and trembles where he makes it. ]

I imagine you can't really decide where to leave a... [ A brief pause-- he doesn't know what to call it. ] A feeling. Or whatever this is supposed to be.

The Warehouse Job

[bearbane]

[Cassandra recognizes the woman as another Stranger, but that's all - she's good with faces, but she hasn't a name to put with this one. Still, even that tenuous connection, both of them being foreign to this place and ostensibly brought here to help save this world, is enough to pique her interest.

That, and the fact that she - severe, scarred, and clearly armed as she is - isn't someone who typically expects to be approached so she can be roped into something frivolous. Not by anyone who doesn't know her well, at least. So: probably important.]

Not particularly busy, no. What do you require help with?