agentleooc | tdm 05

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!tdm

tdm 05

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…

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

[ 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?

Nothing so exotic.

[The admission is accompanied by a faint, wry twist of her mouth, not quite a smile, but certainly nothing hostile.]

But most people aren't trained alchemists. There will be people who harm themselves with this, to say nothing of the fools who will be emboldened if they think this means safety.

The Queen's been seeing to some educating, though. [ Jaime shrugs his shoulders, and his tone is nonchalant as he says it; clearly despite his knowing this, he's not particularly aware of the finer details. ] Maybe they'll go so far as to teach this... alchemy. [ There is the slightest tone of disdain. ]

I've had a fair bit of Black Widow training, myself. I suppose if you can teach someone to make webs, you can teach the dispelling.

I've always found it strange that undoing magic isn't one of the first things mages are taught. Many never learn.

[And don't care to.

She considers him, making no attempt to hide the evaluation.]

Though undoing a spell does nothing to reverse the damage already caused.

[ If Jaime's aware he's being looked at, he doesn't seem to mind it. One of the most interesting things about him might be the gold hand on his right, but other than that he seems a normal one with a longsword at his hip. ]

No? I'm not familiar with the process. [ He doesn't care to be, either, and wouldn't be half as knowledgeable about the pathetically small amount of information he has if not for the oath he swore to the queen. ]

The damage, though-- that, I'm aware of intimately. Every instance of magic I've seen has wrought nothing but destruction.

As far as I'm concerned, the world is better off without it.

[The gleam of gold does catch Cassandra's eye, and though she's not unfamiliar with people wounded badly enough to compensate with some manner of prosthetic, the material he's chosen is certainly notable. Nobility, then, or perhaps a particularly ostentatious mercenary, though the lack of concern with which he carries himself sways her suspicions towards the former rather than the latter.]

No. It's like putting out a fire; the immediate problem is ended, but anything it consumed is still burnt.

[She shifts her weight, crosses her arms over her chest, restlessness motion making a lie of her matter-of-fact tone. She has never been particularly good at accepting 'this is how things are', even if a particular instance of how things are truly is immutable.]

But not all magic is destructive. And properly directed by mages who have the discipline to keep their spells from slipping their control, even destructive magic can be used to good ends.

Hmm. [ That's a pensive sound, made more so as Jaime considers the way this woman moves. Though he may know nearly nothing of Craft, she looks to be more than familiar with it.

Or, well, "magic". But the two are interchangeable at this point, aren't they? ]

Have you seen those good ends, my lady?

Cassandra. Or Seeker Cassandra, if formality is called for.

[The local insistence on calling women ladies rankles, and she's no diplomat to bow to traditions she sees no use for. Far better to be known by the title she'd earned.]

And I have, though not in the few days since my arrival here. I would not trust a strange mage completely before he proved himself, but I have called several ally in the past.

I see. [ He'll take note of that. ] Then perhaps you'll be able to learn Craft better than anyone here, having seen some version of it yourself. Unless you'd rather not?

I'm jealous. [ He gives a short smile, then turns on his feet, his body facing Cassandra properly now rather than simply standing at her side. ]

You call yourself "Seeker". What is that?

[She would truly rather not. But that seems too personal a truth to hand to a stranger, in a place where magic seems to be equally reviled and revered.

And so she leaves that unadressed, seizing instead on the question that's much easier to answer.]

The functional title for any fully initiated member of the Seekers of Truth. It means little enough here, but in the place I come from, we are a martial order in service to the Divine.

What should I call you?

[ Jaime translates this as "this woman was part of some faith militant", and it sours him just a bit. Fortunately, he doesn't let it show. ]

Jaime. [ He's no lord, no knight, absolutely nothing at all. ] My name's Jaime.

[ He holds his left hand out, offering a shake. ] Well met.

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?"

Cassandra is aware of his approach in the abstract - concentrating on her task does not and should not mean locking her situational awareness in a box and tossing it out the nearest window - and so she doesn't startle at the sound of his voice. She does, however, stiffen slightly as she looks up, registering his ears and his tail and the feline thinness of his pupils in the same breath as she notes the greatsword and his raised hands.

Not immediately hostile, then, but certainly alien. She's never so much as heard of a race that blends human and beast as he does.

Then again, she's also never heard of a demon arbitrarily adding animal characteristics to an otherwise human guise. All things being equal, a mortal man from a people that never came to be on Thedas seems the more likely explanation.

Still, more likely isn't the same thing as certain, and there's something guarded in her expression as she replies, "It depends on the instruction."

"Help in weavin'. Craft ain't easy for the newcomers." A neutral enough statement. Rhus looks up at the spot where she was attempting to weave a web, as if he can discern anything from it. Though he does make sure not to let her see the right side of his face under his fringe as much as possible.

"Draega's idea of magic is awkward, even I've my own issues with it sometimes. ... But some things are similar."

Then he pauses-- because he's waiting for her permission.

There's an absence in that space, one that has more weight than simple empty air, though it's swiftly dissipating. Cassandra hadn't just lost her grasp on the piece of Craft she'd been attempting, she'd stripped it, undoing with a thought what little progress she'd managed so far.

"Then I question why it was necessary to give it to us," she says, and there's a thread of discomfort beneath her tart tone. She doesn't hate magic, or those who practice it, but reshaping people into mages who never were... She may have agreed to come here, but it's still unsettling.

"You were a mage already in your own world?" Also faintly unsettling: the thought that there are so very many worlds.

"Aye. I've learned the foundations of the different branches at some point or another..." Rhus' tail swings to show his interest at the location, determining how much concentration and energy is required to span the area with a decent web that wont tear at the first sign of pressure.

He taps a finger on his chin and then starts to weave Craft himself, slowly, hands together as if cupping a bowl.

"But healin's always been my best discipline." Inasmuch as he practised only the healing arts for so long that it's already become second nature to channel his energy into mending rather than breaking.

"A useful discipline to specialize in," she notes. "Especially in times of conflict."

Her shoulders draw up slightly as she watches him at his Craft, posture winding a hair tighter. It isn't suspicion, precisely, but attention being drawn to a very fine point - this is an unfamiliar place, full of unfamiliar people, and while she doesn't expect sudden hostility, she is certainly prepared, just in case.

"I wasn't born a mage, though I suspect if I had been, my talents would be a great deal more destructive."

"Where I'm from, you needn't be a mage to be castin' spells or usin' your aether." Rhus pauses in his weaving to look back at the Hyur woman, noting her shield and sword. "Stronger paladins tend to use healin' and protective magicks too. Puttin' shields on others, takin' on their pain for themselves..."

And then the Miqo'te nods, soft ears moving as he does so. "You look a lot like 'em."

Rhus stops weaving though, wondering what else to place in the web aside from trapping and purifying the psychic energy the Black Widows left behind. Perhaps something for relaxation? One had digs around his pockets for his tiny silver smoking pipe.

She inclines her head, severe features softening slightly. "I protect those I can. It is one of the duties of my order - our most sacred duty. But our gifts are designed to banish demons and counter dark magic. ...Or any magic we set our minds to."

Thus the implosion of her last attempt at weaving a web. That particular link between focus and effect is well enough ingrained that it will take some doing to override.

Oof, countering dark magic. Perhaps he wont mention how he also practises that art, given how she doesn't seem to have a grand impression of magic.

Not this early, in any case.

"Meanin', the type o' person I tend to heal the most." And the one he makes sure to drag to a new dungeon or ancient ruin in case of wandering enemies. After all, as a healer, he doesn't have much in the way of defenses. "Unless they're disciples o' war what don't wear steel plate an' like runnin' straight to danger."

Because that's awfully common as well.

Rhus succesfully pulls out his small, silver kiseru and places it into his mouth, snapping his fingers with Craft and lighting what weed is left within so he can have a smoke as he weaves.

"Some are," she admits. One corner of her mouth turns ever so slightly upward. "Steel plate is restrictive. For my own part, I prefer a straightforward fight, but there are other ways of accomplishing what needs to be done."

And while she has no patience whatsoever for a scoundrel's arts, even she can admit that a knife in the back can be the best way to dispatch a demon or a blood mage or creeping darkspawn.

"--How do you differentiate between the magic you're accustomed to using and this craft?"

In response to her slight smile, Rhus shrugs and smiles a little as well. Though that could also be the effect of the weed he's smoking, already making its way through his blood.

"The magic I know channels from the world 'round, you take it in yourself an' use it an' your own aether to create a spell." It makes sense in his head, but then again he remembers how confused he was when he first started practising magic. He doubts he'd be able to put into words the actions that come naturally to him.

Words he uses nowadays, in any case. The rough accent he's cobbled together for himself, and not his old, flowing speech that he's left behind.

"But in Draega, with the Jewels? Everythin' happens in 'ere." He taps the center of his chest for emphasis. "'S already a difference a malm wide."

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tdm 05

Cassandra Pentaghast | Dragon Age: Inquisition

air time.

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spring cleaning a

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