the stewards (
thestewards) wrote in
agentlelog2019-02-19 07:00 pm
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Entry tags:
- !modevent,
- !modpost,
- aithne,
- alex fierro,
- calvin lee,
- clarke griffin,
- daisy whitfoot,
- daylight vis lornlit,
- emil västerström,
- haein seo,
- henry percy,
- horatio hornblower,
- jason grace,
- jon snow,
- jonathan reid,
- lalli hotakainen,
- leo valdez,
- mary crawley,
- mordred,
- peter parker (spider-verse),
- piper mclean,
- ren suzugamori,
- rhus bashe,
- river song,
- sansa stark,
- takame kesi,
- zita harrington
event: a gentle explosion

With shoulders of giants at my feet
There’s not a challenge I’m afraid to meet
► The OOC plotting post for this event can be found here.
► Direct all questions to the mods at this link.
► Direct all questions to the mods at this link.
STRANGERS IN A STRANGE LAND
You wake, warm and comfortable, and realize that you’re no longer where you were when you went to sleep. The dream was real. As you clamber out of bed and open your door, an impassive footman greets you and leads you to breakfast in a large hall filled with many, many people. They sit around a hodgepodge of tables in a mishmash of furniture—nothing matches anything else, and no two chairs are the same.
The woman from your dream catches your eyes. She stares at you with open shock. “Well,” she says, as a number of males turn to her with withering looks. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” She smiles at you. “Welcome to Draega, Stranger. Please, join us.”
Join them at the table and have your breakfast, Stranger. There isn’t much to offer: porridge, water, a bit of milk, some wrinkled fruits, and bread. Coffee, thankfully, is not in short supply. Meet your fellow Strangers, both the ones choosing to live at the Queen’s Residence and those who arrived in the night with you.
As breakfast draws to a close, the Queen’s Steward, Prince Loren Sorey, explains that you may choose to find your own home or stay in the residence for as long as you please. Those who stay will receive a modest stipend but are required to participate in Allairavar’s morning trainings every day. At dawn. Before breakfast. Those who go will need to find their own homes among the ruined buildings of the city and make their own money.
The court begins filtering out of the Great Hall, dispersing to attend their many duties. Linger, Stranger, and overhear…
“What did you mean?” The man leaning over the Queen is Prince Allairavar. His membranous wings flare around him, and his expression is menacing. “This wasn’t supposed to happen?”
Queen Fayura doesn’t look at all alarmed by the massive man caging her against a wall. “It was a one-time spell,” she says. “The web was—” Her eyes go wide. “I need to go look at the web.” She ducks under Allairavar’s arm, which could put a tree trunk to shame, really, grabs Prince Verim, and drags him from the hall.
Allairavar bares his teeth at the wall and snarls. The sound rumbles through the room, and dark temper washes briefly through the residence before all the tangled webs tucked in corners absorb it, leaving the building peaceful and clean of psychic feeling once more.
A TALE OF TWO IDEALS
At exactly 5:46pm, an explosion rocks the city of Draega. Black clouds belch fire to the northwest of the city. Concurrently, in Old Town, a mob of landens armed with Breakers and Muters descends on The Last Meal. They surround an older, Blood woman.
i. Black Out
The power plant maintained by the Tinkers and the Elektrics has exploded. Across Draega, e-line appliances shut down and the city plunges into darkness—the sun set some 45 minutes ago.
Prince Loren reaches out to approximately half the Strangers, asking them to go to the power plant. He shares a mental map with them so they know how to reach the building, as well as the Craft used for air-walking. The tutorial is quick and hardly complete, but now you’ll be able to run above the city to reach your destination.
The power plant burns. Black smoke pours into the air. Master Elektric Doriah organizes the Tinkers and Elektrics who were able to escape on their own. A quick glance reveals how absolutely exhausted she is. When Strangers approach, she sneers but isn’t about to turn away good help.
“There are still people inside. The Blood who did this trapped us in shields.” She hesitates only a moment before collecting Breakers from guildmembers carrying them. “Take these. Your Jewel may not be able to break through the shields.”
Inside, well-ordered building is a mess of fire and melting steel. Airwalking protects your feet, and shields can keep out the heat, but you’ll need something more to protect your lungs. Put out fires, stop systems from overloading, save the machines from complete destruction, and rescue missing workers who are suffocating and cooking inside shields. The guildmembers trapped in the power plant will assist the Strangers who free them, helping mitigate the damage done to the plant and keep it from exploding the rest of the way.
ii. Death of a Councilwoman
Councilwoman Vera enjoys dinners at The Last Meal, and this is well known by everyone in the city. Today, public knowledge of her schedule doesn’t work so well in her favor.
As she approaches the restaurant with her family, a group of landens descends on them. Muters prevent the Blood from taking any action that isn’t purely physical, and this is enough to throw most of them off their stride; they’re used to relying on Craft to fight. The landens separate Vera from her family in a short-lived brawl. She shouts and screams—“Let me go! Don’t you know who I am? The Queen will have you executed for this! Your families will be thrown out of the city! You’re making a mis—”
A shot rings through the air.
The landens peel away from one of their own, a young man gripping a Breaker in both hands. He trembles as he stands over Councilwoman Vera, whose expression is frozen forever in shocked disbelief. Her body crumples to the ground, blood from a gunshot wound on her chest staining the white fabric of her blouse.
In the silence that follows the shot, Allairavar shoves free of the crowd. “Go home!” he snarled, Craft powering his voice.
No one moves.
Except the young landen man. He takes off at a run, and the crowd is still too horrified to do much to stop him. Allairavar wastes no time. He plunges after the young man. At the same time, he reaches out to the minds of the Strangers closest to Old Town. *The Ebon Council is, collectively, a sack of reeking shit, and Lady Vera was a bitch,* Allairavar tells the Strangers. *But if we don’t get between the Blood and the landens, we’ll have another war. We can’t afford another war. Keep them from killing each other while I deal with this idiot.*
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…
the news
…angered local landen families by her hard-line position that Blood homes should receive priority as the city continues to recover from the fires set by the Hunter Guild last month. [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.]
Councilwoman Vera is known for her vocal disdain for the landen Guilds, isn’t that right, Garret? [Another man, nasally in tone. He doesn’t sound rushed so much as put upon.]
[Garret:] Correct, Wilt. She—excuse the interruption, but we are just now hearing— [The feed abruptly cuts off. Static pours from the Far-caster regardless of what local channel it is tuned to.]
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Jonathan hadn't spent too much time at breakfast in the past, usually retiring to his room before the sun rose and allowing people to think what they will of his strange habit of only appearing when the sun had gone down again. Truthfully he had found it difficult to focus as much on such concerns now; his hunger had been markedly stronger since his arrival and more difficult to ignore. He had been given permission to hunt animals as he preferred, but Jonathan had found even a deer did little to sate him for more than an evening or so and he was well aware that hunting as he needed would only cause a greater drain on the livestock than could be met. Rats in the palace had helped somewhat, and although he was loathe to feed on vermin at least it wasn't a new experience, but even their numbers were starting to dwindle faster than expected.
It was a situation he had limited experience in dealing with and the other options he didn't even wish to consider. So, for now, he ignored it and focused instead on the problems at hand that he was familiar with. People and the current situation in the palace. It hadn't escaped his attention that the Queen had been surprised by the new arrivals, just as it hadn't escaped his attention that the food quality had dropped significantly. Regardless if it was the palace itself that had the problem or a greater one, he could not imagine that more hungry mouths to feed would help much at all.
Keeping that in mind, Jonathan lingered away from the windows of the dining hall, leaning back against a wall as he watched the crowd of people for anyone who might look particularly lost or confused and need some help. It didn't occur to him that he might also seem as though he himself needed some assistance; he was always somewhat pale after his rebirth but now he seemed almost sickly and gaunt from hunger, veins and reddish bruising visible around his pale eyes.
Absently, he reached into his coat for a battered packet of tobacco and papers and started rolling a cigarette automatically before noticing someone was watching him.
"I apologise, did you want one?"
Death of a Councilwoman - probably gonna lead to fighting
Allairavar started off after the young man and in the back of his mind Jonathan knows that he should do as the Warlord Prince directed. He should try to help and ensure that this situation does not get considerably out of hand. But all he can focus on is the spreading red stain on the woman's clothing and the smell of it is like a blow to his senses. It's thick and rich and pulls at him and he can feel his fangs lengthening in his mouth.
A grunt of something not unlike pain leaves him and Jonathan squints and turns his head away struggling to keep his jaw clenched shut as his vision dims to shadow only punctuated by the bright reddish lines of heat around him, thumping hearts and veins rushing with blood. He can hardly hear anything over the sound of it and reaches out blindly for the wrist of the person next to him.
"I can't- I can't stay here, I'm so hungry..."
Death of Councilwoman
[For a moment, Peter tries to figure out what to do - he could websling and see if he can get an aerial view. He could try to help the Councilwoman, but people already are dealing with that. He could help keep the crowds from rioting. But then Jonathan is clinging to his wrist, fairly tightly, and acting...weird.]
Oookay. Don't know what about this situation is making it so you've got a craving, but maybe we can go take care of that.
[Peter decides there are enough people working on keeping the crowds under control that he can focus on Jonathan. Maybe he's lightheaded from seeing the violence and thinks he needs a jolt to his blood sugar.]
[But there is a slight niggling suspicion. The blood blooming on the Councilwoman's chest, the good doctor's pale skin. It reminds him of someone he once knew. But it can't be, can it? What are the chances?]
[Peter tugs a little bit, intent on leading him away to a nearby alley, away from the crowds, planning on figuring out whatever his problem is there. Bare minimum he looks like he's maybe going to faint and it's probably better Peter takes care of him somewhere less crowded.].
Do you need to get away from the crowd? Maybe sit down for a minute? You're looking peaky.
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Oh, for crying out loud! I have a one vamp limit! One!
[He's already dealt with one back home and that's the full extent of horror movie shenanigans he's willing to indulge in.]
[He wrests his wrist away and flips onto the wall, to get some distance between them. The trick, however, is going to be avoiding a bite while also not letting him run off to bite someone else.]
I don't have a Snickers so you need to just chill! Chill thyself!
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I can't... the smell is so strong.
[Unbidden his head snaps to look back at the crowd and a growl sounds from the back of his throat.]
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[The man is struggling. He doesn't seem evil. And he had Peter's back during the fires. He just...is what it he is, maybe.]
[It's rarely ever their fault. In fiction, they're always afflicted by a vamp biting them. In reality, Morbius got changed because of a failed experiment to cure his blood disorder. Attacks and accidents.]
[Instead of looking at him like he's some kind of leech or a monster, Peter sees... he sees someone that's a little sick. Sick people need transfusions, right? Maybe they don't have instincts that scream at them to chase after someone with a needle and donation bag, but there's not much difference between this and donating to someone with sickle cell. There's still someone in need.]
[The last place he wants to do this is uncontrolled in some alley but he doesn't know how to move it somewhere it can be controlled. So he just has to gun it and hope for the best.]
How much do you need? Would you be able to stop short of killing someone? And can you feed without fatally nicking a major blood vessel?
[He jumps down from the wall.]
I heal fast. I can regenerate blood a lot faster than most people.
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tw: for vampire snacking
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this okay?
sure!
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death of a councilwoman.
Oh.
It's plain to see now what's causing such an uproar. His eyes are wide with surprise as he takes in the sight, but the sudden hand grabbing his wrist has Haein snapping his gaze to the man next to him and—
Oh fuck.
He immediately wrenches his wrist out of the hold, taking a couple of stumbling steps back. There's no way Haein could forget that time he'd been forced to sit and stay, as if he'd been some kind of animal, and the very man responsible is right here, looking very much like he's suffering. Good, he thinks. If only the bullet had ripped through this man instead, but Haein's never been that lucky in life. He takes a moment to compose himself, before realizing what it is that Jonathan says.
"What are you talking about?" The question is hissed out quietly, eyes flickering to the angry crowd around them. As much as Haein would love to stand there and bask in Jonathan's misery, now isn't the time. "These people are about to kill each other and you're thinking about food?"
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He's only barely clinging to the thought that he cannot allow himself to hurt anyone here, and instinctively his grip tightens around Haein's wrist.
"I must leave, or I won't know what I might..." he manages, his voice rough with the effort of controlling himself and, out of sheer desperation, Jonathan raises his free hand to his mouth and sinks his teeth into his own wrist. Blood drips down his lips and chin and he swallows instinctively. It won't do anything for him and barely keeps the craving at bay, but it might buy him a little more time.
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Shit, shit, shit. Okay, he still has no idea what's going on, but leaving? Leaving sounds like a solid plan. Haein shoves at Jonathan to get him moving away from the crowd as the people surge forward with raised fists and makeshift weapons. Gods, he can't... he can't take care of two things at once, and right now, the guy drinking blood from his own wrist seems like the more pressing concern, even if everything in Haein is screaming at him to leave the other Stranger there to rot.
"Go," he mutters as he struggles through the crowd, his free hand pushing away the people who get too close.
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They're almost out of the crowd entirely when the fighting breaks out and now there's more blood in the air, the sounds of fighting and yelling behind them, and Jonathan lets go of his arm and turns to snarl with bloody teeth and sharp fangs back the way they came.
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Haein tries to focus on getting them all the way out of the crowd, but there's fear now. A real, building fear at what's latched onto him. All of his instincts are telling him to get away, that this is dangerous, and Haein knows it. How could he not when it's so obvious that he's dealing with something entirely out of his control?
But he needs to get them out, and Jonathan's still got a grip on Haein's wrist, so with as much strength as he can muster, he gives a final push to Jonathan to send them stumbling out of the angry mob. With a monster in front of him and people fighting behind him, it feels as if the whole world is about to collapse in on itself. "You—" Give him a moment to catch his breath. "Let go of me now."
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strangers in a strange land
The Au Ra did not respond immediately, but he continued to stare wondering what about this sickly looking man set him on edge. After a brief silence, Takame simply shook his head.
"No." It was a plain response for someone who spent enough time staring that they should have had something more interesting to say or ask. In the back of his mind he wondered if Jonathan should be smoking at all, but he did not ask it aloud, instead choosing to redirect that into something he assumed to be less invasive.
"... Should you not eat first? You look as though you haven't in days." He meant no offense merely stating a fact, but ever did his monotone lend any genuine nature of his words to ambiguity.
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The remark about his appearance earned a dry laugh as he struck a match and Jonathan took a moment to make sure the tip was lit before he answered. "I have fed." It's not a particularly reassuring way of saying it, but right now the dark humour feels appropriate.
"I don't believe we've met," he adds, exhaling smoke before offering his hand. "Dr Jonathan Reid."
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"Your appearance leads me to believe otherwise." Regardless, he took Jonathan's hand, at least aware of this custom, and gave it a single shake.
"Takame Kesi." He paused briefly after taking his hand feeling a more staggering difference in their body temperatures than normal, but he continued nonchalantly. "A pleasure to meet you."
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"Would you mind telling me what manner of creature you are?" he asked. "You appear human but for those dermal growths... or are they deeper? Muscle or bone, perhaps?"
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"I am an Au Ra. My people hail from far to the east, the continent of Othard." A short pause, realizing that locations he was used to meant little in this realm. But he continued either way, making a slight correction to Jonathan's conjecture.
"Scales, actually." He lifted his hand, giving a clearer view of the scales at the back of it. "Though we have no relation to dragons." He added almost as an afterthought, but an important one as common as the misunderstanding was.
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strangers in a strange land
"If you're offering, yeah." He steps closer, trying not to showcase his wariness too much. "You, my friend, look like you could do with about ten and a stiff drink, as well."
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Holding the paper to his lips to wet it, Jonathan seals the cigarette and offers it to Molly with a dry chuckle. "I would enjoy the drink were I still capable of it. This is the only vice still left to me, it would seem."
He doesn't fault Molly his weariness in the slightest, flicking him a faintly concerned look. "Is it that obvious? I have been doing what I can to manage it but this place has made everything about me more potent. Including my hunger."
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The words sort of fall out absently. Aside from that first encounter with Jonathan, Molly has never met a vampire before, and yet he feels like he has knowledge of them, coming out of a dark corner of his mind where the information about Fjord's strange patron and Kylre's race emerged. He tries not to think of where that information really came from.
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"I doubt many people would welcome that, for one thing," Jonathan remarks, uncertain himself how he'd feel about it either. "'Vampire slain' hardly seems appetising, I imagine. And the other problem is the... quantity required."
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He'd argue that meat is meat, regardless of what may have drained it of its vital essence, but he also eats bacon out of people's pockets, so what does he know? Some people shouldn't be so picky when there are travelers out there who have to eat their horses in winter. Ah, but that's a classist rant for another day. "What sort of quantity are we talking about here? Like five cows worth? A handful of goats?"
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strangers
"Dr. Reid, while I know that you are the doctor in this case, I cannot help but notice that you seem quite ill of late." She puts a hand on his arm. "Please... I worry about you."
She cares for him. He is from close to her time and she would hate to lose him.
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"I'm not ill, Mary," he says gently, knowing it's not strictly a lie but still disliking having to say it. "I am simply afflicted with a... condition that means I look this way."
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Mary furrows her brow at his words, then puts her hand in the crook of his arm and tugs gently, hoping that he will walk with her. "A condition that is not an illness?" Technically were they not the same thing? She supposes that a doctor would know. "Surely something can be done for this condition though? Staying inside and hardly eating can't be helping."
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"I'm afraid that staying inside and carefully monitoring my... dietary requirements is exactly what I need." A particularly loud laugh catches his attention briefly and Jonathan glances up, then comes to a sharp stop as he realises how close they are to walking in front of one of the windows. The light of the early morning is weak, but it's still the sun and he'd rather not walk through it.
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