event: a gentle explosion

[thestewards]

I see a world just out of reach
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.

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.]

Comments

[mollymocked]

It feels like it happened to someone else, sort of. Kinda like you watched it happen, and then you woke up and realized, "Oh... That happened to me." [He reaches up and touches the dark green bauble that dangles from his horns.] Finding this in my pocket was fairly surprising, but we were also rudely awakened that first night, so it took awhile to figure it out. There was a lot going on.

[theladyofwinterfell]

I still don't quite know how to comprehend it all. I'm not used to having access to this...Craft, as it is, and I've never even seen such a thing. I'm almost afraid to use it.

( Sansa doesn't mind wearing the Jewel itself; the purple color pleases her and she loves jewelry. It's the responsibility that comes with this Jewel that stresses her a bit. She doesn't know if she can handle that. )

[mollymocked]

Oh right... That. [He leans forwards a bit.] Tell you the truth? I keep forgetting myself, though I'm told it gets painful if you forget and don't use some of it.

[He makes up for it by being liberal with the spells he actually had to his name before this... Though admittedly he's had fun with the witchlights too.] I've had abilities before now, but this is wizard shite. Like... Oh.

[He snaps his fingers and a little globule of light appears in his hand.] This? This was child's play to a friend I had back where I come from. He did this every time we needed a light. But me? Couldn't do it if I tried until now. It's fairly handy, if you stop to think about using it.

[theladyofwinterfell]

( Sansa blinks as he conjures the little ball of light and she wonders if she could do it so simply. Is it possible? She's been told that they must use Craft and that they should eat more to keep from depleting their strength but she doesn't know exactly how to deal with the changes in her body. )

How did you do that? Did you only snap your fingers or is there something you must think or say to do it?

[mollymocked]

No, no... That's just flair. [He cups his hands around the light and it snuffs out.] I sort of... think about it? I need a light and light appears. [He snaps his closed fingers open again and another ball of light appears. He may be enjoying this a bit too much.] It's gonna really liven up any act I perform should I decide to take the streets for some coin.

[theladyofwinterfell]

( Sansa thinks of it the way he’d described: she needs a light and wishes for one to appear. After a moment, a glowing ball of witchlight appears and she gasps, startled. )

Oh! I didn’t imagine I would actually be able to do it. I thought surely it must be harder than that and here we are.

[mollymocked]

[He wheezes out a delighted laugh, slapping a hand on the table.]

Isn't it wonderful? And you don't even have to waste a gold piece on paper and ink to do that and so much more.

[theladyofwinterfell]

I cannot imagine doing any magic back home, not even something so simple as this. It's just not something we do. Anyone who does is just a mummer who is faking for coin.

( Sansa extinguishes the light and conjures three more, laughing in absolute glee. )

It's so beautiful!

[mollymocked]

Is that what you call a circus performer where you're from? Or a con artist? [Like there's a really difference between them. Molly's willing to pretend as he folds his hands under his chin and lets his tail twitch idly behind him.]

[theladyofwinterfell]

Something like that, yes. They tend to travel in troupes. I've only seen a few of them, though, since I come from the far North where people don't tend to travel voluntarily.

( Sansa extinguishes her witchlight and wonders what other things she might be able to do. Craft is clever for all that it is strange. )

Something about the snow keeps people away.

[mollymocked]

As a traveler, I can honestly say that snow is a good deterrent to keep people from getting too close. That's why my circus always bedded down somewhere in winter.

[He pauses, canting his head.] So is it always winter in your north? That sounds... [unpleasant? well, that would probably be too mean to say.] ..Unfortunate.

[theladyofwinterfell]

Winter can last for years, yes. This one has only just begun so I don't know how many years we have left of it. It will be only the second winter I've gone through.

( She's a summer child and she knows that but the colder it gets, the more Sansa feels like a proper Stark and not what she used to be. It gives her peace and strength now even if winters are hard. )

I suppose it's a matter of what you're used to.

[mollymocked]

That's very true. I've only recently been up north when it started getting colder and I didn't much care for it. [Blood on the snow, he thinks. The last thing he remembers besides Lorenzo's face covered in his blood from where he spat at him before the glaive came down.] But I run hot. Cold... doesn't suit my whole... Y'know.

[He gesticulates to himself.] Infernal thing.

[theladyofwinterfell]

Is that what it is? I was reared as a lady, so I would never have asked. Perhaps to my own detriment, of course, but I was taught never to draw attention to someone who is different than myself.

( What in the Seven is an infernal? Sansa hopes that he elaborates for her. )

[mollymocked]

And that is absolutely not how ladies are reared where I'm from. Good on your homeland for not succumbing to the belief that esteemed blood makes you better than everyone else.

[He picks up his cup and gesticulates to her in a mock-toast.] I'm a tiefling, we're descended from devils, infernal creatures of the Nine Hells. And people take deep, deep exception to that.

[theladyofwinterfell]

I can imagine they would. You seem nice enough, though, so your appearance isn't something that bothers me. It's a bit shocking at first, of course, but I've learned to hide my emotions when I speak to someone. Like I said, I never would have asked so I'm glad you offered.

( Sansa laughs a bit, glad to finally have that question addressed. She's learned something new and if any other tieflings show up, she'll at least know who they are and where they hail from. )

Nine hells, though? We only believe in seven where I come from.

[mollymocked]

Maybe the last two are just too awful to speak of where you're from. [He has it on... some authority that the deeper the Hell, the more powerful the devil, since the ninth is where Asmodeus resides, but that's as far as his knowledge goes.

Anyway, he's just being playful now.] Stricken from religious texts for being too horrible.

[theladyofwinterfell]

If they're so terrible that septons barred them from being read they must be terrible indeed. Perhaps, instead, they didn't want us to know about tieflings who are quite pleasant in spite of their origins.

( That isn't a lie at all, as Molly has been nothing but personable throughout their conversation and aside from his somewhat-shocking appearance, seems no different from any man Sansa has ever spoken to before. )

[mollymocked]

[He presses his hands over his heart.] Bless you. You're a darling. [He's keeping her. This one's a good egg- a lady who actually learned her manners, instead of deciding she was above them.] I try to make dealing with me very pleasant. Nothing infuriates arseholes more than to find out they've got nothing worth judging me for beyond how I look.

[And the fact that he's a con man and can be a right asshole sometimes, but only to people who've earned it. There's a difference.]

[theladyofwinterfell]

Appearance is something people will always judge on and harshly. My first husband was a dwarf and they're not looked upon kindly in Westeros. He was a good man, though, in spite of being a little too prone to drunkenness, and he was kind to me. His looks did not meet their judgments.

( And, so, if Sansa is a little softer-hearted toward a tiefling because of it, so be it. It's a good thing she learned her manners young. )

[mollymocked]

[Molly somehow misses half of the words- grasps the meaning, however, which is good and warms him to her even more- because he's trying to guess her age and wonder how many husbands she's had.]

First husband? You can't possibly be any older than I am. [He says, with a kind of delirious laugh, knowing that his physical age could be anywhere between his twenties to a more absurd number. He is two years old.] How many husbands can a person get in that time? I'm assuming some of them were purely political.

[theladyofwinterfell]

All political. One betrothal and two husbands. I'm doubly a widow now. Triply, I suppose, if you count my betrothal.

( Sansa couldn't be happier about that - except possibly that Tyrion Lannister hadn't really been dead and he hadn't been terrible to her while they were wed; he's the one exception. )

[mollymocked]

My gods. [He drums his fingers on the table and leans back. Some worlds are crazy.] I'd feel the need to rescue you from a place that doesn't let a woman stay unmarried for political reasons, but I think Fayura already did that. And none too soon, apparently.

[theladyofwinterfell]

Yes. One of the things I do appreciate about Draega is that no one will be wanting to marry me here. I should be quite safe.

( It has been an enormous relief, all told, and it's allowed her to focus upon herself for the first time in a long while. )

[mollymocked]

Well, I wouldn't say that much, darling woman that you are, but there'd actually be a proper courtship first, and you could tell them to fuck off, because you're taking some time for self-reflection.

[And marriage is a stupid institution anyway, says Molly, actual two year old, who can't imagine commitment to one person.]