event: a gentle caravan

[thestewards]

So one by one, we lay our bricks down
To pave a road on the shoulders of somebody else
A sturdy back but brittle bones

► The OOC plotting post for this event can be found here along with OOC information that can be learned in each location.

► Direct all questions to the mods at this link.

WHERE THERE’S SMOKE
Early one morning in mid-May, a column of smoke appears on the horizon south east of the city. It’s tall enough and dark enough to be seen over the tops of the city’s relatively low-standing buildings. Within minutes, panic grips the people of Draega.

Whispers spread through the city, and Strangers hear such things as…

A landen woman, hands covered in flour: That’s the caravan. It has to be the caravan.
Her sister: You’re overreacting. It’s probably just mercenaries squabbling over land.

A young Warlord: My sister… She’s coming from Dhemlan with the caravan. Mother Night, I’ve been reaching out to her, but she won’t respond to me!

Before the hour is up, Allairavar’s shadow passes over the city. He flies, speeding quickly in the direction of the smoke. Not long after, a young witch covered in blood and dirt appears quite suddenly in the middle of the Bazaar. Her Opal Jewel is drained to the point of breaking, and she is on the verge of tears. “They’ve attacked the caravan! Please, please, we need help!” Her distress is a physical thing, permeating the air with the psychic scent of anguish and terror.

The Transport Guild reacts first in part because Master Transporter Sorrel is present at the Bazaar to see the witch arrive, but also because the Transport Guild is simply that quick to respond. Shortly after he instructs his Guild to prepare aide, Sorrel broadcasts a Farcaster message to the entire city:

The caravan from Dhemlan has been attacked. Anyone willing and able to provide technical or medical assistance is welcome on the railcar platform north of the city in thirty minutes. Those of you capable of defending the injured should join us as well.

Lady Fayura issues a mental call to the Strangers mere moments after Sorrel’s broadcast:

Prince Loren will be assisting the Master Transporter in organizing help for the caravan. I will not be joining you, but rather will remain in the city to protect it with Prince Verim should the need arise.

Slowly but surely, the landen Guilds are attempting to revitalize travel, transport, and trade between Territories by way of railcars. Their goal is a massive, interconnected system of railways. As of yet, there is only one railway: the one that connects Draega to Allowary, the capital of Dhemlan. This single railway is well-protected by Hunters armed with Muters and Breakers. Railcars don’t leave the station poorly staffed.

By the time the Strangers and other volunteers arrive, the usual count of railcars in Draega’s station have been disconnected. Only one car, a large cargo car, remains connected to the engine. Master Transporter Sorrel and Prince Loren coordinate efforts together: they load volunteers and supplies into the large cargo car while doing their best to maintain the peace between the Strangers, a few Blood volunteers, and the Hunters who aren’t pleased by the presence of either party at all. A handful of Medicos are also on the platform, ready and eager to go.


THE CARAVAN
An hour’s railcar ride outside of the city, the twisted remains of the stranded caravan blocks the railway. An explosion ripped up the rails, splitting them them and causing the first four railcars in the caravan to derail and pile up off the tracks. At the back of the caravan, the massive railcar engine smokes and groans as desperate Transporters and Tinkers do their best to keep it from exploding violently.

The first two cars, the passenger cars, are a mess of twisted and wrecked metal. Many of the passengers are dead, their bodies still and unmoving. Some severed limbs are scattered in the wreckage. In spite of the violent destruction, there are survivors inside the cars. A child’s cries echo within a snarl of metal and wires while two Tinkers work as quickly as they can to free him. They certainly wouldn’t mind more help.

In the third and fourth car, the livestock didn’t fare well. Slammed between the passenger cars and two following cars carrying goods, they have largely been reduced to smears of blood and tiny shards of bone. Much more can be salvaged from the cars carrying canned goods, grains, and other foods. Dhemlan is known for its orchards, and the cars are filled with the remains of peaches, apples, and grapes. The smell of pulverized fruits mixes with that of death, covering the area in a sickly sweet scent.

As the volunteers disembark from their railcar, Allairavar warns them about the grisly scene. He leaves search and rescue to those best suited to it, instead calling for a group to help him spread out and investigate the surrounding area. While Master Transporter Sorrel calls on a few of his best people (and perhaps a Stranger or two) to assist him with the smoking engine, he asks the volunteers to keep a careful eye on the remains of the caravan.

“There will be clues about who did this,” he says. Behind him, with a grimace, Allairavar nods. “Bring anything you can find to us.”

It becomes immediately apparent that even though the caravan was transporting both Blood and landens, and livestock and food for everyone, no one wants to work together. Sorrel focuses exclusively on the damage to the Dhemlan railcar’s engine. The Hunters are more inclined to find their own among the dead and cause trouble with the Healers and Strangers who have come to help. The Transporters and Tinkers try to salvage what they can of the damaged railcars. Allairavar only wants to find the mercenary band he’s certain is behind this—and he fixates on this to the exclusion of all else. Only Loren makes an attempt to organize the volunteers to recover the injured survivors and the scattered supplies, but he seems shaken.


THE WASTELANDS
Outside of Draega, a blasted and barren world unfolds before the Strangers. Tactically minded individuals will quickly realize the caravan was attacked in this location because of the hilly surroundings. There are no trees or forests to vanish into, but the rolling hills go on for miles in every direction, providing cover for a raiding band. Small valleys between the hills contain numerous dangers: from boggy, swampy ground to ponds containing toxic water. The water here can’t be drunk, and anyone who tries to consume it will become violently ill within a handful of hours. Animals are scarce but fierce, willing to attack people for the chance at a meal.

Harsh sunlight beats down on the barren plains. The railcar from Draega arrived by at the scene of the attack around mid-morning. By noon, the relentless sun bakes the entire area. Steam rises from the few ponds, filling the air with noxious fumes and strange gasses. Everyone is quickly drenched in sweat.

Strangers helping Allairavar hunt for the mercenaries will be able to find and follow human tracks. There are fewer than one might expect for a raiding party, and many abruptly vanish, but some lead back to a small camp about half a mile away from the railcar tracks. No one is in the camp when it is discovered, but there’s plenty of information to be unearthed by the keen-eyed.

Allairavar assumes a post in the camp, there to explain the mercenary bands to those who ask. “There’s hundreds of them,” he tells the curious. “Some are made up of only five members. Some command the strength of hundreds. When they get too big, they splinter. Rivalries form between the groups. They have no issue slaughtering each other for food.” He grinds his teeth together. Allairavar hates the mercenary bands. If Strangers press him too hard about the mercenaries, he’ll snap at them abruptly: “If you want a damn history lesson, go to Loren.”


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
[As always, Evandra speaks with a rough, husky voice.] Today, it might be helpful for our Strangers to understand Territories. Lord Aren, how do the Blood usually divide up the rule of a Territory?

[Aren, cheerfully, in that boyish voice of his:] In days past, a Territory Queen used to oversee the entire Territory. She’d look after both the Blood and landens on her land.

[Evandra interjects:] But usually just the Blood. We were left to our own devices.

[A thin, nervous chuckle issues from Aren.] Quite so… Ah, reporting to the Territory Queens were myriad Province Queens. A Province Queen was responsible for larger regions within a Territory and overseeing local disputes. Beneath a Province Queen, a handful of District Queens might report to her if the Province was populated well enough. District Queens usually ruled over a few small villages, no more than two or three. Since people in Hayll live almost exclusively in Draega and there aren’t many Queens left, ruling everything falls on the Lady Fayura.

[With curiosity, Evandra asks:] And is a Territory Queens always darker Jeweled than the women—er, witches who report to her?

[Aren is quick to respond.] Not at all! A Territory Queen becomes a Territory Queen as much because of the Blood males who serve her and her social power as her Jewels. Why, there are stories about…

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.] …days of intense heat and little cloud cover. With the spring harvest coming in soon, farmers should be conscious of the heat and the possibility of crops burning in the sun. As a reminder, the Medico Guild…

the news
[Garret hastily threw together an interview with Grand Master Niall shortly after the plume of smoke appeared on the horizon. Several hours later, it plays over the Farcaster network.

Garret leads with a question:] …describe the relationship between Hayll’s Guilds and Dhemlan’s?

[Niall makes a thoughtful noise. Somehow, even without seeing him, his energy and charisma comes through quite clearly.] Very good. I have nothing but respect for Grand Master Kern. [He chuckles.] Even if he is a Transporter.

[Garret:] Is there a rivalry between your original Guild and the Transport Guild?

[Niall:] Not at all. A rivalry implies a level playing field to begin with, and while the Transport Guild innovates with marvelous inventions, they simply don’t provide the same value as other Guilds, like the Hunters.

Comments

Mollymauk Tealeaf | OTA

[mollymocked]

０１． ＷＨＥＲＥ ＴＨＥＲＥ＇Ｓ ＳＭＯＫＥ

[Molly's in the bazaar doing readings for the locals when the smoke appears and the chatter starts. At first it's pushed to the back of his mind and he finishes out his read, but by the time he starts shuffling for the next round, the witch arrives, barely feet from where Molly had set up his work.

His first thought is that this is normal and that he knows people who have attacked caravans before, and that's just life, but something about the woman's face with her Opal Jewel nearly broken reminds him of drag marks in the dirt and blood on the ground.

He shoves his cards into the pocket of his coat and marches towards the railing.] C'mon then. We might as well get involved.

[There's a tightness to his voice that betrays him. It's not his usual sing-song lilt, and it's clear this situation has made his bullshit slip a bit. This is no adventure. Not this time.


０２． ＴＨＥ ＣＡＲＡＶＡＮ

[The grisly sight brings a cringe to Molly's face, but that's it. He folds his coat up back on the railcar so he doesn't get it ripped or torn or bloodied and goes forth, dealing with survivors and mostly bringing them to better healers, because his own healing is questionable. He salvages goods when there's too many people clustered around the survivors, and he keeps a wide berth from the Hunters. He doesn't trust that lot one bit.

Eventually, he ends up pacing alongside the broken rail, growing increasingly more agitated, the longer this goes on. If he sees anyone in his periphery, he's likely to address them to find fuel for a horrible thought catching in his head.] They didn't take anything but people- is that right?

０３． ＴＨＥ ＷＡＳＴＥＬＡＮＤＳ

[There's no pause- the second Molly sees that pile of gore on the ground, he knows what he has to do, and he zeroes in on it above all else. He kneels down beside it, sweat sticking his linen jerkin to his skin with the air too hot even for a tiefling, and does what he's seen Fayura do, all while praying it's not the same. Pray this world doesn't have people of the Shepherds' ilk.

What he sees doesn't comfort him. The vision ends and he falls backwards onto his ass, shaking and angry.] Fuck.

[He doesn't want a history lesson. He has already made an executive decision on what sort of people these are and what he needs to do, because gods know they're not going to be able to follow this trail back. With purpose, he walks back to the railcar without another word, driven by a desperate, aching feeling in the pit of his stomach. It's a strange sight to see Molly this worked up about something, liberated from bullshit and pretense.]


０４． ＬＡＤＹ＇Ｓ ＦＡＶＯＲ （ｃｌｏｓｅｄ ｔｏ Ｆａｙｕｒａ）

[It's not an ideal time to hold council when Molly returns to Draega with the rest, but he doesn't really give a fuck. He's dirty and sweaty from the trail that, as expected, went cold, but he has questions and he wants them answered as soon as possible.

At least his influence allows him to speak to her with only a few side eyes. He's usually well put together.] My lady, sorry for just barging in announced and... Looking like absolute shite, but I needed to speak with you.

[agentlenpc]

[The hour is late. Fayura has done what she can within the city to bolster its defenses and ready it for the injured. As evening creeps over Draega, she sits on the floor in one of the informal drawing rooms of the residence. Dressed in one of Verim's shirts and light, flannel pants, she's ready for bed and clearly not expecting visitors. A cup of coffee floats in the air nearby. A small frame rests in her lap. She holds threads in her hands, and she weaves slowly.

When Molly bursts in, she freezes. She shields herself immediately, not because she's afraid of him but because Allairavar trained her well. Even once she's recognized Molly, she doesn't drop the shield.

Tying off a strand of her web, she sets it aside.]

Join me on the floor. The housekeeper will murder me if we get more blood on the chairs.

[These chairs were recently re-upholstered after being used several months ago in the Hunters' attack on the residence.]

What's wrong? What did you see?

[mollymocked]

Sorry. [It's both repetition and also a secondary apology for the gore on his pants- none of it his own. He flops down with boneless exhaustion and pinches the bridge of his nose.] They wrecked the bloody rails. There's a lot of dead, and... If this were just a raid by hungry, lazy bastards roaming the wastes looking for easy pickings, then that's life. That happens. You put a stop to it, and you go about your day, but this... [He snaps his fingers as if trying to find purchase on his own nerves.] It felt different. I... They didn't rob the caravans. There was too much waste for that to be the intent. They just took people. Women. Blood and landen, both.

( prompt: the caravan. )

[thricefold]

[ zita was approaching molly with a mug of something warm when he asks the rhetorical question towards her direction.

she pauses, unsure of what to say at first to him. she had hoped to give him something to keep his strength for the long days to no doubt come, but, perhaps, she should have seen this coming. everyone is agitated or nervous or a mixture of both.

when she speaks, there's still hesitance because zita clearly doesn't want to face the reality just yet: ] The caravan had no special possession or valuables to speak of.

Not unless the survivors are withholding information. I don't think they're doing that from my interactions with them. [ they're tired, they're scared, and they're defeated. there's no way for them to hide something so important with all this pressure and attention on them. ]

[mollymocked]

No... They're not really in any shape to lie.

[Molly drags his hand down his face and tries not to think of the enchanted cart with its cages posing as simple wares. His red-eyed gaze flicks to the mug in her hands.]

...Is that for me?

2!

[seeingscarlet]

[All of the fear and pain and despair is starting to get overwhelming and Wanda takes that nervous energy to make one last pass of the train cars looking for anyone who might have been knocked unconscious and missed.

She doesn't find anyone by the time she reaches the broken rail. Even stretching out her senses as far as she can...there's nothing. Or everything behind her is just so loud it's obliterating anything else.]

There is too much food left. This wasn't a robbery.

3

[breadmuffs]

[Caleb had almost immediately set out further into the wastelands as soon as they hit the site of the attack. Too many bodies, too burnt. It doesn't threaten to trigger him, since the death isn't coming from his own hand, but that doesn't mean that he can stand to stick around. Besides, healing and soothing people....no, that isn't in his wheelhouse anyway.

A trail leads north, and Caleb follows it (with a handful of others, of course, he's not stupid).

By the time he reaches the oasis and its grisly scene, he's sweatsoaked and tired. The sight of the body does not make things much better. He takes advantage of the oasis to rest, at least for a little while and look for clues which are...few. Which means that he's still there when Molly shows up.

He's closed about half the distance to the tiefling when Molly kneels down next to the body. Frowning slightly, he continues to approach only for Molly to fall backwards with a curse and then spring up. Molly begins to storm away and Caleb spares a moment to dip to the ground and try to copy the gesture he'd just made.

When it yields no results for him, he hurries after.]

Molly. [Catching up, tugging at his friend's elbow to try and slow him for a moment.] What happened?

2

[whettedmind]

[Tyrion has stepped away from the ruined caravan for a little air - not fresh, exactly, the smoke from the fires still hangs heavy over the hills, but it's at least free of the stink of blood and burnt flesh and the almost tangible miasma of fear. His path, and thus the path of the small brown and white puppy orbiting him like a particularly fluffy moon, intersects with Molly's at an angle, and both draw to an abrupt halt. The puppy barks once, a noise that might sound like a warning coming from something several times her size but as things stand comes off more like the protest of an ambulatory squeaky toy. The man just grimaces.]

No cargo, no gold. Just the women.

[The implications of which are horrifying, no matter the angle the situation's examined from.]

[sunborne]

i;; the not so little daylight that could. ( the caravans. )

[ though daylight doesn't plan to stick around the caravan for long, more anxious/eager to head out and track down the missing passengers, he does do what he can to help out before heading out with allairavar’s group. (plus - sticking around at first allows him to get a puppy...! one he's proud to show off to other strangers if they see him and his new friend trot together in his helping at the site.)

right. helping ing. he does it mainly in using his strength and size to get obstacles out of the way or in using his connection with the factions to speak with them - especially the hunters, the tinkers, and the transporters. his relatively strongish ties with the group allows him to glean information they normally wouldn't give. he's quick to tell any companions he's with. heck- there's a strong chance of him just. randomly waving down the nearest stranger after he's spoken with a guild member, with him breathlessly saying, you've got to hear this...! in hopes of sharing the information before they can brush him off.

he also tries his best to comfort a young boy who is in tears. he's in his avaform right now, appearing human in order to keep the survivors from the caravan in spooked further if they already have. he's... he's almost making progress, since the boy's sobbing is bubbling down, but if anyone wants to give him a hand in this, that'll be great.

especially you, random person who he's making desperate puppy eyes at over the head of the boy he's trying to comfort. help. ]

ii;; out in the wilds. ( the wastelands.)

[ when he arrives at the camp, daylight can't hide his disappointment at the fact there's no one there. well. no one alive, when the others later find the dead woman. the second he tries to pick up the psychic residue left behind, the fear and shock and resignation he feels is enough for him to break up the connection. unless someone talks him in into doing that, he doesn't want to delve into that memory and let someone else handle it.

though that means he can't do a lot. not compared to the others at least. he finds the tracks and counts the rolls and even looks up in the sky, like that'll give him a clue, but nothing really substantial comes up the first time around.

... not that it stops him from finding angles to look at and poke at, vigorously. ]

-That's an engine. [ he frowns at the drawing on the ground, recognising the shape thanks to his world and its era. ] Do you think we can, um, copy that figure down somehow? Show it to Tinkers to see if they can match its lines or whatever with the works of the missing, um, Master Tinker...?

[ he looks to the person he's paired up/glued himself to. ] You heard of her, right? Back at the caravan?

iii;; between you and me. ( for fayura. )

[ after what he's seen in the wastelands and the camp, combined with conclusion of the black widows only a few months back, daylight has an uneasy idea of what could have possibly motivated these turn of events. as a result, he tries to reach out to the queen in hopes of speaking with her about the concerns.

yet given current events and all, he'll need to wait like everyone else. which is fair! which is true! day knows he's got to wait and he's trying to be patient. trying, being the operative word here.

so he's nervously waiting in the corridors of the queen's residence, trying to be patient for his chance to speak with the queen. day sticks out like a sore thumb there; not only in his his appearance drawing looks and mutters but also for the nervous energy he exudes as he paces back and forth.

until he gets his chance to have an audience with her, daylight and his fluttering winglets are going to be an utter menace and a half. ]

iv;;; wildcard!!

[ want to do something else? feel free to do it here! also, you’re welcome to hit me up/plot with me via my plurk prognostic if there’s something specific you want. ]

[agentlenpc]

[He has to wait a day, which isn't all that bad in the grand scheme of things. Fayura holds informal court the day after the caravan attack. Unlike when the Black Widows came, no one comes into the grand hall of the residence, and she isn't dressed in a black spidersilk gown that speaks to the depths of her power. Instead, she greets Daylight in a formal drawing room. Two of her First Circle flank the door, but that's a nod to formality more than anything else. Fayura has strength enough to protect herself.

Seated on a couch with coffee and finger sandwiches on a tray before she, she's dressed in a dress that, while it passes her knees, is by no means formal. The wide neck reveals she's not wearing her Jewel on her necklace, and there are no rings on her finger. She avoids wearing her Jewels for formal gatherings unless she's making a point, so this is noteworthy as a deviation from Blood behavior but not odd for her.

Verim sits opposite her in an arm chair, bonelessly graceful. He holds a book in one hand that he vanishes as Daylight enters, but he doesn't shit to attention. Only a fool would think that makes him less dangerous. This, too, is normal; there is no meeting with Fayura that doesn't have her Consort, Master of the Guard, or Steward in attendance.

Fay rises as Daylight enters, gesturing to the chair beside Verim.]

Please, sit. Would you like a cup of coffee? [A touch of Craft lifts the carafe and tops off her and Verim's cup. Instead of floating the mug over to him, she offers it in her hands. Their fingers linger, and the heat that flashes in Verim's eye is unmistakable.

She smiles, then scowls, and then rolls her eyes at him—some psychic something has passes between them. Settling back, she looks to Daylight, ready to pour him a cup should he ask.] What brings you here, Daylight?

ii

[breadmuffs]

[Caleb is poking around the camp, sweeping his eyes over the scene with intense focus. He isn't sure what details might be relevant here, but he is trying to remember...everything he can.

He'd left his coat behind him at the cargo car, which means that his...unique sartorial choices are in full view. That is to say, the fact that he has two books holstered by his sides. (The leather harness likely isn't particularly comfortable in this heat but Caleb doesn't seem inclined to part with it, or the books.)

When Daylight speaks up, he comes over to look at the shape on the ground. It hadn't made much sense to him, but...]

I...left the caravan to more capable hands.

[Which is to say that he spent exactly no time at the caravan. The sight of charred bodies particularly had not sat with him very well and he'd set off almost immediately.]

As for copying it down... [Along with the books at his sides, he has a satchel strapped to his leg. It's...a lot of leather. Caleb reaches into it.] I have some paper and ink....

i.

[kesi]

[Daylight didn't need to wave Takame over, he was already approaching him as soon as he was spotted near the caravans. The Au Ra wasn't the best one to get information out of the Hunters, he was more than willing to make encounters with one of them violent, but the fact that Daylight was so eager to share what he'd heard made Takame assume that it was important.

There also may or may not be a small puppy chasing his tail around. No, not hers, but his. But he approaches Daylight all the same as if he isn't letting the pup take a swing at it while he was covered in dirt from earlier investigations.]

What have you learned?

Zita Harrington

[thricefold]

i;; where the light enters you.

[ once again, zita finds herself wrist deep in healing others the moment she steps into a disaster area with those in need of healing and aid. it's what she works best in and she'll do her best in it too.

when she sees that medico lio, someone she partnered with before, is there amongst the others from the medico guild, zita naturally works with him as her partner. soon the medicos and strangers who can heal begin to set up stations are at work, being given passenger and member and anyone in need of services.

due to her possession of a green jewel and her experience with these situations by now, zita finds herself being given a bulk of the more serious patients. she does what she can for them: she pushes her self to knit torn flesh, mend broken bones, and cleanse of the feelings of pain and restlessness. she even goes as far to use her craft to permeate the air with a sense of calm now that she knows the power of the webs and psychic links, trying to comfort the panicked or grief-stricken individuals who come into her tent for aid or help.

as a result of all of this, zita's work is making a considerable dent in the workload. in return - the workload is making a considerable dent in zita.

it takes her half a minute to realise someone is addressing her before she looks up from her water basin. it takes her longer to realise she's been washing her hands for more than one needs to. ]

... Oh- I'm sorry. Were you waiting for a turn or something? I'm sorry-[ she pauses, clearly looking disoriented for a few seconds before she shakes her head. ] I'm a little faint but what can I do for you?

ii;; one of these things is not like these other.

[ when she isn't using her magic to heal others, zita is taking the time to help the other strangers in trying to find out what happened to the caravan and its occupants. she can be found primarily searching the carts for clues with someone or checking through the paperwork.

her time in the carnival has allowed her to help in curtis' and henry's workload in terms of paperwork. not enough to call herself an expert in documents but enough that she can go through the papers without feelings like she's lost. she happens to be updating the injured/recovered/deceased list with a heavy heart that she notices something strange. ]

Something isn't right... [ she looks up and sees someone just happens to be passing by. ] Excuse me- Could you please pass me along those documents over there? That's the passenger manifest. I- I need to double check something.

iii;; and it hurts the hardest.

[ ❝No! No no no! Get away from! I won't go with you! I won't let you use me!

I'd rather die- ❞

zita breaks off the connection with the psychic residue even as it reaches its end. she barely holds back a sob as the feelings of despair and anger and resignation still lingers on her. it's been an exhausting and draining time for everyone and she honestly feels like this should be the straw that breaks the camel's back. yet she's quick to cover her face, trying to hold back her tears and gather herself together for her companion's sake.

when she looks up again and addresses her companion, she's only wiping away a few tears from a corner of her eye and she'll take that little victory. ]

... I- [ want to go back, is what she wants to say. i want to go back to the others and she doesn't. there's still work that needs to be done and she prides herself on seeing things through.

so, she says instead, ] I think I recognise the young woman now.

iv;;; wildcard!!

[ want to do something else? feel free to do it here! also, you’re welcome to hit me up/plot with me via my plurk prognostic if there’s something specific you want. ]

iii. i know we were gonna do something at the caravan but uh i mean 2 threads is ok too >>

[goldfinger]

[ This "psychic residue" has him feeling on edge enough that his voice is a little ragged when he asks, ] Recognise her?

[ Jaime is closer to the dead body, boots in dirt that's darkened with blood. He's managed to turn it over and expose the woman's face to the air, but for obvious reasons he has no idea who it is.

Generally speaking, he wants nothing to do with this. The torn clothes along the way had looked the result of something horrible, something he isn't naive enough not to assume about, and Jaime is just one man with one hand. Chances are he can't save anyone.

But recognition of the dead means you can bring the body home to their family. That and the broken Jewel, he supposes, if it really is an extension of the self. ]

Well. [ He picks said Jewel up, and the ragged edges makes him feel just as uncomfortable as this entire area does. ] Who is she, then?

[ Turning to face Zita, finally, his mouth turns into a frown. ] ...are you all right?

iv

[seeingscarlet]

[Wanda's seen more than her share of tragedies, but when bad things happened in Sokovia they normally weren't so gory. Wanda can't help a gasp of horror when they come upon the livestock car - the poor things never had a chance. It looks like they were crushed to almost nothing.

There's some movement in the shadows and something that sounds like a huff.]

Look - some of them are still alive!

[She could summon a ball of witchlight but that doesn't occur to her; she's already rushing off.]

ii

[whettedmind]

Only one thing? Lady Zita, I almost envy your optimism.

[But in spite of the words, Tyrion obligingly shuffles over to pick up the papers she's pointing at, giving the topmost page a cursory glance before he hands it over. A few of the names are familiar - he's spent much of the day among the survivors, plying them with the prospect of justice, or with sympathy, or failing that with the boundless energy of the surprisingly hardy litter of puppies that appear to have stowed away in the livestock car, all in hopes of teasing out as much information as he can about the attack and its aftermath.

As for the other names...well. He suspects far too many of them have been laid out on the ground beyond the wreckage, pieced together like the world's most macabre puzzle.]

jaime lannister | game of thrones | ota

[goldfinger]

( CARAVAN ) THE HORSE

...good for nothing beast. [ Jaime utters this like he hasn't just come out of a brief stomp coming directly from where the livestock cars are. Hand on his hip and a frown on his face, he's clearly not too pleased with whatever was going on there (and if anyone had been watching, primarily he'd been preoccupied with making kind sounds and offering some sweet fruits to the mare that had survived the crash. All had been good until he tried to ride her and she'd pushed him away and snapped her teeth in retaliation, and Jaime, having failed two more attempts after, decided to give up for now).

In any case, he looks upset like he's had a fight with a friend instead of a disagreement with a horse. He doesn't seem to notice said mare watching his back, however, as if waiting for him.

What he does notice is the person giving him a look, at which point he turns his head sharply at them and narrows his eyes. ] What do you want?

( CARAVAN ) HEALING, OF SORTS

Yes, see? It's easy to make things better, even when you aren't Blood. [ There's only one reason Jaime's tone of voice sounds so gentle, and that's because he's apparently got a shadow-- a little boy who's stopped crying with his intervention, but who hasn't really spoken much since. Jaime doesn't blame him. Four decades since the loss of his own mother haven't exactly made the sting go away.

In any case, he's tending to what wounds he can, and the fact the Medicos haven't gotten cross with him for anything tells him that he's not doing a half bad job. The golden hand makes some things difficult, meaning Jaime works a little slower, but he's cleaned most of this landen man's wounds already, and then applied salve and some bandages.

He's almost done with the last set of bandanges around the man's midsection, and he's sat on the ground with Jaime crouching by him. ] Can you tie this off for me? [ He's talking to the boy, who clings to his cloak with tightly-balled fingers and peeks over his shoulder while he's crouched down. Jaime looks at him, but the boy sniffles and shakes his head in turn. Jaime supposes he doesn't blame him; he's just wrapped the bandage up and there're already tiny blots of red seeping through.

He's a little annoyed, but his expression turns into a small smile instead. It's okay. He can tie the bandage himself.

Albeit slowly. And clumsily. And in a very "probably needs help" way. ]

( CARAVAN ) RETRIEVING THE DEAD

[ Oh, Jaime is no stranger to this. Pulling body parts out of wreckage, lining bodies up-- it's all very normal to him, all fairly familiar. What isn't familiar is the way way he's moving the wreckage-- he's not exactly gotten a good handle on his Jewel, but if he concentrates hard enough (or feels sickened by the smell of gore and rot enough) then his left hand becomes covered in a Green glow he's becoming fairly acquainted with.

Lifting debris one-handed is a bizarre thing. Jaime still lets out a soft 'oh' every time he manages to do it, awed at these impossible feats of strength. He's not necessarily weak, but he's used to being clumsy and dropping anything heavy he tries to grab one handed. Here, now, picking up huge chunks of metal like they're nothing and putting them aside, he feels like a god.

He feels less like a god when he has to pick a dead body up, but you know. He's already lined quite a few bodies along, with the limbs that'd been separated either matched to the best of his ability or placed neatly off to the side.

Currently Jaime stands by another bit of wreckage, frowning at his hand as he shakes it somewhat violently. ] Come on. [ Except it isn't coming. He shakes and shakes and shakes to no avail, and huffs in irritation through his nostrils when it doesn't work. ]

Ugh, you useless little-- [ Catching someone's attention, he lifts his gold hand up to wave them over. ] You! Do you know how to make the Craft work?

( THE WASTES ) INVESTIGATION

What in the gods' names is that?

[ Jaime's pointing at the figure drawn in the dirt. He's looked around the campsite and found nothing of particular importance (he'd even poked at the ash of the former campfire a bit, to no success), but the drawing looks like something important, even if he has no idea what it is. It's one of those moments where he wishes he had someone smart around, someone who actually knew contraptions like this and how to make them work. ]

It looks... like a machine? [ Except it doesn't look like any machine they have in Westeros. He thinks about his "Far-caster". Jaime still doesn't know how to use it, but he's pretty sure the drawing isn't a Far-caster, either.

He furrows his brows a little deeper as he crouches, looking it over. ] ...hm. There were things like this one at the wreckage, weren't there?

[ But they were all destroyed and some of them were melted over, so Jaime hadn't thought them particularly important. He just needed to free the corpses that'd been trapped underneath them. ]

So it must be part of... [ He makes a face, waving his hand. ] Whatever it is that was attacked. [ He's already forgotten the term. ]

WILDCARD

Obligatory wildcard option. Jaime's OOC plotting post is here for your reference. PM me or hit me up at howletts if you wanna hash things out or get a custom starter! Or drop a starter of your own. :)

for wanda.

[goldfinger]

[ They're trying to round the survivors up to get into the carriage home, and Jaime is speaking in hushed tones to a little girl who's knelt in the ground, crying over the dead body of her big brother. He doesn't know how to comfort her; the thought of any of his own siblings gone and dead (and this one is torn, mangled and brutalised without a face to recognise; the girl had simply noticed the ring on the finger) fills him with an anxiety he doesn't know how to place, and so every word that comes from his lips is empty. ]

Come now, girl, your brother isn't coming back. [ This only makes her wail louder and Jaime winces slightly. Irritation... he's feeling irritation, and his patience is going to snap soon enough. ] He'll want you safe, not here with all this destruct--

[ She sniffles, turning her head even further away from where Jaime's knelt; clearly she wants nothing to do with him. She does, however, seem to recognise something off to the distance, and Jaime keeps all his swears under his breath as she walks towards a woman Jaime's never met before.

Apparently Wanda had helped heal some of the girl's injuries earlier, and she remembers her positively. She tugs her over to the dead, pointing her brother out, and says something along the lines of "You can fix him, right?"

Jaime, on his end, watches all this with his lips pressed into a thin line. He looks up, giving the new woman a shrug. ] I've been trying to get this girl into the carriage, but it seems she won't leave him.

( prompt: healing, of sorts. )

[thricefold]

[ zita is passing - hurrying by, really, given the way she looks so harried and haggard - when she catches notice of the young boy clinging to the man's side.

it's enough to make her stop and turn to her current companion, telling 'medic lio' to hurry to the next batch of patients ahead without her. she wants to make sure everything is going smoothly, yes, but the sight of children in this disaster zone makes her anxious and queasy. she wants to be sure they've all been accounted for and are being cared for, too.

she approaches from behind, politely clearing her throat to make herself known. she does her best to appear friendly and congenial when the boy, spooked by her announced presence, looks to her with wide eyes. ]

Hello there. I noticed you two are helping this man and wanted to see how it's been going on so far. [ now that she's gotten close enough to examine the bandages that have been applied to the aforementioned man- ] Are more hands needed here?

healing

[theladyofwinterfell]

( Sansa has been going through the car to find those with injuries and triage them, work on the worst and then move her way to the lesser. When she realizes that Ser Jaime is having a bit of trouble tying off a bandage, she draws closer to him and gently helps tie off the cloth to make the bandage nice and tight. It's difficult with one hand, she imagines, and Ser Jaime is not so good with Craft to compensate for his missing hand. )

If you'd like, I can work with you. I take lessons from Zita and from Lady Jesiree in healing. We can do the work a bit quicker, at the least.

Horse

[whettedmind]

A hot bath, a cold jug of wine, and a good book.

[The answer is reflexive and flippant. Almost aggressively so, as though he might be able to banish the miasma of death hanging over the ruined caravan. Tyrion's not precisely a stranger to death, even violent death, but this...this is worse somehow.

(Worse, because the fear and rage and despair beaten into the walls is actually tangible here, not mere reflections conjured by human imagination and empathy.)]

Regrettably, those all appear to be in short supply. Remind me why we came to this backwater world again?

sansa stark | ota

[theladyofwinterfell]

01. healing survivors

( Sansa decides to help the medicos with healing first. They bristle at first, seeing that she heals with her Jewel, but she assures them that she also knows how to use bandages and herbs. That's how they heal in Westeros, she explains, and even though she's no maester she'd been trained as the lady of a castle and she knows a bit about it. They let her help them, though, and she is binding the wounds of a little girl when she hears someone come up behind her. )

Do be a help and tell me who is next to be healed? I am trying to go from worst to best - it's how they do it in battles, you see, and I think it has merit here.

02. livestock

( Sansa goes to the livestock car to see if there are any animals that might need her help. There's a mare that seems completely intractable and she keeps her distance from it. There's a dog and several puppies, though, and as Sansa is checking them over they just keep climbing over her and making a mess of things. One starts chewing on her hair and she gently removes him, only for him to start chewing on her shoelaces instead. )

Oh, seven hells! Little pup, I am trying to do a job here and you're making it quite difficult.

02

[whettedmind]

He must think your priorities are off. Food first, then healing.

[That must be what the puppy's after, chewing on her laces like that, mustn't it? How old do puppies get before they start teething?

Tyrion makes his way in from the door where he'd paused upon hearing her voice, coming up alongside her to eye the puppies with some bemusement. After the wreckage of the caravan and the horrors it's wrought upon so many of the passengers, they look...remarkably whole.]

Are any of them even injured?

Wanda Maximoff | ota

[seeingscarlet]

i. the caravan
[Given the choice, Wanda decides to stay back to help tend to the survivors. It's the harder path, but this is clearly where she's needed.

Some of the survivors sit in stunned silence while she sees to their injuries while others clearly need to talk through everything they've seen. Wanda tends to them all with the kind of patience and sympathy that comes with living through her own share of disasters, sometimes staying quiet or trying to offer a distraction while asking gentle probing questions of the ones who need to talk. What she hears is disturbing, and in one of the rare moments the trail of wounded dies down, Wanda sighs and turns to the nearest person.]

This was too well-planned. I thought that maybe... [She shakes her head, deciding against elaborating.] But they made sure that the survivors wouldn't be able to tell anyone who did this.

ii. aftermath
[Eventually they've done all they can and load up the rescue train to return to Draega with the survivors. Wanda finds a seat on a crate of recovered supplies, the collie puppy finally content to rest on her lap.

She can't remember being tired like this. Of course she's tired physically, but it's more than that, something deeper.

She's staring off into nothing, and it's only when the puppy stirs under her hand that Wanda snaps back to reality and seems to realize that she's been staring at someone for an indeterminate length of time. She winces and smiles sheepishly.]

Sorry.

iii. wild card
[You know what to do!]

caravan

[burn_with_us]

( Katniss has been doing what she can. She's no healer. She hasn't got the strength for it like her mother or Prim because she can't stand to see someone sick or in pain but she's been doing well with bandages and medication from the Medicos. When the woman next to her speaks, she tips her head to listen and finds herself agreeing. )

Seems pre-meditated. They were trying to send a message. I don't know what the message is but they were definitely looking to let Fayura and the city know that they're out there and they can get to us.