the stewards (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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agentlelog2019-05-14 07:09 pm
thestewards) wrote in agentlelog2019-05-14 07:09 pm
event: a gentle caravan
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.
► 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.
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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?
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Yes. [Her voice is raw. Scratchy. Her eyes focus somewhere over his shoulder, a bit vacant.] Yes, they do that.
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He can still hear Keg as clear as day describing what they do to people. His tongue goes thick in his mouth and he has to swallow hard to find his voice, and even then he can only manage one word.] Slavers?
[The way she looks reminds him so much of his own reaction to Keg's description, and he hurts for her. Caleb may have told him that they got Fjord, Jester, and Yasha back, but it doesn't change that they were taken, that they were hurt and treated as merchandise.]
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[She can't control the feelings spilling out of her. When she's prepared, these conversations are easier.
(She should have been prepared. She should have realized someone would ask.)
All her self control goes into keeping herself present. Resisting the urge to flee into the abyss is nearly impossible, and she holds herself back only because she knows how much that will alarm her Princes. No one here needs her Princes to be upset.]
They sell people to each other sometimes. Sometimes… A broken witch only bears one child. Can't have any more after that. The body rejects it. [Those vacant eyes turn toward him.] They need more women, and if you're not mean then you don't survive them.
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His instinct to touch overrides social propriety and he reaches out to take her hand.] That is... worse than what I was thinking. Shite. [He really should have known with the way things are here. He saw clever women and assumed they were putting them to work and he was right, but it was the wrong sort of work.] You don't have to tell me why you know all of this. I know there's a reason. I can feel it.
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[Slowly, her eyes focus on him. Her fingers curl around his and squeeze with surprising force.]
My mother. A broken witch can only have one child, then you can use her however you want. No matter how many times I went into the Twisted Kingdom for her, she'd never come out, never come out. I don't know if she lost the path or just didn't want to walk it.
[Fay eases herself against Molly's side, lets out a choked little noise, and then sags against him.]
The last time someone took her, I couldn't take it. I was too young. Wasn't ready. Went too deep in the abyss. Shattered minds come in many forms. Sometimes a Jewel breaks, sometimes the mind splits open. [She holds up one hand in a fist. An illusion of dark tendrils wriggling through her fingers forces her hand open.] Broken chalices but whole Jewels.
I killed them. I kill all of them. A sea of blood. Finally, I understood why Mama didn't want to leave the Twisted Kingdom. Everything was soft there. The blood was so warm.
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This is why he doesn't. He isn't that person. He is a person with no past who considers other people's pasts to be nothing compared to their present, but Fayura is unloading and probably needs this, so saying this or worrying about his own demons is useless. He sticks to comfort. It's what he's good at.]
But you came out of it. You found the path again.
[If she's expecting horror from knowing a young woman shattered and killed people for a broken mother, then she's in for a surprise. It barely registers. He would've killed them too. He would have killed all of the Iron Shepherds if only he had lived long enough.] How on earth did you get out of that?
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I didn't want to. I spent centuries there, wandering along paths made of knives and cobwebs. Then I went home. To the Black Mountain, Ebon Askavi. My other family was waiting for me there, and they helped me.
[She draws back and runs a hand through the heavy fall of her black hair.]
Remembering where the paths split is hard sometimes. Easy to take a step to the side and see the word through webs and in visions. [She glances at the web on the floor nearby, half woven and rich with her power.] Little visions aren't so bad. The big ones... it's harder to come back. To remember the weight of a body and know that its safe. [Her eyes turn to him.
Usually, her golden gaze is soft and warm. Now, those golden eyes are hard.] You know about these things. You've seen similar. [Not an accusation, just a statement of fact.]
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He speaks without wanting to, either because he trusts her or because he's putting way more personal stakes in this than he damn well should and he sort of hopes to be slapped down from it.
And besides, it's what he asked of her when he came.]
Before I came here, there were slavers who took some of my friends. They were going to break them and sell them to the highest bidder. And the moment I saw that memory of a girl who dragged two of them to the bloody Hells with her rather than be a slave, I couldn't stop thinking of how Yasha would have done the same thing if she'd only had a chance.
[He swallows again, remembering that in fits and starts Fayura does know that much. There's always more, and he's not very schooled in keeping his emotions secure.] Unless you're talking about the webs and visions... That's a whole other story.
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Silent, she absorbs what Molly tells her. She hasn't thought much on what the Strangers' worlds might be like, but she isn't surprised to hear that others must deal with slavers, too. Hayll is a dark place for all it lives in the Realm of Light. Fayura would be more surprised by worlds where pain and suffering is less.
This is how life is: full of struggle. Full of hardship to be overcome. Full of people who manage to find victory and the many, many more who don't. She bumps against him gently.]
Yasha sounds like a strong witch. ["Witch" because that's what women are to her, because all Strangers wear the Jewels and can't truly be considered landen even if they don't have a caste.]
I'm always interested in your stories, but I don't want you to feel as though you must tell me. We've both said quite a bit already. [And not in a bad way. Fay knows, though, that there's a line when it comes to stories. Stay on one side, and you're just vulnerable enough to forge a connection with another person. Cross that line, and you give up too much of yourself.]
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The strongest I've ever met. [He swallows again, this time to choke down the sadness as if it were a bitter pill. Yasha is fine and safe and the only thing she's missing is him. Caleb has already made that clear.] And it's... It's not that I don't want to tell them. There's just so many that don't matter.
[Because they're lies or because they reflect poorly on his identity as Mollymauk and make people think he's a shade.] We're here in the present. That's what matters. And the Twisted Kingdom, wherever or whatever that might be, is... elsewhere. Another problem.