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.

[agentlenpc]

[Fayura freezes. She should have been prepared for this question, but she wasn't. Before she can close her mind, he can sense her panic and her fear. Old wounds—she's stronger now. But she remembers.]

Yes. [Her voice is raw. Scratchy. Her eyes focus somewhere over his shoulder, a bit vacant.] Yes, they do that.

[mollymocked]

[Molly breathes out a sudden gasp at her pain and fear mirroring his own and intensifying it until he thinks his heart is going to be crushed. Drag marks, blood on the ground...

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.]

[agentlenpc]

Sometimes.

[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.

( 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?

[thricefold]

[ zita tries to smile but can only manage an almost cheerful-looking grimace. the expression is... strange as a result.

she looks a lot more natural when she goes back to looking pensive and worried as she approaches him; the mug she has in her hands held up higher for him to take. if he still wants it, of course. ] I thought it'll be wise to keep up our strength, given how it seems we're all in this for the long haul.

I've heard of others planning to sleep here, to make sure no one disturbs the scene. Are you planning to do that as well? [ given how... strong he feels of the situation and all. ]

[mollymocked]

Caleb left with some of the others to follow the tracks, so I'll be catching up with them, soon. [He takes the mug in his hands and even just the touch of it is a comfort. Simple things in bad times, grounding presences, and things he did and didn't have when Yasha, Fjord, and Jester were taken.

He sips, forcing calm. He's only ever panicky in situations like this. It feels exactly like that did, and the only reason he's not ripping through the site is because this isn't his camp and there'd be exception taken to it.] See if they found anything. I just needed a moment.

[thricefold]

[ at his suggestion, zita gently and firmly shakes her head. ]

I'm sorry but no. [ she does turn her head back towards the main hub of activity. just to give a cursory glance of what's happening there.

when it's clear that the others at the site have everything handled for now, zita turns her attention back to molly. her expression is gentle and worried, with a hand pressed to her chest. ] I don't want to leave you alone in a state like this. Nor leave you alone in a place like this.

[ she falls a little quiet after that. her silence one of contemplation before adding, ] That's not friends what do. Not in times like these.

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.

[mollymocked]

That's exactly what I thought. [His tail flicks with unease, like a cat's.] That doesn't happen unless they were looking for something. I... I've seen bandits attack caravans before. They leave the people alone unless they put up a fuss. The only ones who care about taking people are... [Slavers.] ... Bad people. The worst kind of people.

[seeingscarlet]

[There's tension in every line of Wanda's body, worry written all over her pale face. He doesn't need to say it. She knows.]

We have to find them. We have to.

[But with the time it's taken them to get here, who knows where they've been taken?]

This was too well-planned. If we can find the person who helped them, we can find the people who did this.

[mollymocked]

There's a lot of pieces we're missing, and that's a problem, but you're absolutely right.

[He can't let this stand, even if he doesn't know those women, even if those women will matter so little to him at the end of the day. He has to do it because of the people he died to save.]

I don't know if these sorts have a base they operate out of, but we can't let them get back to it.

[seeingscarlet]

They will come back to pay the person who sabotaged the engine, I think. But if there is any chance we can find them now we have to try.

[These women need help and the people who did this need to be stopped so they can't hurt anyone else. That's reason enough for Wanda.]

I have been so focused on healing...has anyone been acting strange?

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?

[mollymocked]

[Molly stops, as if just finally registering Caleb's existence. He understood Caleb's need to get away and there were people with him- he'd be safe, and he doesn't smother the way Nott does, anyway. He expected he'd catch up, but the lure of what he's picked up from Fayura drew him to the gore first, and that was too much.

But Caleb is here and more Caleb knows why this is fucking with him.] They just took a few of the women. That was one of them. She, ah... She stood her ground. Killed two of them and herself so she wouldn't be used.

[He can't stop thinking of Yasha.] It's too fucking familiar.

[breadmuffs]

[It is too familiar. Caleb's face falls and he curses underneath his breath. His hand falls from Molly's arm as he turns to look back at the body.]

Only the women....

She was....her Jewel is white.

[In terms of power, he means. It makes no sense, or rather he doesn't want it to make sense.

Still. He knows that here, women - witches - are powerful. Perhaps more than their male counterparts, in ways. If they are not interfered with.]

[mollymocked]

And not all of them have Jewels. It'd almost make sense if they were. I wouldn't have to go to the worst possible conclusion. It's like what Keg said before- the Shepherds didn't want the squishy ones. If they were like that- for fuck's sake, they wouldn't have taken anyone who couldn't cast, and they certainly wouldn't have taken a White Jewel.

[Which means they weren't looking to only keep slaves with a little power. They just wanted... Well, women. And doesn't that twist the stomach into knots? He paces closer to the gore and then backpedals and ends up in a confused circle, trying to decide whether he needs to learn more or if he needs to run.] You think you've encountered the worst sort of people and the world opens up and drops an even bigger piece of shit in your lap.

[breadmuffs]

There are always worse people....

[It's practically a mutter, as Caleb compulsively rubs the palm of his hand up and down his forearm.]

What...what else have you learned?

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.]

[mollymocked]

[As a general rule, Molly is not a fan of animals- circus instincts. Never share the stage with kids or animals. But something about the fuzzy little thing strikes him as soothing, because it survived and it seems fearless.

He stoops down and offers his hand for the puppy to sniff, realizing she probably thinks he looks like a demon.] That's what I thought. They knew exactly what they were after.

[whettedmind]

[The puppy barks twice more, just to make certain that everyone involved in this little encounter is aware that she's the one in charge, then bounces forward to sniff Molly's hand, damp nose pressing against his fingertips.]

What they were after, where to strike, how to disable the caravan. It was a remarkably well coordinated attack.

[Too well coordinated for the Transporters Guild to be right about no one knowing their schedule. Someone must have leaked something.]

[mollymocked]

Why d'you think it was just the women? [Molly blurts out, but focuses entirely on the puppy, keeping his solid red eyes on something that isn't the broken rail and the blood on the ground, like the blood from before...] I've got theories, but I'd like to hear if you've got something that isn't the worst possible thing.