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

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.

[seeingscarlet]

[She'd originally come here to see what she could do about weaving some basic cleansing webs to make the ride home a little easier, but when she sees the little girl her heart sinks. Oh no. She'd mentioned that her brother was missing while Wanda had tended to her cuts and scrapes. Looking at the corpse...well, it's little wonder it took her this long to find him.]

Of course she won't. I wouldn't either, [Wanda says softly. This cuts her to the core for obvious reasons: a part of her has never left a broken train in a dying city and there's still a void in her mind where Pietro should be.

Empathy gives her patience and Wanda kneels to be closer to the girl's height.]

Can you be very brave for me? You have family in Draega, yes? [The girl nods - it's small, but it's there.

Wanda glances up to Jaime.]

Do we have room? We can't leave him here.

["L-leave him?" What calm Wanda's presence might have brought is threatening to be undone. Can you say no to those eyes, Jaime?]

[goldfinger]

[ Jaime has said "no" to a lot worse. The girl's breathing is stuttering, her lip trembling and her fingers going to clutch at Wanda's sleeves, and Jaime has a brief moment of cold uncaring all the same.

He has to tell himself, honestly tell himself, that he's here to help. The queen expects something of him today, and if his family is to survive the upcoming apocalypse, then he ought to do what she says. ]

...perhaps we can make room. [ He doesn't know. He's talking out of his ass. But the girl lets out this noise of relief that swiftly turns to more crying, harsh and gutted and coming from her heart, and she goes to try hugging Wanda and burying her face in her shoulder. ] We'll have to clean him up, though, before anything.

You'll have to get the girl to wait elsewhere. We don't have a lot of time for distractions.

[seeingscarlet]

[They're going to make room if Wanda has anything to say about it. She hugs the girl and lets her cry into her shoulder for a moment before gently dislodging herself.]

I have an important job for you, if you think you can be brave right now. I need you to look after him-- [There is a very cute collie puppy who is stubbornly following Wanda around. He's quieted in the face of the girl's distress, but as soon as the humans are paying attention to him he perks right up and whines.] -- so that I can help us get ready to leave. We're going to get both of you home. I promise.

[Wanda hands the puppy to the little girl and it seems to comfort her a little. Hard to keep crying when there's a small fluffy creature very intent on licking your face. She stands and guides the little girl to a piece of rubble she can sit on, drapes her in her shawl to keep the sun off her, and promises not to go anywhere without checking back in. It's not going to magically make anything better and Wanda knows it. But it's more kindness than necessity had allowed her when Pietro died at least.

It's visibly wearing on her when she comes back. Her heart aches and the helplessness of not being able to go and get the kidnapped women back right now grates at her. This is always how it is, isn't it? All that power, but she's never actually able to do anything meaningful with it.]

I was going to weave some cleansing webs to make the trip back a little easier. Do we need anything else?

( 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?

[goldfinger]

[ Jaime doesn't turn immediately the way the boy does, distracted as he is by tightening the first knot with his teeth pulling the bandage taut, but when that order of business is taken care of he looks up over his other shoulder to meet the stranger's gaze.

He frowns first, at the question. Instinct tells him to say "no", that he's just fine, but with his flesh fingers tugging the end of the bandage from his mouth, he supposes he must look a sorry sight. Jaime doesn't quite smile, but he does nod his head. ] ...yes.

[ The boy doesn't seem to be too keen on strangers, grip on Jaime's cloak tightening enough that he feels the pull around his neck. He doesn't seem to know what to think of this new person.

Jaime, however, urges him gently to move to the side and make space for the woman to stay beside them. The man they're bandaging looks up when she settles; he's already had burns on his face tended to, bandages wrapped diagonally around his head. His eyes catch the Green in her hair pin before he looks away again. He thinks she's Blood.

Jaime, however, pays this aversion no heed, addressing the woman properly instead. ] I'm not sure if the injuries are serious enough for healing [ what with the fact that Jaime, of all people, had been allowed to tend to the man ] but tying these things takes too much time with my hand.

[ Which is to say he'd appreciate the assistance. Not that he'll say so out loud. ]

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.

[goldfinger]

[ It's hard not to feel inadequate when Sansa Stark, of all people, wordlessly takes over where Jaime has failed. The boy he's with doesn't trust her, hiding behind him at an angle that keeps Jaime's body between his and Sansa's at all times, but Jaime barely pays the fear any attention. ]

I doubt you'll need me for help. [ The landen man snorts, the sound caught around a wheeze, and Jaime gives him a look along the lines of you ungrateful little bastard. ] He just needed tending to, that's all, and the healers were busy.

I don't know how to heal.

[theladyofwinterfell]

Then learn, ser, and be a help as you just were. I wasn't born knowing how to sew or manage a household or sing. I learned all of those things and I'm learning this craft as well. Learn from me and have new knowledge. I do believe your brother once told me that all knowledge was worth having.

( Times of crisis are when Sansa steels her spine and finds the strength within her to do what needs to be done. She doesn't think this is a uniquely Stark trait, either, and that Jaime is capable of the same. )

[goldfinger]

[ Jaime winces. Learn-- Sansa might as well have held a knife to his throat and it'd be less of a torture. He has nothing but ill memories of learning, and if the web weaving was any indicator, he's sure he'll be just as terrible at this "healing" as he thinks he will.

And Jaime's no good at doing anything he isn't immediately skilled at. ]

...fine. [ He may be agreeing to it, but he isn't happy about it. As he rises to his feet, the boy stays close and clutches in his cloak. Jaime assures the landen man that there will be Medicos to take him with the rest of the survivors soon; Jaime, unfortunately, doesn't have the tools necessary to move him without pain.

He looks beyond to more of the wounded, seated and waiting for their turns, and sighs. ] If someone dies because I've failed at Craft, that'll be your fault.

[ The length of his left forearm glows green as Jaime bends, and he picks the boy up in one arm to hold him close to his chest. ] Let's go, then.

[theladyofwinterfell]

What I would like for you to do is think about supporting me. I'll be doing the delicate bits and you will be watching. Your strength is beneath me, keeping me from going faint. I will focus your power, you just have to lend it to me.

( Sansa hopes her explanation makes sense. Ser Jaime seems very resistant to learning but she doesn't want him to feel as if there's nothing he can do. He just needs to be motivated, she thinks. )

[goldfinger]

You make it sound like we're the best of friends. [ Which they aren't, evidently. Still, Jaime follows her as she goes to tend to the wounded, and then puts the boy down when they've gotten to where they have to be.

The term "lend it to me" is curious, however. Where Jaime is crouched by Sansa's side, he pulls his Jewel from his pocket-- uncut, still, and in its raw form. ]

Do you suppose I could channel whatever power is in this into you? Would that help?

[theladyofwinterfell]

That's what I mean, yes. It's hard to describe it because you know as well as I do that we don't have magic in Westeros.

( Sansa knows that the Red Priestess had brought Jon back to life and can conjure fire by praying to the Lord of Light but that seems like something more to do with her strange god than it does with any sort of magic. The Old Gods have their magic too - she needs but look at Bran to see that. )

As for us being friends, we're not the best of friends, but we are allies for the moment. Allies help one another.

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?