the coup

[groundrules]

Hello to our last Big Event of the year, covering 2-22 December and also subbing as our test drive.

Current players can play here or make separate logs & network posts. TDM tourists are confined to this playground, but can include network prompts in their top levels.

If you’re trialling a character, you can apply them until 21 December without a game invite. TDM characters can participate in the sign-up quests without taking up a slot, but cannot vote for event outcomes.

DO YOU HEAR THE PEOPLE SING?

---

Taravast’s civilians take to spirited protests and seize the Palace of the Doxe. They intend to redirect Doxe Bonaccorso Spina’s attention and resources to his people, livelihoods suffered in recent undead attacks. The Merchant sends ‘help’ to oust the Doxe.

Amid the chaos, Vannozza Spina seeks to apprehend her grandfather. Her cousin Macaluso, Bonaccorso’s prisoner, can be liberated. Outgunned, outmanned and outnumbered, Bonaccorso orders the city burned down.


TDM TOURISTS | OLD TIMERS | COMMON: THE COUP | NOTES

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TDM TOURISTS: THE BARREN BONES

You wake up in shallow water, other supine bodies beside you. The nearby occupants of a desert outpost greet you with a coarse translation and communication device and introduce you to their leader, the Merchant. He rescues otherworlders who were summoned to serve as weapons for warring undead factions, sending them east — where forgotten beacons can return them home.

A. A FRIEND IN NEED

Unconscious new arrivals are delivered every few days, recovered from the dunes. They are submerged in oasis waters. Some characters wake weaker of body and mind, struggling to focus their thoughts or their supernatural abilities — effects that recede within one-three days. Others are plagued by a drowning sensation for one-two days.

■ Help fellow newcomers as they regain their strength with sparring, a calming voice or a warm meal.

■ Newcomers must share tents and carry out camp tasks: hold the night watch, man fires, kill viper nests and excessively large scorpions or, fate help everyone if you’re related to Xie Lian, cooking.

B. A FRIEND IN DEED

Soon enough, the Merchant reveals more otherworlders are assigned in the nearby magical citadel of Taravast, which is on the brink of civil uprising against the ruling Doxe Bonaccorso Spina. Your fellows need you, cavalry.

The Merchant sends the fresh conscripts on a three-day journey to Taravast across a desert canyon, granting supplies, horses or seats in shared carts.

■ Fresh horses wait at specific landmarks, but some suppliers trade steeds for the better coin of rich merchants evacuating Taravast. If you end up stranded, find help.

■ Weather forecast: frequent, cruel sand storms that challenge even expert riders. Collect anyone who gets lost in the dunes — particularly near wild cougars.

■ Some Taravast refugees crowd or pretend accidents to loot your horses. A select few diplomatic convoys offer assistance, or try to confiscate your rides.

» THE LOUD CROWD

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OLD TIMERS: THE STREETS, RALLYING

Dissenting necromancers, healers and civilians begrudge Doxe Bonaccorso’s failure to ensure their safety and distribute repairs funds fairly. Many believe that Bonaccorso has been manipulated by Macaluso and Vannozza.

The initially peaceful protests exacerbate into after several days: demonstrators frequently come to blows with city guards around the 20:00 evening curfew. Protesters carry sharp and blunt weapons, small explosive talismans or banners. Some are ghost-summoning necromancers, others are sorcerers who command a small array of elemental spells.

■ Protesters try to enthusiastically conscript passers-by to their cause. Some assume characters leaving the Doxe Palace are nobility and try to kidnap and ransom them for an audience with Bonaccorso.

■ Merchants and the last few of Macaluso’s foreign suitors begin their exodus from Taravast and ask you to serve as escort in exchange for compensation.

■ Palace guards retaliate with disproportionate violence when they catch crowds without magic users or experienced combatants. Rescue some demonstrators — but prepare to run — or scout the streets so they can escape.

■ The clashes separate some Taravast residents from food, commodities and healers. Be a friend.

■ In rare good news, protesters share with Wrathion and Slick their battle and coordination signs and passcodes.

■ Some crowd contingents are less spirited about this endeavour — try talking them out of this revolution business.

■ Characters without powers or weapons can resort to the arsenal Wrench and Aang recovered from looters: daggers, maces, swords, bows and five-six man-sized water serpents, who heed those who first summon them out of their Poke balls.

» » THE BANNER MUST ADVANCE

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ALL TOGETHER NOW: THE BARRICADES

Within a week of the first demonstrations, the protesters and Doxe Bonaccorso’s guards have devolved into vicious and regular violence. Civilian demonstrators have been joined by many necromancers wielding fresh corpses, minor sorcerers, healers and a handful of expert combatants, assigned by sympathetic gentry. Bonaccorso’s men conduct regular inspections and arrests. The demonstrators meanwhile set traps of magical ice and explosives.

Led by the lawyer Giacomo Zanardo and the healer Sebastiano Bianchi, the mob seeks to storm the Palace of the Doxe and persuade Bonaccorso back to his senses, which have surely been corrupted by his absent nephew Macaluso and niece Vannozza.

RISE ONE, RISE ALL

Existing characters are soon joined by fresh reinforcements. Everyone receives the Merchant’s transmission:

”It has emerged, vocally, that Doxe Bonaccorso Spina no longer serves the interests of his city, his people or our contingent. The most efficient recourse is to depose him. How, and whether you choose to instate one of his successors, is of no consequence to me. I send a wave of our new otherworldly associates to assist you. Fair fortune.”

■ Zanardo and Bianchi organise a last bout of midnight merrymaking before the Palace attack at dawns. Meet your reinforcements at a… large, cold, rudimentarily decorated warehouse in one of Taravast’s dodgiest district. Close your eyes and smell the salted fish.

■ Old and new characters can collect further plain weapons from rioters. Slick receives command of five NPC protesters.

■ Pacifists can scout the Palace of the Doxe to report back the watch patterns, or try to persuade servants to open the gates.

■ Come dawns, protesters seize the Palace, meeting fresh waves of Bonaccorso’s guards in the gardens before advancing inside.

■ The Merchant informs Eleven and Shen Qingqiu they are required back in Taravast. He cuts a deal with local warlord Anurr, who supplies two transporters orbs that will transport the duo immediately.

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PARALLEL QUESTS (OPEN TO ALL)

Because of overlapping timelines, your character can only be signed up for one of the three following missions. Each quest will be capped at 15 characters: first come, first served. You can vote on game polls irrespective of what mission your character pursues.

NOTE: TDM tourists can participate in the quests and do not need to sign up. They can include prompts for one of the parallel quests in their top-level prompts, or can tag around. However, TDM tourists don't qualify for the NPC RNG draw and cannot vote on Bonaccorso's fate.


A. LET IT BUUUUUURN, LET IT BURN

Counting the last hours of his reign, Doxe Bonaccorso Spina takes to the great balcony of his Palace to address the masses:

”My people, my loved ones. Twenty-two years ago, I came before you, a man ruined: my son and my daughter taken from me. Is there any pain greater than burying your children? Only today: to see the blood of your blood and the blood of your nation, united against you. To know your nephew made weapon of a blade and your niece of her gold, and your people are indiscriminate in their arsenal. You tear down my doors, sirs! You bloody my halls! And when you stand against your Doxe, you stand against Taravast. And why? Because I turned my eye from you for scant moments. Spoiled! Shameless! All I ever intended were more years in your service. For we must strike a permanent truce with the dead. To survive. Know that even now, I see you: you are strong, gifted, beautiful. How it breaks my heart to know I must bury my children again.”
After this, Bonaccorso orders the 20 court witches of Bessis currently at the Palace rain down fire from the northern and southern towers, unto the masses.

■ Current Bessis leader Margherita Moretti is instructed to call her sister witches to Taravast’s greater walls, where they might direct further fire upon all who oppose Bonaccorso.

■ Ten witches will climb each Palace tower, targeting protesters. Sign up and discuss how characters can slip the witches sleeping herbs with their water, kill them, feign fresh orders from Moretti, etc.

■ The witches of Bessis have historically received the patronage of the imprisoned Macaluso. Many recently retreated from court, embittered by Bonaccorso’s support for the rival Attaryl. Moretti is reasonable, if loyal, and possesses a conscience. She rides out to bring further Bessis assistance.

■ Team up, pursue and capture Moretti down the chaotic streets of Taravast. Two characters — chosen on 10 December through RNG draw from the signed-up crew — can participate in a NPC thread to talk her down.

B. OFF WITH THE OLD MAN’S HEAD

Informed by Wrath and Wen Qing’s faction that her grandfather prepared to possess her body, Vannozza Spina moves to apprehend Bonaccorso.

Following his speech, the Doxe holes up in his quarters, guarded by several dozen Attaryl witches — masters of illusions, telekinesis and mind control. They will try to briefly steal or dim characters’ senses, thrall them into seeing their allies as enemies and crumble walls and statues upon them. The witches are easily defeated through physical means.

■ Characters can charge in militarily or infiltrate by presenting as palace staff or Attaryl reinforcements. Those who previously assisted servants can receive spare uniforms and directions. Sign up here.

■ In-game characters can vote until 15 December to decide Bonaccorso’s fate. Two characters drawn via RNG can share a NPC thread for a short discussion with him. Wen Qing and Wrath can optionally have a separate talk thread, given their participation in Vannozza’s plotline.

C. SAVE THE HIMBO, SAVE THE WORLD

Macaluso Spina’s attempt to persuade his Doxe grandfather of the merits of retirement condemned him to house arrest, awaiting trial on charges of assassination. He is secluded in his wing of the Palace of the Doxe, guarded by two dozens of Bonaccorso’s men and by illusion traps devised by Attaryl witches.

Characters can hear footsteps, men giving chase, the muffled voices of Macaluso or their companions, all unseen. A mirrored hall leads you back to its beginning, as your reflection mocks you — until you break a mirror.

■ Characters who have helped Palace servants can receive tips on guard numbers and locations, or corridor shortcuts.

■ Sign up here. Two characters picked via RNG draw on 10 December can share a NPC thread to discuss Macaluso’s next steps. Alina Starkov can have an optional separate thread, for her involvement in Macaluso’s plot so far.

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QUESTIONS

TEST DRIVERS

OLD TIMERS

Comments

Yan Zhengming | Liu Yao

[xinmoline]

A. Waking up is hard to do

GAAAAAAAAAAAA!

[ Is someone being murdered or writhing in excruciating pain? One might think so, except the man responsible for this scream seems extremely lively, launching himself out of the oasis waters and stumbling to shore.

Grimacing, he gasps: ]

Bathing...with other people!

[ He's a tall man, clad in sumptuous snow white robes–or at least, what were snow white robes. Now they're smeared in mud. It takes a moment for him to notice this, but when he does, he looks down at himself in disbelief, lifting up his long sleeves to drip pathetically for a while, until he lets them fall. He takes a few hesitant steps back to the water's edge and gazes at his reflection, to find that his face and hair are just as dirty as his robes. He stares for a long moment, like some kind of horrified narcissus. Finally, he tears his gaze away, apparently unable to stand the sight of himself (this is a first).

He lifts his hand and hurriedly makes a seal. A small flash of gold light bursts from his fingertips—but that's about it. Nothing else happens. He tries again, with the same effect. He clutches his head with his hands. ]

How... how can I live like this!

[ He pulls his hands from his head and looks at them. Now they're muddy too! ]

AAAAH!

B. Hospitality

No.

[ This is Yan Zhengming's friendly greeting to anyone who pokes their head in his tent. Doesn't matter what you tell him, he's not sharing! ]

C. Showing off, I mean, training

[ Meditation hasn't been too productive in terms of restoring his cultivation to its full power, mainly because of all the incessant chatter in camp. Physical training might be better for him, at this point.

Thus he's outside in the heat of the day, swinging a jewel-encrusted sword with a chip in the blade, going through a series of sword forms over and over again. One small comfort is that he's got his clothing spells working again, so he's appropriately attired now, head to toe in blinding white, spotless from his hair ribbon to his boots. Though he looks every bit the spoiled young master, his sword movements are precise and disciplined, clearly the result of long training. ]

Watch out!

[ It's a scolding tone, as he leaps over past a fellow newcomer (you!), to plunge his sword into a nearby snake, rearing up and ready to strike. ]

Pay attention!

D. Getting sand out of white silk is impossible

[ Ordinarily he wouldn't care about another city's civil uprising, but anything's got to be better than camp life. If he were more sure of his abilities he'd brush off the offer of horses and fly on his sword. Eighty years ago, he might have insisted on it. But those long decades of poverty, striving, and his own contemptible powerlessness have taught him not to be too sure of his abilities.

This was a wise choice, he realizes, as the sandstorm rises up around them. He can fully devote his powers to his sword aura, protecting himself and his horse from the stinging sand. He'll extend his aura to protect anyone nearby who seems to be struggling. This kindness comes at a cost, however: ]

Where are you wandering? It's called "riding a horse," not just letting it take you where it will. Tch! Just toss me the reins, I'll lead you!

E. On second thought, let's not go to Camelot

[ While everyone is gathered in the warehouse seriously discussing the fate of Taravast, one (1) Yan Zhengming is standing off to the side with his nose wrinkled in disgust, muttering: ]

Ugh, what is this place?

F. Money-grubbing young master

[ Having quickly determined that he has exactly zero interest in participating in whatever the various factions in this city wish to accomplish, Yan Zhengming turns his mind to much more important tasks, that is to say: making money. A bit of haggling and a small outlay of cash has allowed him to build up an inventory of old lanterns, cups, and teapots, that he polished up and engraved with simple charms. Now he takes advantage of the large crowds milling about near the palace, pushing a cart to hawk his various wares. ]

Cups that cool your tea! Pots that heat water! Lanterns that always burn and never dim. Everything's in limited quantities, available only for a short—HEY!

[ Just then, somebody in the castle above decides to RAIN FIRE on his little business, making all his teapots explode. The fuck?! ]

E.

[paperbutterflies]

[ Sizhui is leaving the discussion to his seniors mostly, since should Hanguang-jun and senior Wei begin arguing, he would... not rather listen too closely, so he approaches the white-robed cultivator with the usual gentle expression. ]

Senior, this is not the best of the citadel, as it is in a time of unrest and struggle. I hope that its inhabitants can come to an agreement and you get to thee the nicer parts of it. It is called Taravast.

[xinmoline]

[ He looks up. The person speaking to him is a decent-looking youth, at least. ]

Mm.

[ Despite his struggles during those long decades, just trying to survive, cultivate, and scrape by, his natural inclination is that, as a cultivator, worldly affairs are not his concern, except when they directly affect the people he cares about. ]

If there's unrest, then why are we here? Outsiders should leave them to it.

[paperbutterflies]

Ah, that. The short answer is that resolving this situation could allow us to return home.

[ The long answer might get very messy. ]

[xinmoline]

[ Yan Zhengming pauses for a moment. This kid seems like someone who hasn't seen much of the world.

After a while, he says: ]

A powerful motivation for a group of powerful people to take an interest in something that shouldn't concern them. I wonder how you came by this information.

F.

[topoiran]

[ Su Xunxian has been very cautious, knowing that Moran would be angry if he puts himself at risk, and devastated if something does happen to him, but he is keeping an eye - through the little things he can talk with - out for the new arrivals. He'll point his folded fan in the direction of the startled youth - from a somewhat safe distance. He's almost not winded. ]

You will want to be careful. Around the palace and around the walls it is dangerous considering the ruler of this place is in a fit of temper; one of his potential heirs is not very fond of magic; and anyone suspected of being a noble may get the wrath of common people. It is a risky time to attempt commerce, though I might suggest a few safer places for it, if you are of a mind to listen.

[xinmoline]

[ He's just about to ask where these better places for conducting commerce might be, in between putting out his flaming cart, when MORE FIRE rains down and generalized screaming and wailing ensues, as the masses around them start to run for the exits.

Yan Zhengming reflexively extends his sword aura on all sides, enveloping and protecting both himself and anyone in his immediate vicinity. He looks up. ]

What the hell?

[ He can see groups of what look like female cultivators on opposite towers clearly casting magical fire spells into the crowd. ]

These are... they're just common people!

[ If this were a fight amongst cultivators, that would be one thing, but what's the purpose of butchering ordinary people like this?

(Clearly someone hasn't been paying much attention to the political situation here, nor Don Bonaccorso's speech) ]

[topoiran]

So they are.

[ Oh... Xunxian doesn't know what the man does, but he can recognize the safety around him and blinks, grateful. ]

Common people who are rising against the noblemen, so the doxe ordered measures for such things to be put down. His measures are, [ a wry, lopsided smile, with eyes a little sad above it, ] rather harsh.

[xinmoline]

[ Yan Zhengming is a far cry from the youth who once flaunted his wealth and made enemies at every turn. He'd intentionally distanced himself from the political goings-on in this place for a host of reasons, and had determined not to get involved. Noblemen putting down a rebellion through violent means is something he intellectually understands is just one of those things that happen, and he ought to simply observe.

It's just that it's hard to stay detached when people are screaming in agony all around him, and besides: they blew up his cart! ]

Cultivators should remain detached from worldly desires, and not bow to kings!

[ Ordinarily he'd use his sword will to form thousands upon thousands of sword figures, and dispatch every one of these female cultivators. However, sword cultivation is a difficult path at best, and he is still not entirely sure of his abilities in this place, particularly offensively. Instead he extends his sword aura as far as he can, to try to shield as many people as possible as they scramble out of harm's way.

He also grabs one of his charred teapots from his cart and lobs it up at the nearest witch, clocking her in the temple. She falls. ]

Ha!

[ It's not a simple throw, of course; it's backed by his sword will. ]

B.

[coppercoin]

[ Cheng Qian has been directed to this tent as, he's been told, someone else with long hair and robes has chosen it. So, for a moment, recognizing who is the resident, he just pauses and doesn't say anything.

Then, thinking that perhaps he should go get tea or something like that, he salutes, the tent flap settling on his shoulder. ]

I will come back later, then.

[ And turns to go back out. ]

1/3

[xinmoline]

[ He's been saying "no" reflexively every time he hears the rustle of a tent flap. This time is no different. He doesn't even look up from the cup of (terrible!) tea he's nursing, until... ]

...

[ The cup falls from his fingers, making a gentle "thunk" on the tent floor. ]

[xinmoline]

[ Am I dreaming, Yan Zhengming asks himself. How many times had he dreamed of this indeed, awaking from deep sleep with a smile on his lips, in the drowsy instant long enough for him to recall his dream–before the crushing weight of waking reality settled upon his chest, choking him.

Fully awake, he held out no such thoughts or vain hopes that Cheng Qian might somehow be alive. He was weak enough, he thought, without cultivating the kind of weakness that goes along with denying reality. He'd held Cheng Qian's lifeless body in his arms until it had gone cold, and buried it with his own hands.

So no, he isn't dreaming. Then did I qi deviate? No... he'd nearly qi deviated right after Cheng Qian was killed, but after that never again. He might be a terrible sect leader, but how could he abandon his shidi and shimei? ]

[xinmoline]

Tong Qian!

[ He calls out, too loud, his hand stretching out to grab Cheng Qian's sleeve. ]

Wait!

[coppercoin]

[ The shattered cup makes Cheng Qian blink and pause, eyebrows scrunching slightly, so Yan Zhengming catches the very real sleeve around an arm that radiates coolness still. Cheng Qian turns, eyes questioning, to see the shock on his senior martial brother's face, and his expression softens a little. It... hasn't occurred to him that they are from different times. ]

What's wrong?

[xinmoline]

You, you... you still have the face to ask me that?

[ What's wrong? What's wrong??? Thousands of years of indignation rise in his chest, he feels he knows exactly what it means to be "angered to death." If he hasn't qi deviated before, he feels he might just then!

Still... still... feeling his hand clutch actual cloth rather than pass through a ghost's arm is unspeakably comforting, and still something that he can't quite believe.

His arm starts to tremble as his fingers clench into a fist, as if having caught Cheng Qian, he'll never let him go. ]

Where were you?

F.

[downswing]

( But for the telltale novelty and freshness of his communication device, the young man spotted at the previous night's gathering might have passed for a local. Indifferent in the way of the youth, who think themselves born blunted of interest in all but that which cuts or braids the red of their own, private fate string.

Here, today, Lan Wangji knows the man's whites before his face — sees flame in flight, the shape amorphous and betraying none of the pleasantly artificial roundness of a forged projectile. Sees the emptied road, already battered by the hooves of galloping guardsmen and the tireless feet of market makers, and the crowds, the surging, thoughtless horde. Sees them all withdraw, like rats fearing their drowning, when the flame strikes, engulfs land —

...and hits baubles. If not for the young man's protest, Lan Wangji might have suspected a simple accident, that his new comrade-in-arms should find himself beside a cart straining with the glistened fill of cheap, clinking wares. But then, the man protests, and Wangji... remembers, suddenly, that the grit of his teeth is a painful thing, it locks his jaws. Continues all the same, strain bleeding into the hardened grip of his hand, when he aims to catch the young man's arm and rush him away from the shiny stationary target that is his cart. )

...this was your guise to infiltrate?

( Lie, sir. Do not reveal your mercantile interests. Consider more diplomatic options, such as pretending actual human value within the scope of this assignment. )

[xinmoline]

[ Sword cultivators keep a protective aura about their bodies at all times, and so when Yan Zhengming feels a jerk on his arm, that aura automatically strengthens and expands explosively outwards. It may or may not be sufficient to throw off a cultivator of this man's ability; it does however have the happy effect of repelling any further flaming projectiles from himself and his immediate vicinity.

He turns back to his well-intentioned (?) companion and snaps: ]

Who's infiltrating? That's my cart!

[ With a wave of his hand, he puts the flames out. Sadly, most of his wares are charred or broken. The cart itself is a dead loss: its burned timbers shiver once and collapse. Yan Zhengming springs back, out of the way, wrinkling his nose at the mess. ]

I would have only had to do this a few times, then word of mouth would have spread and I'd have had a nice—

[ It's at this moment he realizes that there's general pandemonium all around him. ]

Wait, what the hell? What's going on here?

[downswing]

( Destruction. Chaos. The incremental and unapologetic erosion of a society, from its lowest echelons to tyrannical leadership. Pure, punitive cruelty masqueraded as discipline. The abuses of an old man's lingered power that spills between hungering fingertips like sun-baked sand.

Or, as Lan Wangji aptly summarises it: )

Fire.

( But this, between hisses, from the choice distance of a reluctant few steps back — unexpected, the aural offensive did not so much nudge him back, but propel him, toss belatedly broken by a final fumble to secure his footing. He eases onto his back leg, searching the arm, where pure crystalline energy struck first, for blood injury; none, though the electric scorching of Wangji's qi at battle with foreign strength suggests bruising will erupt later. Friction.

Earned: a cultivator of any learning does not simply extend his hand. Perhaps in this, Lan Wangji assumed too much collaboration. A troubling thing, an infection of Wei Ying's habits. A better man would not begrudge instinctive retaliation.

When fire plops down freshly and tickles a set of three cups into fine ceramic ash, Lan Wangji persuades himself he feels no inkling of personal satisfaction. )

The palace response to public demands.

( Literal fire and apparent brimstone. )

[xinmoline]

[ He stares up at the towers, in disbelief at what he's seeing. Rebellion is punishable by death of a person's entire family, to the ninth generation, he's well aware of this, but that's usually confined to the ringleaders. Indiscriminate public slaughter of common people, via a means so agonizing as fire, is barbaric in the extreme.

He glances back at the man, takes in his pleasing features, as well as the fact that he seems to be at least slightly injured (he doesn't actually connect that he was the one doing the injuring; his actions had been reflexive), and makes a quick decision. ]

So why are you just standing here, come on!

[ And now he is going to reach for your wrist, stranger, and try to pull you towards cover. ]

F

[scrapgege]

[Xie Lian did approach upon hearing the calls because well, it's his first time seeing an actual, very powerful cultivator by the feel of it, hawking wares in this manner and he was curious. The man's aura certainly is nothing to balk at, it's quite impressive.

Of course Xie Lian's own is likely to feel very much so as well to the other man, in spite of his appearance and the curse mark, but honestly that concern never even touches him, and the rain of fire takes that out of the equation entirely as he whips out his bamboo hat to cover his head.]

... So he'd rather burn the city than give up?

[xinmoline]

[ Yan Zhengming glances back, and immediately detects two important things about his new companion. First, he isn't an ordinary human. Second, he has quite an extraordinary look, despite his unfortunate attire.

Arriving at a swift decision, Yan Zhengming abandons his burned cart, pulls a jeweled sword from the scabbard at his waist, flings it in the air and leaps upon it. Then he reaches for the youth next to him. ]

Here! Come on!

[scrapgege]

[.... Well then. Xie Lian is not going to say no, if that puts him out of range of the fire, so he'll grab the offered hand, but truly this is the closest he has stood pressed against someone not Hua Cheng in...a while. This feels vaguely embarrassing, but some things have to give when life is of the essence, and propriety is one of them, as he knows well.]

Thank you.

[In spite of his own rather massive amount of power, clearly constrained and held down by something to one who can sense that, Xie Lian is quite obviously not carrying any visible weapons, and certainly not a sword, and his robes, while mostly clean, and coarse and patched up.]

Its too bad your wares were destroyed. They looked very convenient.

C

[badlypoisoned]

[He's managed to get most of the mud off himself but not the stains they left behind, alas. Which meant that he still looked a little dirty, which did not at all improve the general look of his clothes which are obviously of high quality but in garishly bright colours. It's a little at odds with his appearance which seemed like it would be more suited for something more elegant and pale.

Still, he's impressed with how white this person got his clothes. Did the man just have an extra set of clothes on him? Though that sword...jewelled swords are not uncommon but it's strange to see one being used by someone who seemed to actually be good at using a weapon...even stranger because it has a chip on it. Yun Yifeng propped his chin on his palm and watched curiously.

He didn't bat an eye when the man called out to him, only tilted his head to follow the trajectory of his jump with his eyes from where he's sitting on a rock.

He was very blasé about being scolded, standing up with a slight smile, but without a single hint of being actually impressed.]

Ah, many thanks to this young master for his aid. [If anything, he seemed more impressed with the snake as he he proceeded to walk over and crouch down by the snake. Hm. Perhaps he could take some venom back with him? But he has no container...]

I wonder if this sort of snake has venom? And if so, what are its effects? [He's not going to reach out to touch it. He's immune to most poisons but that was back in Da Liang. Who knows what might happen if hw got bitten?]

[xinmoline]

[ Yan Zhengming attends to the most important priority first, to wit: cleaning off his sword, which he does magically (of course). As if he'd touch anything that gross, or dirty a handkerchief. Then he glances up at the man he'd just saved. ]

...

[ He puts his sword back into its scabbard and retrieves a fan, which he spreads out before his face, hiding his eyes as if he were a shy courtesan. ]

Ugh! What are you wearing?

[ The man's face is all right, but those clothes! ]

[badlypoisoned]

[He's interested in the way this man cleaned his sword...is that how he got his white clothes clean too?

...also, wow. Wow.

Look, he understands. The colour really is quite ugly. Ji Yanran was talented in so many things and yet his taste in colours was abhorrent.

Even so, if he were to complain there is a chance it may get back to him one day (he was conflicted on whether he hoped that would be the case or not. He didn't want Ji Yanran here but he'd also be lying if he said he didn't.)]

It was a gift. [An expensive one at that.

He reached out to pick up the snake with all the care and ease of someone who grew up with a madman trained in using poisons. It still moved a little, animals like these tend to still be able for a little bit after dying. He held it so its jaw couldn't open properly, because from his experience, a snake even dead could still reflexively bite down.]

That trick you did to clean your sword...I've never seen anything like it before.