the chainings

[groundrules]

THE CHAININGS

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Escorted by shepherds, the party reaches most decadent Ephes — a citadel with a newly-raised, lethal army and ambitions of imperial expansion. The undead lady Messalina has approached the Senate of Ephes, asking for the citadel’s forces to liberate the unliving from the undead Brotherhood that “enslaves them.” In exchange, she pledges Ephes any territories she frees.

Ephes hides a beacon within the main temple of the world-making and world-ending chaotic Chained God, currently closed off while Senate leader Caius Justus considers Messalina’s proposal.

OBJECTIVE: Survive Ephes until the temple opens.

This first event of Arc VII lasts until 3 October. Use your character roles, pursue leads or nudge NPCs for clues!

POLITICS

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Politically-minded characters take residence with their benefactors and receive two iron chain bracelets, which represent the Chained God. These bracelets and the red-purplish trim of your white cloth identify your political standing and attract the nagging, desperate or aggressive public pleas of your petitioners.

You hear, hastening to attend Senate sessions, that long-serving leader Caius Justus is unlikely to earn a new mandate. His peaceful, sedentary governance is unsuited to Ephes’ military ambitions.

Pair up with party members and submit threads by 23:59 GMT on 27 September of bribing, cheating or outright fulfilling the needs of one of the politicians below, to secure their vote for or against Messalina.

■ War veteran-turned-politician Sextus Longinus wants to leave his mark permanently on Ephes.

■ Senator Publia Secunda has been struck with court summons on charges of tax evasion. The court claims it has proof she has been passing the precious wares on her ships as geese.

■ Senator Ovidius Petronius’s wife fled home, ruining his image as a family man, after he was caught in compromising circumstances with another woman.

■ Severus Silvanus was overcome by sickness and wishes to throw a party worth remembering as he lives out his final year.

■ Once a formidable soldier, Senator Cassia Floriana has been for years denied an audience by the priests of the temple of the Chained God because of the blood on her hands.

■ Maximilianus Tacitus wishes to eliminate his reputation for stinginess — while spending not one coin.

Note: if multiple players go for the same Senator, we’ll assume they had more than one vote to cast!

GLADIATORS | non-gladiators can spectate or patron

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Those assigned as gladiators are received by arena leader Laetio and housed in single or shared barracks cells in grounds near the largest stadiums.

Accommodations are scarce — pallets, hard stone ground — but food, healing and care are generously provided. Veteran gladiators are frequently measured and assessed. Strife is contained, and brawls are forbidden, while priestess of the Chained God visit periodically to bless warriors as ‘his children of chaos.’

At times, as you train or sleep, you sense you are watched. On other days, you wake from violent nightmares to see your wounds and bruises have vanished.

■ Newcomers are paired and taught how to throw fights, exaggerate their reactions and create slogans and outrageous personas. They are offered tattoos, haircuts and makeup.

■ You experience the first day in the arena around the OOC date of 18 September, when gladiators re-enact the Chained God’s first defeat and Chaining.

■ Characters can fight NPCs, each other, or demonic large beasts. These hefty creatures attack head first and thrash the arena, often striking spectators.

■ Injuries can happen when fighting beasts, but unlikely from other gladiators. The highest official attending a fight may choose the loser’s punishment, but must pay exorbitant fees for losses to the arena. After a noble boy orders a veteran gladiator severely beaten, you hear Laetio threatening the child’s anguished father with repercussions from Narula, leader of the Hand.

■ Submit a fight thread by 23:59 GMT on 27 September for the winner/s to address the stadium.

■ Other party members can pay or coax Laetio to receive their ‘favourite’ gladiator(s) overnight at their villas. Return by dawns.

WHITE NIGHT

One night (OOCly: 24 September), after gladiator games on the sixth of twelve Chainings, you wake up in a bleary haze, your thoughts and movements slow. Stifled screams and heavy footsteps erupt distantly. In pitch dark, you spot the slithering, deep silhouettes that are checking cells — progressing towards you.

■ If you glimpse their coarsely carved masks depicting wolves, you are overcome with a sudden, insurmountable terror and the certainty that your visitors are inhuman.

■ Stumbling, you flee your surprisingly open cell, overcome by dread that won’t abate until you find living company. Some of the emptied cells you pass by have been clearly ravaged. On the walls of three untouched cells of veteran gladiators, you see a wolf’s head coarsely painted in fresh blood. Hide with your companions, until sleep suddenly claims you.

■ The next day, you wake back in your sleeping quarters. Laetio accuses some gladiators of going mad from last night’s celebratory drink and destroying the cells. Servants have been cleaning attentively, with all blood paintings gone.

■ Your memories of the night are increasingly diffuse: at times you describe the intruders. At others, you speak of creatures or people from your own past that terrify you.

■ A veteran gladiator, the Beast of Brenne, is absent from the morning call. Laetio regretfully informs he perished from wounds incurred in yesterday’s games. He calls a toast to the Beast of Brenne and bans drink for the rest of the Chainings.

THE HAND

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Characters reach the barracks as part of a set of 100 new recruits. They are subjected to three days of intense training, ranging from running and parkour basics to weights and strength building, basic dagger combat and surviving hard (magically induced) weather conditions. The recruit batch is overseen by Hand leader Narula and members depend on each other for food or care.
Throughout this, recruits are made to heavily depend on Brother Narula, who negotiates and awards privileges and regularly visits for interviews not unlike interrogations. Recruits are largely orphans, convicts or disinherited — lone wolves, says Narula, who only find their pack in the Hand.

Every ten days of the 100 after recruitment, the worst performing five conscripts are removed from the ranks, stoking vicious competition and internal sabotage that Narula allows on the premise of soldiers needing both brawns and cunning.

Permanent injuries are banned. Beware blades left in your shoes and itchy, ground nettles powder on your uniforms.

HONEYED

Within days of receiving your assignments, you must shadow a group of Hand veterans and guard a Hive — an agricultural cluster outside of Ephes — during a grains transfer.

■ New recruits follow veteran soldiers into the eerily silent, vast farmland dominated by high rows of wheat and corn. You feel watched and something touches your legs and thighs. Within farmers’ hearing, veteran soldiers laugh it off as rabbits, snakes — but privately tell you to walk outside the line of vision of scarecrows littered in the fields.

■ The transfer proceeds peacefully until midday, when alarms blare, and a brawl starts near a defunct watering well: a dozen Hand veterans have gone berserk and attack indiscriminately. They are dark-eyed, heaving and struggle with speech and coordination. They seem less wrathful than anguished, desperately calling to ‘Make homes’ as they slaughter and sever limbs.

■ Immobilise the attackers, or take civilians to safety in warehouses.

■ The berserk soldiers are removed — allegedly taken for healing and discipline, but never seen again. At the barracks, Narula says the incident was the result of heatstroke.

MESSALINA’S INFILTRATORS

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Some party members join Messalina’s group as paid campaign aides. Stationed in the Senate’s summer villas outside of Ephes, the lady’s eclectic group comprises volatile magic users and necromancers, the undead and demonic creatures — who coexist in tenuous peace. It’s every wo/man to themselves after dark, when the villa walls and defences are drawn up and gates lock to prevent the indiscreet exit of a blood-thirsting demon.

Mid-summer

It becomes rapidly clear that Messalina does not trust the good will of Ephes and wants to cut a deal quickly by bribing, blackmailing, or interceding with Senate leader Caius Justus. She also seems unsettled by the Chained God, who she fears is a hidden undead liege controlling Ephes.

”Not every Sleeper sleeps deep.”

Messalina assigns party members to bolster the campaign of Maximus Faustus — previously a young, promising and popular politician with hopes of becoming Senate leader… who has been replaced by demonic shapeshifter Alir.

■ Infiltrate noble functions and learn what would steer patricians towards Faustus’ cause.

■ Patricians widely feel that Caius has been too sympathetic towards plebeians and neglectful of his own people. They want to see more grand gestures celebrating Ephes’ noblest class. See to it.
■ Some superstitiously associate Caius with the cult of the Chained God, whom the Senate leader brought back to forefront.

■ Alir is fiercely intelligent, quick-witted, dry — with little regard for humans, beyond their delicious hearts. Watch him while in public, as he succumbs to his hunger and lures innocents in dark corners to rip out their innards and feast on their flesh. Pay off or exterminate witnesses.

■ A derisive Alir questions Messalina’s plans for peaceful coexistence and the innocence of Ephes. He urges his caretakers to inspect Caius’s private home on the night of the full moon (OOCly: 20 September). You may take along other party members.

■ That night, Caius’ villa is well lit, bursting with song and closed from the inside. Scale the walls to enter and find a feast held by shadowy silhouettes of Caius’ ancestors. First they interact with you, then ignore you, then, increasingly inconvenienced, seem to recognise there is something wrong about you, before giving chase, daggers in hand.

■ On a high table in the great reception halls, you can find the entombment masks and personal effects of all of Caius’ ancestors who are present at the feast. Caius’ personal study contains nearly year-old letters of trade, reports on the fragility of the then-6,000-strong Hand and a broken worship tablet depicting the Chained God’s fourth Chaining.

■ In the kitchens, you find well-secured barrels of fish and wine — jump in together, or hear movement from the servants hidden within. You have time for one question.

CIVILIANS

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Characters assigned civilian roles may safely assume their Ephes posts for a handful of days, before the religious celebrations of the Chained God’s twelve Chainings start. The all-Father of the universe, the Chained God is set to birth, consume and rebirth the world, and was chained twelve times by the first heroes of humanity to contain his destruction.

■ The numerous priests of the Chained God wander the roads and mark the foreheads of civilians with salted ash — which briefly brings out your anger, greed or selfishness.

■ Priests say you feel the frustration of the bound Chained God. Some of those ash-touched experience visions of a heavily fettered, amorphous creature, struggling in agony in a cavernous room. Those with supernatural powers find their abilities are volatile for a day.

■ Those who ‘see’ the Chained God are brought and tested for holiness by Priestess Valeria, for it is known the Chained God chooses brief emissaries during the days of Chaining.

■ Newer acolytes greatly defend the religious cult: a great earthquake rattled the main temple of the Chained God last year during the Chainings, and falling debris only spared the faithful who prayed within.

Off with his —

On the sixth day of Chaining (OOCly: 23 September), the news shouter of Ephes’ main marketplace receives a pouch containing the decapitated head of Tavernus, brother of Ephes army leader Narula.

The shocked newscaster drops the head, shakily reading out the message stitched on the pouch: Animals die for men to live. Men die for gods to prosper. — a quote attributed to the Chained Gods and carved on his main temple’s outer walls.

Locals may share Tavernus was a taciturn man who previously served as Narula’s lieutenant in the Hand, before retiring five months prior and taking up agricultural trade.

Group up to investigate — and throw your hat in for a RNG pick to win the head.

NIGHT OF KNIVES | EVERYONE WELCOME

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The twelfth day of Chaining (OOCly: 29 September) ends the yearly religious festivities of the Chained God with multiple street celebrations and private dinners.

Popular political upstart Maximus Faustus holds his own night-long banquet, opening his doors to all.

The affair sprawls over multiple floors of Faustus’ enormous villa, with entertainment ranging from poetry, theatre, artistic and magical recitals on the lower floors to a gladiator performance and heavy opioids upstairs. Conveniently, the guest list includes every figurehead of Ephes and their main political and financial backers. Patricians seem amused but flattered by Faustus, who was ‘no one’ before Messalina’s support, but who has been generous in his appreciation of the city’s elite.

■ Sign up for a RNG draw for a conversation with Faustus by 23:59 GMT on 18 September.

■ No better time to publicise your feats or generosity. Why not have your character (including gladiators) perform or bring an offering?

■ Servants apologise as you smell an excess of musk and oud, hiding, they say, spillage from an accident caused by a fired manservant. You can still glimpse glinting trails of cleansed lamp oil.

■ Messalina attends the banquet for two hours, but hastily withdraws at midnight, after receiving a letter.

■ Towards the middle of the night, priestess Valeria asks to conduct a religious séance, allowing one person to channel the Chained God and speak to Ephes.

■ After 2 a.m., torch lights dim down, as twenty masked pantomimes enter the main banquet halls, shushing the rooms silent. In good spirit, they ridicule the partygoers, even poking fun at you with inside jokes they should not know about…

■ …before slashing the throats or stabbing some of the high-profile Senators present, sparking a chaotic stampede.

■ The main villa doors have been closed from the outside. Fire broke out within and spreads rapidly, after the rims of main halls curtains were drenched in lamp oil. Rescue some of the Senators, or help the crowds escape Faustus’ burning villa.

■ The assassins are exceptionally strong fighters whose combat style some might recognise from the Hand’s drills. They fluctuate between having physical bodies and merging with shadows.

■ Come morning, a list is found on the main hall floor of Faustus’ villa with an assassination contract for the murdered and targeted Senators. All had intended to support Messalina. The contract is signed with the seal of a ring showing a wolf in profile.

QUESTIONS

Comments

QUESTIONS

[groundrules]

He fell 23 times on that dagger. Back first.

Let's say no question cap for now, but set one if things get very busy!

[kahl_175]

Quick question! On the location description post, passing mention was made of slaves (the Hand of Ephes being made of "conscripts, former slaves or career soldiers"). Does Ephes have a system of enslavement, and if so, is it similar to how the Romans did it (a combination of debt bondage, capturing foreigners, punishing criminals, with there deliberately being no way to visually tell who was a slave, because there was a fear that slaves might figure out how many of them there were in Roman cities)?

Asking for a friend. His name is Kahl, and he's a radical abolitionist. :P

THREAD TURN-INS

[groundrules]

Tally-ho!

SENATORIAL COERCION

[groundrules]

Please turn in your threads of bribing, cheating or fulfilling the needs of the Senator you're targeting by 23:59 GMT on 27 September!

Don't forget to mention which way you want the Senator to vote — if your character and that of your threadmate would disagree on the vote direction, do a RNG draw, and assume that, upon hearing both sides of the argument, would go with the RNG winner!

NPC THREADS

[groundrules]

Starters incoming...!

POSSESSION VISIONS - Daenerys, Jacob

[groundrules]

The séance is a simple, if unnecessarily protracted rite, largely relying on priestess Valeria and other worshippers of the Chained God performing prayers around the divine vessels, while crowds of banquet guests — some faithful, some sceptical — interrupt their revelries to watch. Daenerys and Jacob are each identified by Valeria as ‘bearers of strength’ and asked to indulge the merrymakers in their little game. They are invited (or coaxed) to lie down on chaise beds and offered a nearly sickeningly sweet, thickened wine that slowly submerges them in a state of haze and gentle lassitude. They remain distantly aware of their surroundings, of the priests chanting for the Chained God to now wake, as he has slept, to wake and make Ephes his sword in rebirth.

Here, Daenerys and Jacob’s experiences diverge, though both find themselves narrating fragments of what they are seeing to the crowds.

Daenerys

Daenerys experiences a trembled vision — a memory, through the eyes of a man with hands covered in blood or red paint, up to his wrist. If she asks, later, she will learn this was the first Chainer, a great hero of men of the olden days. Before him ( herself, in the vision ), she sees a much taller, strangely coiled creature that might yet be a serpent, a large worm, a dragon, or perhaps a different beast altogether. It is golden, with eyes of tar, and beneath it the stone ground of the heated cave (?) it inhabits is deeply cracked, revealing black water emerging through the fissures. Daenerys cannot outright understand the old tongues spoken, but instinctively knows what is being said: the Chainer asks why the Chained God prepares to destroy the world, when he has brought honour and worship, and humanity is grateful and glad of him? Humanity prepares to learn and achieve much more, even now, to better itself. The Chained God admits love of Ephes but says this perspective is paltry and selfish, as befits ephemeral creatures such as men: it is the case, he says, that something must die, for something else to be born, and it is only time for the Chained God to bring about this transition. The earth, the Chained God says, suffers without change.

As Daenerys narrates her vision, Valeria asks her to speak on behalf of the Chained God and answer, Do the people of Ephes remain the Chained God’s chosen? Will he bless them in battle?

Respond here with Daenerys’ answer by 20 September. There is no right or wrong one, and she’d be giving it while partly intoxicated, besides, so don’t stress!

Jacob

Jacob likewise experiences a shaky, vague vision that he finds himself narrating to the crowd — a memory through the eyes of one of several human men (later, he may learn if he asks, Chainers) who gather around a bound creature. It is large, either dragon-like or serpentine, fluctuating between golden shapes. Its large shape has been fettered in parchment strips marked with runes and wards, along with eleven coils of chain that emanate power. It is posted on a heavy stone dais broken in deep cracks. The man whose memory Jacob experiences carries in his hands a twelfth long chain that he shakily approaches to fit around the creature — the Chained God, Jacob somehow understands from the other men beside him, for all he does not speak their tongue. The men ask the Chained God if he remains intent on destruction, offering to release him if only he remains a blessed protector of humanity instead. The Chained God laughs and only says the womb has already broken, and that what which he was prevented from delivering naturally has now been taken up by other hands. As he says so, the dais beneath him crumbles further, bubbling dark water emerging from the fissures, seeming to coagulate in the shape of fingers. The twelfth Chaining commences.

As Jacob narrates his vision, Valeria asks him, Does the Chained God look to have divine strength still, despite his Chaining? Will be proceed with destruction still, if he is unleashed?

Respond here with Jacob’s answer by 20 Septmeber. There is no right or wrong answer, and he’s giving it while intoxicated, so please don’t worry!

—

In the wake of the ritual, Daenerys and Jacob will feel more aware of each other for a few hours. They take up to an hour to regain their clarity of mind and physical coordination, but are okay to run, run, run, by the time knives come out. Any supernatural powers they possess may feel slightly detached and alien for up to six hours. They continue to feel a presence, or as if they are stranded in their own bodies, in that time.

They might want to look after each other, while they recover their bearings, to the enthusiastic congratulations of several banquet attendants, who supply gifts of wine, sweets and even hold.

They would not have heard the narration of each other’s vision, because they would have been experiencing their own visions at the same time.

If they study the cups from which they were given wine, they find them lined with heavy opiates.

If they approach Valeria or one of the priests of the Chained God, to inquire on the truth of what they saw, they are calmly told that the crowd needed a show, and to think little of it.

Do consider sharing some of what you learned with the rest of the class!

Kahl-175 |⍓| Warframe |⍓| Civilian

[kahl_175]

[[ooc: more prompts available as desired! For those unfamiliar with Kahl, I'd recommend at least watching a minute or two of his canon introduction, to get a sense of the cyborg dude you're dealing with here. He's got an eyepatch now, but that's the only physical change from this. Spoilers for Warframe's New War poltline!]]

Civilian (Porter): spying, special deliveries, and squinting at stuff

[kahl_175]

All the white marble makes Kahl squint. Too bright in the sun. But he keeps walking, hauling heavy stuff with him. He's a porter this time. Carrying other people's stuff. Making deliveries.

It's good. Nobody pays attention to porters. As long as Kahl doesn't block traffic, nobody stops to think about a big man carrying a big box, or those clay jars. Am-phor-ae. He has trouble pronouncing that, but he's got one on his shoulder now, big enough to hide somebody in if they need it.

Kahl can get stuff into lots of places. He can get into lots of places too. The big white marble houses (more squinting) don't let anybody in the front doors without invitation, but they forget about the back doors. He shows up, says he has a delivery, and then offers to carry it in when the servants struggle with the weight. Sometimes the box has something useful in it, sometimes there's someone in it, other times there's just rocks at the bottom. He pretends not to know, and makes friends while he's there. The whole time, he's mapping the place, just in case.

Want to help him with a delivery? Already on the inside, doing politics or fighting, and need something snuck in or out? Maybe even sneak yourself somewhere? Kahl can help.

Jacob Frye / AC Syndicate / Civilian

[nothinglikefather]

Rooftop Rendezvous

[nothinglikefather]

[For those that think the city is beautiful during daylight hours, they should really take in the sprawling mass at night. Up on the high rooftops, able to see the place laid out before him, Jacob can map it all out: there's the main temple complex over there, the political heart there, and across the way, there's the rich neighbourhood filled with villas. Between them are the crisscrossing streets filled with brothels, bathhouses, bars and homes, and people hurrying and strolling about. It's not unlike London, but it doesn't have the smog. He hasn't decided yet if that is a bad thing or a good thing.

His vantage point is a good one, on one of the higher rooftops towards the edge of the city, with those beautiful views on one side, and on the other, the edge of the metropolis. The Hand have their barracks here, and there's a main road out into... what? He has no idea. He should find out.

He shifts his weight slightly, still within the protective shadow of the statue that adorns the relief encircling the top of the building. There are several statues here- figures of men and women, some with wings, some with horns, some with massive... features. It's a good spot to hide, within the darkness, unseen.

He could stay there all night. He may have to if his current employer opts to stay with his mistress until dawn.]

wen kexing ( word of honor / representative. )

[wifedup]

ooc: open starters and more prompts will appear below here as we slowly work out some plot. hit me up on discord: sadgaydna if you want something specific. ♥

[wifedup]

a. The Well-Oiled Jug

( He’d think the universe were laughing at him if only he didn’t know the universe was a particularly awful bitch at the best of times, and being the representative of a bunch of pleasure houses ( along with drugs and wine ) is the least cruel thing that could happen to him. Whatever the Gods want to say about his … proclivities he’s choosing to ignore it, either way, throwing himself into the role like a - well, like a whore in a whorehouse. Predictably he’s in his element, encamped in the corner, surrounded by beauties of all genders, looking relaxed as he slouches in his chair. One worker pours wine into his cup for him while he listens attentively to another, marking down something on a piece of parchment, and whether it’s a personal problem or an establishment problem he gives it enough attention, stopping to ask questions or answer them. His petitioner leaves with a smile, drifting through the room towards the next customer, and Wen Kexing swallows his wine neatly before he lifts a hand to whomever has now entered the establishment. )

You look lost.

( A grin, sharp, showing the edges of his teeth. )

Don’t worry, just tell me your preferred form of self-medication, I’m sure we can accommodate here.

b. The Slick Vase.

( As if there’s only one pleasure house in all of Ephes, though this one is maybe a little more palatable than the last. There’s more wine, polite conversation, soft music playing from the hands of some pretty young thing ( though whether the sound covers up the more vocal of the upstairs patrons that’s anyone’s guess and certainly not Wen Kexing’s business ). The man himself is lounging by a table, idly waving his fan in front of his face. He’s in new robes this time, a hint of red tucked away under green - thank you Benefactor Lan - and he looks happy enough to sit there, drinking his wine, lounging.

That is until he closes his fan with a click, getting to his feet to cross the room in long, even strides. The man he grabs by the back of the tunic makes a garbled noise of affront, limbs flailing like he’d very much like to take Wen Kexing’s head off. He avoids each strike, bodily hauling the larger man across the room and towards the front door, shoving him out into the sunlight street with a pleasant smile. )

Go away.

( The door shuts, and he turns around with a sigh. ) Aiy, Mei-Mei don’t look so sad. ( A flash of movement as he tosses the man’s purse across the room to the young woman who’d been dealing with him. ) Go on, take the afternoon off.

( Is it practical business? Probably not. Does he care? No. Luo Fumeng would have his head if he let a woman get pawed at so aggressively, and besides, he was ruining the ambience. To whoever Wen Kexing next catches the eye off, he smiles. )

Tch. What? He didn’t need it.

c. The ( Ogling ) Arena

I’d known this was an option before I would have never done anything else.

( By that cheerful statement Wen Kexing very much means watching well-muscled, oiled up men beat each other bloody. It could be the violence, it could be the skin, it could be any of these things, either way he’s having a blast, tossing peanuts into his mouth and fanning himself idly. Oh, the Ghost Valley often incites itself into all out brawls and Wen Kexing is more likely to be found sneering down at it but quite frankly, all the ghosts are hideous and so it had not been quite as fun. )

And we place bets, do we? Who should we put money on, do you think? The biggest, or the cutest?

wen qing | the untamed | messalina

[silverneedles]

[ open starters below, let me know if you'd like a custom starter. i'll match styles. ]

fishmongers’ square

[silverneedles]

[ A man stands on the lip of a fountain, voice raised as he attempts to command the attention of the crowd, preaching about one senator or another. A crowd gathers around him, but his way with speech is poor, and he's quickly booed out of the spotlight. Wen Qing watches with half an eye while she browses the market stalls. Her smile is genuine as she chats with the merchants, bartering down their prices with rusty skill and a winsome smile.

By the time she emerges from one such exchange, a new orator has taken over, this one much more sophisticated in his speech. His words ring hollow, nothing but empty phrases, and she can't even figure out who he's speaking of or his complaint, and she's not alone in that, from the puzzled expressions of some of the crowd. ]

They do just let anyone talk here and rouse the passions of the crowd. Doesn't seem to be good for the public.

[ It's just an idle observation as she tucks away her most recent purchase— a pair of earrings, to match the outfit she plans to wear to the next party she's invited to— and moves to another stall, seemingly idle while still paying close attention to the crowd, trying to listen for any mentions of a senator, Messalina, or Caius. ]

number five | the umbrella academy | messalina

[somebadnews]

[ Prompts below. Feel free to wildcard or ask for a specific starter. (Generally, Five will be snooping around everywhere, so feel free to run into him if none of these prompts hit where your character might be.) If you want to plot out something more involved, Five's plotting comment is here or hit me up on plurk/discord/etc. Will match action or prose as your preference! ]

boy meets hound | summer villas

[somebadnews]

[ The irony is not lost on Five. Days after he argued with the Merchant about using their influence to manipulate the undead against each other, and here he is assigned to infiltrate their up-and-coming star. Surprisingly, it gives him some sway that he's not accustomed to, making the entire setup feel like a test. Maybe the Merchant wasn't as against the idea as he seemed. Or, more likely as Five takes in the state of the villas he's supposed to reside in, he's making a point.

As far as associations go, the undead certainly seem more trusting in relying on him to come up with their strategy. In theory, he should be given more respect than he's become accustomed to, if he wants to play out his role in earnest. He makes a show not to be disturbed by what he sees roaming the streets, but he feels fortunate that he's got his energy returned to him before they arrived.

He's keeping an eye out for members of their party when a black dog approaches, nearly larger than he is and giving off a distinctly... demonic vibe. Five braces himself for an attack, but oddly, it just sits and stares at him like it's waiting for orders.

They somehow neglected to mention he'd get an escort. ]

Hello, there. You come with the territory? [ The beast seems to smile in return with far too many teeth, then bows its head and retreats into the shadows as if he's just waiting to be called on. ] ...See you later, then.

Beitang Moran || Politician

[beitangmoran]

A. Politics
[Put Beitang Moran in a quiet place that has books and you are all but certain to see him disappear and rarely come out. And he does spend a lot of his time devouring as much of the library as he can. The temple life itself suits him just fine, to the joy of his patron.

But of course, they do need the beacon and that requires him to put his mind to work for more than discoveries in books. So of course, he comes to hear of this senator who seems desperate to gain an audience with temple priests, apparently in vain.

Approaching her outright would be a bit gauche, however. Too obvious. Maybe one of his co-conspirators can help with that, and if that is you, he will expose the start of a plan.]

It would be trivial for me to convince my patron to let her in if I could know what it was that caused the temple to forbid her access. They say she has blood on her hands, so I am going to assume assassination of some kind that was attributed to her, and maybe of someone in here.

[Because let's be real, most if not all of these people have blood on their hands one way or another. So for her to be singled out...]

I cannot ask my patron outright, although I might be able to steer the conversation this way eventually. Maybe talk in the taverns could provide more information?

B. Gladiator | Spectator

[Moran doesn't enjoy the spectacle in itself. It is fake and barbaric and used to stoke people's passions so they won't use them somewhere else. Somewhat effectively, too, he has to admit.

The only reason that he comes is to be visible. He is interested in seeing who might approach him for favors.

But here he is, sitting in the stands, and reading a book instead of paying any attention to the show.]

library!

[downswing]

( A coincidence of bizarre fate: two men at cross purpose, but Lan Wangji finished with the work of a day, where Beitang Moran appears... immersed in the viscera of political negotiation. Earlier, accosting the library, Wangji had feared the young woman who had... inhibited Messalina's ventures would need actual, physical, pained intimidation.

Instead, soft words in dark corners have culled her interest in proceeding at odds with the mistress of undead, and so Lan Wangji accepts his toil completed. There is... a sense of debauchery in the existence of a citadel so occupied by vice, yet boasting public, virtuous facilities of pristine, polished condition. As if the two interests can ever hope to achieve similar weight.

They pass each other by, between looming bodies of books and the feverish gazes of men and women assessing each for opportunity, for advantage. For once, he assumes no similarity between Beitang Moran and Wei Ying — the Yiling Patriarch abhorred the travesty of political entanglement. Beitang Moran thrives.

At balance between them, Lan Wangji grits his teeth and bears through the futility of such formalities, second son of a sect and learned. He does not inflict himself in close proximity of Beitang Moran, both hands bound at his back — observing the etiquettes of strangers.

A man of Messalina and one of native interests cannot be seen too warm in their acquaintance. )

Master Beitang is accompanied? ( Watched? Trailed? )

Xie Lian || The Hand

[scrapgege]

A. Military life

[This... brings back memories. Not all of them bad ones, too. Fate has a way of being ironic like that, probably. Nothing feels very surprising, except the almost cult-like devotion to Narula.

And of course, everything that could happen to Xie Lian happens. The hazing and sabotaging reaches almost untold proportions except.... nothing seems to bother him. Every morning, his fellow soldiers find him still there, still smiling, and by the end of the training period most of the people alongside him have developed a healthy fear of him, even though he hasn't actually done anything.

If you're in that group too and this is our first time witnessing Xie Lian's extraordinary bad luck and resistance... welcome to the show.]

B. Training

[So he's been put in charge of training. And somehow, his training program was approved. And now all the people who tried to haze him out are wondering if this isn't his revenge. The number of people who come back exhausted, half-injured, or who straight up give up is rather astronomical, and yet he seems to be genuinely baffled by it.]

It's not even half as hard as what the Banyue conscripts had to do... I guess I could make it a little easier?

C. Honeyed

[Xie Lian wasn't here when the incident happened, but of course he heard all about it, and now he's sitting in a corner nursing a cup of something that vaguely smells like alcohol, biting on his thumb as he thinks.]

Heatstroke, hmmm... That doesn't turn people into murderers. And the culprits have been eliminated, it seems.

[He's pretty sure they've been killed. What he's not sure is why that fact is hidden from the other soldiers. They don't feel like the type who would mind that.]

C. Honeyed

[starlingroad]

Sooo...you think it sounds fishy, too?

[America has been thinking that, that none of this sounds right. And she was there at the Hive, but not directly involved. She's heard enough she's uncomfortable.]

[She takes a seat next to Xie Lian.]

lan xichen, the untamed | politics/rep

[lanclan]

( open starters below, can do private ones! )

( open )

[lanclan]

( 1. senate's son. )

[ Gone are the humble cotton robes and wooden hairstick he hand-carved for himself. The daoist vibes of poverty have been trampled by a competent eye and, with his friends and family taken care of (each sent a liveable stipend), a sect leader has returned from his seclusion of the soul.

Zewu-Jun, as he is known to those in the political sphere, is as familiar a sight around the senate as the clouds in the sky, a blue figure in the marbled halls from day-to-day as he does as his benefactor Aquilia Longina requests and tries to maintain the peace between those who will inevitably have to work together in the future. He's good at it, in short, and builds a reliable reputation as a soft-spoken but iron-willed figure who can be petitioned for aid and, sometimes, doesn't even ask for immediate repayment. So generous. He makes allies and gathers owed favours, drinks tea to discover which individuals are notorious: not only in the senate's sphere but beyond in the city. His tactful ability not to gossip but to absorb it is rare and highly prized.

His attire is always soft and heavily layered, a fluttering of diaphanous fabric around the imposing 6'2" figure he cuts in a crowd lending him a scholarly air instead of an intimidating one, intentionally approachable as a summer cloud. Do you need to speak with him? ]


( 2. arena fight. )

[ Against the dirt of the city his clothing is darker and more easily hides the dust kicked up at ground-level no matter where he goes. Xichen is easily spotted either sitting in a private booth at the latest gladiatorial match whether alone or entertaining a guest, fruit piled up as he fans himself and watches the spectacle. Unseemly as it may be for a political figure to descend into the backstage, underground belly of the coliseum, he is no unknown figure there either. The patron of Mo Ran, a young man whom he is determined will not live in squalor or go hungry while the boy's shizun is absent, Xichen personally drops in on Laetio to ensure his patronage is not being squandered: he does this without warning of his visits, the privilege of his station, and is pleasant and attentive to any of the other gladiators who wish to approach him for this or that, even if it is no secret where the majority of the sect leader's favour lies and he always declines their entertainment services at his villa.

Xichen can be found anywhere around the grounds, either being escorted around below or as a guest above in the stands. ]


( 3. hoes & hellos. )

[ There are places a well-respected political figure ought never to go and a brothel is the highest on the list, even above shady organisations like the Hand. But, as his reputation is cemented as caring little for the opinions of others (which are rarely spoken to his face for fear of that person's station being quietly torn down the next day) Xichen finds it is hardly tarnished once word gets out that he isn't being illicit anywhere or with anyone. Not at the arena, and not here ...

At The Slick Vase pleasure house, hosted by his good friend.

Prostitutes hear all kinds of information from their patrons and he isn't about to overlook their usefulness, given his new position and need for all angles to be visible of all kinds of people at all times. So, he takes silks scarves and sweet treats for the men and women under Wen Kexing's care and has his attendants unbox them all to joyful cries. Well-known for politely declining their private services, he allows the pretty things to hang off his arms as others make a racket whirling the scarves around and trying the chocolates. It's a loud occasion, akin to a very handsome Santa Claus turning up, and apologies will be made if the commotion disturbs anyone ... upstairs.

Not that he particularly cares about that, smiling and nodding to the little birds asking his opinion on which silks suit them. ]

allison "the siren" hargreeves | gladiator | ota

[rumorate]

downtime.

[Every time they arrive in a new place, Allison gets to reinvent herself again. It's the fun part, really, the bit that feels normal, as though she's preparing for a role in one of her movies. She gets to build the backstory, set the look, pull herself into the character's skin until she can give her best performance. And when she gets assigned gladiator, well.

Sure. She's got some rage to work on. Why not?

She opts to be a private gladiator, because the idea of being enslaved in any way makes her skin crawl. She lets Laeito cast her as the Siren, and honestly it's a role she's played before. The costumes, the make up, she knows it all well. The last part she needs to figure out is the hair. The hair is the finishing touch. It takes a bit of thinking, but eventually she comes to a decision, and smiles.

Yeah. This'll do.]

training time.

[Stage combat also isn't something completely out of her wheelhouse. She knows that this is going to be a bit more hard core than choreographed fights she's done in the past but since the winners seem to be somewhat predetermined, she can help when it comes to making taking a fall look good.

So during training she might offer helpful hints like:]

When you go over my shoulder, take it at more of a roll - it'll redirect your momentum and put less pressure on your back.

[Or if she's the one taking the fall:]

If you're going to pull me by the hair, let me grab your wrist. It'll take some of the pressure off and make me easier to drag.

[Whatever makes it look good, right?

But she does her training, and will step off to the side to get some water or take a breather, and will check in with the other members of the party:]

Hey. You doing okay?

show time. (if you go for combat, specify if you want to "win" or "lose" in the header please! i'm good either way.)

[The Siren, as they're calling her, is a scorned woman, a vengeful lover. Allison can connect to that and her rage so every time she strides onto the grounds, she does it with her head high, and shoulders squared, "poisoned" blades at her side. Whether she's going to win or lose, against a fellow gladiator or a beast, she has to sell that she believes there's only one outcome every time she steps on the grounds. The Siren intends to win, whatever it takes.]

So. Shall we begin?

[When she's not in the arena, she watches from the sidelines, wanting to get a sense of the crowd and what they react to - what sells better to their expectations, versus what they don't like. It's all a show after all. The longer she's in the rotation, the more she starts to see women in the stands emulating her, and something clenches in her chest at the sight of it.

She never really managed to develop a big female fanbase, before. It was mostly men coming up to her on the street, asking her for her autograph. Even before things went south with Patrick, women never gravitated to her. But here, she feels like she's cracked something. That she's finally speaking truthfully to something they can understand.

It means more than she thought it would.]

white night.

[A scream snaps her out of a dead sleep, and she feels unsteady as she stumbles to her feet and heading towards the door. She belatedly realizes that she doesn't have a weapon, but she keeps going anyway, pushing open the door to her room and looking out into the hallway, trying to figure out what's going on.

She moves into the hallway, scanning the doors. She needs to find another member of the party. She needs to find Emilia. She keeps trying to put one foot in front of the other until something familiar catches her eye. A flash of armor. A samurai mask. Then her eyes fall to the blade in it's hand, and she starts stumbling backwards.]

Oh, shit. Oh, shit, shit, shit.

[By the time she turns to run the vision is already gone, but the fear is real, clear on her face for all to see, including the first person she happens to run into.]

wildcard.

[Feel free to set up starters if you want to pay for her to get out of the coliseum, or whatever kind of shenanigan you want to get up to, I am flexible.]

wildcard, been too looooooong

[downswing]

( He had intended, shamefully — Wei Ying. Trade coin for the kind relief of a few hours' companionship, share the blistered heat of the midday sun with his husband in relative, purchased peace. It should thin his cheek to comport himself no better than the patron of a house of pleasures. Does not: necessity bests all.

It is not the man of dark eyes and deep knowing who takes his coin and leads him through the labyrinth of the gladiatorial arena, this once. The champions, they train. He suspects, as was the truth of war, that gladiators always train, their bodies their vehicles. The pretty one, yes, I take you.

He should have known then, there: when the silhouette that looms thin and dainty in the claustrophobic training grounds is not the gaunt wispiness of Wei Ying, but — She is not the one, he murmurs to the attendant, who has made himself scarce with Lan Wangji's pay already. Not the one, yet still a friend, and what scant relief he has brought for Wei Ying's consumption may suit her, all the same.

Tentatively, he knocks, mountain chain of his knuckles light on the vast stone wall that fences the training arena. She is unlikely to hear him, but — the small pouch of his bearings secure in his other hand — he tries once more. )

Allison. ( Lunch is here. )

Ratonhnhaké:ton / Connor | Assassin's Creed | Politician

[mustact]

[ OOC: I have a plotting comment here and can be found at Tossino or Discord @ tossino! ]

Night of knives

[mustact]

A. The lamp oil

[ It's not that Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn't like parties. It's that he doesn't know what exactly to expect for this party. His own experiences are from his village, and while they would be lively and large enough, they were nowhere near this size. But he's found himself as a public face of an important person, and he knows enough about politics by now to know that means he needs to attend.

There's no denying that the artists his patron represents provide great entertainment, though.

Once he discovers the trail of oil, though, he quickly decides it might be worth forsaking the party for a little while. Doesn't matter what the servants say, that it was just an accident and really nothing to worry about, it's still worth taking a look. Or, rather, he hopes it's worth taking a look.

He doesn't say anything. Just crouches down to take a closer look, in the middle of the excitement. ]

B. The fire and chaos

[ It's sad, perhaps, that as soon as the killing and panic starts, he immediately feels more at ease. This sort of thing is a lot simpler than the intricacies of politics. Although he has far more experience hunting and killing animals than fighting people, but he doesn't hesitate to get in between a Senator and an assassin.

And as soon as that Senator is out of danger, he keeps moving, bashing a window open and then rushing without fear into the fire to look for anyone trapped among the flames. Maybe you're one of them, or maybe you're doing the same. ]

C. Wildcard

[ OOC: Feel free to chat him up at any point otherwise during the party! Also, feel free to prose, I will happily match. :3 ]

America Chavez | Mapmaker - The Hand Adjacent

[starlingroad]

[Feel free to ask for something not here or a personal starter. Contact info in Wildcard comment.]

Trying to Study

[starlingroad]

America knows...exactly nothing about making maps. She's learned she can sort of draw, and take advantage of older maps to outline the basic design of the land, but she has so many questions and frustrations.

Studying isn't really her strong suit, either.

She can be heard hissing at a book in the library, unimpressed with it.

"That doesn't explain anything!" She only realizes after she said that out loud, and America looks up with wide eyes and a strained smile.

"Sorry," she tells anyone who looks her way with annoyance. Maybe some of the bothered individuals could assist her.

anduin wrynn | warcraft | politician

[massrez]

[ ooc: plotting comment here, hit me up at isadiya or discord @ isadiya if you want to plot things out! ]

moving pieces on the board [closed;wrathion]

[massrez]

[ He's sad to say he hasn't really missed the call of politics. It had been a pleasant respite to simply have to contend with a hostile jungle environment and treacherous wilderness. People and their schemes are much trickier ground to navigate.

But he's not doing this alone. It doesn't all rest upon his shoulders, in failure or success. That's some small favor.

It's something to consider as he arranges the familiar jihui board on the table in front of him, the afternoon breeze carrying past the open layout of the quarters he's been allowed to keep, a bowl of figs off to one side along with a bottle of wine. One could almost consider this a break from the intrigue, if he didn't know perfectly well what the topic of discussion over the game's duration was most likely to be.

Just as well. They do have a task to see to here, after all. ]

Xie "The Lone Wolf" Yun | Legend of Fei | Gladiator

[balancedwire]

[Arena/Barracks - Feral as They Come


[ To the gladiators of the arena he was known as The Lone Wolf. As someone who embodied an ancestral wolf. Down to the point that Laetio dressed him in furs and made sure that it seemed as if he had claws and fangs. It wasn't something he was particularly thrilled with.

When he wasn't in the barracks, though, he appeared dearing the evening games and howled like a wolf, made sure his movements were more predatory than others. He didn't like it but he needed to play the part if it meant getting information. If he happened to try and help others too... well, that was for him to know, not anyone else. ]


Glimpse into the Face


[ The carved wolf masks have him pausing and feeling a fear that he hadn't felt since he was a child. There was no doubt that whomever these visitors were weren't human. He isn't sure what they were but they definitely weren't that.

Seeing as most consider him feral fleeing from his cell probably isn't unexpected. Though, that doesn't mean he doesn't run into someone who is made of the living flesh. Someone who had blood running through their veins and not whatever those things were. He's also, unfortunately, trying to do his best to ignore the wolf's head painted in fresh blood. Sleep was not going to come easily to him.


Search and Rescue


[ When the doors close from the outside and fire breaks out he does his best to try and get people to safety. He knows, too, that he could cause harm to himself in this manner but he doesn't actively care. Not when lives were on the line. That? He couldn't allow to take place. People shouldn't die, not because of him not doing anything.

The emperor will even use some of his internal energy to try and move the flames away from others if it comes down to it. ]


Wildcard

[ Want a different scenario, toss it at me and I'll follow. ]

glimpse

[companionsgrasp]

[These masked creatures were terrifying. On an intellectual level Benedict knew it was some sort of supernatural fear that had stricken him and caused him to flee. He knew it and yet he was still having trouble fighting the compulsion. A part of him wanted to fight the creatures that prowled the barracks looking for victims, but the primal part of his brain was too afflicted by dread to try it.

Instead, he found himself seeking out another living being. The idea of another warm body in the same vicinity seemed like a good idea right now. It would be comforting to not be alone.

He was lucky enough to run into the Lone Wolf--a fellow gladiator from their band of travelers that Benedict didn't know but recognized in passing--and did not mind the company in the least. Benedict's reputation in the barracks was that of the "Holy Man" as they called him, a persona that, like Xie Yun, Benedict wasn't entirely pleased with but tried to facilitate anyway due to the undercover nature of their presence here. He wasn't bothered by the reputation that Xie Yun had as the embodiment of a wolf, and hopefully together they could find a place to hide. That was all that really mattered at the moment.]

Oh, finally. Hey, over here. [He spoke in hushed tones as if afraid to attract the attention of something other than the Lone Wolf.] Did you- You must have seen those things, too?

Wen Ning | The Untamed | The Hand

[fiercechains]

Don't Believe Everything You Feel


[ Following the vetern soldiers is not truly what he expected, not that it bothers him. Even if he would rather know the people he works with than not knowing them at all. He does, however, take note of feeling watched and even feeling as if he's being touched. That? It does not sit well with him. Nor does being told that it's merely rabbits and snakes. It was not that.

The scarecrow comment, though, has him wondering what is up with them but he does his best to stay out of their line of sight. For the time being, along the way, he will keep an eye on the soldiers and make sure they do not need any wounds attending to.]


Off to the Warehouse


[ Fighting is something that he is good at, something that he actually can say he enjoys. As long as the fighting is for a good cause. He does not like seeing anyone go berserk and he will do whatever he needs to protect the civilians from those that were going absolutely crazy. Had it been something that they had drank? Ate? He isn't sure but he knows that he cannot allow it to continue.

So, with the help of whomever is with him he will immobilise the attackers while also doing his best to get the civilians to safety. ]


Shush the Room


[ It's late in the morning when the lights seem to dim. When pantomimes enter. There was something about them that he did not trust and he is not entirely sure why that is. Call it a gut feeling but hearing them ridicule others, as well as himself, has him not sure what to think. Especially when they know things that they should not.

Once the chaotic stampede starts he does his best to get in the middle of the fight and to keep as many of the senators and people alive as possible. ]


Wildcard

[ Want a different scenario, toss it at me and I'll follow. ]

Wrathion | Warcraft

[blackscales]

[ If nothing here works, PM me or plot with me here and we'll work it out! Starting prose, will switch to brackets as preferred. ]

SENATE -- open to fellow politicians or anyone who has a reason to be there!

[blackscales]

Wrathion blends in easily enough at the senate. The draping robes suit him, and he always strives to be punctual and visibly present without drawing attention to himself. The goal is to be noted to be doing his job, to be hard working, until he essentially becomes invisible. Until those present are comfortable talking near him, because surely all this man cares for his his patron's cause? Widows, orphans and veterans?

He glances aside at someone he recognises, inclines his head in greeting as they draw close and lowers his voice to a more private murmur.

"It seems peace is indeed drawing to a close for Ephes. The people desire glory."

Of course, they will assume it will be a victory. They do not picture what may happen if the battles are lost, if Ephes is sieged and they all flee the wrath of the undead.

emilia di carlo, kingdom of the wicked.

[valeas]

NOTE: I write all my starters in prose, but love brackets just as much. So go with your preference and I'll match it. If there's something specific you'd like, feel free to wildcard! As a celebrated gladiator, Emilia's able to leave the arena from time to time.

THE LITTLE DEATH, open.

[valeas]

Laetio has charged top coin for this particular show, and knows well the people in attendance wish to see their money's worth. Emilia di Carlo was told to give a spectacle, and a spectacle she can give, not all of which is performance: a demonic beast has been left for The Fury. Her injuries are very real, but then.

So are theirs.

Mid-battle, the excitement, fear, and adrenaline are thus that she can feel the arena tremble under her feet. A vicious body slam has sent her to the ground, but lest one grow concerned — her reaction is to grin, the grin itself near feral. She likes the challenge, likes the way that it stirs her blood.

The beast moves to strike toward one of the spectators, believing its enemy downed. Emilia lets it get just close enough before one of her vines wraps around it like a thorny whip. She yanks the creature back to her with a strength that leaves a crater on the ground where it becomes prone.

Should she recognise anyone within the group, she'll give them a subtle wink as she lunges back into the fight. Feel free to find her before or after the fight. Request her presence if you've enough coin to spare.

Daenerys Targaryen | A Song of Ice and Fire

[thebrideoffire]

I. The Senate

[This is a far more egalitarian system of governing, though apparently money still talks. Still, listening to the debates are lively, giving Dany some semblance of home. With a large purse at her discretion, she often takes the time to visit the docks and the sailors, as well as tradesmen, clearing up the little tangles and needs that often arise.

It isn't only the men under her purview, but the senators as well that need favors, apparently. Leaning outside the forum, Dany is quick to jot something down before pulling off her sandals. She isn't queen here and the regalia of the senate grow uncomfortable after a time.

She mutters beneath her beath:]

How do I begin to approach the priests?

II. Night of Knives

['It was not a garment meant for any man who had to work. The tokar was a master's garment, a sign of wealth and power.'

It seems a lifetime ago that Dany had such thoughts. Wearing a pink tokar, she's left feeling in a parallel state, attending the sort of gathering that would make her skin crawl in Slaver's Bay, but existing in this other life, everything almost drifts over her like mist on the water. She smiles, she peeks at the activities upstairs, but remains firmly below. Poetry, theater, it's bearable. She can still think that she's at the bottom on the stairs on her bench throne rather than partaking in the activities that might make her feel hypocritical.

Accepting a drink, she steps onto the terrace, needing air and to clear her thoughts. This might be a long night.]

Closed to Jacob

[thebrideoffire]

[Dany feels him before she sees him. There's a sense of urgency in the air. Whether to run or not, it's tangled in her head, twisted alongside the vision and answer she gave the priestess. There's danger, it's thick enough in the air to make her hair stand on end. She reaches out, sensing Jacob nearby and trusts him to reach back.

That help, that support, that's the only thing that still feels tangible in the swirl of the moment.

Hurry! They need to hurry!]

natasha romanova | messalina’s entourage (assassin)

[redhourglass]

( feel free to hit me on plurk at iothe or in the discord for custom top levels! )

the villa, at night (pre-alir eating people) ➡️ messalina’s group

[redhourglass]

( the security measures had seemed odd at first — not because politics never ended in bloodshed (natasha’s seen too much of that from home), but because of how extensive they were. it seemed unlikely any of messalina’s political opponents would have the means or desire to infiltrate such a well guarded villa. what was the purpose of the guards, the gates, the weapons?

it hadn’t taken long for her to realize that it was intended to keep something (someone?) in rather than keep people out. multiple someone’s, if her hunch is correct. the people here — if they can even be termed that — make the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, give her the creeps in a way she hasn’t felt since the last time they came in close contact with the undead …

(so, like, at least a few days)

still, she’s got a job to do. she can treat this like a mission, compartmentalize. at least, she’s trying to. lurking in the shadows watching some of the undead shamble by, she recognizes one of the passerby as a part of the group of travelers. )

Careful. It’s not safe here. ( one could say the same about her. )

Lan "The Lover" Mandragoran | Wheel of Time | Gladiator

[thewarder]

I. Training
[The character is an amusing one to play, no matter the situation. Cast out to the fighting pits for falling in love with a nobleman's wife. It's fun, coming from a King. Even if he doesn't currently have a kingdom. He attempts to find his best dash of charming, digging up smiles that rarely come out as he practices so it won't be so tough once they get into an arena match.

The practice is interesting. He's done tons of training where the goal is not to hurt each other, however the selling of things as more real then they are is where he's been needing to practice as he's working through with his partner for the next battle.]

Do you think we need some sort of big finishing move to really sell it?

II. Mealtime

[Being shoved at a table to eat with the other gladiators before bed is similar enough to when he was training as a Warder. It's been days and Lan has mostly been quite outside of his training for matches and working on choreography. Choosing to listen to the veterans who were already there and keeping an eye out at the other traveling party members. This time though he's seated next to someone from his party and there is something on his mind.

Every morning when they awaken it seems his bruises or injuries are recovered from the day before. He's used to being magically healed, but not in such a way as sleep. It's strange. He drops his voice turning to the other person.]

Do you find your wounds healed each morning, no matter how substantial?

III. Wildcard [ Feel free to drop a wildcard for anything you're feeling or contact me on Plurk at endtransmission for a custom starter. Totally down for a fight or a group battle against a beast or whatever you may be feeling!]

training

[rumorate]

Yes.

[Allison always loves the big finish. But she also knows that's what audiences like. They don't want quick and clean, they want to feel like the victor earned it. Never mind that the Siren and the Lover would make an interesting pairing, narratively speaking, but they're not worrying about that now.]

Something that really telegraphs out to the crowd well, and you can see even from the cheap seats.

[Performing is what she understands, and when you're playing to a crowd like this, you want all of them on your side. Even the ones who can't afford to get up close and personal.]

Anthony Lockwood | Lockwood and Co | Senate

[recklessenough]

[ooc: Some starters below! Including one involving a head in a bag. Because who doesn't like a head in a bag?

I wasn't in time for a plotting thread so feel free to jump in anywhere, or hit me up via PM for personal starters.]

The Senate | OTA | Action or prose is fine

[recklessenough]

The Doctor was gone, and now Lucy was gone.

Lockwood had slowly come to the realization that while he found it personally repugnant, it seemed that people who had been here longer than he, were quietly landing on the side of supporting Messalina. While personally he thought it was utter bullshit, he had learned some lessons since his arrival, and though he bridled at the reality Lockwood accepted that he needed to trust in the hard earned wisdom of some of his fellows.

Even though, from the conversations he'd been able to overhear it seemed to be a case of the best of bad choices, and he did his best not to think too closely on the subject of Alir.

Each day, dressed in his fine senatorial robes, Lockwood swallowed the bile in the back of his throat and did what he had always done best. Stepped out onto the Senate floor and sought to charm the birds out of the sky.

It was theater. It was all theater, but Lockwood had spent his young life cultivating his theatrical skills. He stayed up late into the night, ignoring any screams he heard outside his windows as he drew inspiration from the best speeches of the likes of Cicero, Cato and Sallust. Perhaps it would have been more wise had he kept a more low profile, but two of the stabilizing influences on him were now gone, sending Lockwood's manic energies through the ceiling.

The young man seemed to embrace the idea that if people weren't conspiring to assassinate you, you weren't doing it right.

He was a whirlwind on the floor. His voice deep and booming, despite his youth. Every motion of his hands, ever turn of his head, every spot he placed himself were as much a part of the speech as his words. Was he supposed to be allowed on the floor? Should it have instead been his patron Aulus Faltonius who spoke? Perhaps, but Lockwood rarely let anyone stop him when he was in these sorts of moods. Cajole, bribe, blackmail? He would use all three -in that order- as necessary.

Though -shall we say- less concerned with his personal safety than usual, Lockwood was meticulous in how he framed his arguments. He started out leveraging speeches that called into the light, issues that were personal for specific Senators.

Inspired by Cicero's De Provinciis Consularibus, he argued the circumstances of Publia Secunda. The thrust of the argument? Tax evasion is bad, with enough of a political door cracked open to insist upon confirmation that the Senator was genuinely evading taxes.

Inspired by Cato the Elder's De Falsis Pugnis, Lockwood argued the topic raised by Sextus Longinus. This one was a bit of a stretch, and difficult to tell whether Lockwood's points landed, or fell onto deaf ears.

The circumstances of Senator Cassia Floriana genuinely pierced the emotional armor Lockwood had wrapped around himself. It took him a bit of time, but eventually he drew inspiration from Cicero's De Domo Sua, which discussed the topics of sacrifice and grief. Here, rather than carefully riding the middle and leaving his own opinion vague, despite all his words, Lockwood expressed genuine support for the Senator in her quest for an audience with the priests.

He also used that particular speech as a turning point for his tones and topics. In his next addresses to the Senate, he began to speak not to the plights of specific senators, but rather the overarching topic of war and Messalina's plans. Cato the Elder got a lot of play as Lockwood leveraged the language of De Bello Carthaginiensi in his call for supporting Messalina's request for the "citadel’s forces to liberate the unliving from the undead Brotherhood that enslaves them."

If he wanted to spit the foul taste out of his mouth after each speech he made in support of Messalina's plans? Well, there really wasn't anyone around who knew the youth well enough to see through the carefully crafted disguise he wore.

[OOC: Feel free to pick a specific senator speech to discuss/thread out for submission purposes. Also if anyone wants to interrupt an assassination attempt (it's Rome, how else do you know you're doing things right) I am A-okay with that assumption! Lockwood can't exactly be walking around with his rapier on his hip. Ruins the flow of his Senate robes.]

[downswing]

( Mostly tagging out this round, but happy to whip up a custom starter for us, if you drop a line or PM — or always open for wildcards! )

→ wei wuxian

[downswing]

( A miracle of Zewu-Jun’s mediation, to see Wei Ying bought as if cheap meat’s cut at a milling market. A god of the arena reduced to the tatters of his hyperbolised reputation, the dregs of grime and blood that sketch a lattice on his flesh, the rags of his armour.

One night, the moon high and forlorn, will not suffice Wangji’s greed. There burns in him a rancour like a summer’s tempest, starting, cloying, pledging to reduce tall wheat to tatters and lesser men to dust. Laetio, his people — venal instruments of a system that first failed them, yet patrons of its vice, all the same. The captors of the willing Yiling Patriarch.

In one of the pleasure houses collared by Wen Kexing, Wei Ying, brought in as if both a prize and an animal by light, bright-laughing courtesans, is an expected fixture. They deliver him to Lan Wangji, eyes shielded, wrists nominally shackled in rope, still murmuring the instruction of the guard who played as his escort — who should wait, rigidly, at the mouth of the brothel, but has instead seeped inside to taste of its wares.

The quarter lent for their interlude is palatable, less forthright in its obscenity: the various wall portraits featuring couples at play are discreetly intimate, suggestive. Fruit and wine may have been drenched in aphrodisiacs, but have the dignity to wait patiently on clearly marked platters. Even the golden linens boast a double trim, strategically frayed to incite passions.

No, for Lan Wangji, patiently littered on a chaise, the trouble is less the decorum, or the commercial negotiation that bought them this interlude. It’s the trail of four… ladies, clinging to his blindfolded husband’s arms and murmuring giddily about his feats of the arena and asking after the taste and size and crackling of every nut he’s attending — they pose certain complications. )

...the ladies hail a champion. ( Ah, but to live as Lan Wangji, bathing in blood and dining on vinegar, while the women erupt in laughter )

cal "the red ruin" kestis | star wars | gladiator

[deescalate]

1. downtime

[So Cal's whole persona is that of a pyromaniac. Which...okay, sure, he can roll with that. But when he's not in the arena he's not allowed to mess with any fire. This makes testing out some ideas exorbitantly more difficult, but he's done things on the fly before.

That doesn't mean he's not still considering at least one, though. So he'll go up to someone who looks at least marginally friendly.]

I could use a second opinion. Maybe a voice of reason. What do you say to setting a sword on fire as part of an act?


2. training

[It's been literally years since Cal has been able to practice any sort of swordsmanship with another person. Of course, finding anyone else who wields a lightsaber is both a rarity and a surefire way to get an Imperial target painted on one's back, so that's not surprising. He's not going to whip it out here, either, if only because he really doesn't want to hurt anyone else.

So a normal sword will have to do, he figures, which is familiar enough to his saber, but also its own beast he needs to get used to so he doesn't hurt himself. Cal may be a little quiet and reserved, but he's also approachable in case anyone wants to have a quick spar, or ask him for any pointers, as he appears pretty knowledgeable.]


3. autographs

[He's just enjoyed a (pre-planned) victory in the arena or helped a group of his fellow fighters take down an impressive beast and is still catching his breath and wiping sweat from his face when an energetic group of kids crowds around his exit, all screaming excitedly and flapping around parchments with an artistic interpretation of him proudly drawn. There's fire, lots of fire, on these prints, because The Red Ruin is one-note, apparently.

Coming from a galaxy that wants him dead to this hero worship still leaves Cal feeling off-balance, but after the first couple of times this has happened, he's grown used to it enough. One of the ushers helpfully provides him with a stylus and little container of ink, so Cal gets to work quickly drawing a little flame on these pictures as the kids continue their squealing.

One boy asks, "Are you really descended from a fire god?"

Cal shouldn't encourage something that is very much a lie. And yet...]

How do you think I got this hair?

[The boy gasps dramatically and the other children ask similar questions that Cal does his best to answer while also not breaking character entirely.

The next picture he signs isn't held aloft by an excitable child, but rather someone Cal may or may not recognize as being one of their traveling group.]

You're new to the crowd. Do I have a new fan?


4. night of knives

[Of course, they can't have nice things. However, it could be questioned if this banquet was ever supposed to be nice. Cal could be a little paranoid. That's not important.

What is important is that the villa is on fire and people are dying. The main doors may be locked, but it doesn't seem like every exit was considered in this plan. He helps lead anyone who probably isn't able to defend themselves toward smaller doors that lead out into the night.

And if some of those assassins come after him? This time he will not hesitate to use his lightsaber on them. Nor would he say no to having any allies in these endeavors.]


5. wildcard

[Have a ginger Jedi for whatever your heart desires, whether it be more gladiator nonsense or renting him out for a night of definitely not debauchery. You know how this goes.]

Autographs!

[nothinglikefather]

[ The man who has waited behind the gaggle of kids grins broadly as he's spoken to, no less excited than them but better at keeping the volume down.

He's not tall, but he makes up for that by being broad in chest and shoulder, with enough scars to mark him out as someone who has been in a number of less staged fights. And yet that grin is roguishly charming, not frightening.]

I think you do a bloody good job. That explosion! Felt it all the way back in the cheap seats.