Sagas of Wayward Suns - Arc 1

Red Snow
One of the constables has attempted to sit down. A raised eyebrow dispels that notion and he scurries back to work. She returns her attention the Prince of Hunters.

"I'm more a warleader than a chieftan. I'll protect them from any Wyld Hunt, but they'll have to raise themselves from this mess. The Realm coddled them and they turned on each other when it abandoned them, it's time for them to learn their independence."
 
Iskandr

"A warleader, yet you walked in alone?"

Iskandr will lean closer, his head now just by the blade of that moonsilver atrocity that Red is toting about. Time to whisper.

"As a gesture of good faith, because you'll figure it out sooner or later, my name is Iskandr. I'm the hunter, you remember? We met last year, when I led that bull mammoth into a bandit camp? You were a little annoyed, I seemed to be interrupting."

That done, Iskandr leans back.

"Besides which, the Wyld Hunt has nothing to do with these folks. Wyld Hunt don't care about rebellious peasants. They'll want to kill Anathema. Best thing, when they come, is to lead them on a merry little hunt through the grasslands."
 
Red Snow

I fucking KNEW I recognized that voice. This works out well, he'll likely survive the slap I owe him.

She smirks a little at this news, lets herself relax just a bit.

"I didn't have an army yet. Might do now. Can't say I know Wyld Hunts myself, but if we can keep these poor bastards out of it I'm game. Gotta settle the situation here at camp first though. We wouldn't be the first to go to war and come back to a sacked lodge cos we didn't get our shit in order."
 
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Iskandr

"I have faced one Wyld Hunt. They were formidable. It was luck and the winter's final storm that saw me through. They hunted me into the snow, and I hunted them as it fell."

Iskandr looks back to the square, and the grizzled man with the wolf.

"I do not know what he has faced, but it was harrowing, it would seem. How are you called, sir?"
 
Ferat:

Ancestor lists... Memorialists... "the Mother and Father", whoever they are... I'll want to look into those. The monster that took Thorns enslaved the dead with appalling ease. They might fare well against the Realm but if if there's another Mask of Winters, they're just filling the battlements with enemies.

Ferat finished up his conversation with the old man and, gesturing to Shalla to keep watching over the injured for now, he wandered over to the other two, who clearly seemed to have at least heard of each other, picking up on their conversation as it shifted to the Hunt.

"Wyld Hunt won't play nice. This city, all these people?" he gestured around, "That's bait. My experience, we stick around long enough and everyone suffers. I'm Ferat. Mehmet Ferat. I... Used to be from Thorns."

He watched their eyes, wondering if news of years ago had even reached this far north, wondering if being ex-Realm would colour their reactions.
 
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Red Snow

He's got that look about him that someone gets after too long in the heat of battle, when the song of bloodhshed turns to a dirge. And a fucking wolf at his side, that's a new one. Red turns to him, one eye still on the constables scurrying around the square.

"I'm from backwoods myself, got a lot of thorns there too. Red Snow."

She sticks a hand out. They shake hands down here, right?
 
Ferat:

Evidently some people had never even heard of Thorns when it lived.
"Thorns... was a city down south. I mean, still is, but... Never mind. Short version, I don't trust the underworld."

Ferat took the hand and shook, a somewhat awkward gesture when wearing oversized magical fighting gauntlets.

"Either of you know the customs around here? I nearly caused another riot offering to cremate the dead and help spirits pass on."
 
RADIANT SHINE

Shine looks the injured man from head to toe, strokes his moustache, and produces a handerkerchief.
In a single, deft motion he wipes the blood, sweat, and dirt from the thug before him - then with a flourish passes that now ragged thing under his nose, throwing it into an open sample jar in his bag.

"You need only rest and to avoid further violence, sleep well and eat properly," Shine closes his bag, "come find me tomorrow, and I shall correct that tooth of yours. For your hands-" he offers the man a small clay pot, the lid tied on with twine "-use this and wear a mask before you inhale much more smoke."

His work done, Shine returns to his traveling clinic, settling onto a cushion opposite the young man enjoying his hospitality.
"You may call me Radiant Shine, honoured guest," he says, the ghost of a smile behind his moustaches, "and now you hold the advantage."
 
Gentle River

Gentle River returns the smile, more openly, and bows his head. "My name is Gentle River. The honour is mine! Is he alright? I'm afraid I... don't always know my own strength anymore. When he came at me out of nowhere I may have defended myself over-zealously." He watches the man he had made a tool of hobble away with his friends, and glances past him to where other glowing folk - who were like him somehow - were talking. "Anathema." He half-whispered the word to himself, half to the doctor in front of him. An ugly word, one he'd heard before from the few Immaculate missionaries who were allowed to preach in Nexus. "Forgive me, my friend. It's turned into a particularly strange day. At least the worst is over now."

Seem harmless. Small. New to whatever your power is. Well-meaning but overzealous. Even now, they might underestimate you. Just in case.
 
RADIANT SHINE

Shine nods, sympathetic, barely looking over the rim of his teacup.
He glances at the scene around them, the other chosen and the people around them, the city so ill prepared for what lies ahead.
"No, Gentle River - the worst is yet to come," he says, gesturing toward the other Solars. "We are party to rebellion now; the Realm will brook no other explanation."
He fixes a steely gaze on River from beneath bushy brows, and his Caste mark blooms.
"How long have you wielded this strength?"
 
Gentle River

Rivers eyes widen. "Is everyone in this town as blessed or cursed as I am?" He laughs, a rueful edge to it. "About six months. My mistress had sent me out of Nexus to - actually, it doesn't matter. I don't have a mistress now, I suppose." He shakes his head, changing the subject from his mortal life.

"I spent some time in Sijan figuring out my next move and then joined a caravan north. Until today I thought I was unique, you know? I've met Princes of the Earth once or twice and even knew a woman blessed by a god who sacrificed himself entirely to give her the power she bore, but no-one like me. And now there are so many of us here."

He half-caught the other Anathema's conversation as he was speaking, but the words know the customs around here? gave him an idea. "Maybe we should meet with the others. Consider what we do next, if the Realm should come."
 
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@Ragoza @Sarky @FuzzMonster

One of the constables shimmies closer with a couple of tavern boys by his side. They've a fresh looking pitcher of amber and a set of passable glasses along with a folding table. "We, uh, we--" the constable rubs his scraggly chin looking at the humanoid cipher of shadow that is Iskandr, "brought some drinks, miss--ma'am?" The first new peals of thunder comb over the walls and shake the square. Thunderheads loom in the distance, soon to swallow the Sun and the bright afternoon star overhead. "May be able to find a parasol should the lady like."

@Excession @Chaka @Hair

Seems the local police are bringing them drinks? And a small table. Thunder booms in the distance. The storm promised earlier looks to make itself known inside the hour. Clouds pile into the sky nearly touching the Sun itself, it seems. The yeddim yawns like a sinkhole opening in the square, rattling the newly neighborly citizenry lingering about.
 
Gentle River

"I don't know about you, my friend, but as good as this tea is something a little stronger would be welcome."

River hops down from the Yeddim, waving at Shine and Hammer to follow. The circle - and - dot of his caste still glittering faintly on his brow, the young man walks with a light, measured step to where the others have gathered. "Is there room for one more? It seems we have a great deal to talk about, and frankly I could really use a drink. Not to mention I couldn't help but overhear you discussing local customs. I'm no Northman, but I do have a way with etiquette and social mores, if you like. My name's Gentle River by the way. Lovely to meet you all, I'm sure."

He flashes a winning smile at a nearby youth, maybe a couple of years younger than himself - one of the witnesses to the fight at the gate. He feels the old sense of pride as the young man blushes crimson. "Say, my friend - sorry, what's your name? Ah, yes, lovely, thank you - would you be an absolute love and pull me over one of those chairs, and a couple of parasols? Lovely. Yes, thank you." He's sure to let his fingers brush the boy's when he takes the chair. "Don't go far." He winks. The boy almost trips over his own feet.

He spins the chair around and straddles the chair backwards, a move that both makes him seem charming and roguish and puts an inch of wood between his internal organs and any sudden stabbing attempts. "Anyway. Where were we?"
 
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Ferat:

There it was again, that nagging mind-splinter, familiarity without recognition, two voices where there should be one. Something about this foppish young man was... Calling? to Ferat.

"We..." He shook his head. No. Survival first, weird memories later.

"We were discussing the Wyld Hunt, and how to survive it. And keeping it from destroying the town."
 
Red Snow

The fancy one doesn't look like much, but there's an edge to him. Just a tiny bit too deliberate. She favours the constable with a very, very slight smile.

"Thank you, a parasol would be lovely. I should have a few coins somewhere for the drinks."

She lets Wolf's Hunger return to whatever void it sleeps in and takes a seat, offering a hand out to the prettyboy.

"Red Snow's Herald, commander of the city guard at your service."
 
Gentle River

River takes a moment, just a split second, to consider everything he's seen coming North and even the things he could glean from the little, strange sights he's seen of the town so far. Aligning to perfected understanding in a moment, River reaches out and firmly clasps the woman's forearm - a warrior's gesture of greeting. His grip is steady and he keeps eye contact, though he doesn't stop smiling. "And I at yours, commander. Blessings on your hearth."

OOC: Spending a combined 3m personal and 2m peripheral to activate Mastery of Small Manners for the rest of the scene. River's understanding of local social convention may not be perfect but he has an instinctive understanding of common etiquette, eating traditions, faux pas and greetings, that kind of thing. Anyone with a positive Intimacy towards the local culture gains a temporary minor Tie of respect towards him for the duration of the charm's effect, and those with a negative Intimacy towards foreigners or outsiders treat it as one step weaker towards him for the same period.

Mote pool is at 0/21.
 
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RADIANT SHINE

Shine follows River, hands behind his back and hidden in his sleeves. He says nothing, for now, casually taking a seat stroking his moustaches as he regards the walls.
 
Resonant Hammer's Descent

"Aye," Resonant Hammer grumbles as he stands. "This can wait." He spits at his feet, ruefully kicks the bar he had been working on, and tosses his tools to the ground as he turns to follow River. He skeptically eyes the chairs as he approaches, casting only half an ear to the conversation at the table. He catches the hovering constable's eye, "nothing in my size then?" As he passes the table he plucks the pitcher between thumb and forefinger, before sinking to the ground at the end of the table and emptying the vessel in one long draught. He tosses the pitcher towards the honourary waiter, the young man's frantic attempts to catch it earning him a wry twist of the mouth. "Resonant Hammer's Descent," he begins. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we," he gestures at the rest of the glowing Solars, "are royally fucked."
 
Ferat:

Ferat took a drink, downed two thirds of it in one go, and set the remainder on the ground before facing the others. Presently Shalla ambled up beside him and began lapping up her share.

"'Hard to say for sure these days. The legions are slowly abandoning the satrapies, going back to the Blessed Isle. Same with the Hunt, the only ones left will be too pious to take sides in the power struggle, or too psychotic to be useful at home. Could be they just don't have time to come out here. Or maybe they bring an army. Whichever it is, it'll be an extreme."

He glanced down at Shalla, lick her lips after a rare but appreciated booze-up.

"Extremists are easier than well-rounded level heads. I wasn't planning on sticking around, but that was before... All of you. Safety in numbers. More or less."
 
Iskandr

As if from nowhere, a couple of silver coins flicker on the edges of Iskandr's knuckles, flip over in mid-air, and land on the table.

"And now, we are clearly being fucked with. The chances of six of our...kind running into each other in a town run to rebellion are, I can only imagine, low. Hello enchanting River, welcome to our table Resonant Hammer! And, honour to you, grandfather Shine. I am First Snow, Prince of Hunters."

Without rising from his seat, Iskandr bows gracefully.

"Once I have managed to bleed off this disguise, perhaps we can make a more proper introduction? The big man's not wrong, you know. Something's very clearly strange here, and the Wyld Hunt cannot but investigate."

That River fellow is indeed enchanting. Pretty like a knife, though. And Hammer...there's a man carrying some troubles.
 
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