[Mini Event] Strangers in a Strange Land

Lanterns and candles cast the Temple in a warm glow, offset by the dying light that poured through its arched windows. Spreading the word was more difficult now than ever, but Ronin had tried with every drop of socialite blood in his body to get the job done. It had been days, and during that time a number of things had become abundantly clear. First, there was something fucking monstrous at the Spire and it had bitten a chunk out of him, and he thought people maybe should know about it. Second, they were not alone here. He'd heard talk of natives of the place but had not yet encountered any. There were, though, others like them. Other strangers dragged through from goodness knew where, like the Northaveners had been, but not necessarily at the same time. And it was entirely possible, too, that they knew more about this place. Third, there was a tavern now, so what better reason to get people together? Ronin had roped in the help from Vervain Calob for precisely that reason, and the huntress had brought up the very last of the stash of bottles from the Temple cellar so they could share it. Eat (ish), drink, be merry and - most importantly - be together. Clearing his throat, Ronin took a sip of his drink, savouring the warm burn that flared in his chest and throat, and smiled amiably around the large space. "Thank you for coming, even if it was by accident," he chuckled. "My name is Ronin Taliesin, formerly of Northaven. I'm a soldier, and in a past life I was a Training Captain in an army, but that matters little now, I know. What I do know is the importance of working together and being prepared. So if anyone is lacking combat experience, or would like any assistance in general, please don't hesitate to ask. I look forward to knowing you all." He raised his glass to them. ronin I'm done with having dreams The thing that I believe, oh You drain all the fear from me

Edy #nofilter Okay well, this certainly wasn't the way to keep the locals thinking they were gods. Though that probably wouldn't have lasted long anyways. Skulking into the temple (the last time she was here she'd magically fallen asleep with the pretty doctor, so her thoughts about this placed were mixed at best), Edy grabbed a glass of whatever the fuck looked the strongest and leaned against a wall. Dressed in her training gear (since that's what she had popped over in), the teenager looked every bit a soldier despite the fact that she probably wasn't one anymore. "Well said Captain. " Edy hollered, her youthful and energetic voice carrying easily. Ronin might not have thought his former rank mattered or applied now, but that was bullshit in Edy's mind. Crossing her arms, Edy wondered if her family was planning on attending. Or you know...anyone she knew really. Though...that wasn't exactly the point, was it? This was to meet the others and to make them not sound so fucking ominous right?

R E M I

---

{set in some ambiguous timeline where Remi probably hasn\'t attacked anyone yet >.>}

Unpacking the boxes that he'd helped Vervain bring over was easy, given that there were not many of them. Once everything was properly set up and easily accessed, Remi grabbed a small glass of wine for himself and allowed his pale gaze to survey the small crowd, hoping to see one face in particular. When he didn't immediately, he forced a bright smile onto his face to try and chase away the melancholy inside of himself.

Looking towards his friend as he began to speak, Remi's expression softened as he listened. He'd only seen Ronin in an official capacity just the once, and the fight in the streets outside of his home hardly seemed to count. But as he was now, Ronin looked refresh and invigorated with purpose in a way Remi didn't think he'd been witness too before. It made him stand slightly straighter as a true and proud smile raced across his lips.

As Ronin raised his own glass, the alchemist did as well, before humbly moving back towards the makeshift bar to see if any further supplies were needed.

Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.

tristan

Despite his years spent in the woods and his lack of social graces, Tristan recognized this event for what it was. It was a meeting. Of sorts, anyway. Clearly it was some kind off meet-and-greet. How ironic that he happened to be around during the start of it.

Since literally falling into Miss Georgia’s garden and crushing her poor flowers, Tristan had been eager to learn more about this world he found himself in. The young redheaded woman that had found him and had taken care of him had offered him some information, but he wanted to know more. Were there others like him, who had apparently fallen out of the very sky itself? Was it common in this land? That line of thinking only brought questions. Could he get home again? What about his parents? Was he stuck here? The simple thought of never seeing his parents again caused a sickly feeling to pool in his gut, but he ignored it for the time being.

Letting his gaze wander, Tristan watched as a man spoke up to get the meeting started, nursing his bottle while leaning against the back wall. Ronin Taliesin is what he introduced himself as, and at the introduction, the brunette gave a nod of his head in acquiescence. He’d definitely do his best to commit the name to memory, but Tristan had a feeling that he would be learning a lot of names here shortly.

The Temple he had found himself in was a nice reprieve from the fall weather. He had been wandering, as he was prone to do, feeling far better now that Miss Georgia had tended to his injured side. The injury itself had been stitched and bandaged, and now was covered and out of view by a thin shirt and the thick fabric of his traveling jacket. His eyes roamed once more, searching out that familiar head of fiery red hair, but he couldn’t spot the healer who had helped him. Perhaps she would arrive later, if at all.

Clearing his throat, Tristan straightened up. Might as well get started. So long as he was stuck here he might as well try and provide some usefulness to the community he had quite literally fallen into. “I’m Tristan. Tristan Cadfael.” He paused, letting the depth of his voice carry across the cool room. When he went on, he quirked a little grin, the expression almost wolfish. “I’m an, ah, a ’recent’ addition here. I don’t know how to do much, but I can work a smithy. If there’s a blacksmith looking to hire, I’d appreciate knowing about one… Or if there isn’t, then point me to where I can build one up. I’m not afraid of some hard work.”

They didn’t need to know about his other talents, not yet. Those were things that the brunette would keep close to his chest until he knew for sure about the company he kept.

Deimos the Reaper You can't take back the cards you've dealt on this long and lonely road to hell the throne must be such a sad and lonely place Group gatherings were not his one of his favorite things. They encompassed hordes of people, some foolish, some inept, some brave, some brazen, but altogether something he tended to avoid. Were it not for the promise of drink and knowledge of this strange country, he probably wouldn’t have come at all, straying elsewhere to explore, to maul, or to brood. Instead, he wandered along the outskirts of the hustle and bustle, content to be ignored entirely, snagging a resin of alcohol on the way by to shadow and darkness. He leaned against a post and studied, examined, those already roaming into the site, because he knew no one and nothing, and the sensation of ignorance was not welcome – his mind absorbed, calculated, bent machinations and traced ploys, ruses, deceptions when given enough time – memorized faces and names proffered into the void. The first was Ronin, soldier by name and rank, likely someone he’d come to know due to their similar occupations, though the way he spouted things about working together made him want to twitch and back out into the gloom; reality would be a harsh master towards Deimos, and he’d have to curb his predilection towards fleeing from the general public. Another youth hollered her consent into the refrain, embodying an ebullient, fractious grace, and he narrowed his stare at her briefly, pondering over the depths of future trials and tribulations sure to curl at her feet. Someone else raised their glass but said naught, and the last proffered more than a name, but a craft that garnered Deimos’ curiosity more so than all the others. A blacksmith was an important notion for warriors – weapons and armor, blades for cutting, swords for slashing, shields for guarding, for ramming, for pummeling – his skull was already a meticulous web, noting the artisan, waiting for someone to offer him a role. In guttural, quiet tones, Deimos extended his own alms. “If you require assistance in building, I can provide aid.” He nodded to Tristan, as if this was enough; not entirely charitable, meant to align with his future methods, means, and necessities. A soldier was naught without his munitions. Realizing he’d yet to introduce himself, social niceties were a discarded contortion, a thing of the past, he simply raised his drink from the shadows and bore nothing but his name along the threshold. “Deimos.” His capacities and capabilities would unfold eventually – aptitudes for death and damnation weren’t generally flaunted in common circles.

_{Photo and Table by Time
Photo taken at Hero's Square in Budapest, Hungary}

She slipped in early, before the introductions were made. After spending the last day or so riding herself of the dust and dirt of Halyven and the place she was before. She seemed presentable, her clothes still slightly torn, the shirt still too large for her frame, hanging somewhat off shoulder to reveal the top of a brand along her shoulder. Her hair was braided back the best she could do, slipping into the dark tavern once again where odd meetings and memories had rushed back to her. She glanced around, spotting faces she’d never seen before – never had the hint of knowing really like she had with Deimos thankfully. Yet there, off in the corner, was the man of little words. At least having known him somewhat, here and yet somewhere else, she snagged a drink and slipped to his side in the shadows, her boots hardly making a sound as she moved across the floor. Rexanna dipped her head in greeting to Deimos silently before the introductions got underway, turning her head to survey those that begun to speak. There were both men and women among the frey, and she found herself attempting to remember the names uttered out loud but finding it difficult to cling to. Her travel here had made her memories a bit hazy, and making new ones seemed just as blurred as the past. Regardless, she paid attention – sapphire eyes flitting to each face as names were rung out and occupations. There were soldiers and blacksmiths so far and Rexanna found herself inadvertently chewing on her lip when suddenly Deimos beside her spoke up. She supposed it was her turn, then, when he grew quiet after offering his name. “I’ve never been formally trained in anything, but I’m willing to learn. I’m fast and quiet on my feet and learn quickly.” She offered quietly, recalling her days as a spy and a thief before her world changed in Halyven – years before she came here. Those intuitions never changed much. Yet she didn't want to outwardly speak of her actions from then. If they knew where she was getting at, that was just fine by her. “I’m Rexanna, by the way.” She added in quietly, raising her own drink before lowering it and glancing to the other faces around, hoping to slide back into the shadows beside Deimos. "Talk." RexannA just because you are soft, doesn't mean you're not a force. honey and wildfire are both the color gold.

coding

R E M I

---

Oh, introductions.

Remi was so used to slipping through the cracks unnoticed given his lowly commoner status that as the new arrivals began listing off their names and (potential) professions, the alchemist could feel a blush rising to the apples of his cheeks. Turning from the table where he was needlessly fussing over the bottles and glasses, he clasped his hands loosely in front of himself and offered a boyish and apologetic smile to any who might catch his eye.

"I am Remi Abruzzo." He said, his thickly accented voice rolling melodically off his tongue as he glanced around with a warm and open gaze. "I come from Northaven, with the others–" Remi continued, nodding towards Ronin and Edrei and any of the others who had come through with him. "Back there I was a weapons creator and alchemist ... " He added a bit uncertainly. The creation of weapons had never been his passion; the humble alchemist had far too soft a soul to endure creating things meant for destruction and pain for long. "That being said, I am happy to help where it is needed." This was directed most specifically towards Tristan who had mentioned possibly beginning his own blacksmithing shop. The alchemist knew very little of such things, but he was handy enough and would happily assist with the more menial tasks involved with beginning such a venture.

So saying, Remi offered a charmingly awkward smile before falling silent once again.

Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.

Edy #nofilter Like Remi, Edy too had forgotten about introductions. But that wasn't because she was some bumbling soft headed idiot, but because she was normally known. The Launceleyn family was even less of a thing here than they had been in Northaven, and given the way the teenager had been raised, that was a real fucking reality check to be sure. So far there was the pretty one (Tristan), the brooding one (Deimos), and the hot one (Rexanna); guess to whom Edy's eyes immediately locked. "I'll bet you are." The teenager tittered under her voice in response to Rex's comment that she learned quickly. Winking one dark amused eye should the woman turn her gaze towards Edy, the teenager cracked a wolfish smile before looking to Ronin. He might not technically be her captain anymore, but she'd bet he'd have something to say if she completely embarrassed herself in front of all these new faces. "Edrei Launceleyn." She announced confidently with a playful arching of an eyebrow. "Former soldier." What she'd be in this new world she couldn't say (other than a shit disturber as usual).

tae in places deep with roots entwined i live the life i left behind Sure Tae attended, not because she cared at all about this perfunctory meet and greet, but because she was eager to see if there was anyone here worth knowing about. Keeping close to @Grusha, Tae slid into the sanctuary on soundless feet and stood with her arms crossed in the shadows. With eyes ever watchful, she scanned and listened, ears twitching but receiving none of the heightened sounds that she normally would in her wolf form. The huntress was dressed in leather and furs, the bulk of her textiles making her slender body look larger than it in fact was. The black paint smeared on and around her eyes helped to disguise her rather beautiful and soft features, instead transforming her appearance into something hard and cruel looking. With a snarl on her lips she turned towards her sister, a flat stare on her face. "Hello anha am Tae, sekke eme to fonas cheklit." She trilled under her breath, her words mocking and insincere even as she gazed adoringly up at her taller twin. Grinning she turned back towards the crowd, leaning back against the wall and letting the shadows partially obscure her unimpressed and uncompromisingly hostile gaze. Hello anha am Tae, sekke eme to fonas cheklit: Hello I am Tae, so glad to meet all of you.

grusha we write our prayers on a little bomb kiss it on the face and send it to god Tae was the only reason that Grusha had even bothered to attend the gathering. Had it not been for her twin suggesting that they go she would have gladly spent her time in the woods stalking and hunting down prey. As stubborn and rigid as Grusha could be, however, she would bend to her sister's wishes without protest. That was why she stood in the back of the temple, leaning against the wall, face and hands smudged with bits dirt and blood from their most recent hunt. Her gaze was predatory as she looked at the gathered group of people as they introduced themselves and discussed jobs and professions. None of them truly made any kind of an impression on her, aside from the man that called himself Tristan. Grusha made a mental note to speak with him later about weapons, since seemed to know a bit about it. She and Tae could always use more weapons in their line of work. The sound of her sister's voice immediately drew Grusha's attention and she grinned wolfishly at her twin as she mocked the introductions. Obviously her twin was just as unimpressed -- if not more -- and bored as she was. Grusha uncrossed her arms and slung one around her sister's shoulders as they stood together. Her head dipped down and she murmured quietly to Tae, "Jin blacksmith tikh davra."She glanced up at him before turning her attention to Tae once more. "Jin eshna hash edavrasa." "." translation:// Jin blacksmith tikh davra -- the blacksmith will be useful Jin eshna hash edavrasa -- the others are useless

Isla this won't hurt a bit Lateness was not in Isla's nature, especially because the infirmary was also situated in the Temple, but unfortunately surgery didn't wait for you to attend a meeting. She arrived, still cleaning off her hands with a cloth, her fair hair wound back into a braid that was coming loose, just in time to hear the first introductions from friend and stranger alike. She offered a smile to Remi as she collected a drink from the makeshift bar, taking a grateful sip to wet her throat. "My name is Isla Lockwood," she introduced. "I'm from Northaven like a few others, and I'm a healer - a surgeon, specifically, but I can diagnose and treat ailments as well as any other doctor. I have just recently cleaned out the infirmary attached to this building, so if anyone is in need of help, please stop by." She offered a polite smile. "Oh," she added sheepishly, "and if there are any other medics, healers or doctors around, magical or otherwise, your assistance would be invaluable."

Moving the (only very recently) renovated contents of the Rathskeller up into the temple proper was something of a ballache, but Ronin had asked and so Vai had come through. She found it mildly amusing, that a place she'd read was meant to be holy and sacred or whatever was currently enjoying a booze up, but she kept it to herself. Between herself and Remi they seemed to be well stocked and ready to go, and she listened intently as people began to speak up, smiling to the ones she knew and nodding to the ones she didn't. "Vervain Calob," she supplied when there was a lull. "I'm a hunter and a tracker by trade, but now I run the Rathskeller downstairs. Keep an eye out - there'll be a grand opening soon." She tipped them a wink. "Also, if anyone has it in their mind to tend bar or help a gal out, give me a nudge." vervain where the wild things are

tristan

Ever so slowly others gathered, some standing off on their own, others mingling, and Tristan took note that not everyone accepted the extended bottle of drink. His head turned when a deep voice spoke in an octave lower than his own, brow raised, but a small, grateful smile quirked at the brunette’s lips. He nodded. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.” Deimos was his name, and like Ronin, Tristan would do his best to remember his name, especially if the man had offered his assistance in building the smithy. It would only be right. Deimos certainly looked as though he could offer a good bit of muscle; the man, while shorter than Tristan himself by only a few ticks, was just as broad. Perhaps if the man held his word, they would work out some kind of form of repayment, be it in loyalties or weapons.

From there, Tristan shifted in his stance and tipped the neck of the bottle back up to his lips, taking a hearty swig as his blue eyes scanned the others. Some spoke and introduced themselves, speaking of a land that he had no knowledge of. A plethora of new names in this mysterious world, and already the brunette knew he wouldn’t remember them. Not all of them, anyway. Still, it was nice to have names. In a way, being offered a name was like being offered a sign of comradery; they were all here for one purpose, and right now that purpose was to survive. It was Remi that truly caught his attention, with his boyish grin and charming appearance. The man, a weapons creator and alchemist, offered up his own services in his own vague way, and Tristan offered him a nod of the head as well, tossing back his own wolfish grin. Alright, then.

He knew, of course, that a name could not be confused for a sign of friendship. These people were not his friends. Not yet, anyway. They could just as likely be enemies, and only a fool would ignore that. Holding his silence, Tristan simply nursed his bottle of drink and surveyed the rest of the meeting, planning to speak up only when necessary.

Oh, the newcomer had done a good job of spreading the word. He’d done such a good job that whispers had trickled down to Wessex’s sensitive ears. She intends to join them more out of a sense of protection than piqued interest (and the knowledge that one should know their enemy… friend… invaders… whatever), believing that she’ll be ‘safe’ as long as she isn’t foolish.

For all she knows, this is a fool's errand.

Stealing quietly through the darkness, nimbly crossing the rock-strewn land and ruined foundations on leathery soles, she is a light shadow amongst the darker ones. Practice takes her in a winding path until she comes to the place the Outlanders have seemed to claim as their own. It’s a useless building to the Naturals, but for those who don’t expect the unexpected, she can understand that it might be important while adjusting. Of course, she also thinks they seem abnormally weak, unprepared, and have no fucking clue how hard life can be here. Wessex privately made a bet with herself - giving them a year, tops, before they’re all just bones in the earth.

Huh. There’s no guard.
My, my they are a trusting bunch, aren’t they?

Doing her best to stay beyond the low, golden glow of the candles, Wessex skulks around the edges of the building, quickly slipping (damn, this speed is good for something!) in an ajar side door to count the bodies - eleven of them - before melting back into the shadows to listen as best she can and assess those assembled. A hand lies on her hunting knife, just in case. This is reconnaissance, not a challenge. As much as she loves to fight, she knows she can’t take all of them and leave unscathed.


{I hope this is ok!}