hadriel_logs | Intro Log: Fly, My Pretties!

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Intro Log: Fly, My Pretties!

What: The intro log for May
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: May 10th-14th
Warnings: Flying monkeys! New friends! Prosthetic limbs!

Here in Hadriel, we do introductions right. That means dumping you on the ground of an old Roman-style Colosseum with a bunch of scary monsters and also a bunch of weird shit. Your monster of the day happens to be Winged Monkeys, more commonly known as flying monkeys, from the Wizard of Oz and affiliated stories!

As you may have been able to guess, these creatures can fly and they're rather intelligent- intelligent enough to wield spears and daggers as crude weapons and strong enough to pick someone right up off the ground and fly with them to a perch, where they'll... you know, stab them with their knives and stuff.

Why? We don't know. It's Hadriel.

Just in case you lose a couple of limbs in the process of escaping these critters, we've got you covered. Scattered around the newbies are prosthetic limbs for various body parts. These limbs are all fully functional, even if they look a bit... odd, so if you've lost an arm or two, or a leg, or even a pinkie finger, feel free to grab one and try to figure out how to use it!

Good job dealing with those monkeys! It's kind of a weird thing to be threatening, but clearly someone was afraid of them once. Once you're done, you can explore the rest of the city! Find a house, a new monster, a project to help with, or simply scavenge for supplies. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers May 10th-14th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► All characters arrive with phones that have network communication and the newbie guide installed.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

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[He gives Margaery a sidelong smile, eyebrows raised, then says,]

Not the dice. I can't decide whether there would have been more or less fighting in the Night's Watch if we hadn't had them.

I meant the little bits of paper. You've been here longer. Do you know what the point of the game is?

Edited (Grammar, HTML, I'm all over the place.) 2018-05-14 02:57 (UTC)

[what? her time in King's Landing wasn't entirely spent entrapping men. well. young men]

Probably more. Idle hands get up to mischief.

[let's assume the bits of paper are playing cards]

Oh, those! You can play a game called Blackjack with those. It's fairly easy, if you want me to teach you how to play.

Hands get up to mischief there whether they're idle or not. Most of the men would rather not be there. Though once they're there, many of them begin to make something of themselves.

[They are indeed playing cards!]

Blackjack? [He looks momentarily dubious, but he would look dubious about any game, at least any game that didn't involve one of a few very select individuals, none of whom are here.]

All right. Is it mostly a game of chance?

[With those things, it must be.]

[she remembers something she'd heard about the Watch] That's right, aren't most of the recruits convicts?

Mostly, yes. But it's easy.

The cards with numbers on them are worth the number given. Cards like the King, Queen, and Jack are worth ten points. And aces are worth either one or eleven. The goal is to get as close to twenty-one as possible without going over. The dealer passes out two cards, one you get to see, one you don't. And you can decide from the card you see whether or not you want another card.

[she smiles]

Would you like to play?

The ones who come from the south, and some of the ones from the North... thieves and rapers, mostly, though some of the thieves had only the choice of stealing or starving. But there were also respectable second or third or fifth sons, and bastards like me: people who had nowhere else to go, nothing to inherit.

[Strange to talk to a Tyrell from Highgarden about having nothing to inherit. He shifts his attention to her explanation of the game.]

It sounds easy enough. Will you be the dealer, or will we ask someone else?

[she listens to Jon's words about who goes to the Watch. it had created a stir in the Reach when Randyll Tarly's heir, Sam, chose to join the Watch. in the few times they'd met, Sam hardly seemed the type, but apparently she wasn't told the whole story about who goes to the Night's Watch]

I'm sorry, apparently I was't told the whole story about the Watch. I apologize if I gave offense.

[but now there's none to inherit Highgarden as her father, her brother, and herself are all dead and her grandmother is left with her vengeance as a companion]

I'll deal. I promise I won't look.

[and she doesn't, dealing a face down card and a face up card to Jon, then to herself]

Do you want another card?

No, none at all. Who a man was before he joined the Watch is forgotten, and some of them find honor there: it's a little easier to have it when there's food in your belly. But it's true that some can't stop being what they were.

In any case, after all the troubles at the Wall, there aren't many of the Black Brothers left. I mean to do what I can for the Watch, but... well, not now.

[Because he's here for the time being.

He watches her deal out the cards, and finds that the one he can see is low. There's no point in being a craven at games, especially when there are no stakes.]

Aye, another card.

[she nods when he mentions finding it easier to have honor when there's food in one's belly]

I experienced much the same in Flea Bottom. People found it easier to be of good cheer with a full belly.

I would like to think that time stops back home for us when we come to this place. Far better that than everything continuing without us and potentially getting worse.

[even though there's no going back for her.

while she has a ten that's visible. she's going to hold onto what she has. she passes Jon another card]

[This seven she's given him... it's middling, isn't it? It's on the high end, it could win the game for him or lose it. He begins to think that, like so many other things, the game is about luck and what you do with your luck... but the results of this hand remain to be seen.]

My -- well, he isn't my Hand, but my friend, Ser Davos Seaworth -- he was born in Flea Bottom. He's a good man. [I owe him my life.] And we know that some of the highest born, like Cersei Lannister or Walder Frey... they might be among the worst you'll meet. There's no telling.

I'd like to think that we can remember what we learn here, but there may be small hope of that.

[He glances down at the cards to indicate a shift back to them in subject.]

What's next?

[he's right about the game being about luck. a lot of things are about luck. especially here, where the gods are capable of causing mayhem with little effort on their parts]

I've heard of Ser Davos Seaworth. He was Stannis's Hand, was he not? He must be impressive if he earned the esteem of both you and a man like Stannis. But he's not your Hand? [which means that Jon is in a position to have a hand, should he choose to] I take it that you're now the King in the North? [and she nods at the mention of Cersei and Walder Frey] To be nobly born comes with a. . . certain sense of entitlement. You have a title and lands to go with them, but the urge for more is always there. The question is, what are you willing to do to get more?

I can only hope that we're allowed to retain our memories when we leave this place. I have somewhere to be.

[she follows his gaze]

We flip over our hidden cards and find out who wins.

That I am,

[he replies to her question about his current title. It's still strange to him: there's no crown to go with it, and not really a throne, either, and Winterfell more properly belongs to Sansa. But the kingship still has value. It's a signal of the Northerners' faith in him, and it gives him the ability to do what must be done. It also sets him in opposition to the Iron Throne, but that's the least of his worries in recent days. He puts it off because he must.

His fingertips tap slowly against the top of the table as he speaks. The hand is lightly scarred, both with the little cuts and scrapes worn by any swordsman, and by burns.]

I don't want any more -- I didn't want this, to be honest. But the Northerners don't want Cersei, and being able to set orders for the North and speak for it, that will help us against the Army of the Dead.

Sometimes I think the lords regret it... when I started having girls trained to fight, and when I left to seek Daenerys's help, they weren't best pleased.

Where do you intend to go?

[And how can you, if you've died? he wonders. He has no doubt that she'd go kill Cersei herself if she could, but her words don't suggest that that's her goal.

He reaches for his card, to flip it over.]

Congratulations. Had I a drink, I'd toast to your future success.

[there may not be a crown, but it's the title which will stick in Cersei's craw. she won't like the thought of a reunified North with Jon as its king. and that's one of the few joys in wearing a crown, getting others to do what you want done.

she observes his hand. it's a swordsman's hand. Margaery's own hands are beginning to show similar scars. but she thinks of both his and hers as things to be proud of, that you've fought and you've prevailed]

Who in their right mind would want Cersei after what she did? She killed hundreds at the Sept. She as good as killed her own son. Her path leads only into greater darkness and despair. [she furrows her brows slightly] But what is this Army of the Dead you speak of?

Girls can fight just as well as any boy. My time here has taught me that. The current generation of lords will protest, but in time it will become commonplace. But why were you seeking Daenerys' help? As an ally against Cersei?

I plan to go to Earth. There's a man who left me behind here and I would go and find him.

[she would indeed kill Cersei, but she knows that her place is no longer in Westeros.

She flips hers as well. She has a queen and a nine]

[His cards add up to more than 21. A risk taken, and he lost, but at least he tried. That's the way, isn't it?

Either he doesn't realize yet that he's lost, or he isn't too troubled by it: a different subject has his attention.]

The Army of the Dead. [Now, that does trouble him. He frowns, and thinks over how to proceed... then proceeds carefully, at first.]

I'm surprised my sister hasn't mentioned it to you, but... she hasn't seen it. Even Northerners are often loath to believe it. Southrons... Tyrion Lannister knows more of history and things in books than most men, cares more than most too, and even he called them "grumkins and snarks." I can't imagine the White Walkers cast any longer a shadow down at Highgarden than they did at Casterly Rock, but they're real, always have been. I don't know why anyone would be fool enough to think that the Wall was only there to keep out Wildlings.

It's why I was going to Daenerys. I don't think we have any hope of defeating them without her armies and her dragons, and a cave full of dragonglass that's said to be located on Dragonstone. But if the North can't stop them, they won't stop at the North. Eventually, they'll be too big to stop, and every living person will become one of them.

-- I know how it sounds.

[perhaps he'll have better luck with his next hand?

she breathes, her eyes wide] No, Sansa never said a word. An Army of the Dead? My Septa used to tell me scary stories of the North and something called The Long Night, but all they were to us were something to frighten youngsters into behaving . . . and perhaps make us wary of Northerners. After all, Lynesse Hightower didn't exactly fare well on Bear Island, did she?

[she pauses a moment before continuing, a worry line between her eyes]

No, I--it's a lot to take in. The idea of the dead rising to kill all of the living. It sounds like something out of legends and myths, but you strike me as the truthful sort, so I will take you at your word.

My grandmother should be with Daenerys. Talk to her as well. The armies of the Reach are largely untouched, we only really fought at the Battle of the Blackwater. Tell her what you told me. Ask her for aid. She may take some--convincing, but she'd be able to rally the Tyrell bannermen and all of their forces. And their forces are considerable.

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Intro Log: Fly, My Pretties!

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