hadriel_logs | Intro Log: Welcome to the Snave (snake cave)

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Intro Log: Welcome to the Snave (snake cave)

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for March
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: March 10th-15th
Warnings: Snakes! Snakes! It's a snake!

Good morning, new arrivals! Or, well, it's probably morning. The sun is up, anyway. Okay - not the sun, but that ball of light at the top of the cave that functions as the sun, anyway. Whatever. The point is you've woken to find yourself on the floor of Hadriel's colosseum. You may be wondering where you are and what you're doing here, but what you should be wondering is how fast you need to run to get away from a three-headed snake.

You're not the only one who just woke up. Also to be found in the arena, angry and confused, are Runespoors - large three-headed snakes. Only one of the heads is venomous, but all of them are perfectly willing to take a bite out of you if you get too close - or if you annoy it. If you're lucky, an attacking Runespoor may distract itself via infighting between the three heads, giving you time to run. If not, well, let's just hope you can fight off all three heads at once!

But that's not the only thing you might find. Also scattered around the colosseum floor are what look like tasty snacks. Popsicles, cheese, even toast! Unfortunately, if you get hungry and take a bite, you will quickly discover that each and every one of these is actually soap. So that's great. Maybe the Door thinks everyone needs to shower more? You can also find a few that actually look like soap, and if you're really lucky, you might stumble across the rare and coveted 'pile of baby hands' soap.

With luck, you didn't get eaten by a snake or accidentally eat a piece of soap. Once you find your way out of the colosseum there's plenty of other distractions. Feel free to go 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 March 10th-15th.
► 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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Awww... cute. Jacob might have reached his annoyance capacity, though, because he hasn't commented on how short Ned is. Hmmm.]

That's the best thing I've heard all day, Wynert. [Bottle opener at the ready, Jacob decides that whatever this liquid was was best with a full glass. He's smart, that Jacob Frye.] Make any friends? Deals? Details.

[Just give him this mystery alcohol...]

You know some people here are trying to play cops and robbers without the robbers? I feel kind of bad for them. [fuck the police: part 800] Besides a few of them, hmm... [He makes a so-so gesture with his hand, frowning.] Nobody impressive.

What better way for you to make your entrance? Unopposed, no competition... and I didn't have to kill any Templars for you. [Here, have a full glass of this mystery alcohol. Jacob's going to drink from the bottle like a civilized person.] I walked into their little station. It was... quaint.

[Hmmm, hmm, mystery alcohol leaves his fingers tingling. But it's probably fine.] One was-- get this, Wynert, full plated armor. Except his shoulder.

[Ned gives him a look, picking up the glass of mystery alcohol to swirl it a little and observe what is definitely not going to be good for them.] Or his face? Who walks around in full armor all the time?

[What year is it... He takes a sip of this alcohol, making another face for how bizarre it tastes from just that.] Well, I'm not denying they need the help around here, generally speaking. This whole city's a wasteland with a couple nice buildings thrown in. And no money? Who are they kidding?

[They need.............a gang, to lead them. Ned takes another sip, and this time his face screws up like this stuff is probably actually poison. Ew.] This is awful.

Oh, definitely not the face. Man had a head of hair that all the men in London would envy. [Jacob leans against the bar, taking another sip of this poison liquor. It's fine. He has bad taste.]

It's not all that bad. Apparently, no one can die permanently. [He's ignoring that people apparently don't have normal tastebuds.] That kind of ruins my line of work, but...

I'll keep an eye out. [For a guy with nice hair and stupid armor, sure. He takes a much smaller sip of his poison, because, obviously.]

I heard that one, though. Not sure I believe it, but then again, not sure I want to check.

I'll check for you. Another woman can put a knife in my head. [Of course.

He won't linger on that, though. He's going to grab another bottle, just to see if it's better or worse. Depending on the person.] I was going to ask if you thought this place was good enough to get started.

[Of course, he picked one of the taverns in the most disrepair.]

What have you been doing before you holed up in here? [He's curious, who's already making noise about stabbing his favorite on-call assassin... He should know. Professionally.

But hmm, the crappy bar they're in—he turns obligingly to give it a cursory look around, without getting up.] It's got four walls.

[So, that's one plus,]

Making friends. [That is what he calls friends. To be fair,] They told me how to use the... phone. Apparently a can of salty means you're angry; I'll have to get some for Evie.

[Aleck, Aleck is the reason this has happened. Too bad no one's revealed that to them yet.] And a roof. [There's a hole in the roof,] Find some rope, make some room... We'll have ourselves a ring.

[Not a word out of Jacob's mouth about the phone made sense, just now. Ned gives him a look, then looks down suspiciously at the glass in his hand. Are they going insane? Are they dying?] Right.

And it's got this absolute swill. [He actually hops down from his seat now, to take his glass around for a more serious tour. They could fit a ring in here maybe, just move the crappy tables...] This is Robbie's business, Frye, not ours... but I think I can make it happen. And you can throw the punches.

[If they were already dead and this were Hell or whatever, it wasn't that bad. Ned was there. Jacob will think this later, when his great plan isn't in the works. For now, he'll haul himself over the counter to follow after him like a little puppy.]

Robbie did his best, but think what we can do. Keep tabs easier. Have a better name: Frye's Fights. [It's an awful name,] And when I'm not in the ring, other people can blow off some steam at your benefit.

Edited (like, one letter, shut up,) 2017-03-13 10:16 (UTC)

Frye's Fights? [Just the way he repeats it should make it obvious that's a big no. Frye's Fights. Stupid. He still grins right after, though it's the grin of someone making fun of Frye's Fights.] You've lost your right to rib me for Wynert Underground, if that's the best you can do.

[He sips his drink, frowns at it, and holds it up.] I hate this, but I'm still drinking it. Remember which bottle this is and we'll call it our special.

I thought about it this whole time! [That just makes it worse that it's Frye's Fights. Jacob is deeply offended, Ned. The hurt in his expression lasts a whole five seconds.

Ned's lucky he concedes about this drink, he almost pulled that damn face.] They'll hate it, but they'll just keep coming back for more. [Kind of like how it was to deal with Jacob. The Frye experience.] Shall I let you name the drinks since I'm so terrible?

Did someone already punch you? [Is your brain rattled, Frye?? Ned shoots him another grin, then turns away to make another brief little round of the center of the room, running his free hand over one of the tables. It's filthy. That's more like it; he misses London's squalor already.

While he's brushing his hand off on his coat he gives Jacob a nod, like yes he is terrible, and thinks about the drink name. It's easy to hate, kind of poison...] Let's call it a Blighter.

[YES/HELL YES]

[HELL FUCKIN YES

Jacob stops just short of running into the table, choking on his sip of the Blighter. It was done. He was sold. He was also staring at Ned with the same amount of wonder he first met him with.]

Have I ever told you how much I adore having you as a partner, Wynert?

[Ned is a genius, printed and stamped and official. This time his grin is actually genuine and not making fun; it's so nice to have an equally petty jerk around town to make jokes no one will understand.]

Not nearly enough. Lucky for you, my schedule's opened up for the foreseeable future, so I've got plenty of time to field your compliments. Cheers, Frye. [Come here and raise a glass... slash bottle with him.]

I'll have to get you busy, lest I want to run out of them. [Would he spend all his free time compliment Ned? Probably. Ned was just that great.

So of course he's going to clink the entire bottle they're supposed to be selling against Ned's glass.] To the only thing the Blighters are good for.

[And run into that table because he's spent so long marveling that he's forgotten it's there. Master Assassin.] We should-- maybe move these.

[Ned is taking a drink when Jacob smacks gracefully into a table, but mercifully he manages to just hum and not snort poison alcohol everywhere. Does he have to move tables? He thinks he'll start by wandering back to the bar and leaning back against it, waiting.]

Go for it. I'll tell you if I don't like where they're going.

[It's alright. Jacob grins knowing it's probably too much of a task for someone as tiny as Ned, setting his bottle aside and draping his coat over a chair. They'd need brooms, and probably a mop and water to properly get this place looking even remotely good, but they won't have to worry about that today.

For once in his life, Jacob uses his muscles for things that isn't punching people. He clears a space around the room, even if he purposely leaves things a few inches off of where Ned wanted them. Just to bother him.

He's also turned filthy in the process. How can one man collect dust from everything? He's found a way.] Nail a few posts in the ground, put a board on the wall... I'll get you a table for betting, but I don't know if we'll find a safe anywhere.

[What the fuck, he can move a table, he's not that short. God. He's just clearly the boss around here, which makes Jacob the muscle.

So now Ned the boss will watch Jacob the muscle move tables around, perfectly content to stand back and do that. He's dirty, how gross.]

We'll improvise. Maybe someone's got a lock box they're willing to part with, on account of how nobody here thinks cash is worth having. [What will people actually bet with? Rocks? Stupid.] Place could use a few good coats of paint, too. I oughta write this down...

[Is there a pen and paper in here? He's on the hunt.]

And who's going to put that coat of paint up? [Him??? Ned must be dreaming. While he's looking for writing utensils, which is probably behind the bar or back room, Jacob is going to taking his shirt off in some effort to shake the dust out. Because that's necessary.

The flexing of his muscles is not necessary. He's "stretching." Sure.] I'll have to find you a nice desk to sit behind, won't I? We'll have our work cut out for us...

I can paint a couple walls, Frye. You don't get to have all the fun. [Is he joking...? Building his new fight club empire is going to be some kind of fun, that's for sure. Just. Get him a stepping stool.

He finally finds a crummy, dirty notebook and a tiny pencil somewhere under the bar and straightens back up with it in time to catch sight of Jacob being... himself. Of course. Ned raises an eyebrow, coming back around the bar to climb onto a stool again and lean back to start writing his Important List.]

I'll put nice desk on the list, shall I? And... brooms. [For this dusty fool.]

And... a board to write on. And... rope. And wood to put the rope around, nails, er... more... wood... probably. [Jacob deflates a little, staring out at the empty space where the ring was meant to be. The more he talks about it, the more he's reminded it's not going to be nearly as good as he'd like.]

Think the Gods would be convinced to bless us if we asked nicely? [He folds his shirt over his arm and stoops to take his bottle back to the bar, ignoring the fact he drank out of it. It's fine.]

[Supplies are good, he'll write those down, but he stops and looks up again, wagging his pencil disapprovingly at Jacob's second comment.]

I don't want those guys involved. You want to owe a favor to someone like that? Real gods or not, I'm not interested.

[So: no. Bad idea. He looks down at the list again, to mutter to himself about other supplies. HmmMMM...]

Doing favors gets you on people's good side, Wynert. Or have you forgotten why you like me? [Not a bad plan!! Jacob will let this go for now, though, in favor of taking up a stool next to Ned. Because that's not distracting.]

I couldn't do this without you, Ned. I might just owe you another one.

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