TDM #5

[calderaevents]

ARRIVAL

It happens in an instant. A heavy weight in your gut, a trembling of your limbs, the world spins and you barely have time to register that you're falling before you lose consciousness. And when you awaken, it's not where you were last. Dark, unadorned oak walls surround you in a tiny room, the only furniture the bed you are currently resting upon, and the bedside table with a folded piece of parchment resting atop it that simply reads:

“The Tavernkeeper is awaiting your arrival downstairs.”

As you exit you find others like yourself emerging from the surrounding rooms. You are indeed in a tavern, but there is no hustle and bustle one might think to hear in such a place. The only person down on the main floor is a humanoid figure wiping down the bar, who smiles when they see you. They're familiar, but not, and you can't quite place their face. For some reason, however, their presence is comforting and warm.

“Welcome, Visitor. I'm sure you have a lot of questions.”

And you most certainly do.

Due to popular demand, the starter tavern and the drinks provided are available to in game characters via a portal accessible only to those with a faction gem.

DRINK MENU

FLAMEFRUIT SANGRIA a deep red wine based punch with chunks of softly glowing fruit floating in it. A single serving makes you feel relaxed, social, and maybe even a little flirty.

MOLTEN MEAD Though the thick drink itself is room temperature, it bubbles sluggishly, and feels very warm going down. The bold flavor affects your mood. You feel very bold! Like you could do anything!

BESALT BRANDY a hopefully staple drink for the brewery, this liquor is smooth and rich with a peppery bite. Ironically after consuming it, you kinda want to bite someone! Not hard! Just a little nip and nibble!

THAT ASHY ESPRESSO a single potent shot of dark espresso swirled with a gold-tinged cream. Intense and bitter with a hint of caramelized sugar. You are now very awake, hyper, and excited.

PYROCLAST'S WHISKEYa glossy black whiskey that turns a vibrant glowing orange when swirled. You now breathe fire.

EMBERMARK WINE a rich, velvety, spiced wine that immediately makes one feel mellow and calm.

CHOOSE YOUR DESTINY

As the effects of your drink wear off, the Tavernkeeper speaks once more:

”It is time, my friends, for you to find your new homes.”

You are compelled to walk through the only door leading out of the tavern, finding yourself not outside, but in a deep black, seemingly endless room with five portals arranged in a circle. As the last of you leave and the door closes behind you, gone when you look back again and replaced with nothing but that black void, three of the portals illuminate:

The first portal is surrounded by an almost blinding light, prismatic rainbows shining brightly in the dewy air outside of the tavern. A soft breeze may gently caress you, pulling you toward it. The portal seems to lead to a city in the clouds, airships and winged beings of all sorts soaring through the skies. Of the little bits of visible land, much of it boasts giant waterfalls that look like clouds melting into the land below. The portal calls to those who crave independence and freedom; and especially to anyone that wishes to find the strong bond of a family not forged in blood.

The second portal is encircled by a fairy ring of spotted white capped mushrooms, the faint scent of damp stone and rich earth wafting from within the faint green glow. Peering inside, one can see a sprawling harbor city of gray hewn stone, a melting pot of humanoid beings going about their day, and beyond, rolling green farmland and cottages clustered in small villages. This portal is destined for those who crave stability and solid ground beneath their feet. A simple life, an adventurous one, and everything in between can be found within.

The last portal is adorned with shells and seaweed, the glow of blue around it catching on droplets cascading down the circular opening. Beyond it you see a city housed inside a massive bubble deep under the ocean, spiraling towers encrusted with coral, and a variety of different creatures mingling about the streets. Outside of that bubble, merfolk swim, a massive squid engulfs the view from the portal as it smoothly glides through the water, and schools of fish disperse as it passes. A sanctuary in the sea that calls to those with a hunger for knowledge and a desire to aid those in need. Or perhaps it is the mystery that beckons you - the lure of the unknown in the depths that bids you explore it.

---

Upon following the pull of the breeze through the first portal, you are thrust into the beauty of a lively city that goes by the name of Heaven's Bow. Much of this main city feels exactly as you would expect on a city below, but there are clouds surrounding every direction you look. The walls of buildings are made with light-colored limestone, and buildings are generally built up to heights made even more grandiose by their position in the sky.

The Skyfall Docks are the first thing you notice, boasting hundreds of airships sailing in and out across the clouds with shouts that accompany a typical port city. Just outside is a fantastic market with goods not only from the other regions of Caldera, but from what some shopkeepers claim are other worlds--items sold or left behind by Visitors. Almost anything can be found in the markets if one is willing to look hard enough. Transport to other locations throughout the sky and even to the land or sea can be found here.

If the docks are too lively for you, you may instead find yourself roaming the underbelly of Heaven's Bow and finding brothels and gambling parlors filled with the promise of pleasure and fortune. The guild house for the Sylphs can be found here as well, giving out quests and training to prospective adventurers and guards alike--though none of them seem concerned with the illicit activities that surround them. Perhaps the freedom the Sylphs boast of extends to what others may deem an undesirable activity.

But most curious of all, you find a shimmering opal gemstone in your hand. When placed anywhere on the body, it will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

---

If it was the second portal that called to you, you will find yourself in the busy city of Grey Ward, with its cobblestone streets and sturdy grey stone buildings. You are in the heart of the city, the Glass Market, so named for the colorful stained glass windows of the surrounding buildings. The scent of cooking food and the sound of barkers fills the air; watchful guards keep an eye out for pickpockets and thieves, and citizens go about their day. From here, one can investigate the rest of the city: the Sundown Docks, where both sea and sky faring skips transport people and goods. The Soot Spire, home of inventors and engineers. The Hearthstill, the main residential area. The Downs, a smaller residential area for those with less means.

Outside the city walls, one can explore acres of farmlands to the east and west, or follow Terra’s Pass to the less settled areas, but take care. Past the Skyward Range, out in the smaller burrows and villages, the influence of the city guard diminishes quickly, and you’ll have to keep your wits about you. Bandits along the road are always a risk, and the wildlife are less controlled by regimented hunting.

In your hand is a gemstone, a brilliantly green emerald that, when placed anywhere on the body, will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

---

If the last portal beckoned you through it, you find yourself within that bubble covered city beneath the sea, the city of Salt Spire. Your ears pop with the change in pressure, and the smell of the salty sea fills your nostrils. All around you buildings made of dark stone encrusted with coral and seagrass tower high above your head, the backdrop outside the dome a deep blue, seemingly endless sea filled with fish and merfolk and all other manner of creature swimming through the water. You stand in the heart of it all, surrounded by people with gils on their necks and scales upon their vibrantly colored skin, all of whom seem intrigued by your arrival. You have many options of where to visit in the city under the sea, but where oh where will you go first?

The Salt Spire Library is right before you, an impossibly large building housing thousands upon thousands of books of all genres. Fiction, non-fiction, romance and mystery and all between. You may even find books from your world and others! Oddly enough though, no Calderan history books are to be found, and if you ask for them, the librarians and locals all choose to ignore your questions.

If scholarly pursuits aren't to your interest currently, perhaps a trip to Bluetide Market would be more your style? The marketplace is host to every manner of shop one might ever need: artisans of all varieties, apothecaries and healers in the Shimmer Quarter, the most in fashion undersea clothing shops, food stalls, and all between can be found in Bluetide. There are also the Tideshore and Fogbottom docks on either end of the city. The former allows transport to the surface via large, magical bubbles for those that cannot hold their breath or make the swim themselves yet. The latter allows people to venture further into the sea. Those without their underwater abilities are offered rebreathers for travel that last for four hours before needing to be replaced.

In your hand is a gemstone, a shining sapphire that, when placed anywhere on the body, will transform into a piece of jewelry with the gemstone set in the center.

IGNACIA'S CRADLE/EMBER VEIL

Months ago, a piece of land from Heaven’s Bow fell from the sky and scarred the land below, damaging a part of the city. From that chaos and ruin rose new life, a new ruler, and a new city: Ignacia’s Cradle. Just a short walk from the edge of Grey Ward, the gates of the city are guarded by two massive obsidian golems, and any who did not rise from the lava itself are warned at the entrance that to travel about the city will be most difficult, unless they have obtained a way to mitigate the extreme heat: be that with a charm, an ability, or a potion. The very streets themselves are paved in slabs of volcanic rock, tall spires of buildings constructed and shaped by rapidly cooled lava. The main method of travel are the mine carts, with tracks that wind through the spires ready to take one to almost any location.

Currently, the main feature of Ignacia’s Cradle is the Lava Flats, home of skilled smiths that use the extreme heat of the lava to melt the strongest metals and create unbreakable weapons, glassmakers and jewelers who fashion elaborate headpieces, rings, and amulets. These items are sold at the Ember Market on the outskirts of the Flats.

At the edge of the city lies the Ashfall Terrace, where a small farm using the rich volcanic ash and soil is in its infancy, as well as the Basalt Brewery where clever alchemists are researching ways to use the extreme heat to craft new and unique beverages that they are eager to find folk to test them out on.

---

The hot spring of Ignacia’s Cradle is a breathtaking anomaly located just beyond the Ashfall Terrace, tucked into a secluded crater formed by the celestial impact that gave rise to the city. Here, molten veins from the Lava Flats weave beneath the earth, heating a natural reservoir that bubbled to life amidst the chaos. The spring’s waters shimmer with an ethereal brilliance, hues of deep turquoise blending with molten gold and fiery orange, as though Heaven’s Bow itself left behind a fragment of its essence. Steam rises in curling wisps, carrying the tang of minerals and faint traces of sulfur.

The spring, known to locals as The Ember Veil, is both a sanctuary and a marvel of natural wonder. Its soothing waters are reputed to heal wounds and fortify the spirit, with the temperature kept in perfect balance by an intricate system of naturally formed vents and channels. The edges are lined with intricately carved obsidian benches, where patrons can soak their feet or meditate in the rising steam. Plants resistant to the intense conditions—vivid fire lilies and ash ferns—dot the perimeter, their resilience a symbol of life’s ability to flourish even in the harshest environments.

Sometimes, when two or more individuals share the waters, the spring creates a subtle connection between their minds, allowing memories to surface like ripples on its surface. These shared memories appear as glowing, translucent scenes that hover above the water, visible to all within the spring. Participants can relive moments from their lives, experiencing them through each other’s eyes, fostering profound empathy and understanding.

Another of the spring’s mystical properties occurs when bathers who enter the waters feeling drained, injured, or burdened by grief often find their vitality restored. The waters seem to draw out negative energies and emotions, replacing them with a warm, invigorating sensation that spreads through the body. In rare instances, the spring has been known to accelerate physical healing, mending minor injuries and soothing chronic aches, as though the magic itself is stitching the body back together.

A lesser-known but equally fascinating effect happens on particularly clear nights, when the moonlight reflects on the spring’s surface, some bathers report fleeting glimpses of potential futures. These visions are often cryptic, appearing as brief, dream-like flashes, but they have guided many to life-changing decisions. The alchemists of the Basalt Brewery believe this effect stems from residual cosmic energy, and they have begun experimenting with enhancing it through the addition of rare minerals and lunar elixirs.

RADIANT SUN

The day begins like no other, with the skies painted in hues of golden-pink as the Radiant Sun ascends. Its light spills over the world, warm and soft, caressing the land and filling every heart with a sense of peace. Beneath its glow, emotions of love and connection bloom like never before. Strangers exchange heartfelt smiles, old friends embrace as though no time has passed, and lovers find their feelings deepened, their bonds strengthened.

Even the air feels different—lighter, sweeter, as though the universe itself is celebrating. The songs of birds harmonize with the melodies of impromptu musicians who feel inspired by the sun’s radiance. Those with magical abilities sense their powers of healing and creation magnified, as if the sun itself lends its strength to their intentions. Long-held grudges seem to melt away under the sun’s tender gaze, replaced by tears of reconciliation and words of forgiveness.

The Radiant Sun touches every heart differently:

◾A widow finds peace as memories of her late spouse no longer bring sorrow but gratitude for the love they shared.
◾A timid youth finds the courage to confess their feelings to the person they’ve admired for so long.
◾A gruff warrior lets down their guard, laughing freely with their companions for the first time in years.

For a fleeting moment, the world feels as it should be—unified, harmonious, and drenched in love.

But as the day wanes and the Radiant Sun dips below the horizon, an unease begins to settle...

JEALOUS MOON

The golden light gives way to deep purples and silvers as the Jealous Moon rises, its glow pale and cold. Its light pierces the heart, not to warm it, but to expose the insecurities that lie buried within. Where love had flourished during the day, doubt begins to creep in.

Under the Jealous Moon’s influence, emotions twist and darken:

◾A once-reconciled pair of siblings argue over old grievances, as jealousy over perceived favoritism resurfaces.
◾A couple, who had spent the day lost in each other’s arms, now question each other’s loyalty and intentions.
◾A nobleman, inspired to be generous during the day, grows suspicious of those who received his gifts, fearing they may exploit his kindness.

The air grows heavy with tension, and the magic of the Radiant Sun fades, replaced by the sharp sting of distrust. The moon’s pale light seems to follow people like a judgmental gaze, amplifying every fear, insecurity, and lingering resentment.

Worse still, the night seems endless, as though time itself has bent beneath the weight of the Jealous Moon’s envious glow. For three long days and nights, the moon lingers high in the sky, its pale, piercing light casting a shadow over hearts and minds, amplifying discord and despair. Its power sows strife among even the closest bonds, driving some to dangerous extremes. Yet, when all seems lost, the scholars of the three factions unite their wisdom and uncover a glimmer of hope—a means to dispel the moon’s cruel influence. For those who have not yet succumbed to jealousy’s grip, there remains a chance to reclaim harmony, a chance for redemption before the damage becomes irreversible.

The solution lies not in complex rituals or rare relics but in the simplest and most instinctive actions: physical connection. To weaken the moon’s hold, people must embrace one another—offering a hug, a handshake, or even resting a hand on someone’s shoulder. These gestures of closeness disrupt the isolation and mistrust that the moon thrives upon. Sitting side by side or holding hands creates a barrier against its oppressive light, reminding the afflicted that they are not alone. Even small acts, like sharing warmth through proximity or clasping arms in solidarity, build a shield of connection that the moon cannot penetrate.

As these actions ripple through the night, the Jealous Moon’s light begins to dim, its sharp, cold glow softening until it fades from the sky entirely. The tension in the air lifts, replaced by a quiet calm that feels almost foreign after the chaos of the past three days. Slowly, the world seems to exhale, and the darkness that clung so tightly to the hearts of many begins to loosen its grip. People step back from the brink of despair, their minds clearing as if waking from a long, disorienting dream. Relationships strained by the moon’s influence begin to mend as apologies are exchanged, tears are shed, and bonds are reaffirmed.

ALL IS WELL(?)

With the Radiant Sun rising again, its golden-pink hues spilling across the horizon, life begins to return to normal. The birds resume their morning songs, markets reopen, and the hum of daily activity fills the air once more. Though traces of the moon’s influence linger in whispered memories, there is a collective sense of relief and gratitude among the people—gratitude for the light, for connection, and for a second chance to heal.

In the outskirts of Ignacia's Cradle, Aella and Terra, two of the three leaders of the factions, come together to address the gathered crowds. Together they assure the people that this celestial event was a rare anomaly, something never before recorded in the annals of history. They explain that while the Jealous Moon’s influence was unprecedented and deeply unsettling, it was a unique alignment of cosmic forces that is unlikely to occur again in their lifetimes—or ever.

The leaders thank the people for their resilience and compassion, emphasizing how their acts of unity—simple gestures of closeness and connection—proved stronger than the moon’s envy. They commend the scholars for their quick thinking and the Visitors for their role in guiding others through the chaos. Finally, they urge everyone to move forward, not in fear of what has passed, but with the knowledge that even in the darkest moments, their strength lies in the bonds they share.

QUESTBOARD

Settled in? Good. It's time to make your way to the Questboard located in every city in numerous, easy to access locations. That is, if you want to make any kind of impact on the world or just get some Bones for anything you might wish to purchase. Visitors are given a very small stipend in which to survive every month, but all it does is keep you fed and housed. These quests will assure you greater wealth, and they're the main reason you're here: each finished quest helps the Calderans fix their shattering world.

Quests can be accepted at the questboard via magically signed parchment upon the board. Just sign your name to accept and the paper will be whisked away... somewhere. You're not actually sure. Probably nothing to concern yourself with.

Once quests are completed, earned Bones will be dropped off at the character's residence by Bonita, the mysterious artisan who has supposedly handcrafted every Bone circulating in Caldera. Please do not speak to her, she startles easily.

*February will be the last month to complete quests for this rotation. New ones will go up on March 1st.

OOC NOTES

Welcome to Caldera's fifth TDM! All characters awaken in a strange tavern with nothing save the clothes on their backs, all of their powers stripped, and a piece of parchment directing them downstairs to the Tavernkeeper. There is a thread of all questions answered by the Tavernkeeper here, and if you have more, feel free to ask there for what would be offered ICly.

For OOC questions, please direct themhere.

All locations are available to be explored! Ignacia's Cradle and Ember Veil have been added, along with details about the Violet Drop regarding the Cult of Triton.

The TDM is game canon and all completed quests can be carried over once accepted into the game.

Participation in the Radiant Sun/Jealous Moon effects is not mandatory.

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Commander Shepard ⭐ Mass Effect Trilogy (The Games CRAU) ⭐ Dryad

[earthborn]

i. The tavern
The difference in light and sound is a slap in the face.

Shepard had expected... quiet. But the waiting quiet, before the storm. The kind of silence you got when breaking it meant an attack. What she got instead was... the sound of someone in another room, clinking glasses together. The quiet noises a wood-construction house makes. She had gone from screaming cacophony of one warzone into another into... peace.

Or something like it.

She looks around the room with the wary eye of someone who has reason to expect something quite dangerous to happen, any moment. When the room continues to be a room, and nothing particularly untoward happens, she eventually slides up to the bar and, with some caution, starts asking questions.

And then, why the hell not?, she starts asking for a drink. By the time you found her, she's a few into it, sipping whiskey with a couple of empty glasses at her elbow, and burping flames. She's had a long fucking day.

ii. dryad lands
Shepard has been walking the streets of the Dryad's Grey Quarter and beyond for several hours and she's come to a few conclusions. First, it's either the most incredible setup she's ever personally experienced, either in terms of lying, mind-fuckery, or some kind of holographic suite, or... this is real.

And if it's real, then... Maybe Snow wasn't entirely full of shit to begin with. Maybe he really hadn't had the power to pull whoever he wanted, whatever his reasons. And that meant— well, maybe they'd been a bit premature in killing his engineers. Bit late for regrets.

Still, she's more comfortable now that some charitable soul has traded her for a set of local clothes: charcoal-black and wool, thick against the late-winter chill. She can't quite shake the lost feeling, though, despite the confidence of her stride. Was this what she'd left for?

No. Hell no. But you can't deny, it's better than home. Whatever home meant anymore.

iii. ember veil cw: violence against minors
Of course, one cannot long wander without encountering the good news of the day: there's a hot springs and you can drink while submerged in it. Those who come upon Shepard will find her lying back in the water wearing underpants and a bra a little else— both are black embroidered with a stern red D5. There is a bottle of wine, with a good few fingers missing.

The water appears to be showing the ghostly images of children with bows and axes running through the forest, or— no, there are some adults, and— they're being chased? By dinosaurs? As she takes a long pull from the wine, one of the creatures leaps onto a child's back, shredding it liberally, blood like wet confetti, and as it does so the others continue to pursuit.

"Figures that even here, I can't get away from the damn Hunger Games," She mutters, certainly more to herself than anyone nearby. She sounds very tired.

iv. questboard
Shepard's boots are thick and well-insulated, military-style, crunching on the rime-over-snow texture of the street in front of the questboard. Her arms are crossed and she's dressed all in charcoal-black, her red hair a brilliant blaze in the otherwise-grey day. She's considering her options; is this why they're all here?

Save the world? Sure.

Inane chorelist of a missionlog? Yeah, why not.

Honestly, it's just a novelty, to have the option to say no. And even if none of it matters all that much, all of it matters. These read like actual problems people have. Paying jobs. Never thought turning merc would look so appealing.

ember veil time to suffer

[odare]

Ah, what a relaxing place this is. Warmth and comfort seep into his bones as he lays back against the pool's edge. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, apparently that. A scene that could be taken right from a tape of the Games, except from the fact that there are adults and dinosaurs in it, plays in the water before his eyes. He's been in this spring already, so he knows this is someone's memory. His body tenses up, and then the woman next to him seems to claim it as her own.

Hunger Games. He has not heard those words in months, and hoped to never hear them again. No. No, fuck, no, no. Not again, not here.

"What?" His breathing is coming quicker now, panicked, and he looks at Shepard urgently. "What did you just say?"

[earthborn]

Shepard turns to look at him, rolling her head across her shoulders with an exaggerated lassitude. She regards his panic with an exsanguine stare, the scars on her cheek glimmering faintly in the dim, foggy light of Ember Veil, and then gestures at the memory of the arena doggedly playing itself out in front of them.

"Hunger Games. The Arena," Then something seems to spark in her expression, and she frowns, actually sitting up a little, the better to see his— Oh, "Holy shit."

She knows this guy. Oh, not personally, they had never had reason to hang out. But there was merch, posters, vids and advertisements. District Four's famous heartbreaker, the Victor of the 65th games, long before her time in the limelight.

"You're Finnick Odair. Damn— You alright?"

[odare]

As she says his name, his breath hitches audibly, and though he's trying not to show his panic, it's not working. He's so caught off-guard.

She knows him, but he doesn't know her. Yet, her clothing says D5. He wracks his brain, but can't for the life of him remember a District 5 Victor who looks like this. Her look is distinctive and he has a good memory for faces, so he's perplexed.

"I-- Should I know you? I'm sorry, I don't remember-" He's trying to be friendly and polite, but the anxiety is still bleeding into his voice.

[earthborn]

"No," Shepard says, definitive. Friendly face and polite she can read for, but painted over the first steps of an anxiety attack. Not exactly a rare expression, in the Tribute Tower, "I'm from the Seventy-fi—"

No, that couldn't be right. Seventy-fifth, the endless quell. That was as stupid now as it had been back then. Shepard takes a brief glance upwards to do some rapid internal calculations.

"I guess it was more like the eighty-fifth Games. But that's complicated. Don't worry about it— Hey," She shifts through the water, deliberately mussing the surface where the vision is playing back; it worbles and goes strange, like a warped vidscreen, and Shepard pays it no mind. Awkwardly bare as they are, she betrays no hint of body-consciousness, laying a hand on Finnick's shoulder with careful, deliberate movements, her voice pitched low and smooth, firm and commanding, "Breathe. You got out. We both did. Breath. You're safe, here. You're not in Panem anymore."

And that was, even if everything else went to hell, one truly untarnished good thing to be said, about Caldera: it is not Panem.

[odare]

That's also Finnick's favourite thing about Caldera: Decidedly Not Panem! So when he sees spectres of Panem in the water and hears people talking about the Hunger Games offhandedly the way a Panem resident would, uh... It feels a bit too much like the worlds are bleeding together and before he knows it he'll be right back in the Arena.

Seventy-fifth? The Quarter Quell? There's no way. He would know her, and besides, that quell was chosen from existing Victors, so her first Games would've had to be before that. Eighty-fifth, that makes more sense to him- she's from a future timeline of Panem, maybe. He uses that as a hold to grab onto for now, so he won't get swept away by panic.

And her words offer another strong hold. She got out, he got out, they're in Caldera, not going back. Just because a new Victor is here doesn't mean the Games are coming here. He takes a breath, as instructed, shakes his head.

"Yeah- no, you're right, sorry," he says quickly, as though simultaneously assuring himself and sheepishly apologizing for his apparent panic.

"I got confused. So, you're a Victor." He clasps her elbow, and his face turns from afraid and confused to something more like relief and admiration. No other Victors have shown up yet, unless you count Nina (which he does). There is a kinship there, for him, a knowledge that she will understand the basics of his experience in a way no one else can.

Of course, she could also be a tribute who died and thus not a Victor, but she'd still understand a lot of things.

[earthborn]

"Yeah, for all the good it did me," Shepard grips him right back, feeling the pulse in the corner of his elbow like a bird's wing, fighting, fighting, "Like I said, it's complicated."

And wasn't that a bitch of an understatement?

Behind them there is an unpleasant sound as the memory of someone else's daughter loses blood, and likely her life. But Shepard gives neither a grimace nor a flinch, holding Finnick's eyes with her own, steady. Yeah. Yeah, she knew that fear. Tributes got to stick together, whatever their origin or purpose.

"You wanna get out of here? I don't know about you, but I'm getting a little tired of the highlight reel. Seen this one already."

[odare]

"It is for me, too. And it's not truly good for anyone."

The touch steadies him further, though the memory he can still see and hear behind her does draw his eye and then make him pointedly look away, jaw clenching.

"Please, yes, let's." He turns and exits the pool as quickly as he can, heading back toward the changing rooms.

Once they're out of range of the pool and no longer in earshot of the memory, another somewhat urgent question comes to mind.

"So are you from a future version of Panem?" He's mainly wondering whether or not they won the war, since he died before its end. The question has been burning a hole in his mind for months. An eighty-fifth Hunger Games suggests they lost, which keeps his anxiety above baseline for now.

[earthborn]

"Depends on what you mean by future," She replies. It's chilly, now that they're out of the water and it's hot enough in general here that they'll both dry off soon, and damn the dampness of her clothes over soaked skivvies. Better moistened than naked, though: She'd be getting more than enough vulnerability just to admit to common cause, out here.

Surrounded all these people who were, despite appearances, disgustingly normal.

"After the seventy-fourth Games, Snow had a lot of fires to put out," She says, businesslike. This is a woman who'd given sitreps and oral reports before, and her military cadence is obvious, "Turns out, three quarters of a century of killing people's children on public-access doesn't make you popular for some reason. Go figure."

Shepard is long past finding the Games scandalous or surprising; her sarcasm is well-worn and casual, rather than biting. Obviously everyone hated it, except for all the people for whom it meant nothing but entertainment. But who cares about the little people, right?

"But you can't just stop the Games. So he got his guys to figure out how to bring in other people. People from outside Panem. The 'Endless Quell' they called it," This time with a real sneer, full of teeth and derision. Tired of killing your own kids? Kidnap someone else's. Kidnap whoever you want, "And if you die in the process, they just bring you right back in— don't ask me how, I never figured out the medical end."

She lets that lie for a moment, then sighs and pushes a hand through her hair. Nice cobbles on these streets, Finnick. Nice stars in these skies.

"So technically speaking, yes, I am the Victor of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games, representing the nice folks down in District Five. And I have participated in about ten more arenas after that. My name's Shepard, by the way."

questboard

[thecodexabides]

Gadriel's not so psyched on the 'save the world' thing for this place. He has Opinions about the trustworthiness of their captors, and the amount of jars of venom he keeps producing show that it is not going away.

However, someone wants to see a chainsword and Gadriel is willing to do many things, up to and including warcrimes, to share the chainsword appreciation.

Fortunately or not, warcrimes tend not to be on the quest board, but maybe something would seem appealing. Who knows. It had been a few days and it was worth a look. So here's all nine feet of barely civilized Space Marine in his armor, reading over the quest board. "Mushrooms. Absolutely not." He remembers the last time he had to harvest plants. "I am not falling for that again."

[earthborn]

Shepard is not easily intimidated, and what Gadriel inspires in her is not intimidation, exactly. Any rational person might take a step back, the better to get a look at the full breadth and depth of a man of Gadriel's height. Buddy, you're not just a tall drink of water, you're putting the long in Long Island Iced Tea.

"Okay, I gotta ask," She says, after a moment, "What happened with the mushrooms?"

[thecodexabides]

It is perfectly natural for people to feel on edge or uncomfortable around Astartes. They are chimeras. Voluntary, but no longer fully human nonetheless.

He looks over at her--clearly military, but not quite Astra Militarum. Another cause for concern--they had been bringing more and more warriors here. While it was a pleasant change from all the elves and sorcerers, it was a cause for its own flavor of concern.

"I do not know, but there must be some trick. There is a quest," he riffles through the postings till he finds it and shows it to her. "It seems ludicrous. Just gathering flowers. At night. If it seems innocuous here, I would advise thinking that they are not telling you the entire story."

[earthborn]

"It's a job somebody doesn't want to do, they got money, we got time," Shepard says, pragmatically, taking the slip of paper from him. She flips it over to the back, as if to check. Real paper, wood-pulp and all. Funny how novel that still feels, "With all due respect, big guy, you don't exactly look like a 'flower-picking' type."

He looks more like hits as hard as a krogan type. She can appreciate the distinction.

[thecodexabides]

"We have time, and desperation or at least need." Why do someone else's petty chores? Out of boredom? A desire to better society? He had signed on to better humanity's chances of survival, and it involved precisely zero random chores for mortals.

He shrugs. "Very few of these 'quests' match my abilities." A distinct lack of wholesale slaughter being asked for. Throne, he'd do it for free at this point. "I was in a...situation where my sole focus was getting my abilities back and it seemed easy. Too much so." Being easy to kill had been highly unenjoyable.

[earthborn]

"You don't say..." She says, drily. Guy like this, he had to have a bunch of mods onboard; nobody got to be that tall naturally. His situation was probably no more complex than simply being here in the first place, "Look, I get it. I'm not exactly raring to go on taking out someone else's laundry for them, or whatever they have set up for greenhorns around here."

But what choice is there? Of course, there is a choice. She can say 'fuck it' to the lot of this, go sleep on a park bench, or raid Finnick's liqour closet, or whatever the hell else she wants to do. Nothing is making her stand here except a desire to feel like she's herself, once more.

"What about This one?" She says, after that moment of quiet perusal, "I'll admit, I'm not bringing a lot of fire to the fight right now, but I'm not afraid a few flying rats. You in?"

[thecodexabides]

There's also the weight of boredom. Gadriel is used to deploying at least once a day into a warzone, when not in Warp transit. He could only pray so much, by himself.

"At least you understood the concept of commerce. That was more than I did." Because everything he needed? Just showed up. Extra weaponry? Jump packs? Food? He had to worry about none of it back home. Simply killing as many of the enemy as he could before the Emperor called him home.

"Things are distressingly not difficult to kill here." Almost...boring. "I could lend you a weapon, at least." She might struggle with his sword, but he did have a combat knife.

[earthborn]

"Heh. I'll take easy, once in a while."

'Distressingly not difficult to kill' was it? She could relate to that. But then, it could all change at a moment's notice. Shepard's still contemplating the notion of fickle fate and how damned Krogan this guy really was sounding when— he offers her a weapon.

"Thanks," She looks up at him in surprise, and real pleasure, "You don't have to sweet-talk me, I was ready to get by with my fists. But thanks. I'm Jane Shepard. You?"

tavern;

[likeiron]

Nina did not make a habit of visiting the newbies when they showed up at the tavern. If they were anything like she had been when she arrived, the chances were high they'd just start a fight. But maybe she was in a good mood today — felt the desire to be helpful in a way that wasn't just offering herself as a quest buddy or sparring partner.

She settled beside Shepard just as a flame shot out of her mouth. "You normally do that, or are the drinks fucking with you?"

[earthborn]

Nina bellies up to the bar at a convenient-enough moment. Shepard watches her a moment, looks back at the barkeep, who provides no clues. Alright, good-looking redhead in a bar; with this much, she can cope.

"Sorry, no. This is new," She says, setting her glass down, bottom-up to illustrate the volume. All the tension is gone out of her, alcohol and whatever-the-hell-else doing its work, "But let me get a few more of these down, and maybe we'll see what happens."

Just because Shepard knows what it's like to be that woman, it doesn't follow that she's immune to the charms. But then, she has had a few, today.

"What's your name? I'm Jane. Most people call me Shepard, though."

[likeiron]

"Drinks here tend to do that, for whatever reason." She couldn't fathom why tormenting newbies with weird magic drinks was the thing to do to break the ice, but here they were.

She quirked a brow. Oh, Shepard, how many did you have?

"Nina Ironfist, the Ogreslayer. Nina is fine." She offered a hand to shake. "You good, Shepard?"

[earthborn]

Her first response is a laugh, an unwieldy, half-surprised sound, strangled in her throat. Is she good? No. No of course not. What a question to ask! Who the hell could be good, under under these circumstances.

"Sure," Shepard says, shaking her head as she smiles for the absurdity of it all, "Nice to meet you, Nina."

And you know, it actually is nice. Nina is the first person she's met in years that Shepard knows for absolute certain, she won't be asked to kill. Whether or not that makes them friends, she doesn't know, but with a bellyfull of wine and whiskey, it's feeling pretty close.

"Thanks for the warning," that's another joke; Shepard's had enough by now that she knows the dangers, and has resolved not to care, "But I'm fine. How about you tell me about the Ogreslayer part, and I'll buy you a drink."

It's a good thing the drinks are free here, because she has absolutely no money.

[likeiron]

Listen. Whether she was good as a whole, Nina could probably assume no from that laugh. Whether she was good as in good enough to function with the amount of alcohol in her system was more along what she was getting at. She wouldn't have a problem carrying the woman to the portal room and tossing her into whichever one she was meant to go in either way.

"Yeah. Just keep your head turned away from me if you're planning to spit anymore fire." Please. "And I don't need a drink. Not from here anyway."

She would take the chance to brag, though. "Valsheria, the world I'm from, has Ogres about two-hundred feet tall and tough as hell. The only weak spot they have are their eyes — so you can imagine how hard they are to actually take down. When one attacked the army I was a part of, I started climbing the thing. Dodged smacks from its hand and magic flying from the mages down below. Almost fell at least a dozen times, but made it up to its head and punched through its eyes, into its skul until it was dead. Rode it all the way down."

[earthborn]

"Suit yourself," Shepard drawls, amicable to the notion of drinking by herself, which she'd been plenty happy to do even before you showed up, thanks.

It's a good story though, she'll admit it, full of vivid imagery. She isn't exactly sure what an ogre looks like, except of course that they're big, and have one eye and— hands? Hard not to picture her own nearest comparison, the ugly, looming face of the Reaper Larvae like a hematite skull with glaring red optical sensors for eyes. Climbing something like that, while it tried to swat you off and kill you? Punching it to death, bare-handed?

"Impressive," She says, and means it, "I've fought a few big ones in my time, but not unarmed."

[likeiron]

Nina smirked, because she was a cocky little shit and it was nice when her accomplishments were genuinely praised. "Still nothing to sneeze at, I'm sure." She replied. "What sort of weapons do you use, and how big were these creatures?"

[earthborn]

"Well, Reapers come in a lot of sizes. The small ones, Husks, those are about the size of a human," She motions for another drink and the barkeep hesitates— she repeats it, more emphatically, and he pours with a shrug, "But they get bigger. The biggest one I've personally killed was uh..."

She has to squint, trying to first remember, then convert in her head. Shepard takes a drink, to cover the gap, and then grimaces and glares at the bartender, innocently polishing the other end of the bar. This is water. How is this water? Why is this water?

"...I guess about a hundred sixty meters is... Maybe four-hundred-eighty feet? Destroyer-class Reaper, it's like a big metal bug, I guess. Arrogant fucker too. Lay there dying, trying to lecture me about how pointless my whole side of the war was," She sips her water wrathfully, plotting vengeance, "Bastard."