FEBRUARY INTRO LOG( FEB 16TH & 17TH )
february 16 ↴ INTRO: NEW WANDERERS' ARRIVAL! Our batch of new Wanderers wake this morning, as all new Wanderers have before, on a plush bed with a mild but lingering sense of recent disorientation. Frigg greets them as per normal, though rather than outright escorting Wanderers to the front doors this time, she and Sigyn allow the Wanderers time and space to leave their bed, meet the pantheon, and even depart the palace at their own pace - but not without a warning. All Wanderers must choose a deity to tether to before dawn the next day, or else one of the gods will choose them. This is of grave importance, as that's precisely how long the magic giving them form is able to last untethered before the Mother's own magic overwhelms it.
(Though the gods are more than willing to allow Wanderers to leave, it's worth noting that many a castle servant - natives, born in this land - might see fit to intercede and insist on the choosing of a god before Wanderers step off the Gladsheim Palace grounds.)
Stepping outside, you're greeted by an almost bright and sunny day... Undermined thoroughly by a sharp, biting wind that permeates any small gap in your clothing. I bet the gods might give you a sweater, if you ask. It probably won't even look that absurd, depending on which one you ask. A trail of what seems like stringless balloons float at eye level from just outside the palace door, guiding Wanderers down the path to a notice board just outside the palace grounds. On this notice board, Wanderers find a brief handwritten guide to accessing the city map on their cuffs, specifically denoting the little colored house icons ( ⌂ ) to help Wanderers make their way to each god's housing.
Also on this board appear to be a variety of job listings, for those who want to get more involved in Asgard as a whole. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? There's more than enough time for that once you've chosen a god to tether to in the first place. february 17 ↴ GOD CURSE: CHARACTER-BUILDING WITH SKADI. The storm brewing within Skadi is hardly a secret. She was impatient during the gods' supposedly unanimous address, and in the days to follow, Sigyn (with all her desperately good intentions) tried to balm the irritation but only abraded the goddess further still. She attended the Wanderers' arrival purely by the letter of her duty and swept back out the doors as soon as that duty released her, and since then she's been holed up in her temple, her pointy-faced statues positioned just outside as sentinels meant to intimidate mortals away.
They dared to tell her that she does nothing. Nothing for the Wanderers, that is. Nothing to help them grow and self-actualize, as if these 'Wanderers' are so much more important than Asgard itself, which weakens by the day as her fellow gods fling their magic about to overprotect the Wanderers, or even to satisfy their whims. The consensus to draw back some of that wasteful protection would have pleased her, if she weren't so thoroughly fixated on the slight that preceded it.
They want her to help the Wanderers self-actualize? So be it. There's no better way, truly, than to confront and overcome the ways in which you're flawed.
So the morning after arrival day, many Wanderers wake up with a stinging, itching spot somewhere on their body. Maybe their arm, maybe their back, maybe their throat. In that spot, as it turns out, is a set of words in a deep ruddy brown (almost like old blood) under their skin as if tattooed in place. But these aren't just any words - they prey directly into the Wanderer's fears, their regrets, their insecurities, and their mistakes. They're facing down some of the worst things they've ever thought or feared about themselves.
The other gods, of course, are eager and willing to try to relieve the poor Wanderers of these cursed marks... but they find that it's not quite so easy. Wanderers who seek a god's removal of the words find that not only do the words remain, but a new set appears: Flees the truth.
But that's fine = For most Wanderers, these words disappear on their own in a day or two. A handful of unlucky souls find that their marks linger indefinitely, or seem to disappear but return at truly inopportune occasions down the line.
MOD NOTES This is the February intro log and Skadi's curse, our mini-event for this month! Skadi's curse is is entirely opt-in - not all Wanderers are affected - and is detailed more fully in the 'This Month's Events' section of the February Bulletin, and you're welcome to direct any follow-up questions to the Bulletin's mod questions top-level. You've also likely noticed that god jobs are now live! The listings themselves can be found here (same link as within the 'arrival' prompt), with a brief FAQ featured over here. |
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asgardchrysalis2020-02-16 10:08 pm
i.
Röskr Önd is not a large place, after all, and seated as they are John has unfortunately found himself seated facing the other man, with only an empty table's space between them. Moreover, he is quite an interesting person to look at, as rude a thought as that may be, especially at such a time as this.
"Ah," John says awkwardly, not meaning to interrupt the other man's meal and yet. Unable to help himself. "Forgive me for saying so but. You may want to pace yourself, my friend. The food here can be quite rich..."
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"'S free." He opens a hand to gesture at the tables surrounding them, as if to imply that taking advantage of this should be obvious. It is to him, but then, he's not used to food being...free.
It feels like a trick, and he wants to get as much mileage as he can out of this before someone catches on.
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"Indeed, it is," John replies. "There is no system of currency here in Asgard. Which I suppose is saving us from a great deal of headaches, all things considered."
So the fellow can slow down, if it pleases him. John's certainly not going to fight him for the food off of his plate, at any rate.
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So, you know, he's going to hoard this as much as he can. That's just his instinct.
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"Perhaps so," he replies, turning back to the other man. "But whose system would we use, were we to adopt something? There are many different people here, from many different backgrounds. I have no doubt that there are many different opinions on the matter and without introducing a whole new infrastructure of governance on such matters..."
He offers another shrug. "We are perhaps better off without it, in the end."
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Basically, he's in agreement.
"Don't need that shit." Systems of trade are good enough anyway, right? Hence his confusion here. Nobody's even monitoring this shit. What's to stop someone from seizing all of it?
Maybe there's a failsafe. Got no clue.
"Not gonna complain," he adds, now contemplating how much of this shit he could get away with wrapping up and packing away on his person. It's instinct, pure and simple. When food's available to you, you grab as much as you can, you eat regardless of whether you're hungry or not, and you hold onto whatever's left.
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He does not mean to interrupt the other man's -- lunch? dinner? all of the above? -- but he does find him curious, and he hopes he can be forgiven as he speaks up to continue their conversation.
"You are new to the city, sir?" John asks, as politely as he can. Assuming that must be the case, given his current behavior.
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"Yeah." The angle of his head might imply something to the effect of well, what can you do? He's stuck here now. He isn't dead, though. Suppose that's something. Be easier if he was.
Had to watch everyone else die first, so maybe he's adjusting to having to be alone, a little bit. Not a great feeling.
"That obvious?" That's a bit more of a joke, almost, but the way he says it - deadpan and with no deviation in his expression whatsoever, might make it hard to gauge it as such.
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"Well," John replies, before flicking him a rather lopsided smile.
"I would offer you welcome but then I suppose that rather depends on your opinion of the matter. It is a strange situation to find oneself in, no matter which way you set eyes upon it."
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So, sure, he's happy to be welcomed here. He already misses the rest of his crew, but he did just get through watching them die.
Something he's studiously not thinking about right now. He's gotten good at compartmentalizing.
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He presses a hand to his chest.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord John Grey, and I have been here since the first wave of Wanderers began arriving here. If you do have any questions I will do my best to answer anything I can. Though if you would rather return to your dinner," he adds, with the twist of a wry smile, "then by all means. I will leave you to it."
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He's offering answers. That's certainly enough to provoke interest.
"I can eat and talk," says Jet. He shrugs, like it ain't no thing. And it isn't, really. He can multitask. It's not a problem. "Been here long?"
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"It's a difficult question to answer," John says, delicately, "because there is no set calendar system as yet to be agreed upon in the city. But counting by days, and if you were to generally put thirty days to a month..."
John shrugs. "I would say about eight months," he answers.
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"That's all?" Okay, Jet. Rude, but okay.