TEST DRIVE MEME #1

[abraxasmods]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Welcome to the very first test drive meme for Abraxas! This meme is run a little bit differently than most in that you'll be asked to choose one of the two different arrival scenarios below for your character to take. If you have any questions about this mechanic or anything else related to the TDM, please take a look at the questions below or ask one of your own here. For general game questions please still use the FAQ.

Arrival

You awaken suspended in the abyss, silent darkness stretching out in all directions. If you try to yell, you'll find that the sound doesn't carry. If you try to move, you'll find it's impossible to tell whether or not you're actually getting anywhere. If you reach for an item you were carrying last time you remember being awake, your hand will only touch bare skin.

You're naked and floating helplessly through the void, and what little air you have in your lungs is running out.

There's a pinprick of light that almost looks like a faraway star but as it grows it becomes clear that it's actually quite close. Through the opening you can see a bright room, but it's hard to make out any individual objects, as if you're looking from beneath rippling water.

A hand plunges through and you realize water is just what it is. Whether you take hold of the hand or not it will grab you and yank you up through the surface, lifting you out until you're sprawled on solid ground. Once you catch your breath, you can get a better look at the surroundings: tall trees and even taller stone pillars surround the platform you're laying on. Behind you is an ornate fountain, the base of which is so deep and so dark you might be compelled to scramble away from it lest it suck you back in to that endless abyss. Ahead of you are the walls of a large castle with several tall towers reaching up towards the sky.

If you had any powers, they feel unusually weak. Attempts to use magic or enhanced strength or powers of any sort fizzle out without any effect, but they don't feel completely gone, either.

Set into an indent on a marble slab behind the fountain is a card baring the image of one of the arcana.

An apprentice mage - the one whose hand lifted you out of the fountain - brushes the water off on their robes and runs back to join a group of three others, who all stare intently at a mage with highly decorated robes and a large, heavy book. He peers up at you for a moment and starts flipping through the book.

"I beg your pardon," he says, so absorbed in the pages of the book that he doesn't bother to look up, "I am Ambrose Rhett, the High Mage of the Kingdom of Thorne. One of my apprentices will explain everything in a moment, but please refrain from yelling and thrashing about until then. You're quite alright, and screaming gives me a hell of a headache."

Regardless of your response, he keeps flipping through the heavy tome, until he stops on one specific page, stares at it for a moment, and then exclaims:

"Aha!"

Scenario One: Welcome to Thorne

Ambrose's expression brightens, eyes twinkling with delight. He waves one of the apprentices over with a fine silk tunic, pants, and some basic sandals and with a wave of his hand they reshape to fit you perfectly.

"Success! It's a success!" he exclaims, slamming the book shut and scurrying towards you.

Now that he's not hunching over the book, he doesn't seem quite so stuffy and inapproachable. The apprentices all seem quite relieved at his jovial outburst, and the one that handed you the tunic stops to take the tarot card down from the marble slab. If you show any curiosity about the card, they'll let you take a longer look, but won't let you touch it.

"Please, come with me, you're an honored guest here," he says, motioning for you to follow him towards the castle, "As promised, my pupils will explain your current situation. And, ah - if you had any magic of your own, or other special abilities you can't access right now, fear not, they'll return within the week. The summoning takes a lot out of you."

One of the apprentices steps forward and rattles on and on about the castle, Thorne itself, the names of a bunch of royals and nobles, and of course, your reason for being here. The Kingdom and the world itself is in great peril, and tales of your exploits have reached far and wide across universes. If asked about these exploits, the apprentice will simply smile and shrug. The High Mage was happy to see you and that's good enough.

Once inside the castle you're taken to the North Wing, which has been set up as living quarters for you and your fellow newcomers. There are four people to a room, but each generously-sized bed has opaque curtains that can be drawn around it. You can meet your roommates here and discuss your shared situation (everyone appears to have arrived within the last few days), or you can wander around and meet the others.

There's also a dining hall stocked with all sorts of fancy food to meet every possible dietary need, and a library filled with epic tales and legends and the history of Thorne. Given that this is the Thorne library, it may be a biased account that makes the Kingdom look a fair bit better than the rest of the world sees them. Last but not least, there's a study hall where a few junior mages (younger and less experienced than the apprentices from earlier) might be willing to teach you some simple elemental magic. Think holding a small flame in the palm of your hand, or blowing a door shut with a gust of wind.

You may also notice that your sign is embroidered on your tunic: the same image you saw on the card from before with the name of the sign itself beneath it. If you ask the castle residents, they'll tell you a little bit about your sign (and will mostly stick to the positives, although some might point out the negatives).

Last (and, if you ask anyone else in the castle, least) there is a worn stone staircase leading underground to the dungeon. You can go there, if you wish, but all powers are restricted in the dungeons and spending too much time with the prisoners will lead to some suspicion being cast upon you. If you ask anyone why the prisoners are being held there, you'll be told that they pose a great threat to the Kingdom (and, by extension, the entire world).

Scenario Two: Imprisoned

The High Mage scowls, grinding his teeth as he slams the book shut. "Another failure!" he barks at the apprentices, "You lot wouldn't know your ass from a hole in the ground, would you?"

All four of them lower their heads, and two of them mumble an apology that Ambrose either doesn't hear or refuses to acknowledge. "Well, don't just stand there," he says, waving a hand in the air, "We've put all this effort into getting this wretched creature, we may as well put it to good use."

One of the apprentices drops a baggy, rough-feeling tunic, a pair of pants, and some worn sandals in your lap and glares down at you until you put them on (if you refuse, they'll tell you they can kick you back down that well if you don't want to cooperate). They're glaring at the High Mage as much as they're glaring at you (when they're sure he isn't looking, anyway). You might catch one of them long enough to ask them why they're so upset with you, but all they'll say is that the High Mage knows something they don't, and he's awfully upset about it.

Once you're fully clothed, another apprentice clamps some heavy iron shackles around your wrists and leads you on. The High Mage is far ahead of you already, muttering some long string of Thornean curses before he stands up straight and pauses, spinning to face you.

"One more thing," he says, holding one hand in the air and chanting something under his breath, "Can't have you getting too troublesome."

If you had powers, the slight connection you still had to them slips away completely and you're left with nothing as the four apprentices drag you towards the castle. They may answer a few of your questions (with some insults and curses peppered in), but they won't tell you anything important.

Once you arrive at the castle you're brought to the dungeons and thrown into a locked cell. There are four people to a cell, and two sets of bunk beds with a thin and lumpy straw mattress. If you're over six feet tall, these beds are going to be awfully uncomfortable. You might as well meet your roommates. Once per day you're dragged out to an enclosed courtyard for one hour of recreation (with some crude weights, benches, and balls lying around but not much else), where you can meet the rest of the prisoners, but you can also talk to your immediate neighbors in the cells on either side and across the hallway. Just don't yell too much or the guards will snap at you to be quiet.

Everyone in the dungeon is fed one meal a day, and for a prison meal it's decent: a bit of meat, a bun, and a salad. It would seem that the Thornean chefs take too much pride in their craft to send bad food to the dungeons. The meals are all served in equal portions, though, so the smaller prisoners may be overfed and the larger ones may be getting hungry. Feel free to fight for food or share with your cellmates.

Crudely embroidered on the back of every prison tunic is the same image that was on your card and the name of the sign beneath it. A guard may explain a bit about the sign, and tell you some negative stereotypes they hold about yours.

You may be blessed with a visit from one of the more welcomed newcomers, and they may sneak you some extra food or a small book to read or they may share some of the information they've gathered. However, rumors travel fast and some people believe the honored guests in the castle above are somehow responsible for the lot of the prisoners below. And although you may hope for kindness, there's nothing stopping them from being cruel to you if they wish. The guards will certainly turn a blind eye if one of them wishes to take out their frustrations on you.

---

Questions

How do I choose a scenario for my character?
Pick whichever situation appeals to you most. Whether your character is honored or imprisoned has nothing to do with their personal morality, or how highly they regard themselves and their own accomplishments. Anyone can be put into either situation.

Can I try out both scenarios?
You can! But please keep in mind that only the one you eventually choose can be game canon, if you decide to keep any of your TDM threads.

What happens if my character refuses to comply with Ambrose?
Prisoners will be dragged against their will. Honored guests will be forgiven for their moment of panic or anger if they have one, and Ambrose and the apprentice mages will try to calm them and persuade them further. If they put up too much of a fight and/or start actively attacking anyone, Ambrose will warn them once that he's willing to put them back in the well where they came from (see below), and if they continue to fight he will make good on that promise.

My character intends on causing a lot of trouble (destroying parts of the castle, murdering the castle staff, etc.), what would happen to them?
Characters who make too much trouble for the mages and other staff would be thrown back in the well (which will mean drowning in the void, not returning home). Brawling with other PCs and causing minor damage is fine and will be greeted with a cranky attitude (if they are an honored guest) or a punishment like denial of food or temporary solitary confinement (if they are a prisoner), and there will be plenty of opportunity for destruction and murder later, but for now the Thorneans have no desire to keep huge liabilities around.

Ambrose will take it especially personally, as this experiment was his idea and too much trouble would risk the summoning spell being scrapped and potentially result in him being demoted. Rest assured it does not take much for him to throw someone back in the well at this point in time.

Is the power loss for the prisoners permanent?
No, although honored guests will regain their powers first due to the lack of interference from Ambrose, the prisoners will be able to regain theirs soon enough as well.

Can the prisoners talk about anything private, or will they be overheard at all times?
There are guards patrolling the dungeon, but they aren't always within earshot. Most of the attention is being focused on the new guests, so the prisoners will have some opportunities for privacy.

Can my character leave the castle?
For now they will be prevented from leaving the castle, even if they are an honored guest. A bit of a gilded cage, isn't it? They'll also find that any powers they regain cease to work outside of the castle walls (this is also a temporary effect) so flying outside is not an option.

Can my character eventually side against Thorne if I choose to make them an honored guest/can they side with Thorne if I choose to imprison them?
Yes, characters in Scenario 1 will be able to betray Thorne, and characters in Scenario 2 can work themselves into Thorne's good graces.

How much will my choice of scenario affect my character's plot later on?
This choice will have a major impact on gameplay throughout the first few months of the game, and potentially a bit beyond that depending on where our players guide the plot. This decision - and every other major decision you make in game! - will also be used to flavor some mod surprises that will be coming down the line.

Don't get too anxious about this choice, though; this is just one choice you'll get to make in a game that has a lot of them, and every character in both scenarios can work their way towards many, many individual goals and outcomes. You're not locking yourself out of anything in the future via the choice you made on the TDM. It will primarily impact the immediate future with the far-reaching effects being up to each player.

Are TDM threads mandatory for my application?
No, you may use other samples, but we encourage you to post to the TDM and get a feel for this game and its mechanics before you join. If you do not have a TDM thread you will still need to choose one of the two scenarios on your application.

What if I haven't settled on a sign yet?
You can ignore sign-related prompts if you're undecided (or try out different signs in different threads).

Can a put a character on the TDM if their canon is less than 30 days old?
Yes. For this app round, anything that's at least 30 days old when the game opens on June 12th can be applied from.

Do the apprentice mages have names?
Their names are Jeffrey, Grigory, Noelle, and Jolene.

---

return to main navigation

Comments

i could not resist!

[nexubait]

[ Imperial - he could, of course, not have chosen a more slanderous word, and the glint that answers in her eyes is a jabbing blade. Something he cannot feel, unfortunately, and perhaps does not even see, for how his eyes fall without further ado to the book in his lap. A tome on the arcana they all now bear, willingly or not, if a glance serves her correctly. Absent, and engaged now in the leisurely pastime of reading; she has not had even a passing introduction with this man, and yet his air of indifference rankles her. ]

Perhaps you wear the wrong sign. [ Death was not attended by assistants. This is not an argument she is granted the time to make, however, as she crosses the room, bristling also at the fact that he has taken for himself her own favored spot beside the window. His commentary interrupts her progress, stills her where she stands, and she skirts a glance at his face before she can comport herself with any detachment, which he seems to wear so easily. It is, in fact, so casual and natural a question that she is all the more gutted by it, and for a barren tundra of a moment, she cannot parse together the two halves of what he has said. It feels like a pointed accusation, and jarringly intimate for how she could not have expected it.

She restores herself as well as she can, giving her attention to the window and the view outside that is, in her distraction, nothing more than a watercolor blur, fingers skimming over the sill. ]

You have no couth, either, it would seem. I suppose neither children nor animals take kindly to a man who commands so little grace. Has your book given you any helpful insights to yourself, or will that breakthrough be delayed, too?

[brittlest]

A practiced aversion from both, I'm happy to say. Though I'd lately been considering a bird. I don't suppose our captors will allow us to keep pets, do you think?

[He nearly drawls it, a dry and untroubled thing while paging further into the book. That's not really what she'd asked though, is it?]

The book—or the magicians who identified my spirit [sarcasm]—has been very generous with its assessment. 'Patient and forward thinking.' My master would be so proud.

[Mother, he thinks after he's said it. Mother would have been a better word to use there. Rather than linger over that though—he tips his temple and lifts his dark eyes. He studies her where she stands at the window.]

You didn't answer my question.

[nexubait]

A vulture? That would seem a fitting sigil. [ A scavenger, a purveyor of death and decay? If only his own mark was so simple in its implications, and if only he had a more menacing cast to him. As things stand - or sit, as it were - he looks more like the sort to have an established camaraderie with a carrier pigeon or a talking raven, the kind to recite abysmal lines of poetry at family gatherings.

She is possessed by the brief urge to knock the book from his lap, an impulse carefully resisted, flitting dark eyes once more over his face. There is, unlike the pages open before him, nothing there to read. She is more annoyed by that than she cares to be.

'Master,' though - that is a discordant note, and she narrows her eyes as she weighs the word for honesty. A title he has commandeered for some ulterior purpose? Or does he know, in fact, what it is to be enslaved? He hardly looks the part, and his unruffled, arrogant air does not befit a man indentured. ]

Your master? You have escaped one captivity only to be taken into another? [ His eyes are dark, as dark as her own, and she does not break from them as he impresses upon her again a question he had no right to ask. ]

Quite intentionally. You have no fondness for innocent creatures, but that book would have me believe yours is a spirit of devotion? [ She has opened a few of those relics: forward-thinking and resilient, he supposedly is. She gives him another measuring look. ] I think they were chosen at random, as all designs in the universe seem to be.

[brittlest]

[Something in there seems to have amused him, some hint of bleak humor glinting in his dark eye and a trace of a lopsided smile forming at the corner of his mouth.]

Oh? For my part, I've seen very little randomness and quite a lot of intent. Even wolves in the dark follow their appetites, Empress.

[But if that's how she really feels—with an idle flick of the wrist, the thin book folds closed across his thigh. He has more pressing concerns than symbols stitched onto a silk tunic, and so long as they're avoiding direct questions:]

In any case, I've a favor to ask of you.

[nexubait]

[ Something in her assessment has earned a smile, but it seems more wry than joyful. She does not take it to be endearing, and so remains ruffled herself, debating whether or not she should step out of this impromptu conversation, or discover what lies at its bottom. Answers? Irritation? The latter, probably, as she is not even certain what question she should be asking. Several days of wondering have brought her no closer. ]

You've seen? How can you see what stars and creators intend?

[ The selfish machinations of men, yes, she too has played witness to that travesty times beyond counting. But this - being summoned here, to this place, without suitable explanation - that seems beyond the work of mere men.

She drops her gaze again as the book closes, unconvinced that he has taken anything at all from it, or if the book itself can be trusted to guide them. He has, like a wolf, smoothly evaded her own question, and she reaches to take the thin tome from his lap, breathing a light laugh through her nose. ]

Is this about some sinister appetite of yours, Death?

[brittlest]

[My, how he sharpens when she reaches out. For a split second, his offhand moves as if to fetch up the cane hooked on the chair's arm—and then instead he takes up and book, thrusting it out to her before she can pass nearer than the very edge of an arm's length.

His face retains that shade of contemptuous good humor however. Whatever trouble afflicts the impulse of his limbs apparently isn't felt so deeply so as to disturb much else about him.]

Oh very sinister indeed. You see I've had nothing but water and tonics to drink since surfacing, and would trade my eye for a decent pot of tea. Maybe even a halfway decent one.

[nexubait]

[ In a blink, he goes from repose to knife's edge. The brisk movement of his hand draws her eye, instinct preparing her for the absurd threat of a weapon drawn. No one has arrived here armed. She has encountered no one in possession of a blade to draw. But he did not arrive with the others, and he is so quick to bar her approach that a suspicion of violence hardly seems out of place.

By his own hand does he offer the book forward, and she takes it with a glint of her own eyes, from his hand to his face, not yet withdrawing from where she has stepped. By the look on his face, she would be tempted to believe he thinks little of anything that is transpiring. The reaction of his body is more telling, unattached as it seems to be to the expression presented for her benefit. ]

You want me to steal a pot of tea for you? [ A rather harmless favor, considering all the treacheries that many favors entail, and she flips through the book's tidy pages as she considers. ] I have no use for your eye. How else might you be willing to pay?

[brittlest]

Really? I've been told they're both rather pretty. But fair enough; one piece in a set usually does hold less value.

[She might not withdraw, but he certainly does the very moment the book has been passed into her custody. Then the stick does come up, drawing the cane across the chair arm and into his lap. There is something to the look of it - the filigree or the style of the handle or its coloration - that is more or less in keeping with the style of the castle. Perhaps it's been lent to him. He does nothing further with it. It merely rests there across his knees with his hand easy at its grip. Defensive, maybe?]

Why don't you tell me what you want and I'll see whether it's something I can afford?

[nexubait]

[ If she'd been of a mind to begin amassing small pieces of wealth, she might reconsider that dismissal of his eye. It would be a signal of sorts to anyone who noticed his new wound, wouldn't it? Especially if she was the one polishing the missing eye? Not a perspective for mentioning in polite company, if he qualifies as such. It feels prudent to err on the side of caution.

If she demanded both his eyes, he might be rendered somewhat less useful to her, so she does not make the jest. Her attention is whisked, anyway, to the stick he had seemed to reach for a moment before, and does reach for in earnest now. It is placed across his lap, a barrier, if she is to judge by the demeanor with which he keeps it, and she has too practiced an eye, too keen an appreciation for art, not to recognize how it seems to belong to the castle. This makes setting her price a bit easier. ]

I don't think much is out of your budget. By the time we've finished this pot of tea [ the sharing is implied, and nonnegotiable ] you will have told me who your master is, and why you were late arriving. [ And, after another glance at his tunic - ] You will also agree to trade tunics with me if I so require.

[ Will such a simple deception go unnoticed? She doubts it, but will not waste the opportunity. Death might prove a handy sign to wear. ]

[brittlest]

[It has been fifteen years since anyone took him for a person with capital to spend, wealth enough in anything to think little of sacrifice. Is it gratifying to be seen correctly?

No, he decides. Not by some woman who knows next to nothing, and not in this place which knows significantly less.

Ralston gives her a shark's smile.]

I've always fancied being mistaken for royalty.

[Deal.]

[nexubait]

[ Sharks, wild beasts, politicians - they all share this same smile. She knows better than to trust it, but what collateral is there? What if it doesn't even ultimately matter - what if there is no tea?

Royalty does not quite seem the correct title for him, either, but she does not object. Allowing a man to think of himself with esteem he has not earned can be as useful as cold metal. ]

A steep price to pay, even for royalty, for tea you should be able to walk out and get yourself.

[brittlest]

And yet.

[His expansive, one handed gesture indicates the chair and him in it rather neatly. If he was in the mood—or maybe simply if he had the capacity—for walking, surely he wouldn't be asking a stranger to do the thing for him.]

[nexubait]

[ That... might go a fair way in explaining why he refuses to fetch the tea himself. A wondering glance falls over his legs, from his knees down to his feet, and then back up to his face. That she is startled keeps her silent for a moment longer, and then she carefully closes the book and sets it aside. ]

I expect you'll be wanting the tea now, rather than later? And what to go with it?

[brittlest]

[How good it is to know that weakness is repulsive in every place, is a distant thought which he doesn't permit himself to study long.]

Just the tea. [He hasn't the stomach for food just yet. Not that he has any intention of saying so aloud.] But yes, sooner would be preferable to later.

[nexubait]

[ Something with the shape and taste of an apology rises in her throat, but it doesn't quite make it fluently to her tongue. Silence lapses a second time, and she considers what precisely she would be apologizing for anyway, and then it is easier, if not less elegant, to leave.

There's little elegance required to find a pot of tea in a generously-stocked kitchen, either, and a small bowl of what she presumes to be berries, though she has never had them set before her in her own home - pebbled and red and, at least to the eye, sweet. Tea can't be sipped alongside nothing, even if that had been his preference.

When she returns, it is with the obvious success of having found a tray on which to cart the pot of tea, the berries and two cups. ]

You never told me your name before you asked for a favor.

[brittlest]

[When she returns, the scene in the room is so unchanged that it's as if she's been just seconds rather than minutes. The unremarkable man is yet in her favorite chair near the window, and the crane remains poised across his knees.

He's had a long series of days. What more a few minutes?

So he doesn't straighten at all from where he's slouched down in the chair, but he's certainly brisk enough about turning his attention from the window back to her. With a lazy turn of the cane in his hand and a rather deft flick of the wrist, he uses its handle to hook the leg of the little table beneath the window and drag it closer. The spindly legs of the thing squeal only a little in protest as it's dredged closer.]

You didn't ask for it.

[He raps the little table with the head of the cane twice, clack-clack. Set the tray there.]

[nexubait]

[ No, she hadn't asked for it, and he hadn't asked for hers, and maybe that's the way it should stay. She has a number of names on retainer that she could select from if she was inclined to offer a false one, although within the walls of this castle, under the watch of the mages responsible for bringing them here, she can't be certain it will be a secret long-kept. Another flick of deception there may be little point to.

He hasn't moved, has apparently not shifted an inch since she took her leave, but the cane in his lap turns agile enough. Its hook snares the leg of the table catching light beneath the window, and she doesn't move from where she stands, only tracking dark eyes after the table's progress. Closer, close enough to serve between two people, and it grates only briefly against the floor. ]

Death it is, then. Until we switch.

[ Then she could be Death and him the Empress. While his wordless directive is somewhat less courteous than she is accustomed to, she sets the tray down without remark. Then, drawing up a second chair, decidedly less cherished than the one he himself has taken, she drops neatly to sit, reaching to dole out steaming tea into each cup. ]

That cane didn't originally belong to you, or else you originally belonged to this castle.

[brittlest]

How perceptive of you, Empress, [is said so blithely that is hardly counts as a compliment. The cane, with its work done and her seated safely beyond reach, is returned to its original position of hanging off the chair arm by its handle.]

It is indeed borrowed. The High Mage evidently didn't see the point in bringing my usual stick along. More's the pity. It and I had something of an understanding.

[Maybe it's a joke. Maybe it isn't; maybe where he comes from, objects are all things with sympathy. He says so with such a disagreeable breed of humor that it's difficult to tell what is genuine and what isn't. Yet for all his bared teeth, he is patient with her management of the tray and the cups and the pouring of the tea into them.]

I don't travel well. Which is evidently a problem the mages of Thorne are unused to accounting for when they pull people from their Well, hence my delay. I've been squandering my debut in the care of their healers. Do you think you could tell if I were lying to you right now?

[He smiles at her, all veneered with grace, and helps himself to the nearer of the two cups.]

[nexubait]

[ It isn't anything that someone with their eyes open wouldn't notice, but his own observation is not noted with any genuine praise, and she is more concerned, at any rate, with how the cane seems to serve as a blockade. When she takes her own seat, it is removed from his lap. Those few moments when she'd dared too near, even with no ill intent, this unremarkable man had gone rigid with distaste. Not overtly - he has too firm a grip on the reins of his demeanor to reveal so much - but it is there nonetheless, in his handling of the cane, and with that aloof humor that carries his words. ]

Perhaps you and this stick will achieve some measure of affection in your arranged union. [ She gives it another glance, gently returning the pot to the tray. ] Endowed with some magic, maybe? Or else it will serve as a bludgeon, for how you seem to fear anyone approaching.

[ He can't be blamed for that. It is too early to know who to trust, if any of the mages can be trusted at all. A cage is still a cage, no matter how enticing its comforts.

And a lie may well still be a lie, no matter how eloquently and evenly it is spoken, and from his smile her gaze lifts to the ceiling, veering as close to a roll of the eyes as ingrained courtesy will allow. ]

No more than you could tell whether or not I'd poisoned the tea, I suppose. What ails you? Aside from the imminent poison, I mean.

[brittlest]

None of your business and not part of our bargain, I'm afraid, [he says smoothly, lifting the cup to smell its contents. Not for poison - Gods, wouldn't that be novel? -, but because he's curious whether there will be anything familiar to the smell or taste. How much variety can there be in tea leaves, really?

He drinks, and decides after that the cup might benefit from something sweet to leaven it with but can't be bothered to fuss further about it. It's a fine education for the future. As for the stick—

Well, that's not up for discussion either. And what does it matter if she's landed near to the truth? The thing isn't here, and so the qualities which had made it most convenient to him are irrelevant. The borrowed cane works well enough as a ward regardless.]

What was the other thing I agreed to tell you? I've forgotten.

[No he hasn't.]

[nexubait]

[ So, easing additional tidbits out of him will not be effortless. He is clutching tight to the terms they have already agreed upon, evidently, and she can admire this stalwart edge. It may prove advantageous to have in a place like this; cracks in the walls of a man's composure were so easily made to shatter.

He seems duly unimpressed by the tea, though not outright repulsed. The sip she takes from her own cup is met with similar indifference, though the fact that it does call for the chime of something sweet sees her reaching for the bowl of berries she'd found. A curious nibble determines the fruit to be sweet indeed, and she sits back so she can take in the whole tableau before her.

He offers no further elucidation on the nature of the absent stick, and it is becoming apparent that he is not in the habit of offering more than will be demanded. She takes another berry, turning it between her fingers to briefly marvel at its texture. ]

I would say this failure to completely remember your end of the bargain has earned me another question. Tell me of your master.

[brittlest]

You might say that.

[From the sound of things, it's not a point upon which they agree.

Taking another sip from his cup, he eventually recalls it and its matching saucer to rest on his knee rather than on the table. It's easier to wrap both hands around it there. The warmth leeches through the porcelain and into the work worn pads of his fingers, and if there is some ache in his joints he can pretend that it soothes them. Why not? The whole place is drenched in the tang of the arcane; maybe every tea in Thorne acts as a restorative.

(It's a pleasant thought in any case.)]

My master was the Dame Commander, Her Most Honorable Lady Evadne Chilcott of the Order of the Lamb. [From his slouched post in the chair, the unremarkable man raises both dark eyebrows. They don't quite waggle, but it's a near thing.] Quite the mouthful, don't you agree?

[nexubait]

[ Another crossroads of opinion, and not likely to be the last. Her curious gaze attends the bearing of cup and saucer atop his knee, and the curling of both hands around the steaming drink. Does he find it soothing? If there is anything mollifying about the aroma or the taste or the simple fact that his wish has been granted, it does not readily show on his face.

Which healing effects this tea might have, if any, she cannot begin to imagine, but given the ephemeral sheen of the castle, nothing is to be discounted. She cannot help but feel that is has a sort of veneer clinging to it, that is - don't all erudite, quiet places? ]

It strikes me as the styling of a master, to be certain. [ Dame, Lady - a master proud of her titles, it would seem, with a name whose sounds are neither familiar nor entirely foreign. This woman could reside anywhere. ] Order of the Lamb? That would seem to make you a sheep, which surprises me.

[ Then again - ] Is that why you are so wary of wolves? [ She lifts her own brow, studying his face. ]

[brittlest]

Fancy yourself a witty little thing, don't you?

[There is nothing more dreadful in the whole world than a wit, he thinks. Ordinarily, it's the sort of company he'd dispense with at the first opportunity. Yes, thank you for your service now there is the door. But he's hardly spoiled for choice, and he is tired, and he has been staring at the same impeccably plastered ceiling for rather a long time and can hardly afford to throw away an opportunity to learn something now can he?]

The Order of the Lamb is a rank of recognition from the northern crown. Above the Reed,and below Saint Margaret. Though I don't expect you to understand that any more than anything else I've said. Further— [he lifts the cup and before drinking from it, affords her a curdled smile.] —the Dame Commander has rescinded her claim to me, thank the gods. Sheeps clothing itches powerfully.

[He drinks from the cup. Then, lest she think it her turn to ask more questions:]

What have you learned of this place?

[nexubait]

Only a man who feels his own wit challenged would feel the need to say so.

[ Unremarkable, that's what she'd decided he was. Clever, certainly, with a thinly-veiled arrogance and a hawk's eye. A higher sense of himself than could ever be deserved, surely, and a detachment that she does not believe runs bone-deep. The sort that speaks of fear.

The names he speaks do, in fact, mean nothing to her, and she can refer to no faintly-sketched map in her mind to try and make sense of what the titles mean, or to which 'north' they refer to. She studies his face for a moment longer and then returns her attention to the bowl of berries, selecting another and chasing it with a sip of tea. Regardless of where precisely he came from, the arrangement of the privileged and the enslaved could not be so different from what she knew.

And while he may think to preempt the next few questions that naturally rise to her tongue, she does not abandon them so easily. ]

Why has she rescinded her claim? I have never known a shepherd to willingly surrender any part of her flock. Were you a recalcitrant sheep, or only a disappointing one? [ An unremarkable one, as it were. But even sheep of ordinary stature and spirit were made to serve. ]