TEST DRIVE MEME

[fairyfoes]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Considering apping to EACHDRAIDH? Why not give the setting a test run here! OPTIONAL SCENARIOS 01. ARRIVING IN THE DRABWURLD. The grand feast is held in the Eaglais clearing. The food is good, the music is sweet, and the evening is lit by gentle fairy lights. All Shardbearers of all courts are summoned here under a universal truce for the evening. Nature itself has shaped itself into tables, chairs, and long couches so that the new guests can rest. When they’re ready to call it a night, Shardbearers are brought to their court strongholds in a one-way trip by fairies and imps. 02. NETWORK Take advantage of your Locket! The network can be accessed by any Shardbearer with a locket or shardless characters with enchanted devices, and is a quick way to meet new people and discuss the state of the world. 03. WILDCARD. Your own scenario! Explore the Drabwurld! There are lots of places to go, and plenty of trouble to get into in them!

Comments

Lancelot » King Arthur

[ignobly]

I. Gambling
( One would never know that he's on his fourth tankard of ale at the rate he's fleecing the unsuspecting shardbearers at his table. Sure, he sees double—no, triple images of his cards, but that only makes him grin like a fool and believe he can see them better. And despite how dubious it may seem, it actually works! There are several piles of silver and copper coins before him, and even a small, haphazard stack of gold ones.

He's rocking it! And with a hearty sip of his brew, he lays down his cards with a triumphant smirk. )

Not a bad start to the night.

II. Feasting
( All right, he'll admit: he has partaken most heartily of the alcohol supplied for the occasion. But he draws the line there, damnit. Lancelot looks on from his rather (un)comfortable seat at the base of a nearby tree and scoffs at the simpletons who so blindly trust the hospitality of an unknown quantity. He watches, glowering and judgemental while others feast and he remains hungry, his stomach growling loudly to announce that fact blithely to all.

If this were Arthur's table, he wouldn't have to doubt. But it isn't, and he does, because doubting is what he does best and scepticism is his poison of choice. )

Begone. ( He waves away an imp which has taken particular amusement in his brooding, and come over with a tray of what appears to be venison stew and some kind of fish (maybe?). The imp isn't budging, and his expression grows thunderous. ) Begone.

( The damnable creature titters at him, and whistles sharply. Thereafter, no less than five more imps emerge as if from nowhere with further trays of food... which they proceed to throw at him. Lancelot jumps to his feet with a growl, drawing one of his blades with a sharp tang of steep on leather. If they want a row, he's just drunk and grumpy enough to give them one.

Or, in the most likely case, a bout of hearty, free entertainment. )

III. Wildcard (Hit me up with whatever you like! Or PM me with ideas and I'll set up a new prompt.)

feasting

[unnatural_animal]

I wouldn't try that if I were you. [Richard, helpful as ever, is watching from a safe distance with a faintly smug expression. His own initial feast and its accompanying confusion are long gone. By now he is an old hand (or something near enough) and can spend his time feeling superior rather than lost.]

You won't win. They're quicker than you. And less wine-soaked.

[ignobly]

( In his mind, such smugness smacks of Rome, despite the fact that it's an expression he himself has worn many times. What he despises is being on the receiving end of it, as he remembers the cold, arrogant way that Roman officer had looked when he'd collected him that day on the steppe. Had there been a mist clinging to the ground that day? With a mind addled by the influence of ale, he can't quite recall. )

Last I looked, I hadn't asked the help for advice. ( Lancelot is being deliberately difficult, and he revels in it. His opinion shifts back to the imps, as he reaches back and draws his second blade. Who says he plans on killing the buggers, anyway? There's still pieces of Saxon clinging to his gear, he'll warrant.

He thinks, until a piece of venison lands squarely upon his cheek. That's it. The imps have declared war, and Lancelot twists his blades about in his hands skilfully, moving forward to strike—only to be struck from behind by something mushy and hot. He growls, as his ire mounts. )

What are they?

[unnatural_animal]

Devils in miniature. [Richard could possibly be more helpful. He isn't. He could possibly explain a bit better. Why bother? The other man will learn soon enough the place's ways and besides, he's always been a fan of learning on your feet. There's no teacher like experience.

He watches as another well-aimed missile flies at the other man from another direction. Serves him right. Two swords does seem a little excessive.]

Believe it or not they used to be worse. When I arrived it was because they'd somehow managed to drag me here.

oh geez. here. have the most nonthreatening saxon ever?

[vikingbabysitter]

[Athelstan has also been abstaining from food during the evening's festivities. However, unlike this man, he has somehow managed to do it without earning the ill-will of any of the imps roaming the feast. Likely by simply doing his best to avoid them and confrontation of any sort at all costs. But all luck, no matter how slight, must end and Athelstan's does when he suddenly finds himself caught in the crossfire as the imps begin their assault.

Something (a turnip, his brain notes with rather exacting inanity) just barely misses hitting him in the eye and he quickly ducks behind the tree that the other man had recently been sitting against.]

What did you do to anger them so?

feasting

[dayknight]

[Ah, geez...he can understand being wary on their first day, but drawing a weapon during the feast really isn't proper at all. While he isn't acting in any kind of official capacity, he does decide to try and stop anything from escalating any further. Gawain steps over and lays a hand to the flat of Lancelot's blade, gently guiding it away from the imps direction - or trying to.]

Please pay them no mind, sir. Such a reaction is exactly what they're goading you for.

[Advice he'd soon forget if he was in Lancelot's position, honestly, but noone has to know that.]