• OPEN •

[carmesi]

WHO: anyone and everyone in solvunn
WHAT: mingle for the summoned, particularly the new people
WHEN: a day or two after the new summoned arrive
WHERE: in aloy's homestead—crossing some wilderness but close to the primary settlement
WARNING: TBA

A. THE JOURNEY THERE

The invitation to Aloy’s homestead is made shortly after the newly Summoned find their bearings within the Primary Settlement. Aloy begrudgingly agrees to it, but seeing as how their group has grown within Solvunn—it probably is for the best to be a little more open to the presence of others. Much like with the treehouse by the lakes, it’s good to know of another place further away from the settlements where the Summoned might feel comfortable enough to traverse into.

That is not to say that the homestead is very friendly to strangers, though. Aloy has set up tripwires, disguised pitfalls, snare traps, and other devices in the surrounding area, creating thus a challenging attempt for anyone who wants to travel there by themselves. Additionally, a way to avoid most of that (read: not all; consider it a bonus for getting close to the homestead) is to go through the arboreal parkour course that has been set up. A network of catwalks, platforms, and balancing ropes to traverse the woods. Reaching Aloy’s truly is a test of guts and skill. 


(Alternatively, travel with Wanda or Himeka—the path clears up for them. For the ballsy, follow Nero and Rocket; surely they aren’t scheming anything…)

And, past all of that, the woods will open up to a tall, spiky fence, about eight feet tall, and the gate will lead towards the homestead proper.

B. HOME SWEET HOMESTEAD

The seasons are turning, and while Solvunn doesn’t suffer from incredibly cold winters, there is definitely a chill in the air. Storm clouds in the distance by the coast rupture with booming thunder, bringing down the temperature quite significantly. It makes the bonfire burning outside a welcome source of warmth. Despite the threat of rain, there’s a strong chance the skies will clear up, as the wind picks up.

Within, Aloy’s homestead boasts the woman’s survival and technical skills. Making the most of her resources, there are meats hanging to dry, chopped wood on the side of the house, and animal skins splayed out that will most likely need to be stored at some point. The inside of the homestead is a simple affair, but for someone who isn’t in the business of receiving guests, it’s decent enough.

For today, the space—inside and outside—has a few extra wooden chairs and tables, picnic style, and they’re decorated with an assortment of food: recently harvested apples from the orchard, berries, roasted mushrooms and acorns, and more complex dishes thanks to Himeka’s arduous work in the kitchen the day before. At one point, a giant stew will cook over the bonfire, with meats and veggies, with bowls to the side for anyone to take their fill. Additionally, there will be grilled fish, flat breads, baked cabbage with lentils and, for those with a sweet tooth, apple pie. Wanda will also be sharing sarmale, a pot of goulash, spinach and cheese pastry—gibanica, and a table of assortments to build their own burgers. Additionally, there will also be apple cake and mandelbrot cookies. All in all? No one’s going hungry at the homestead.

But, worry not, all that food needs to go down with something. Barrels of mead and ale will be available for all to drink. For those who don’t want anything alcoholic, there is apple (and other fruit) juice available.

Make merry and mingle, new faces and old faces alike.

And, of course, please take one of the pamphlets.

C. THE STORM THAT IS APPROACHING

Lightning strikes, and almost immediately the boom of thunder brings an eerie quiet to the homestead and the forest past its fences. There’s the awkward laugh the tries to break the silence, shaking the jitters away. Some are quicker than others in mobilizing, perhaps feeling the pinprick of raindrops that others don’t, and start moving what they can salvage from the food and miscellaneous items into the cabin. Some may choose to spare themselves of the rain, pushing the way inside or hiding under the roof’s awning at either side of the cabin; others may be entirely unbothered by the rain, as heavy drops fall fast from the darkened skies.

More thunder rumbles in the distance, roiling ever closer from the mountains in Thorne’s southern border.

A few Summoned might notice it first, that it isn’t really the rumbling of thunder that shakes the muddled earth. The grunts of approaching beasts are mixed with the sound of hooves drumming up in rhythm of an uninvited approach. Birds fly away in flocks as the mammoth boars make their way through the forest, inadvertently towards the homestead.

They are due their mating season, and traveling to the wintry mountains of Thorne has been delayed by the appearance of the beasts in the rifts, the journey now a toll on the boars as the continuous lighting and thunder confuses, frightens, and angers them.

They ram into the fence at different points, and chaos would soon ensue, but thankfully all the Summoned have their powers back.

Right?

D. CLEARING UP

After a few boars were felled, the rest scrambled and escaped, continued their path northward. Killing some of them was inevitable, but nothing ought to be left to waste. The skies clear, the waning moon appears over a colorful sunset, and the rain stops. The fire is built again in earnest, and meat is, quite literally, back on the menu at the grilling station, as per Nero’s helpful suggestion. Some fences need a little mending, and a general amount of cleaning up within the homestead needs to be done, too.

As sunset gives way to nighttime, the sky—once marred in dark tones of gray—gives way to a beautiful night sky, with stars and constellations to be delighted by many. Wanda will be offering to dry the wet clothes of those still sticking around, and Himeka hands over warm cocoa or warm cider, something for everyone.

Now that things have quieted down, and with folk sitting around the fire or standing just by the edges of it, Rocket and Wanda inform everyone of the letter from the Nether that they received—something, perhaps, so they can get a general idea of what everyone thinks; about getting involved, about helping, about Solvunn’s interests in all this. It’s not meant to start an argument, debate, or a long conversation, but it’s something to have everyone think about — to know that they might be sent off somewhere else, soon, for a while, and brace for the trip.

Those who have been in Solvunn for a lot longer will be around, to ask questions or start a conversation about what has happened, what is currently happening, and theories for their futures, here.

Aloy didn’t mention anyone can stay to sleep, though, so best feel ready to head back at some point.

Comments

[carmesi]

[long, obviously, because it's probably what makes the most sense for a man his size. it feels stupid to have asked, but—no matter. she looks around, spots one of those shovels that nero had dragged in with him earlier in the day, leaning against a wall.

her hands are joined together, plumes of scarlet circling between her fingers, as she catapults her thoughts and will into transmuting the shovel into a sword. it's part imagination, part fantasy things she's seen on tv, and a big chunk of what she's seen here that others have wielded. again, this is not unlike making nero's sword for him twice now.

the sword reclines against the wall, now, and wanda's magic ceases. she rubs a hand over her lips, relieved at the lack of a nosebleed, still.]

That should work.

[lest he finds reason to complain about it.]

[dogmeats]

( Not so stupid a question, really. A great sword could've done, though that's always been more his brother's preferred weapon. Short would've done too, though far less ideal without his armor, but she's right — a man his size suits a long sword better. It's the most versatile for him, and still plenty lithe given his strength. He can wield it as gracefully as any man can a short sword.

And there she goes, weaving together magic that looks a little too much like fire for his comfort. From shovel to steel, it's as fine a weapon as he's likely to find anywhere in this bloody farmtown, and as soon as he lays a hand on it he fully intends to keep it. Ginger Homesteader can buy another fucking shovel anywhere.

He doesn't complain. Neither does he thank her. There are more pressing matters at hand than useless courtesies.

He flips the blade in a skillful, whirling arc in his palm, and then strides off, heading directly for the oncoming stampede.

Really, the poor beasts never stood a chance. Odds are Wanda probably could have managed them herself, with a little magic. Nero certainly could. Most of them, he learns rather quickly, are surprisingly capable fighters. Something he might not have guessed if he hadn't come here — one point to Wanda, if nothing else her suggestion's feeding him information about his peers.

Once the chaos and carnage is over, he gravitates toward her again, dragging a stolen cloth along the blade to clean away the remnants of blood.

She still doesn't get a thanks. Rather- )

Don't suppose you could magick me up some bloody armor to go with the sword?

( He'd had to be far too careful of getting gored with those bloody tusks. Gods help him if he dies like that fat fuck Baratheon. )

Hope you're not expecting it back.

( She'll have to pry it from his cold, dead hands. )

[carmesi]

[the rain is just about coming to a stop, a light drizzle the only comfort they have left as the storm clouds push away from them. thunder rumbles up above, but it's distant, now, and the boars that weren't killed have now fled. well—wanda can only think that all this will be good meat to leave with aloy and share with the settlements, as winter approaches.

wanda's lamenting to herself how the mud's dirtied the bottom of her skirt and boots, but she looks up at him as the words reach her.]

I don't know what kind of armor you're looking for. [she knows of armor, but it's not her area of expertise. she pulls back damp hair from her face, behind her ears, and gives him a look.] Why would I want a sword?

[that's just as tall as she is, and probably too heavy for her to wield? please, sandor.]

—I take it you like it. There's a blacksmith in the settlements, you realize.

[...somewhere...wanda isn't sure if the man's too old to keeping smithing, though. it's, again, not her area.]

[dogmeats]

( He doesn't have a scabbard for it yet — he'll have to see about getting one of those from a leather worker in town. In the meantime, he tucks the flat of the blade carefully along his side, threading it through his belt. His focus is on that rather than on her face when he scoffs out a reply. )

Horseshoes and plowshares, probably, in a village like this. If anyone here can make a decent set of armor, I'll eat this sword.

( It's said dismissively, not argumentatively. Far as he's concerned, her answer was no. He's not the begging sort. He won't go appealing to her for favors she's got no reason to provide to him. Particularly since he's already unhappy about owing her a debt in exchange for the sword. )

And so much for your brilliant bloody idea to socialize, by the way. First time I listen to you, I get attacked by a swarm of swine.

( Ignoring the fact that he actually had a decent time, and that the boar killing was actually more satisfying than upsetting. He's just bitching to bitch, because that's what he does. )

[carmesi]

[well, it’s up to sandor to find someone who can make him a decent set of armor. chances are he hasn’t ravelled too far from the primary settlement, as it were.]

You should try the other settlements. They’re off to the east.

[maybe another suggestion he’ll take, but turns out that he’s criticizing a previous suggestion she had made to him. wanda keeps looking at him, brow furrowing.]

It looked to me like you were having fun.

[at this she stands, but that doesn’t really do anything; he’s still that much taller than her.]

Is that what you do back in your world? Fight things with a sword?

[dogmeats]

( He'll figure it out, he always does. He isn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of traveling, but it'd be good for him to finally shake off the complacency he's fallen into while healing and actually see the lands he's stuck in these days.

And so his answer to try the other settlements is a noncommittal grunt, neither affirming nor denying the suggestion. He will, but like hells he's giving her the satisfaction.

But she's right. He was having fun, insomuch as he ever does. It's left him in a fairly decent mood, all things considered, and so he only spends a moment debating whether or not to bother answering the question with any semblance of honesty.

Reluctant as he is to admit it, perhaps she's earned as much. For the sword. )

I was the sworn shield of the King. A member of the Kingsguard. ( A beat, and then flatly, darkly: ) Right up until I wasn't anymore.

( Because he can't be arsed to sugar-coat his reputation and maintain that pretense, fuck all that. )

[carmesi]

—Kingsguard?

[she echoes, almost entirely missing his comment about there being a point when he stopped being a member of it. the terminology is far too distant for her to really have any meaningful understanding of, but what it does make her understand is that this tower of a man is definitely from the medieval times she had mentally put him in.

maybe it's a little more exciting than what she imagines, though. maybe it's not.

wanda brings her attention to the table nearby, works on picking up the things that were dropped on the ground during the commotion. it could all be sorted with magic, but this isn't the time for that. she glances over her shoulder, towards sandor, curiosity in her eyes.]

What happened? Did you retire? Got replaced?

[dogmeats]

( She echoes the word back, and he frowns only faintly, for a fleeting moment, before it smooths out again. It's easy to forget that people come from worlds where the most common facets of his life don't actually exist. He'd have thought perhaps the concept of a Kingsguard would be universal — where there's royalty, there's big fuckers assigned to keep them from dying.

Retire? He snorts, once, amused and derisive. )

You could say that. ( Retirement's one way to look at it. The more factual version, though, is: ) I told him to get fucked and I left.

( Let her think him a traitor. That's what he is, after all. )

[carmesi]

[well, that's one way to do it. wanda could think him a traitor, but she is not from westeros or sandor's known world. her thoughts are her own and allegiances to her are not quite so cemented in stone.

instead, she can't help but laugh almost as soon as he's done giving her his reason. wanda hides her face amidst fixing a couple things on the table.

it is kinda funny.]

I wonder what kind of face he made.

[it isn't like she has any real respect for anyone that would call themselves royalty. who gave them that right, anyway?

rubbing her hands together to try and remove any grime from them, she turns to him.]

So, your life is your own now. Is that how it works?

[dogmeats]

( I wonder what face he made — believe it or not, for just a fleeting moment there, something like mirth ghosts through Sandor's expression. It's in the corners of his eyes, in the quirk of one side of his mouth. Blink and you'll miss it. If she manages to spot it, it'll probably make it very clear that the King's face had been fucking priceless.

He snorts gently. )

If my life were my own, I wouldn't be fucking here, would I?

( Not like he made the choice to come walking through that fucking portal. He's still being jerked around now.

But in truth, he's not so sure he knows about whether or not his life was his before the mages pulled him through. He devoted it almost immediately to someone else as soon as he left King's Landing. Then again, that was very much his own choice, wasn't it? Perhaps he just doesn't know how to function without serving as someone else's guard dog. )

[carmesi]

That aside—

[he's being contrarian on purpose, wanda knows as much. there isn't much comfort in being forced to be here through a summoning ritual with such strange criteria as to who gets chosen to come, but that isn't what she means.

so, wanda gives him a look.]

You can do whatever you want here, within reason. No idiot kings to bow to, no one forcing you to be one way or another. [here, to wanda? it's unmeasurable freedom that's been granted to them—more so than any of the other nations, is what she'd like to think, too.] Even if it's not ideal, it's your life now.

[she returns to organizing the items onto the table.]

Some people have a hard time finding purpose now that they're here.

[dogmeats]

( Congratulations, knowing that he's contrarian on purpose is practically like graduating with a degree in Understanding Sandor Clegane. Didn't take her very long to cotton onto that, and she's a good step ahead of most of her peers on that front. Unfortunately, it also takes dedicated study and a master's degree to understand anything much deeper than that, but at least she's got a solid handle on the basics.

But she's right. Annoying how that keeps happening.

There's a long, contemplative silence following her gentle, perhaps leading observation. He might be tempted to rail against it, if she hadn't done so much work to win over the scrap of positive association he's got for her by now. Blame the free sword. )

...I was protecting a girl, before I came here. ( He finally admits. ) Thought I'd died protecting her. Thought that might finally be the end of it. I wasn't banking on waking up again.

( Now, the king's gone. The girl's gone. Her sister's gone. The war's gone. He heaves an irritated sounding sigh. )

Not entirely sure what the fuck I'm meant to do now, aside from slaughter boars like some whore butcher.

[carmesi]

[wanda imagines that he’ll walk away after some choice words are thrown her way, but she’s otherwise surprised at what she hears instead. there’s a bit of hesitation, initially, and his voice—while still rough—holds a bit of a contemplative take to it.

holding cups in her hands, wanda keeps them held fast against her as she turns to him again.

protecting a girl, dying while doing so? it sounds a lot more honorable than the whole situation with the king. perhaps she had read him wrong, but sandor really tries his hardest to leave little to the imagination, seems like. after a pause, she returns to the table, setting down the cups and organizing them.]

There are a lot of dangers between settlements, and we are advised against traveling alone or at all. [perhaps he can find something there.] You got plenty of time.

[to figure it out.

silence, for one lingering moment, still not facing him—]

What was her name? The girl’s.

[dogmeats]

( She could call it honor, maybe. He'd scoff at her, maybe try and sell the same line he'd told himself back at the start of it — that he'd planned on ransoming her, that he'd only picked her up for her worth in gold, but in the end... in the end, he carried on protecting her after her aunt was dead, after her mother was dead, after her brother was dead, after every living Stark that might've paid for her was long under the dirt. He's never been anything but honest to a brutal fault.

Still wouldn't much like the insinuation that he's honorable, though. Sounds too false in his ears, feels too false for the corrupt shit of a man he knows himself to be.

He stares away from her, out the open doorway to the falling rain and the bonfire in the yard, the scorched earth from the fight, the passing bodies politely cleaning up the remains of the forest beasts — he doesn't see any of them. He sees a girl, her eyes steely as she crouches, staring at him distantly, calculating, cold, thoughtful.

At length, he finally answers: )

Arya Stark, of Winterfell.

( Something he could have withheld, would have withheld from anyone else — but she's earned the rapport, his trust, and he thinks... were the girl to arrive, were Wanda to find out about it, perhaps if she knew the name... She'd tell him. )

[carmesi]

[stark.

no affiliation to one playboy millionaire, she images, but the name has wanda turning her head towards him. funny how names work—how they spread across the multiverse, across the many worlds, in different ways. it will not be a difficult name to remember, in any case.]

Arya Stark.

[of winterfell implies, maybe, some kind of ladyship situation that wanda is not entirely familiar with.]

If she arrives, for whatever reason, she'll be welcomed here. [in solvunn, that is.] And you'll be informed.

[it's the same deal if her brother were to show up; she'd want someone to let her know, immediately, too. no such luck, yet, but chances are the summoning ritual—the intricacies of it—isn't going to bring someone just because one or two people want it to be.

she glances down at the table, then back at him.]

Stick around if you want to help with the dishes.

[—it's his invitation to leave, as wanda doesn't expect him to stay. he has his sword, she's accepted his thanks, and he can make with his time what he likes.]

[dogmeats]

( Although the Starks might be the equivalent of millionaire, but not a single one of them could call themselves a playboy. Not even Eddard Stark, known for having a bastard son out of wedlock. The similarities begin and end with wealth, it seems.

At any rate, she makes her vow, and she gets the closest thing to a proper thanks he's inclined to give: one slow, appreciative nod. He'll not admit to looking out for either of them for as long as he's here, but they both know the truth of it. He will be. Perhaps he ought to mention Sansa Stark while he's at it, but he trusts the last name will be enough. He's given away too much of himself as it is.

He also appreciates the out she gives him, though he'll not acknowledge that either. He just plays his role by snorting, and shifting upright again with his hand on his hilt. )

Think I'll take my chances with the hogs.

( No real parting words follow. He slips out without fanfare, disappearing into the woods, heading back to town. )