TEST DRIVE ※ 1

[wildestmods]

TEST DRIVE #1

These woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but being lost in them is pretty alarming to most people. Perhaps it's lucky you're hearing what sounds like... a party?

If you follow the sounds through thinning trees, a brick-paved road rises from the ground ahead. Keep going, and you'll find yourself approaching a bustling festival. Small, jaunty, colorful buildings line a way bedecked with flags, banners, and (of course) ever-present vendors.

Good morrow! Dost thou carest for a turkey leg? Some funnel cake? Modestly priced costume jewelry? Come right this way, dear visitor! The faire is here!

First, however, the faeries would like a moment of your time. At one of the entry gates, a spritely, brightly-dressed faerie tells you, "Tickets are long-since sold out, but joy is one currency we accept. So as long as you plan to enjoy yourselves, you may enter with a day pass. However, please read the sign. By entering, it means you agree to the terms."

The faerie points to a large wooden sign with words painted on it. The sign says something to the effect that the summer faeries are not responsible for anything that happens at the faire, and by entering you're agreeing to exempt them from indemnifying you for not offering the same magical protections they offer proper ticket holders in the unlikely event of surprise and disaster, etc etc.

Fortunately, it's actually not that different from a standard legal agreement for some kind of dangerous activity like go-cart racing. Of course faeries would be careful about any legal disclaimers for events.

USEFUL LINKS

Premise/Short Facts | Arrival/Welcome | Setting Background/FAQ


A FAIRE SHAKE

A renaissance faire is in full swing in the woods today, or so it would seem. But no one here is just playing a part: these outsize personalities, bright costumes, and pseudo-Elizabethan voices are perfectly real.

It's the only place you can go for food and appropriate clothing. Also there's magic at your feet, drawing you towards others bound by the Quest magic, making it so all paths seem to lead to the Faire. Even if you don't want to enter, it feels like you have to, like there's something important to find.

a) The Faerie Toll
Some of the faeries are lighthearted and cheerful, with round and heart shaped faces and brightly colored clothes. These summer faeries are willing to part with some faerie coin in exchange for certain actions. Anyone that watches others take them up on their deals can see that the actions are indeed harmless, and there is no catch. Apparently happiness and frivolity really can be exchanged with the faeries here. Ways to earn a small bit of coin: physical comedy, agreeing to a round in the dunk tank (yes they have one), telling the faeries a good joke (but it really has to be a good one, by faerie standards), letting oneself getting pied in the face, and pieing someone you're with in the face, among other things. Silly dances are also in high demand, especially ones with actual rules vs. ones that are made up on the spot, with a clear preference for moves like tiktok dances, the macarena, or the Hustle.

b) New and In Stock

You tried to steal from the faeries instead of paying their toll, or have otherwise misbehaved. The faeries like your moxie, though. They'll let you keep what you took (if you took something), but first you're gonna have to do some time in the stocks.

Will anyone take mercy on you and bust you loose? Does anyone have a tomato? Perhaps you meet someone else while they're suffering a similar punishment in the other stocks across from you. If you didn't actually steal, maybe you got framed. Or you're in the stocks with your "partner in crime" who you were falsely accused of being affiliated.

Fortunately, you won't be in there overly long. Even if you can't escape and no one busts you out, the faeries aren't particularly cruel and the absolute worst you'll get thrown your way by the crowd is a fruit.

If you push, the faeries might also let you out if someone else agrees to be responsible for your good behavior. This could, naturally, lead to both of you doing more time together.

c) I'm Just Here For the Turkey Leg
Wandering lost in the woods is hungry work. Maybe you know better than to eat food offered by faeries, but the humans of the faire should be safe enough, right? Where else are you going to find a whole turkey leg, a funnel cake, or a cold beer around here? The lines can get pretty long though, and sometimes orders get mixed up, or someone swipes what was yours! Maybe they bump into you and spill food down your front. Or perhaps you see someone with no money and decide to offer to share.

Some of the food seems out of this world or is clearly made for a more alien palate (not always in an appetizing way). Most of the food has big enough portions if you're not the only one eating

d) Surely, You Joust
Whether you're just watching, betting on the outcome, or have convinced someone to armor you up and put you on a horse, the jousting tournament is a major event! Will anyone be able to unseat the intimidating Black Knight? Have you started a rivalry with a competitor you just met in a line twenty minutes ago? Are you helping another member of the squad by pumping them up for their match? Or are you just over here to see how many horses you can pet without anyone noticing?

Even those not interested in the competition might want to give it a whirl. There are different rewards for unseating certain levels of competitors like food supplies, flasks of boozeahol, small bags of silver or gold, and weapons of moderate quality, like swords, knives, or bows.

For those that don't own their own armor and lances, some light armor and lances are on loan but the armor is all dinged up and the lances are easily broken, putting someone using them at a disadvantage.

e) Everyone's a Comedian
You (and maybe your threadmate) are being teased by a pair of funnymen doing a bit, be they jesters, Punch and Judy style puppets, or a pair of washing well wenches. The audience is delighted, but are you? What are you both going to do?

f) Wares, If You Have Coin
You're here! You have some gold! Time to get yourself some "period appropriate" (for varying values of both words) gear. Have you found a shopping buddy? What if you resell some goods you just picked up at a slight markup? Are you suspicious of the quality of a vendor's goods? Maybe this item over here is the last of its kind, and you and this stranger want it!

g) Stop! Thief!
Someone picked your pocket or snatched something out of your hands! It might even be your thread partner. Do you give chase? If your threadmate isn't the thief, are they helping you chase the thief down or getting in your way?

h) Archery Range
Are you taking the chance to start learning a new skill on the practice targets? If it's any incentive, several fair maidens and handsome young fellows are hanging about, flirting with the best shots. If you're already good, you might be competing in the archery competition for a prize! The targets are close enough you can make conversation with the person one target over.

i) Fortune Told
A stubborn young blonde woman in a long purple robe with a pointed hat - one that looks more than a little bit witchy - is determined to read your fortune for you. Loudly. Whether you like it or not. She has to demonstrate her skills to drum up business, you see! Now please hold your hand still, she just needs to get a good look at your fate line...

(Note: Players will have to npc the fortuneteller says in their thread and can go absolutely wildly wrong. However, sometimes the fortuneteller suddenly gets more intense and guesses a few things closer to the truth...)

j) Out of Water
You draw attention to yourself with your behavior, or by how strange your manner of dress is (according to the faire folk, anyway.) Perhaps you have a still-functioning small electronic like a smartphone that's unlike anything they've ever seen. People are starting to give you the stink eye or ask you invasive questions. Will your threadmate help you out?

k) Bargaining With the Fae
There are some faeries here that are different from the sunny, cheerful summer faeries running the fair. These are the winter faeries, more ethereal and elegant, more immaculately dressed in finery that's a little too fancy for the event. Despite their beauty - or maybe because of it - these faeries are...colder. Many of them are busying themselves with maintaining magical lanterns around the edges of the faire. If asked, they tell your character they're handling security and to bug off.

But some of them maintain stands in shadier-looking areas of the faire. They're willing to offer more in exchange for greater payment. Warm, durable clothing to cut through the slight chill that comes at evening and night time. Swords made of much stronger metals than can be found elsewhere, of better make, with edges that take forever to dull. Bows with strings that rarely ever break.

Their deals are definitely backhanded though. For payment, they might say something like "we could really use your view on something, just a half hour of your time" and instead of having you participate in conversation where your insight is welcome, you lose your ability to see for a half hour.

These effects are unpleasant but usually temporary, lasting no longer than a half hour or so - but it's not like they'll tell you that. And if you try to go back to the stall afterwards to confront them, they'll have mysteriously disappeared. You'll at least get to keep whatever your bought and it will be of good quality, but the joke is definitely on you.

l) Wild Card!
You can make up anything your character might reasonably see at a normal Renaissance Faire, or place an encounter in the woods nearby! Go wild!

OOC DETAILS
❧ This counts as a plot and is part of game canon! This means that new players aren't the only ones that can make top-levels. Current characters can be thrown in like it's any other plot or event. The default for threads is that they're game canon if all characters involved are apped in or already in game, but prospective players may opt out and consider a thread non-canon if they're not happy with it.

❧ Feel free to play around with powers. If your character has powers from canon you want to play around with, go for it. If you'd like to test out possibilities for game powers, also go for it. Feel free to change it up from thread to thread if you need to. If you want to keep a thread as canon this can be handwaved as the magic making characters' powers shift a few times before settling.

❧ Potential players may use test drive threads as their log samples. However, at least one post in their thread must fit the requirements for apps, and in quality and length (200 words). If you do plan on using a thread as a sample, please make sure the writing throughout your threads is a good example of your writing skills and has some solid examples of the character's voice.

❧ Players can count TDMs towards AC, with the same AC rules as any other threads.

❧ The game is invite-only. Players without invites are allowed to tdm since some of them may know someone in game to ask for one, and since some people enjoy TDMs just for fun in games they don't plan to app into. But an invite is required during the apping process.

❧ The game is at a starting cap at 30 players. Right now the current number of invitees is likely to not exceed the game's 30 slots, but if we go a few over they will still be allowed to app during this first round. Future apps will be rolling apps and will have a wait queue if the cap has been exceeded.

❧ Invites at game start are limited to current and former players of the mods' previous game Piper90 (piper90), former players of the first incarnation of Wilderlands (wilderlands, and people friended to the main mod's plurk. If any of those individuals want to invite someone outside those pools in the first app round, they can request it when the mods make a headcount of potential appers. If the game will be under (or only slightly over) 30 players to start, some extra players may also be invited, but the mods want to limit it to exceed the player cap too much.

❧ The first game round will be apps only, no reserves. Apps open: 10/15/21. Game start: 11/01/21

Comments

[garmr]

:Really? If you could do that, I’d owe you one…:

Guts’ tone changes too, from annoyed to a genuine sense of cautious relief. The question of what to do come nightfall had been hovering at the back of his mind since he arrived. The anxiety his companions had kept at bay was already starting to simmer back to the surface as the day went on.

He knows full well what might happen. He’d survive, at the cost of each sleepless night chipping away at what sanity he had left. His calmer disposition will be the first thing to erode away.

Leaning against the back of a tent, away from the flow of a crowd, Guts gets his thoughts together.

:There’s some kinda magic drawing a lot of us together to this festival. I’m not sure what it means yet, but once I get my bearings, I’ll be continuing on my own journey. I’m looking for a place that’s got people that are irreplaceable to me.:

He closes his eye and thinks of those memories of Elfhelm. After a year, they had faded a little, but all the important parts were still there.

The creaking of wood as a massive ship anchors at the shore of a wild island, untouched by human hands. The scent of the sea breeze lay heavy.

A vibrant forest dotted with the pink leaves of a monumentally large cherry blossom tree. Wooden, almost whimsical houses grown into the tree trunks.

A human woman donning elfish leather armor, using an arming sword to spar with straw golems in a clearing. A blonde woman and a man of an aristocratic air, watching her. A boy and a girl - the mage from before and an eager fan of the display of combat in front of him. They are surrounded by mages and a few elves not unlike the faeries of the festival, but these figures had faded away with a years passing.

From his point of view, Guts had been observing them from afar. The image stirs melancholy in him just as much as it did a deep and nostalgic warmth.

The old lady explained her side of things, so he may was well be upfront with his.

[hasapoint]

Need's unwilling to commit to being able to conceal this signal, though it feels like it should be well within her capabilities. She's self confident but doesn't promise what she's not completely sure she can deliver. :Is there a reason why you're not nocturnal? Some folks are just like that.:

But the man goes on to consider the people he cares about, who he's been separated from for a time, and seemingly had been set apart from even before then - she's not probing into the details, thanks. It's interesting though; she's surprised to be shown it this clearly.

Also. Need probably hasn't seen all of the world - certainly not all of it recently enough that she could say this, and that, aren't on Velgarth. Elves could be elementals, easily; she was never a sorceress, she knows she can't catalogue the beings that live on the Planes that border hers. All the same - she is dimly aware of the existence of other material Planes, where many things can be different. She's pulled bearers into them to answer calls for help.

If she could sigh, she would. Need is, despite herself, intrigued, and grudgingly makes an offer... pertaining to the issue of getting attacked at night. :Aw, hell. If it comes to it, I don't sleep the way living people do. I've let someone doze off while I took over before, when we absolutely had to.:

[garmr]

He’s had a lot of practice with thought transference! Enough to provide clear images for her. In a way, it fit better than any words.

Guts allows himself the hint of a smile. Guess a little rudeness isn’t enough to stop him from changing tack in this particular conversation.

:All right. We just met, so I don't expect you to tag along with me, but I'm grateful for the help.:

He knows he can survive on his own, at a cost. But with a little aid, finding this place he’s looking for feels a little more assured.

:I’ll make camp during the day. Probably better to get this ritual of yours out of the way before sundown if we can.:

[hasapoint]

:Won't take long. I'll want it known that I can take over if I have to but I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. It's your body, I can't contest that kind of thing.:

'Won't' is more accurate. By nature, spirits bound to artifacts are a little bit parasitic of the people around them. When Need ends up in the hands of someone she can't tolerate at all, she takes them or someone near them for long enough to get out of that situation, along with doing a little editing of short term memories - she doesn't speak to those people, so it's easier. But she doesn't ever control someone for very long, or try to suppress their minds past that one moment, and when someone's aware and trying to fight her, it's stalemate.

She's worse about it when she's asleep and filling the purpose she made herself for. But resistance is stalemate then, too; untrained baby Kerowyn wanting to run from her first kill as Need tried to find the next of the kidnappers, her body rooted to the spot until the child saw the situation changing and froze in pure out-of-her-depth fear, taking herself back out of the way.

Not everyone in Need's situation has kept to these limits. Maybe it has to do with having been old to start with, aware that she couldn't do everything and had to leave things to others.

[garmr]

:I'm not a magic user, so you'll have to explain what you mean by 'take over'. Not a fan of having other things meddle in my head too much.:

Some discomfort from his end. Between the Berserker Armor's violent possession and the numerous times he's had to expel evil spirits out of his body, Guts doesn't have the best experience with other things trying to take the reins. If nothing else could be gleamed of him, the stubborn will to resist is certainly at the forefront.

But then again, Schierke also had a way of guiding his thoughts, so he isn't entirely opposed to following another's flow. At least this old lady is asking him first.

[hasapoint]

Need doesn't have lungs and can't sigh; there is, however, that sort of impression.

:I don't have a body. I can't move, boy, I didn't put myself into some kind of automaton. But I'm going to try to touch your face. Try and stop me.: She doesn't spell it out any more than that. There's a sense of great, rigidly controlled strength uncoiling, and Need tries to rap Guts on the forehead with the knuckles of his own hand. The actually present one, naturally.

It would be a smooth, completely natural motion, like he'd decided to do exactly that for some reason, if he let it. Working on the assumption that he doesn't, the gesture slows, his elbow tries to bend, and there might be a short struggle as the limb locks up and trembles, muscle groups fighting each other, for several seconds before Need capitulates. She might end up committing more of her strength than she started out exercising, but she absolutely doesn't go all out.

:See, that's not where my talents lie,: she says, with a hint of frustration and a grudging suggestion of admiration. :I make mages fight like they live by the sword and knocked-about people move like they don't have concussions. You've got a mothering strong will on you, boy.:

She also can stop someone from hurting people she does not approve of them trying to hurt, but Need doesn't say that. She's awake now, and doesn't automatically interfere in fights against sentient females like she does asleep.

[garmr]

Although she gave a forewarning, Guts finds anxiety seizing up rather suddenly in his chest as his arm begins to move on his own. He provides no resistance for the first few seconds, frozen with a mute shock. It's been over a year since he'd dealt with spirits, longer still since that happened, but the simple movement threatens to have that cold panic leap up into his throat as if he'd been possessed yesterday. The dread terror of finding his hand squeezed around a warm throat.

When he resists, it's hard, clenching his fist so tightly that his nails leave red crescents in his palm, tearing it forcefully away from his face the moment he has any give. Intense fear, but an equally strong desire to confront it head-on with everything he had left.

He squeezes his eye shut, struggling to keep his voice at a calm volume, "That - Don't ever do what without a heads up, alright?"

Guts realizes he's accepted this magic user's help, but for a moment, he feels dreadfully unsure if he'd be able to stomach it.

[hasapoint]

:You don't need to worry about that,: Need says, without the sarcasm she would've used if the fear hadn't been so blazingly obvious. :I've been this for a long time, and I've never made anyone kill someone they didn't want dead.:

This is... well, someone could pick through that statement and her past and quibble with it a bit. Hurt, yes, even in the past ten years; even if drawing steel on a city guard was a capital offense, that guardsman had been trying to do something hideous to Kerowyn, and even stunned and reeling Kero had kept Need from even giving him a serious injury.

:I'm also not interested in making puppets out of people. That's a great way to get corrupted, which I've avoided for this long. Ideally, I'm out of the way unless I'm needed.:

If it ever gets to the point of Guts being about to cause serious harm to someone Need sees as requiring protection, she'll lock him down. She's awake, though, and would try to prevent it less physically first.

[garmr]

Guts shudders, then soothes himself with a deep breath, letting the fear exit with an exhale. Had it been the old him, had he no companions to think of, he would have snarled back at that. He belongs to no one. This flesh and blood body of his belonged to him, and him alone. He would have threatened to hurl her off some cliff. Maybe into a lake. Hell, swords like this he'd snapped in half with that lump of metal attached to his arm. He might skipped the threats and simply tried that in a blind rage, and good riddance.

Trusting others turns out to be way, way harder. But he's learned, slowly. So he does none of those things. He instead bites down on that particular violent and vicious little instinct, always waiting in the wings to lash out. A chance. He'll give this a chance.

"Okay..."

This would be a trust uniquely invasive to him compared to the others. It was own bodily autonomy. Can he do this?

:Like I said - Tell me first, and don't get used to it. That really gives me the creeps.:

Gathering his bearings, he starts to walk again, trying to focus on the task at hand. If he wanted to camp out in the forest, he would need more supplies.

[hasapoint]

Need sees that, of course, and keeps her own reactions hidden, starting with the annoyed kneejerk bigger boys have tried to break me and failed. But she's been around for long enough to gauge when not to escalate, and it's a completely reasonable thing to be horrified by. She becomes quietly reflective, just sending a grunt of affirmation.

Something of Need's nature is parasitic and audacious and presumptive in the way of an old lykeblade; it is better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, as they say. She is presumptive and audacious when time presses and people struggle to understand. Need still prefers a light touch, to let go as soon as her intervention isn't required, but she knows she could be another Tell if that changed.

(The person whose name she would translate as Tell is the Sword That Sings now, potmetal wrapped in precious gems and forever asleep, harmlessly indicating who would best rule a tiny scrap of a kingdom unrecognizable as any relation to the so-called Eternal Empire. Need has no idea if Rethwellan is even on once-Empire land or a continent away, or how the Sword ended up part of that kingdom's mythology. Such is time.)

There's also a mage out there who was once strong enough to create life, who preserved his spirit without using a physical focus like a lykeblade. Now he went from body to stolen body by unknown means, mind and abilities decaying a little more with each death, still many generations ahead of degrading so far that he can't keep it up anymore. Need thinks there's only one like that. Most mages who try that can't pull it off for nearly as long.

Given long enough, she knows, given becoming possessive enough, and any persistent spirit riding the bodies of the living is difficult to distinguish from a demon. Need's not just not there yet, she's not there at all, but she knows her flaws and where they can lead.

:Sorry, boy, she says some time later, and tries not to sound too grudging about it. Need much prefers when silence can serve as enough of an apology. She also doesn't actually think she did anything wrong, and she keeps that out entirely. :I'm too used to younglings who don't like it, maybe, but it's a different story. It's usually something like... aw, hell.:

She finds a few seconds of a completely inconsequential event that happened while she was asleep and strips most of the context and feeling from it, so that it's more like suddenly remembering something than living it.

You're Kethry, White Winds sorceress, fighting for your life and that of your oathsister/partner/one great love again. These are just some idiots who saw two women alone and thought you were easy prey, but this fight's gone on long enough and you need it ended.

You need your right hand free, and without you willing it your stance and grip changes and you're fighting left-handed, continuing to advance and block and opening a man from neck to navel even as your concentration goes into building the spell - it's really only in moments like this that you feel it, that it's not that Need gives you the ability to fight, it's that she fights for you, whose slender arms aren't up to this abuse - until the power flows - and the lightning - and it wraps up very quickly from there. Need seems heavy again, and your bent-knees stance feels odd and awkward again, before the last one's dead.

"Damn, Greeneyes," Tarma tells you in her crow-harsh voice. You're not looking her way and her voice is too damaged to tell very well, but you know she's about to tease you. "Sometimes-"

That's it, she cuts it off mid-sentence. The rest of that morning isn't relevant, and will just make Need miss those two. A bit of that comes through. She loves her bearers, even the ones she was too deeply asleep to ever talk to.

[garmr]

"Hm."

Guts is quiet after the apology. He doesn't like to be dramatic about such things, but it did help to assuage the doubts in his mind a bit. Whatever her intentions are, they do not appear to be malicious. He really hasn't gotten used to all this magic junk despite his long journey, has he...?

The memory he handles better, pausing in his tracks as the faireground transforms into an unfamiliar wilderness and a far-too familiar scene of battle. The scent of blood, sweat and dirt, and the dance of swordplay. The splatter of viscera. The edge of life and death, and the close bonds of your comrades. It was all present even in just a brief fight - two-on-two. He's never been a woman, but he has been a boy fighting enemies larger than himself, and in that way he relates.

The surge of lightning in Kethry's arms is different, but familiar, as she uses that second wind to cut down her foes. A kind of trance, almost. It didn't feel all too different from the dismal rage in his chest. How many times had the utter exhaustion of his body been burned away by some dread fire erupting from deep inside him? Somehow pressing on, despite being bloodied in front of death's door. Of course, he never questioned where this strength came from. Just that it always did. In the memory, it simply came from the sword rather than what was inside him.

:I see... So you look out for them?:

He doesn't suspect he'll be needing that anytime soon, but who knows?

[hasapoint]

People have given Guts a few more odd looks over the course of this conversation. He definitely has a vibe of being distracted, especially while the memory was playing.

:I try and look out for women in general, child. But sure, when I pick a mage like Kethry I step in for her, because a mage in the middle of a battlefield is just about helpless. Some idiot with a sling can kill one and I'd know, I've been that idiot. And fighters are just about helpless against mages who manage to keep some distance, so when I've picked a fighter I protect her from magic. All the while I try and keep 'em healed. That's how it works when I'm sleeping - I was only ever asleep for Kethry.:

Need never tells anyone her full capabilities. No one, bearers included, really needs to know. Plus she's just gave a long enough speech as is, and has been talking a lot.

:Guess I should let you know about this would-be pickpocket eyeing you up,: she says idly, without rancor or any indication of who or where this person is. :Cute. I'd swear no one looks after their brats anymore but that's just oldster talk.:

[garmr]

Hah. Amusement comes from him.

:Oh, yeah? Don't tell me this pickpocket happens to be some raggedy red-headed kid.:

Isidro's initial attempt to steal his sword did not go as planned - largely from the lack of planning on how the boy could possibly haul such a massive thing. He did manage to briefly lift the slab of metal a few inches before getting caught. Somehow, Guts ended up with a scrappy, annoying little pupil at the end of it. How'd that happen?

:Guess that doesn't sound too bad. The magic users I know are pretty amazing. Wouldn't want to get caught in a fight with one.:

Maybe he'd simply been lucky that his enemies had been monstrocities of a different kind. He stops to survey the food stalls of the quirky little faire of theirs. Some dried meat would be good for a long journey.

[hasapoint]

:Could be,: she muses noncommittally. There's more planning involved here - someone's noticed he has one eye always shut and is thinking phrases like blind side and how much could he feel through armor anyway?

The faire's offerings are light on travel fare, a lot heavier on things that wouldn't last a day and a lot of sugar. There's probably something somewhere, it's just not where the advertising is.

:I think they're more common where I'm from. The merc company that doesn't have a complement of mages is a pack of fools making a point, and I'm not even going to talk about countries. Though, in most folks with the Mage-Gift it's not terribly strong.: Need's pretty strong; she had to be, or she would've just died, but she's nowhere near the heights. She can catch and transmute anything those worthies and unworthies send her way unless they know how to counter her, though.

[garmr]

He takes a moment to survey his options, not showing any interest at all in any of the sweets. Oh boy. Will he have to go hunting after all? He seems more concerned for the food than the pickpocket eyeballing him, having long since trained himself to cover his blind side with his hearing. His right side is also prime grabbing reach for his non-metal arm.

:Magic and monsters weren't really much of a thing until I got this thing on my neck... Your average mercenary would never encounter any, that's for sure.:

His old home on the battlefield almost seems nostalgic by comparison. Even blood soaked and sluiced with mud and sweat, he only had to worry about other human soldiers and their human weapons.

:So this magic of yours lets you read other people's thoughts? Long as they're close by?:

He keeps walking, looking for anything that might be closer to a butcher, or at least some bread and cheese.

[hasapoint]

That thing would draw attention. It got hers while she was asleep, even. It has an ugly feel to it; if she still had teeth, she'd set them every time her attention came back to it. Something about it reminds her of the glyph Kethry set, that time, on some piece of scum who she should have killed. The one that meant 'justice', or maybe 'this is what should be'. That told anyone who might take Kethry's absurdly cruel spell off him that they'd cross her in doing it.

Need manages not to chuckle. :I'm a sword, I think you've noticed. There are a few downsides to that. I'm blind, deaf, dumb, and insensate in general, except to minds and magic. Every living thing is generating a tiny amount of magic all the time and this slowly sheds from their bodies. Think of morning dew collecting on grass. I sense that magic and the shape of what made it.:

She rarely lies, but doesn't like to disclose too much and is absolutely changing the subject instead of giving a straight answer. People, Guts included, don't really have to know just how much she can pick up on. Need has been mentioning a would be thief mainly to see what he'll do, though there certainly is a person considering it.

[garmr]

Need doesn't need to worry about disclosing too much, because as soon as she starts going on about the inner workings of magic his interest wanes into mild and blank confusion. Everything generates magic?? She sees the shape of it?????

What a cloud of words. More cryptic junk, just like the other old lady.

Guts was not a mage and never pretended to try and be one, so there's just a grunt in his throat to affirm that he heard and was probably not going to do much with the information. The sword can sense people, somehow. That's the important part.

:Well, however the hell it works I guess I appreciate the extra eyes.:

Anyway. They're at some kind of artesanal bread stand. Look at all those fancy-looking loaves.

[hasapoint]

Yeah, she doesn't think she has to worry. Morning dew is the first part of the very simplest analogy she knows for explaining magic. If he can't follow it that far, he's not going to understand anything to do with Mindspeech or what her range is. :I do my best,: she says dryly.

Those are fancy breads all right. Fancier than Need cares for, but she can sense the bakers' working pride in making something look like this for not so much more work than the usual loaves, the pleasure of getting to stretch skills out, and she respects that.

:This isn't what the faire people are eating themselves, for the most part. Not unless it goes stale. Smell the air,: Need prompts, taking a bit of pity but also wanting Guts to figure it out for himself. The meat of those large birds whose lower legs are being sold so prominently figures in a lot of small-scale cookpots nearby. So does pease porridge, that utter staple. Humbler, harsher bread. Cheese and onion pie, and so on.

[garmr]

He goes quiet. The bread was too fancy for him too, but he lingers on it for a moment. He can easily imagine his companions indulging in them, getting all excited over the little novel shapes. Children had far more of a sweet tooth than he did. He would never say it aloud, but the small ache in his chest was enough - he misses them.

Guts takes in a breath of air, though it will not help him much here. If Need is clued in to that particular sense, it would come back significantly dulled, like trying to pick out scents with a cold. He probably wouldn't be able to taste much of whatever he bought, either. For whatever reason, that part of the world had become partially lost to him. He does not comment on it.

Guts still has sight, and this isn't his first stint at a festival, so he notices well enough the hidden cookpots among the tents with their food of actual substance. He follows the sound of spoons being bumped against cast iron, ignoring the chatter and noise of the festival.

[hasapoint]

Missing people... She has a different conception of that for herself. It doesn't hurt in the same way, but she remembers when it did, and doesn't say anything. 'You'll find new children' is, after all, not advice that living people ever want to hear and is less applicable to them, besides.

Experience has taught Need that everyone's sensory world is different. She wouldn't have thought anything of Guts having a poor sense of smell if there wasn't a fragment of loss or displacement attached to the idea. It's a recent development - nerve damage, maybe? Need doesn't probe. She can get around that in a couple of ways, if she wants. Permanent alteration of a body takes a long time, with the amount of power she has, and has some risks and stipulations. Just making and reinforcing some links with Mindspeech, now, that can only last when she's this close, but it's effortless. If she wants.

The would-be pickpocket prefers to operate in a crowd and peels off for now. There are some actual, living turkeys wandering around away from the crowds and noise, gobbling and looking askance at the intruder. Ahead there's a smoky fire with a heavy pot and a reed rack set up around it, draped with thin turkey sausages. Upwind of it, a woman with a drawn expression is stirring the pot with one hand and holding a red infant to her chest with the other. Need stirs.

:Her. She's still torn up inside from the birth, but if you can get her to touch or hold me for a few minutes I can change that. And,: she adds sardonically, :she'll wrap up some smoked meat for you, so you won't have to whine about charity.:

Note that she's not offering to do the talking or what a good way to approach the tired new mother would be. Need wants to see if he'll do this, and how.

[garmr]

When his eye lands on the woman, he does feel a pang of sympathy. Much like his sense of smell, this feeling had been ground down. Reduced to a dull, blunt edge from having seen a similar image far too many times in his life. Too many pleading eyes beaten down and bloodied for no reason at all, chewed up by the world at large. Besides, he'd grown up as a killer for trade. He never deluded himself into thinking he was some savior, or a man of particularly good moral character. Were it not for Need, he probably would have just kept walking.

Still, as much as he ignored or suppressed that side of him (and he was quite good at that) it wasn't snuffed out entirely. Being a woman was hard where he came from. He knew that.

"Sure," he says aloud, with not even a single noise of protest. Not his usual method, but there is no harm in it to keep the old lady happy. He would never admit he was also letting a small foothold in for his own softheartedness. That was a thing he reserved for those precious to him.

Guts expects the flinch when he steps up to her. There is just little way around the inherent threat in someone as large and heavily armed as him approaching someone - much less a lone, sickly mother - out of nowhere. Even people he knew sometimes felt that startle from the monstrous shadow at the corner of their eye. His voice, at least, is surprisingly gentle.

"Hey. I'm gathering some supplies for a long journey. Mind doing a trade?" he offers his hand in a placating gesture, doing surprisingly well to diffuse the initial alarm. He wouldn't try to patronize or pity her. It was simply a fair exchange.

[hasapoint]

Need is making this one extremely easy, not requiring anything from Guts besides a bit of time and talk; if he'd refused this outright, she wouldn't have wanted anything to do with him. She had had to learn to feel for people like this instead of dismissing them, way back in ages past when she'd been young and stupid. So maybe she'd been presumptuous assuming she had to nag him into it.

This woman's not as colorfully dressed as most of the folk out actively getting money from tourists, but some elements of her costume are clearly the same - the shoes, the full skirts - and she's got a rumpled look. Abandoning the spoon, she tugs up the front of her blouse, too tired for more than a flash of alarm. The baby nuzzles into her, making small noises, and she joggles him gently.

"D'pends on the trade, sir," she says very carefully. "I've sausages and soup. M'wife will be back soon enough if you're wanting something what takes more moving around."

:She thinks she might be hallucinating. Not getting much sleep even when the child's sleeping,: Need says. :You're not exactly someone she'd expect to see wandering around back here.:

[garmr]

Guess none of those black knights get their food around here. he thinks idly.

But then again, that should hardly be a surprise - most of the tournament contestants had been all sorts of pompous and noble in a way designed to piss him off, personally.

Guts notices the jostle of the child, but keeps his gaze peeled away from him and focused on the mother’s face. Something about the way the baby was tucked up against her chest was on the verge of kindling some uncomfortable memories. No time to linger on that, though.

“Payment’s gonna be a bit of a weird one. I picked up a sword in the stalls with healing magic, and it looks like your work’s got you pretty beat. Why not give the healing spell a spin and see how you feel?”

His hand comes to rest idly on Need, looking positively out of place on his belt.

“If it works like it’s supposed to, we can call that a fair trade for some rations of any dried meat you might have around.”

Well. That took a lot more explaining that what he usually liked to do, but he figures being straightforward about it was best. He wouldn’t mind the girl getting her rejuvenation first.

[hasapoint]

:You might be surprised. Some of them are just acting the part. But when any of those come here it's with their armor off, yes.: Need catches an image of a big-nosed farmboy who just looks dopey and confused whenever he's not affecting a sneer and elects not to pass it on. She can juggle a lot of streams of information and a few conversations at once without pausing, but it took her centuries to reach that point.

The cook pauses, visibly weighing options and trying to think past babybrain. Need dips in deep enough to see that healing is technically accessible but less so during the faire itself, when she and her wife - and that farmboy, it does take all sorts - are trying to earn money. She's been telling herself it's not bad enough that she can't tough it out.

Finally she nods, still a bit apprehensive. "Seems a fair shake, sir. I can go and test it for you. What would... how would this work?"

:Just hand me over. Don't be like Kethry unless you have to. It always took her too long to get the sword belt off, so she'd draw me, and you don't look as sweet as she did,: Need puts in dryly. The affection as she mentions her old bearer is unmistakable, but there's no ache that goes with it.

[garmr]

:I'm not drawin' a weapon on a woman.: was the immediate thought. Vague annoyance Need would think he'd have to be told that. Kethry was a mage. He'd been handling a sword in his hand before he knew right from left. He rather likes it when he's not chased around by villagers with farm tools for being a menace, as a matter of fact.

Guts sees a reaction in the lady's face that made him realize some of that internal sentiment may have come to the surface, and slackens his expression into something more neutral.

"Here. You just got to hold it in your hands, and the sword'll do the rest."

He undoes the leather belts holding the sheath in place quickly enough, for a guy with only one hand. With his history, that would probably not be surprising. He hands it over to her.