[ The morning of day 505, a message from the gods is broadcast over the network: ]

Greetings, Travelers.

Some of you may know already that there was a breach of the castle barrier. We apprehended an individual using Thiazi's magic to attempt assassination of the Queen, and have confirmed that he is Thiazi's informant inside Asgard. This man has been actively assisting her in making attacks on the city as well as misleading our own intelligence efforts.

[ Heimdall is understandably quite cross at this. He gestures offscreen and the feed shifts from Heimdall to a wider shot of the room, where there is a man being held in place between Thor and Loki, who also look quite cross. ]

His name is Satan and he pleads innocence by corruption -- that all he has done while sabotaging Asgard was Thiazi's influence. While he lives we cannot tell his intent, only that he is indeed the perpetrator.

Since he is one among you, we leave his judgment in your hands. What would you have us do with the traitor?


(( The poll is to be filled out ICly and once per character! This will decide Satan's fate. Please feel free to threadjack at will to discuss the trial! ))

Before you start complaining, [ said with a Look, because he knows some of you probably already have ], let me set things straight.

This is not a punishment. I've been content to let you guys roam about and track mud through my house like misbehaving toddlers since Day One, and I'd be content to continue doing so until our business is done here. But isn't, and we don't have time to dick around anymore.

Thiazi's attack wasn't random. It was desperate and sloppy, which means one thing: she knows we're coming for her.

[ He wants to be viciously pleased with the idea of her panicking, but he is nothing close to amused right now. ]

The only way she could know that is if someone on the inside told her. We don't know who, and we don't know how, but we can't afford that kind of liability. These laws are in place to protect you. We can't fight a war on both sides of the wall.

Be vigilant. Look after each other. It's going to be down to you to keep each other safe.

[ A pause, a blink. The ever eternal silent sigh. ]

You have questions. Ask.

[ OOC NOTES: This is the official kickoff for the new martial law! Ask your IC questions here, and let us know if you want any god in specific, as they'll be hanging around this post. The log for weapons registration, rationing, and Red Scare flavoured shenanigans is over here. Let us know if you have any questions! ]

[Altaïr looks a great deal more aggravated than usual when he appears on the bracelet, which for him means he wears a mildly perturbed expression. Rather than in A Needle in a Haystack as usual or out on the city streets, the background shows that he stands within the stables. Shaun the pony is watching him with interest.]

If anyone has seen my wife Maria, I would appreciate it if you would let me know immediately.

[His tone of voice doesn't exactly ooze with appreciation, but that's only because he doesn't like having to ask the Travelers at large for help in this private matter. Probably.]

She is not well at the moment, and I—

[At that moment, the tawny head of Lion looks over the stable door, but unlike the rest of his stablemates, Lion appears to be wearing his bridle. His ears are pricked and he looks fairly unperturbed, but then again it's not exactly usual for one of the horses to be tacked up unless they're about to be ridden. Briefly distracted from his public request, Altaïr glances sideways at the horse, then frowns and takes a couple of steps toward it, stiffening as he peers over the top of the door.

[It's a split second later that the heel of someone's hand comes flying towards his face- more specifically, his nose. Altaïr jerks backward to avoid it, but he's not fast enough.]

Maria—!

[Her name is muffled as he stumbles back, swiping at the blood that immediately pours from one nostril. Maria takes advantage of his disorientation as she makes a break for it, vaulting over the stable door as her horse backs away in surprise from the commotion. She's going to do it, sweet freedom awaits!

...except no. Altaïr swiftly recovers himself, then charges after her and tackles her around the waist. She's already struggling as she faceplants into a pile of hay, but he has a few inches and enough weight on her that he's able to pin her easily.

All of this probably made quite an interesting bracelet-perspective show.]

Get off me, ass—

Yes, I know you think I'm an ass. You've made that quite clear. [He shakes his head, then turns back to the bracelet, clearly not at all pleased about what's been displayed.]

Never mind. I will take care of her now.

[...tackling can be part of taking care of a person.]

[What had started out as any ordinary day swiftly becomes anything but for Maria, who upon walking out to get groceries this morning had suddenly felt a peculiar sense of light-headedness that had lasted no longer than a minute.

And just like that, the last five years of her life might as well have never happened as far as she’s concerned.

So after wandering around looking lost and befuddled and feeling thoroughly put out, Maria’s been shown how to use a bracelet and the result?

One scowling lady who appears to be grossly inconvenienced by all of this is now gracing the network. Hi Asgard.]

I know not how this sorcery has gone undetected and unpunished and frankly I do not care. All this nonsense about the end of the world is foolishness. I will pay handsomely any soul who can furnish me with a blade and provide passage to Acre or any other port that sails ships to Cyprus. Time is of the essence, I cannot afford to tarry here.

[And then she plucks at the fabric of her sweater, looking displeased.]

And I want my clothes back. I don’t know how you managed to substitute them for these ludicrous rags but I will be needing my cloak.




[ooc: Maria has been cursed to how she as in 1191. She’s disgraced, been abandoned by the Templar order and is out of favour with the new grand master. As such, she is extremely upset and beginning to feel a little hopeless... and somewhat hostile towards certain hooded sorts. Feel free to answer by video or action!]

[ Well hello! The name on the network says Desmond, but...is it really? She's got the same eyes, the same dopey mouth scar... These curses, man. Let's see how that works out. Judging from the backdrop, she's hanging around A Needle in a Haystack as is her wont, sipping a glass of jallab and looking to be in a questioning mood. ]

Okaaaaay, so. Since this is effectively both the Agony Aunt and Craigslist Asgardia, I figured it'd be relevant to ask here.

I'm looking to move from my welcome house digs, and I'd like some district recommendations. Not that Sigyn isn't the best district, because it is- [ she huffs on her fingernails, pretending to buff them on her tee like an asshole, because what's a little juvenile, friendly rivalry? ] -but I'd like something a little more my own. I'm not looking for anything upscale and pricey, just inexpensive, cost-effective, hopefully free of hipsters and spiders and shady types.

Anyone willing to lend a girl a hand?

So listen up, people.

[ The friendliest address ever is brought to you by Johanna Mason, who looks a damn sight better than she did on arrival.

...Or, well. She's not bleeding any more, at any rate.

She offers a tight lipped smile that looks more like a grimace than anything else. She's not the friendliest person in the world, okay? ]

As much as I'm loving the holiday, getting out of practice has literally never boded well for me. I'm after some training partners, sparring, whatever - you just need to be good. [ She pauses for a moment before grinning slightly, actually a little amused. ] Really good. Anyway, takers, people who can point in the right direction, et cetera et cetera, let me know.

[ And with a brief wave that looks more like a salute than anything else, Johanna's out. ]

[It has taken Maria Thorpe a little over a month to work out how to broadcast from her bracelet. It has been an interesting and eventful month to say the least, and while she is by no means accustomed to this strange 'modern' lifestyle, she is at least attempting to adapt.

There are a few stumbling blocks, but with some ingenuity on her part she feels she is well on her way to overcoming them.

Take today for example; she is garbed in modern attire and is sitting in a modestly furnished kitchen by the looks of things, and she opens her mouth to speak.]

Good day to you all. I have been wondering for a while now what I should say on-

[Whatever it is she might have to say is immediately interrupted by a sudden and unmistakable:

BOOM

How's everyone feeling?

[Pyro is covered in blood: mostly on his hands and up his arms, but there are sprays of it across his shirt and pants as well. Hard to say if it's someone else's or his, given his ability, but there are no tears or holes in his clothing. He wears a false smile, which drops as quickly as it appeared.]

Some of you got exactly what you deserved, and you know damn well who you are. But once the water's clean, there won't be any more trouble for now. The spy's done. [His hands flex and clench, as though he's still got some punching he'd like to do.] You're fucking welcome.

Guys? Anything you wanna add?

[Altair shakes his head and remains silent, but Thor does have something to add. He looks much in the same way as Pyro, though he doesn't take time by giving false pleasantries or greetings. He's mad and it shows, but there's something else that lingers in the depths of his hard gaze. ]

The threat is, indeed, gone. For now. However, it would be wise to assume this will likely not be the last of such an event. [ He shifts, frowning as he glances off screen for a moment. ] It would be wise to upkeep your guard as it is clear we shall have to take justice into our own hands.

[And with that, Pyro shuts off the feed with a glare. Time for the shitstorm.]

((ooc: this is going to be a huge, beautiful mess. tags could come from Altair, either of the Thors, Pyro, or any number of NPCs who decide to hop on. i'll likely turn off notifications and track any threads i get into for that reason, so if i seem to miss something, please PM me!))

For the sake of humoring me, I wonder if anyone can answer a few questions. Although if they aren't answered, I suppose that is fine and good. This would not be the first time I have found myself in a situation dripping of irony with the luck I have.

So I am not the only one who can... well. Shadows. Wolves? Is there some sort of symbolism behind that? How is it that my "house mates" and myself are able to do such a thing when Hel has left Asgard with the others?

[Alice looks a little irritated, pulling out her trademark vorpal blade, running her fingers over it.]

Why weren't we able to have these... abilities magnified in battle? I am not particularly flattered when any type of enemy gets too close and a blade like this can only do so much.

And my ability to care can only go so far.