I've realized something. ( her voice is level, even, and pleased. she's been thinking since returning from the recent expedition to destroy thiazi. the biggest of the big bads has been vanquished, and in spite of the hardships met and casualties, she's feeling relatively optimistic. ) We're gonna win. They want a war, we'll give 'em one. But.

( and there's always a but... )

I think some of our resourcefulness could be extended if we had more driving physical force. I'm going to reopen defense classes, including some bootcamp-style hard-hitting advanced weaponry. I'm willing to spend most of my time on this between patrols - and you know, food and sleep, the stuff you need to not wither and die - including one-on-one sessions. You're more than welcome to contact me any time, day or night, through your bracelets. First class will meet outside of the Roadhouse tomorrow, about an hour after first light. There will be cardio and strength training to warm up, and the majority of combative instruction will take place at Gefion Park, where there's more room.

Oh - for those I haven't met yet, I'm Buffy. I'll take fighters of all ages, though I'd encourage anyone under the age of like - say, sixteen? - to find less risky means of helping in the war effort. Anyway. Get in touch, we'll talk fight.

[ It's not been often lately that any of the gods have seemed outright celebratory on the network, but here you have it now: Thor's face is lit up with a brilliant and almost triumphant grin. ]

Polish your armor and sharpen your swords. We've taken Tyr and his power out of Thiazi's hands, and we know now for sure: she will not stand a chance against us and our dragon friends.

We will leave at sunrise in two days' time, and know this, Travelers - she is afraid, and with good reason. In two days, we march to victory.

[ ooc notes: He'll be hanging around a while if anyone has any questions, but feel free to use this post for ic discussion/planning too! The ooc event post will go up detailing all of the minutia in the morning. Thanks! ]

[ Yeah, no, with all of these weird-ass hallucinations going on, Felix is not leaving his room. His tone is both shaken and incredibly irritated. ]

Fuck this, seriously. I'm in Freyr 107, weathering this out with a hell of a lot of vodka. Open invitation to anyone who isn't completely bloody crazy.

[ This is Odin's first real public appearance since the martial law was first instated, an intentional move after the whole traitor fiasco, and despite his standard crisp black suit and ramrod straight posture, the King of Asgard is still looking a little rough around the edges. A muscle jumps in his jaw right before he begins speaking. ]

There's a decision to be made. You handled the last with a surprising amount of grace and reason, and for your hand in both getting us to this point and in the war at large, we'll give you say in this one as well.

You returned from Mimisbrunnr with the information we needed to recover Tyr's soul from Thiazi's grasp, but we've been waiting for the right moment. We need to be prepared, because as soon as we make our move, she's going to know, and she's going to be pissed.

[ At least for that much, he almost looks pleased, insofar as the only change in his demeanor being a sort of fire in his eyes. It's short lived. ]

So. Before we perform the ritual, we need to decide what to do with Tyr's soul once we have it. This is where you come in. My colleagues and I will be around to answer any questions you might have, but seeing as this is a largely personal matter for many of us, I'll remind you lot to either keep it professional or keep it to yourself.

[ Looking @ u, Freyr and Loki and any other bleeding hearts in the audience. ]

We need to act fast, so you have until sundown. And one last word of caution - [ As personal as Odin will get for this post, with an imperceptible glare. ] - do not take this lightly.

[ OOC NOTES: This is the IC discussion regarding whether or not to resurrect Tyr! The poll is still open until Oct. 16 at 11:59PM CST, so hash things out and make sure to vote!! Let us know if you have any questions or if you'd like to request an NPC in specific for your thread! ]

[ 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! ))

[This message is unfiltered. It's that adorable, smug, irritating face that pretty much everybody in Asgard wants to punch. He hasn't been on the network in a while, but he's also been overworked helping to keep things nice and stable and the magic going properly, and some of his antics have been a little draining.

But he's back, from outer space... or whatever. Aren't you all lucky?

Behind him is a spear of jagged, ugly, blackish ice that people in the north of town have likely seen several times before. The remnants of Thiazi's backlash some time ago remain, despite efforts and study. Finally, folding his arms, he turned towards the feed and spoke. For once? He didn't sound too arrogant.]

Alright, so I know a few of you've been talking about ideas on how to clean the porch up. I think we've done enough window dressing for my tastes. It's high time we dealt with this thing. I'm all for your brilliant ideas. This is exactly what the engineers are supposed to do anyway.

And don't be shy. Just because you're not in my glorious band of misfit idiots doesn't mean you can't help. It's not like anybody wants this health hazard to stick around. So pipe up. I know some of you have been coming up with ideas, but it's time to actually get started, wouldn't you say?

(OOC: Threadjacking is invited in this thread. This is a chance for Engineers to plot/plan and non-engineers to add their own muscle. Several players have voiced interest in bringing down this ice flow and rebuilding the wall/Gate of Fire. I know at least 2-3 who've made attempts. You're all invited. Baldr's just being his usual dick self and kicking things in gear. Ultimately, it's player plots that will bring it down. I'll check with the mods on the 'how')

For anyone that might be wondering, Stiles Stilinski was sent home. He wasn't here when I woke up, and his name isn't on the communicator list anymore. That's what that means, right? He's gone.

And he left notes for a few people, I'm sure you know who you are. You can come pick them up at the house if you want. They're on the kitchen table. Or I can bring them to you tomorrow. Or in a few days, maybe. I'm not sure. Hale's with me, he's safe. His dragon, I mean, Derek hasn't come back or anything. Um. [ it's probably obvious now that someone's using voice to text, because she's kind of curled up in bed and doesn't feel like moving, at all. but. oh well. ] I'm not sure what else to say. [ which is why the feed ends there. but first- ]

[ private to Scott McCall ]
I don't even know what to say. Or what to do. This doesn't feel real. Which sounds dumb, but I keep expecting him to come running back home any second now. It hasn't even been a full day but I can't stand it, I can't deal with this. And I can't even imagine how you feel. What do we even do?


[ ooc; open for action, kind of? if anybody wants to deal with a seriously mopeymiserable Rachel Elizabeth Dare, and Hale. ;; ]

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! ]

I know the attack by those ice pixie... things and the ice monsters wasn't exactly fun for anyone involved, but it got me thinking on something.

Has anyone re-examined the ice on the bridge? It seems like Thiazi is getting more and more... mentally unstable, maybe that means her powers are too. Maybe that means we can do something about the ice?

I would appreciate anyone's notes on the matter if they went to examine it already. Or maybe we can organize another examination of it?

A warning to anyone new, don't touch it though, it'll cause instant frost bite... or it did when it first happened. I haven't gone to look at it since.

[ He's calm. Perfectly serene, simple as a kettle of fish. To anyone who's spoken to Albus, that shouldn't be particularly surprising.

But it is a bit at odds with the rest of the higgledy-piggledy, ridiculous scene. Scarves, caps, and little knitted cozies litter every visible surface, falling as he reaches up to adjust the (yarn-covered) stems of his spectacles. Thick marker covers his face in three different colours, smudged where it's rubbed off against the desk. The mustache and unibrow are quite traditional, less so, the extensive sequence of elvish poetry.

It's been a long two weeks. ]

Hello, Asgard.

[ He sounds rather cheerful for it all. It's not immediately clear whether he's even noticed anything out of the ordinary. ]

I seem to have rather lost track of the time -- dreadfully sorry if I've missed an engagement in the past, ah. However long it's been. Could anyone perhaps fill me in? I see there's been a spot of trouble with the cold.

[ He tips his head to the side, and two puffy hats fall to the floor. ]

I do hope that you're all quite well, and I cannot understate how positively thrilled I am to find our wonderful school still standing. On that note, if those remaining members of the board might contact me, I feel a small discussion may be in order, regarding future plans and purpose.

[ Considering the bracelet for a moment, Albus seems to come to a decision. Letting out a short, warbling shriek, he then smiles, and cuts the feed. Those familiar may recognize the utterly delightful, melodic strains of Mermish: I received your message.

Well. Nothing out of the ordinary, there. ]

[ the feed flickers on to spike laughing. damn. it's a rare sight these days, but it doesn't seem completely mirthful anyway. ]

Seems like I missed another exciting week. [ he was off-bracelet about 10 days, and he's shaking his head. of course it would be when the city needed him. ] Don't even have a bloody excuse this time, so I may as well throw myself on the mercy of you all.

[ the laughter has stopped and he looks a bit distant for a moment. ] Training in the Arena. I'm doing it, every night. Doesn't matter what your power is or anything, just be there.

I need a snack.

[ and we're done. ]

[Roland sits amid wood, nails, and wire, scattered in a few small piles across the overgrown back yard. A little ways behind him, eagle-eyed viewers might notice a chicken in the process of laying an egg.]

Fiona Gallagher's... gone home. She, ah-- [He shakes his head, starts over, nodding at the house his camera's not at the right angle to show.] Anything in there's fair game. Odin 107, I mean. I won't be needing any of it. The door'll be open. Probably food and furniture, mostly - anything in the cupboards or refrigerator, anything not nailed down, bar the refrigerator and stove. I think the place came with those. [He shakes his head again, realizing he might be starting to ramble.] Doesn't matter. Corn, beans, squash plants in the back. Take them. Can probably see 'em behind me somewhere.

[Another chicken starts to peck at his sleeve and he lifts his arm, blinking at it.]  Ah. Couple chickens, if you can catch them. Is that all? I think... I could probably use a couple extra hands to get all this wood and a couple of these plants over to Freyr district. And I... to be honest, I could probably use the company.

Bowls. I'll need a few of the bowls to transport these plants in. Other than that... Plates, silverware, clothes, bedding. Doesn't matter. I'll be leaving once it's empty. If I'm not here, don't take any of the magic plants. I'll find you. [The tone of that last is too absent for it to sound like a threat. It sounds, if anything, like an afterthought.]

The door's open. Have I said... [He has, probably. Roland shakes his head again, grimacing at himself, and cuts the feed.]



(ooc: If your character would drop by, this post doubles as a log post. Either prose or this format works, I'm comfortable with either.)

[Hawkeye's had it rough lately, but he's resiliant. Still, he needs more distractions than just work and "the war effort". All work and no play makes Hawkeye go a little crazy.

He appears on the network with a deck of cards in hand, shuffling with moderate skill. Well, okay, he's not accidentally flinging them all over the room, at least. (Beat that, Nine.)]

Hi there! It's your friendly neighborhood inebriate calling. I was thinking...

One thing we used to do back home in between waves of casualties or shifts in post-op was have poker nights. We'd gather around in someone's tent -- usually the Swamp -- and play poker and drink. Mostly drink. Snacks were an option, but only if you could stomach food that might start moving. Army food, y'know?

No IOU's, though. Not when anyone can just up and disappear without notice.

Anyone interested?

[Where she's tucked herself away is unimportant, which is why she's not giving that bit away. Mother Nature sounds more resigned and contemplative than anything, and there's the faint sound of crowds in the background.]

Death is like gravity, it cannot be stopped or all of the universe begins to go out of sorts. Things unravel when people come against such things, more than they believe they are already. Things die, it is a part of existence and a rule of the universe that should never be broken.

And yet here we all are, being forced in to a fight that will be ultimately lost. Forced to take a side and prepare ourselves and others for what? To be felled in battle? To fade out of existence?

[She sighs.]

I don't know how many of you have seen war, but it is not anywhere near so glorious as anyone wants you to think. It is blood and death and terror for little more than bragging rights over some pile of dirt or another.

It is people sitting at windows waiting for their lovers to come back with scars that will never go away if at all.

It is those you love leaving and never coming back.

It is watching everything you love burn to ashes in your fingers for some ideal that will never fill the hole they leave.

[She sighs, shaky.]

Worlds have died before, entire civilizations and people have been erased from existence and yet... here we are, still alive, still existing despite all of that.

We should be planting a new tree, making new homes, not trying to save a burning ship... but what do I know about anything. I'm no god, no war hero.

I've just been dragged here and forced against my will in to a fight I've no interest in. So please; sell me a reason to fight, give me something to believe in that will work.

So here's a question. How many of you've- No, I'm not going to start with that.

[ It's too depressing, and he'd rather try and stay as upbeat as he can. ]

What've you got waiting for you back home?

[ Oh, he knows sometimes there's no getting around the difficult things, and that's not his point. He doesn't believe in sugarcoating anything.

And now that he's said this, he's just realized he's been a bit one-note with his transmissions, since both of them have had to do with their homes. ]

It's just that I've been thinking, it puts this war we're supposed to be fighting into perspective. Thinking about the people and places I want to keep safe does that for me.

[ Alright, maybe he'll get laughed off the network for saying what's on his mind, and really, he's okay with that. He just had to put his thoughts somewhere, so he did. ]

Some of you may be familiar with Castiel's store of potions and herbs, Ananael.

[In fact, you may recognize the store itself behind him. Roland walks to the center of the room, along the way giving a fair view of the potions, books, and herbs arranged neatly along the bookshelves lining the walls, and leans back against the counter.]

I find myself in possession of that shop now, and the first thing I'd have is some insurance that this place will keep supplying Asgard with the potions it needs if anything happens to me. The natives helping its upkeep now are fine folk, but none of them have the head for brewing, nor for telling a traveler 'no' if he asks for a potion he shouldn't be taking.

If you won't fold the moment someone flashes one of these at you [he raises the bracelet and the view lifts briefly], and have a cool enough head to learn these potions without blowing yourself up, talk to me.

In addition, once the current batch of hangover cures is sold, I won't be making any more. Time and supplies are low enough without wasting any more coddling anyone through conditions they brought on themselves.

[He thinks a moment, then shrugs a little to himself, walking out the open front door and giving a view of the street outside, so anyone less familiar with the place will have some idea where it is.]

If you have any other questions, I'll be around a while.

[And with that warm, comforting welcome, the feed ends.]



((ooc: An updated business page will be made publicly visible here once I figure out enough html to recreate Cas's business page without being too embarrassed of it. It'll be exactly the same as the one above, bar some different wording. Just pretend the entry for 'anti-hangover' has been enthusiastically scribbled out.))

Good morning, Asgard.

[ It's a joke, see? Because he's been asleep for fifty days, just recently woken to dreams of the Mother burning and the whispers of the inevitable end. Odin's a clever one, pale and worn as he looks in his customary sharp suit. ]

It's a relief, if not a surprise, to see most of my city still standing. You've done well beside my son, and for that, you have my gratitude.

[ Such a proud Allpapa. But that's as lighthearted as this address gets. Buckle in, kiddos. ]

But I'm not here to waste time with formalities today. No more beating around the bush. No jokes, no tricks, no clever riddles. No more bullshit.

This is the end. I heard Her whispers while I slept, and I have Seen it as you all did last night. You shouldn't need me to tell you that this is a reality anymore. This is the end.

You have a choice. You weren't brought here to be our soldiers and fight as our army, but we can't afford to keep Asgard half in the battlefield and half behind closed doors for your comfort anymore. Still, we promised that we would never force your hand, so - a choice.

We don't have enough control over the spell that binds you here to pick and choose for this, it's all or nothing. If you want to stay and fight this war, we'll start the process of gearing this kingdom for its true purpose. But if you want to leave, to go home and be with what's left of your homes for whatever time remains, we'll shut the doors and see what the Fates decide for us.

[ A pause, as he considers. ]

I don't have a rousing speech for you. It's not my thing; you can talk to my colleagues if you need a group hug. But - I will say one thing.

We accepted the title of "god" not because we are all-seeing, all-powerful beings. You already know that we aren't. It's just a word given value by those that speak it, as is the nature of language. This is called the "Holy City" because it was created as a refuge for the lost beings that would've been left to die outside our walls. We are called "gods" because our citizens believe in us as their higher power for protection and guidance where otherwise there is none.

We're children of faith. And where Ragnarok has been set in stone since the beginning of time, we've pushed back against it because we have faith. You are the byproduct of that; we did the impossible to fight inevitability, and you are the proof of that. Which is to say -

[ An amused, tired shrug. ]

- who knows what the Hell we can do next?

[ Just before signing off, he'll add one more thing with a ping to Jo Harvelle and The Fourth Doctor in specific. ]

I want to speak with those of you that left the city recently. You know who you are.

[ OOC NOTES: Yay, Odin's awake again! This is the IC conclusion to May's events, and the IC discussion that will bring us into Arc 5. As was already decided in December via player poll, the city will be militarising to amount a counterattack against the Giants. This post is to discuss all that! The OOC rundown of what happens next is over here. Feel free to ask questions and let us know if you'd like a specific god to pop into any of your threads, as we'll all be hanging about! ]

[One of these days, Samantha meant to do one of these addresses somewhere outside of her lab. But, at this point, it had become a security blanket. Part of her was just used to doing something with her hands, and right then she was going over a series of notes she'd acquired from Sophie. A beaker was bubbling, and there was something dark green in it. In the background a stone humanoid shape could be seen.]

Some of you know Draco and Castiel aren't with us anymore. Since they and Euri disappeared, Asclepius is still open, though I'm going to leave to Sophie any announcements she's got on how things will be running over there. But, in the meantime, Pinch of Sage is going to be one of the only potions shops in town. There's still apothecaries among the natives... but at the same time I seem to have inherited several new recipes. Sleeping draughts are still pretty popular, go fig. If you used to buy something from one of those shops, I can probably make it now, but stocks are getting limited. I've rebuilt my greenhouse two times since I got here, and I've had it reinforced, so I can grow a few of the magical herbs, but my stock from Utgard's almost dry, so I can only make what I can grow or get from Alfheim.

[She snorted a little sardonic laugh at that. A link was put into the updated potions list available at Pinch. Just below them are the Prices.]

Oh... and since we're all getting back on our feet from having this place remind us how close we are to the final battles... take what the Doctor says to heart. [Her eyes hardened and she frowned.] This isn't over until you're dead. I'll keep brewing this crap to help you guys until the bitter end, and I'm not one to give up even when I should. I am going to stand over that cold-hearted witch's ashes and laugh before they ship us home. Mark my words.

[When the feed starts, Athelstan is in his room, with one of Will's dogs stretched warmly across his lap. Athelstan rubs his fingers against her ears as he looks over the projection from his bracelet- right, recording.]

...'this is the end'. The tree has been- is being?- destroyed. I am not a commander of men, nor am I any sort of leader, but times are dire and I... [His lips press together firmly as he nudges the dog off of his lap- she makes a soft, indignant noise before skittering out of his room.]

Where I come from, the men worshiped these gods. This tree was their world, holding up everything they held dear. We must fight to keep it standing, we must- I can show you how these gods must be worshiped, I can tell stories of their exploits and wit, if that would give you cause to fight for them.

[There's a short pause, as Athelstan lets out a breath, contemplating his next words.] Even if you cannot fight, you must pray. All of your gods have guided men through their trials for hundreds of years- longer, in some of your worlds. They would not abandon us now.

[The words are encouraging, but his voice is hollow, preaching a message he's not sure if he can believe in.]