medietas_ooc | Test Drive

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Test Drive

Welcome to Medietas! Are you interested in joining the game? Do you have an old muse you want to dust off? Are you looking for a place to voice test a brand new character and would like to do so in our little island setting? Well, you've come to the right place!

You all know what to do but if you don’t, just follow the instructions and HAVE FUN!

How To Play:

→ Comment with the character you’d like to test drive. Don’t forget to add their name and canon in the subject line.
→ Choose a scenario, or start your own!
→ Tag around!

Possible Scenarios:

1. New Arrival: You have just arrived on the island of Medietas, in the city of Aerilon via a floating boat with people you may or may not know. Of course, you can't help wondering what the heck is going on here, or how you even got on the boat in the first place. But as soon as the vessel docks you are greeted by some lovely locals who offer you a map and a communications device before leaving you to your own. You probably have questions and there seems to be a number of people there already who may or may not have those answers. Talk to them! Or, get on the network and introduce yourself!

2. Getting Settled: So, you've arrived, but now there's five islands you should get yourself acquainted with. Meet your starter home neighbors! Start your new job! Check out the market on Aerilon. Or, attend one of the many block parties!

3. Lost!: Somehow you got yourself turned around and confused and getting back to where you want to be is looking impossible.

4. Wild Card: Got something else in mind and want to create your own scenario? Go for it!

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Option 1: Arrival

He's not sure exactly where this boat is taking him, but he knows it's not the Eyrie. He's familiar enough with that place to know that while it might be elevated, it might be surrounded by clouds, it doesn't just float there like this place seems to do.

It's an inconvenience, of course, for the new Lord of Harrenhal to end up here instead of his intended destination. He might not have had as many spies in the Vale as in King's Landing, but he had them. Here he's on the same footing as anyone else, and he dislikes the idea. He had worked hard to cultivate the influence that he had. But all that means is that he can do it again.

When the boat docks, he follows the swarm to land, then stands back, watching, assessing, taking the measure of his fellow arrivals. So much can be learned about them if he simply leaves them to it. The more information he starts out with, the sooner he'll get his feet under him.

Option 2: Aerilon

He's been here a couple of days now, and figures he has enough information on the place to be going about with for now. Now it's time to see what he can find out about the people. The best place to do this is where all of the people are: the market. Plus he has the excuse of pretending to be shopping. Who knows what the merchants might let slip if they think they're just chatting to a potential customer?

He's examining a bolt of fabric, as if he intends to buy some to have some clothes made for him. Who knows, he may decide to do so for real. He has the fabric draped over one arm while he gets the feel of the fabric with the other.

"Is this imported?" If it is, then obviously there are other worlds out there, and people in this world that have contact with them.

[ooc: I'm only partway through season 3, but I am aware of major things that happen later in the series. So basically, unless it's a big spoiler from season 6, I probably know it already.]

Edited 2016-06-23 02:19 (UTC)

Sansa thinks she sees him in a half dozen places and it's only when he's in the market looking at fabric that she knows it's him. And, worse, he must be able to see her. Sansa is a tall woman and she's been told she's a striking one as well. It's too much to hope he doesn't notice her.

"Lord Baelish," she greets him coolly. "Everything is imported here."

The greeting is cooler than he would have expected from her. She'd been friendly the last time they talked. He has no idea what might have happened between now and then to get this reaction. He hasn't even been here that long, or seen her since he arrived.

"This isn't the only kingdom in this world then." Which sounds harmless enough, but it means that there is a way off these islands. Maybe even a way back to Westeros, if he works it right.

"I'm not certain," Sansa says. She had meant it more as a joke, a bit of sarcasm, but she sees that it has fallen flat. She should have known better than to try to best Lord Baelish at something like that.

"There's only one way in and out of here," she explains. "Those boats that we came in on?"

"They might be the way in, but from everything I've heard, they're not the way out." If there is one, no one knows what it is. Except that someone must, and be refusing to share it. Which he takes as a challenge. There must be someone in this place who would pay dearly to figure out the answer to that question.

"You've been here for awhile then?"

Which would be about the time that Tyrion Lannister slams into his knee with a lead pipe.

And then follows it up with a blow to the other leg, with the same lead pipe.

Just to make sure that his ire is clearly known, he then slams said lead pipe into Petyr Baelish's stomach, chest, and yes, once in the balls for good measure.

The first blow to the knee knocks him sideways, and the second one knocks him to the ground in a tangle of fabric. His arms move up to defend his head, which leaves other parts unprotected and vulnerable to the pipe in Tyrion's hands. He waits for the blows to stop, then straightens himself up (while still seated on the ground; he doesn't trust his knees to hold his weight at the moment) and dusts himself off.

He takes a moment to catch his breath and when his reply comes it's measured, precise, betraying no emotions. He won't give this little man the satisfaction of knowing how much pain he inflicted.

"Doesn't a man even get a chance to defend himself?"

He doesn't even know from what. Things were definitely not in this state between him and Tyrion when he set out for the Eyrie.

Tyrion swung the pipe up to his shoulder, before he gave Littlefinger the sort of smile that was all his father, a little of his sister, and altogether too sharp to be considered anything less than a threat.

"In the court of opinion? Where you would try to weasel yourself out? Oh Littlefinger, I thought better of you than that." His gaze is all acid, "Especially since I am more than certain that you set me up for murder. That you kidnapped my wife, and if I could put together enough of the pieces ... that you are an opportunist who is looking at the same board I have -- but has no compulsion whatsoever of getting innocent people killed to further their ambitions."

Now his smile was so sharp it might have cut Littlefinger if he inhaled incorrectly. "Of course, let's not forget that you gave my wife to Ramsay Bolton. Ramsay Bolton."

Oh. Well. He understood some of that, at least. "I never named you to anyone as perpetrator of anything. If they came to that conclusion, they did it of their own accord." It's not his fault that people drew the conclusions that they did. They could just as easily have suspected someone else.

"As for the rest of your accusations, I know nothing of your wife or Ramsay Bolton." He doesn't like admitting that he doesn't know something, but in this case, it just might save his skin.

Edited 2016-06-25 19:02 (UTC)

"Where did they get my knife, Lord Baelish?" Tyrion asked softly, so quiet and so sharp. He paused for a moment, and then arched an eyebrow. "And now ... you are telling me, that you do not remember. So either you want me to break your other leg, or you haven't made that particularly life-threatening mistake."

"It wasn't your knife. Misremembering details when recounting them later is not a crime." Neither is muddying the waters. He makes a point of tying up whatever loose ends he can. He prefers his head on his shoulders.

"Is it something you claim I did after leaving for the Eyrie? That's where I was headed before I arrived here instead."

Alric's long list of ongoing projects includes spending some amount of his free time down at the docks, in case anyone looks notably out of place and in need of guidance beyond what they can get from those handing out maps and devices. There aren't usually that many; most people seem to adapt fairly quickly. Enough so to find their homes, at least.

But this one is notably wary, keeping to himself the moment he's off the boat, watching everyone else as though expecting trouble--or perhaps merely studying them. Certainly, he doesn't have the look of someone looking hopefully for a friend. Pausing a moment until things quiet down, he approaches, smiling politely and affably--although notably, he is armed, a sword hanging at his hip. He seems practically unconscious of it, though, certainly not showing any intention to use it.

"Pray pardon if I'm interrupting, but I couldn't help noticing you seemed... perhaps a touch uneasy. It's quite understandable, of course." He glanced around indicatively at their surroundings. "But please do let me know if I can help."

"Wouldn't anyone be uneasy upon finding themselves in some unknown location?" Not just a new one, though of course that's always possible; he hasn't left King's Landing in years. Even if he had, he would have known where he was going. Everything he's seen about this place so far, such as it is, is unfamiliar to him. There's not even a hint of anything Westerosi in origin, like the free cities would have. It's too warm to be north of the Wall. So where is he?

"If you wish to be helpful, you could start by telling me where I've found myself."

Alric's diplomatic approach was quite unfazed by that reply, and he nodded in agreement.

"Of course, it's to be expected. I assure you, I found my arrival quite.. disconcerting, as well. This place, collectively, is called 'Medietas.' Many of us, here are.. guests, for lack of a better word. Homes and employment are provided by our hosts, most graciously, but I'm afraid we've not yet ascertained exactly why we have been brought here, or by what mechanism."

He raises a hand slightly as he mentions that limitation on their knowledge, in a soothing gesture, preempting the obvious question.

"Personally, I suspect there are grander forces at work than the people here can be expected to explain. However, they have certainly been hospitable and welcoming. ...ah- please, pardon my manners, and permit me to introduce myself. My name is Alric, of House Caelegart, of the Kaithenian Empire; a guest, here, like yourself."

No one knows why, or how? This sounds like a question that requires someone skilled at getting information without anyone knowing that's what they're doing. He doesn't have the spies in place who could bring him information of that sort, but he built the network once, he can do it again. If some are 'hosts' and some are 'guests,' perhaps that information can be useful as well.

"It often happens that those who inhabit a place are unaware of precisely how that place works." Robert might have been the king, but it was the Small Council that actually did more of the day-to-day running of the kingdom. He suspects that most of the inhabitants of King's Landing wouldn't have even heard of the Small Council, much less been able to name any of its members.

The introduction piques his interest. This is not a House or an Empire he's heard of. He knows that the world consists of more than the seven kingdoms of Westeros, the Iron Islands, the Free Cities, and whatever's north of the Wall, but no one ever talks of those places. This man must be from one of them.

"Lord Petyr Baelish, from the seven kingdoms of Westeros."

Alric smiles amiably and responds to that introduction with a courteous nod, his attention obviously drawn to the mention of Westeros.

"I'm sure the honor is mine, Lord Baelish. You are certainly not the first to arrive here from Westeros. I've had the good fortune to count a number of others from that land among my friends, here; I certainly hope I shall be able to do so with yourself, as well."

A measured, diplomatic answer: seeming sincere enough in its friendly intentions, but offering no promises with so little information about where exactly Petyr stands in relation to anyone else. After all, he knows Westeros is a tumultuous place, and Petyr is a new player who seemes the sort to at least be tangentially if not directly involved in the affairs of the day: he's already proven himself an attentive observer, and in Alric's experience, few people with the title Lord are content merely to watch.

"I hope you've not suffered too much from the turmoil, there. I gather more than one great family has fallen victim to it... although this place seems to offer some respite."

Excellent. He could use friends, or at least allies. Especially in this place where he knows no one.

Though if this man really does know people from Westeros, which he must because otherwise why would he have heard of it, then it's possible that there are some here he does know. "I would certainly welcome a familiar face. Which ones should I expect to see here?" He likes knowing what's going on, and in this case, it's probably better not to be surprised.

"I mercifully made it through the war unscathed. My family was never one of the great ones." Nowhere near, in fact, what with his father's, and now his, holdings being almost as small in size as he is, and the title being essentially mostly symbolic. In fact, just a few generations ago, the family hadn't even been Westerosi.

Alric nods understandingly, his expression vaguely pensive as though mentally taking stock of all the Westerosi arrivals.

"Mm... well, several members of House Stark. A blacksmith, as I understand it, and a... knight, although I gather knights are made rather more easily in Westeros than in the Kaithenian Empire. A Targaryen prince and princess, as well, however--the latter, I gather, a queen in her own right, elsewhere. Ah... oh, a young lady of farther northern extraction than the Starks, as well, as I understand. There may of course be others I've not come across, yet."

As much as he made a good show of considering neutrally who there was as he listed them, glancing off briefly between descriptions, he also took care to observe Patyr's reactions. Partly to gauge any existing animosities he might find himself having to moderate, knowing well how those could exist (and persist beyond reason) between noble houses, and partly to better gauge the point in Westerosi history from which he came. After all, between Sansa and Rhaegar, Alric had friends spanning nearly two decades, already.

He's had a lot of practice at keeping a neutral look on his face, to give nothing away, and while Alric is listing off names, he manages to keep that neutral look on his face. Until the mention of the Targaryens. That name is enough of a surprise for a brief flicker of it to show on his face. The blacksmith, he'll be no more useful than anyone else, and the knight could be anyone. His interest depends mostly on which lord he's sworn to. The Starks, well, for some reason he's not surprised to hear that there are some here. Most of them seem to have a tendency to stick their noses where their noses shouldn't be, and lose their heads over it.

Targaryen, there's a name he hadn't expected to hear. There's only one of them left, but he hasn't heard anything about her being a queen anywhere. So it can't be her, though he's not sure which one it might be.

"The Targaryens have been kings and queens for centuries. There are many alive today who were born during the reign of the Mad King. I am not aware of any who are a king or queen of anywhere other than Westeros."

Alric chuckles softly and raises a hand in a soothing gesture.

"Regretfully, my knowledge of your history and neighbors is limited, so I fear I cannot discuss details meaningfully. Much as I'd be interested to learn, there's not been an opportunity. But in broad strokes, yes, I gather as much from them."

He pauses just a moment.

"I should explain--not all of those from Westeros are from the same point in history."

He pauses again for that statement to sink in.

"At least two are from before the Targaryen dynasty was overthrown; most of House Stark is here from various points in the following war--some from just before, and some, it would appear, from the midst of it."

"There are fewer Starks than there used to be." He certainly wasn't that upset at the demise of the one who almost killed him, and he felt no particular loyalty to Ned. And while it is true that he was able to use Ned's death to his advantage, he could have done the same thing with Ned on the Wall.

"Different points in history. That must keep things lively."

Alric raises his eyebrows slightly at that comment, but smiles to himself.

"...I must say it seems there are more Starks here than even they expected to meet. But, yes, I suppose 'lively' is true enough... although, fortunately, it doesn't seem to have spurred any terrible strife."

"How many Starks are there here?" That seems to be the largest group from Westeros, and he should know what he's dealing with here. "I've known one of them since we were children."

Alric takes a moment to count for himself, glancing aside.

"Let's see... five, I believe? If I've not missed any, that is."

He smiles to himself, intrigued at that announcement.

"Indeed..? They certainly seem a respectable family, at least." A brief pause, there, and his smile fades somewhat. "...I gather the war in Westeros has been... exceptionally hard on them."

From what he'd heard, and gauging by Petyr's age, Alric has to assume the Stark in question is one of those he'd heard had died at some point in the ongoing conflict. No need to ask more directly, then.

"Not all of them, then." Considering there are that many children alone, the whole family can't be here. Though there's really only two whose presence he cares anything about. It wouldn't bother him if the rest of them disappeared from this place, or never came in the first place.

"Respectable? Honorable, certainly." Ned Stark's honor and inexperience with the way the capitol works had led to a predictable end, after all.

"There are fewer Starks than there used to be, after all."

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knighterrantofthedragon - 2016-06-28 18:50 (UTC) - Expand

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littlexfinger - 2016-07-02 02:06 (UTC) - Expand

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Test Drive

Petyr Baelish | Game of Thrones

Re: Petyr Baelish | Game of Thrones

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Re: Petyr Baelish | Game of Thrones

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I'll do 1 since everyone else seems to be doing 2

good, lull him into a false sense of security...

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