epidemiology | EVENT ★ I PREDICT A RIOT

EVENT ★ I PREDICT A RIOT

I WANNA START A FIGHT

RIOTS

In the time between the quarantine and now, the virus has spread unnaturally rapidly, with the amount of the population infected estimated to be around 1.5% or approximately 3,750 people. Understandably, the panic has increased considerably. People who were taking the virus seriously before have begun to work themselves up into a frenzy, and even those who were calm are beginning to get anxious.

An infected teacher went on a violent rampage at the local elementary school yesterday, leading the school board to close all Woodhurst schools for the rest of the week while the entire staff is studied for symptoms. There’s no test for the Bristol virus, however, so it’s impossible to tell for sure. This, of course, worries the parents. The unrest starts with a protest at the school, calling for schools to be closed indefinitely until the quarantine is over for the safety of the children, but it doesn’t stop there.

Unrest turns to rioting before long; the majority of the riot is focused at city hall, where citizens are demanding answers, but there’s also mayhem at stores as the people of Woodhurst loot them, stocking up for what some assume is an impending apocalypse. Those who don’t believe this have locked themselves up in their homes not for protection from the infected but the rioters. Suffice it to say, most of the citizens out on the streets are of the slightly unstable variety, although some just found themselves caught up in the riots and became worked up by the crowd.

Local police forces -- including ALASTAIR agents posing as police officers -- have been dispatched to deal with the rioters at city hall. Rioters who attempt to leave the city are taken care of by officers sent by the federal government to enforce the quarantine.

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE

It might be a good idea to see what supplies can be found at the supermarkets, although you run the risk of getting attacked by a violent looter. The police won’t necessarily turn away anyone trying to keep order at city hall, but any supernatural powers will only incite the already violent crowd, so it’s recommended characters keep from utilizing their powers if they want to stay in one piece. Then, of course, there’s always the option to protect innocents who happen to be stuck out on the streets in the middle of the riots.

While the entirety of the police force is focused at the quarantine borders and outside city hall, now is possibly one of the only chances to get full access to buildings in the city. There are still some workers who haven’t been sent home and some of the buildings are locked up, but there are few police officers that can be spared to go check out a simple break-in.

Now is the time to search the city, if you're feeling brave. If you’re really ballsy, you can even try to slip in through the back door of city hall and go through their records. The only important building in town that’s not able to be searched is the hospital, which is incredibly busy due to the high number of people injured in the riots and traffic accidents.

Of course, just because rioters aren’t around doesn’t mean you’ll be left alone. There’s always a chance you’ll find yourself alone in a building with someone very hungry. Willing to take the chance?

Submit all CYOA choices to this thread.

OOC NOTES

The Bounty Board is now open! If you are looking for ways to get involved in this mission's optional objective, this is a good place to start. We’d also like to remind everyone that ALASTAIR does not invent cover stories for characters -- that’s all them! The only jobs they’ll help with getting are in the police force and government; everything else is up to characters to interview for.

Questions about Woodhurst can be submitted to this thread. Questions about the game in general should be directed to the FAQ. You may submit mission ideas or player plots at any time.

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[Sing to me, O muses, of Peleus' son Achilles, the famed runner whose fleet feet keep pace with a team of horses tamed to a chariot...

And who at present chases after a scattering herd of skittish rabbits which lately were set loose from the animal shelter. It is fortunate that there are none to see him running through the neighborhood park with a pillowcase re-purposed for his net in this curious hunt - none, that is, but Lancer, who knows Achilles to be a sane man albeit dropped into entirely the wrong era. His task would be made easier if only he had with him a curved bow with which to shoot arrows, but however empty the park may be while families burrow themselves within their houses, he knows he cannot risk drawing such attention to himself: it seems to him that only the police may bear arms, and ordinary men are trusted not to defend kith and kin. Moreover, he cannot risk slaughtering the animals as he would were he to pierce their small flanks with arrows - he needs the critters alive although he has no intentions of restoring them to the shelter whence they came.

Thus, Lancer shall be treated to the spectacle of the best of the Achaeans flinging himself down to the ground with a wild cry flying from his lips, as he purposes to scoop the poor rabbit into his pillowcase.]

[ Ever since Achilles made a public show against Koltira, Lancer's had to play favorites. Maybe only a hair—it isn't a grudge, more passive than avoidance—but there's something sour to blades turning in on their own team, more purposeful than his own Master's rampages. Though he understood, as anyone from the 'wrong' era does: pride was a ridiculous thing that way, to drive men to such.

Then again, pride isn't a big deal in Achilles's latest, greatest exploit... the running of rabbits. Lancer's taken to returning the animals when he can, maybe with less gusto. He watches the Graceful Hunter pounce on his prey, and claps dutifully. Amazing, good job. ]

Aw, poor thing didn't stand a chance.

[ Granted, the rabbit's wriggling and kicking against the fabric, very much alive. He trots up, a small box under his arm, the faint sound of scratching against the sides—more bunnies, presumably. Y'know, in case he wanted to add to the return pile. ]

I didn't think you'd be on pet round-up duty too.

[As Lancer approaches, Achilles rises to his feet, the knees of his blue jeans soaked through with the snow that crusts the ground. Across his countenance cracks a grin for his small victory, marked by the rabbit's straining against his makeshift snare, and his strong grip keeps tightly closed the open end. He tosses an easy greeting to the other man.]

Why, if it not spear-famed Lancer! [Nobody is around to overhear the curious moniker, and so he speaks plainly.] I hope you have fared well.

[Some time has passed since last they truly spoke, and he can trace the long days back to his final duel against Koltira: for this he does not begrudge Lancer, for he understands well how binding is the loyalty one pledges to another. His quarrel with Koltira has moreover been set aside, like ashes laid to rest beneath freshly turned soil made rich by the funeral pyre.

Achilles' expression then turns to mild bemusement as his gaze falls to the box wedged beneath Lancer's arm.]

I did not realize that this was any man's duty, to track and trap these hares. I merely saw them bounding through my yard and in that moment thought of a purpose I might put their kind toward.

[ If there were circumstances or time between them, it's more or less forgotten once greetings are exchanged—life's too short for anything else. And though fighting alongside each other against bandits were probably a little more glamorous, but... well, this is a fine way to catch up, too. ]

To eat? ...That's pretty resourceful of you.

[ Lancer leans in to better examine this Bountiful Hunt. He's not aghast at the thought—if anything's weird, it's keeping rabbits as pets. Modern people are odd like that. Also, pretty much anything involving more food sounds excellent these days, whoops. ]

+[Nor can Achilles fathom why one would keep rabbits for companions. Man keeps hounds for they help on the hunt and keep vermin away from the house, but what end could a critter so mild as a hare possibly serve? Thus is occurs not to him that any might wish for the safe return of these animals, and with them he will do what he pleases.]

It shall eventually be laid out upon my table, that my household may be fed, but first I have another purpose in mind.

[And although there are none around to overhear, he lowers his voice.]

For you see, I have lately been granted an art such that imitates those of the deathless gods. I wish to test the bounds of its power and better understand how to command it, but if I am to inflict these trials upon mine own body I shall come to bleed myself dry.

Oh. Magic, huh? [ Deathless arts must be some kind of healing (he's mostly fluent in archaic language, bless being old), though bloodletting practice is an ominous approach. Necessary evils, he supposes. ] Well, c'mon—show me what you got.

[ ...But not here, as Achilles seems aware already. If anyone had so much as caught a glimpse of him during the War, it was his obligation to kill them—the arcane takes a bit of subterfuge, because mages are sneaky little fucks. Nevermind that killing game in public is frowned upon these days. So he gently herds Achilles and his catch towards the porch of an abandoned home. ]

[Already those whom he has met in this city find him peculiar merely for the manner in which he speaks and the manifold small cultural blunders he makes while trying to adopt their customs: well does he know, therefore, how easy it is to stand out. They are as black stallions trying to blend into a snow-draped landscape.

He follows Lancer into the overgrown yard that girts the house. Weeds and vines crawl over the exhausted grass and shapeless shrubberies, all of it black and wet with snow, and at the edge of the property stands a sign that proclaims the house FOR SALE. The screen is peeling from the porch door, which seems as though it may well crumble from its hinges when Lancer pulls it open to let them inside.]

You are certain that none live here?

[It is not the trespassing for which he worries, but the chance that they could be discovered.]

[ Funny how a perfectly normal home, built for a happy family of four, could look so absolutely desolate. The whole neighborhood is quiet, snow-muffled and boarded up tight. No one's going to go waltzing into some empty real estate at a time like this—particularly when it screams haunted house—which is for the best, because imagine, if you will: just two dudes, practicing the occult on some woodland creatures in the middle of an abandoned building. Nothing to see here, officer.

Lancer runs a thumb against the 'model' home's couch, lifting up a thick layer of wet dust with it. ]

Yeaaaah. Think it's safe to say we're good. [ Besides, no random Woodhurst-ian could get the jump on him, it's fine. ] We're the only ones crazy enough to wandering around a place like this right now.

[With the pillowcase still clasped firm in his hand and the rabbit trapped within thrashing, Achilles slides from his jacket pocket his hunting knife in its leather sheathe. This he sets upon the counter in the kitchen.]

This art of mine is as armor that encases the whole body yet cannot be seen. I have practiced raising it against blunt strikes to test its merits, but I must test it too against blades sharp.

[Then with sudden brutality (that deserves no eloquent description) he knocks the poor creature unconscious where it is trapped. Soon its suffering shall be over...and it shall instead make a delicious meal. For the present, however, Achilles plucks the critter from the makeshift sack and lays it upon the counter, whereupon he slides his knife from its sheathe.]

First, I must have a standard by which to measure the sturdiness of my art.

[ Lancer reacts the same as anyone who's killed most of his own meals—which is to say, he doesn't. Being around the modern-day man doesn't change his (or their) roots. Achilles doesn't hold his knife with with a coward's cruelty, but necessity, the steps a student must take to learn a dangerous craft.

He folds his arms across his chest, looking on towards his... 'standard,' we'll call it. ]

Wow, yeah—I hope your fancy spells can stand up to a paring knife.

[ Classic mode of motivation, and how he himself was taught by his magecraft master: insults. ]

I'll be very impressed.

[Achilles is accustomed to the taunting and vaunting that warriors hurl at one another, and not once has he failed to strike down his opponent's taunts, sending both the man and his words sprawling in the dust. Lancer is not an opponent but an accomplice in his experiment, yet all the same he aims to launch himself above such gibes.]

How am I to know how well my art can stand up to a blade if I do not first see how easily splits the flesh when no arts protect it?

[So speaking, he places the unconscious varmint on the counter and set to flaying it, slitting first the little throat then opening its belly along the prescribed seams. All the while he is mindful of the precise amount of pressure he applies.]

The next one I shall give my protection, and its flesh I shall flay in the same manner - but I shall see then what resistance it gives, and how shallow are the lacerations if I press my blade no harder than this.

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EVENT ★ I PREDICT A RIOT

( Lancer )

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cw: animal abuse hereafter 8(

struggles

turtles on back