sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] Saints & Sinners Masquerade

[MINGLE] Saints & Sinners Masquerade

WHERE: Corn field next to the inn
WHEN: 31 October, all day and night
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Please warn as appropriate in your subject lines
NOTES: Please make sure you have read and understand the event details! If you have questions, drop them here. RECOMMENDED BUT NOT REQUIRED: Put your SCRUBS COLOR in your OTA subject line for folks doing bingo. Time your OTA for the harvest feast, the masquerade, or both. Costume matches and details for folks who did not get matched are here.

This morning, our intrepid villagers awoke to a surprise of the nicer kind: A bundle of clothing left at the foot of their bed, tied with a bow. There is also a note: Put on your new outfit and join the festivities in the corn field next to the inn.

You may be thinking, what corn field next to the inn? The one that sprung up fully-mature overnight, of course.

In the middle of the field, villagers will find an autumn feast: Tables piled with harvest time food and drink, warm and rustic decorations, the day's sunshine fending off any chill in the air.

Tuck in and enjoy, villagers, but take note: Things often look different in the dark, and you might be one of them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"One of my many skills. I'm an engineer and do a little of everything, design, fabrication, right now my biggest project is fortifying the village but- resources are limited." He sighs, looking out past the cornfield to the buildings beyond. "We don't have enough wood to make a fence that'll surround all of both, so it's a question of what is and isn't vital, what can we manage, etc. Trying to get the Mill set up for hydroelectric is the next step but it's slow going."

There's only one of him and he can delegate plenty- but the actual forging? Comes down to him. "So whatever you have that you can offer? I'll be glad to see it."

"Mm. You mention wood, but I agree that wood is fallible for many reasons. We were fortified with it for many years at Masyaf, even until the Mongols came. Much of what made Masyaf impregnable was its position." As he spoke, he gestured, considered, and began to look around them. This village was situated unfortunately in the way of defenses. There were no natural barriers but a river he had heard of to the north - but even then, that was flawed, as the northern village was the nearest anyone had to contact.

He'd seen a map, but a map meant nothing without the feel of the place in mind, and as yet, that was one thing he'd not gotten. He would need to climb - and the inn wouldn't quite do. Trees, he thought, would. Which meant he would need to take time.

"Wood may be limited, but what of stone? There is a method to make stone behave as both stone and metal - impervious to the explosive powders of the East and to battering force, given that is sunk deeply enough in the ground to counter the impact." Again, he looked around, this time for something to write with, but he found himself stymied. He found more and more he missed, and having pages and ink and quill close to hand was one of them. "So long as all of us are caught here, I have no reason to keep this knowledge to myself. We all must survive."

"We're in the middle of a forest. Good for terraforming, kind of shit for establishing a defensive line." Or giving anyone somewhere to fall back in the long run- there's a distinct lack of any sign of defenses around the village, not even an attempt at them. Whoever set this place up? Isn't paranoid enough for Tony's peace of mind. The woods are full of large boar, moose, LSD snakes, and apparently? Wendigo. That last one is the most worrying, even if it's only happened once.

Trusting it to be an isolated incident is just asking for trouble.

"Don't have many tools that can break it, or a means of transporting it aside from rolling slabs on logs. The larger boulders found in fields that get cleared for farming are broken up from what I've heard." He hasn't found anywhere he'd call set for a quarry, but he's working on that. "...Stone like stone and metal- just in resistance to impact and combustion or in how it can be shaped?"

Because that could solve a lot of their problems, right there.

He turned up a hand-- "We were able to shape it as we wanted in the Masyaf forge, and Masyaf was far from having the resources of Damas. Once it is treated and cast, it cannot be recast. The form is permanent." And that was when Altaïr began counting off materials. "We began with common stone - limestone, some marble, what we could get without raising eyebrows. Gypsum, basalt, quartz sandstone. Having one great slab would have made our enemies curious, and when we were working this stone, we had too many enemies as it stood. The method we used could combine them, make a grand amalgam. Had I the means, I would write it down for you."

It was how the fedayeen began, how they worked - what the Assassins strove toward. The protection of humankind. Though now, having seen the Iron Bull, perhaps that needed some amending. Personkind, perhaps.

"...I'm going to need a bigger crucible is what I'm hearing." To form and cast stone like metal- he flicks through the chemical compound of the listed materials and- he can't see how that'd come together to make anything so strong. Maybe it's in the ratio or heat treating? Running the math will take awhile going longhand. At least he won't have to figure it out with no direction (a la badassium, thanks dad), he'll have an outline and an expert. Could be worse. "I've got charcoal and space on the wall in the forge. Come by anytime and talk me through it."

It'll be useful and possibly cut down on the rest of everything else they'll have to carve from the forest, leaving wood enough to keep everyone warm come winter.

At the mention of a bigger crucible, Altaïr pulled a face and motioned to the size of the one in Masyaf - which was easily within the span of his arms. "I will do what I can to aid you. If this is to be my afterlife, may it be used to help others."

And perhaps he could use the information of Those Who Came Before to save another world. He had done his best for the Prophet. He had left behind all he could. Now, he would use what he had brought with him.

"I am also making an effort at investigation," he noted. "I know others have as well, but there are things here that remind me of... things I've seen. Machinations I have unwittingly been a part of before. And I have something of a reputation for tenacity." And anger, but that had tempered with age. "Would you mind if, after I have gathered my own thoughts into more sense, I asked you of what you've seen here?"

"...yeah I'm going to need to expand the forge." He'd been planning on it anyway- at least there's a better reason on hand than his own need to keep busy and have more space for tools. Still. Doable.

In theory, at least.

"There's a history of all the events from the moments the first round of villagers woke up here two years ago up till now. It's fairly detailed, that can probably help you. Aside from waking up in the bunker and heading down once to investigate- I've spent most of my time in the forge. People need things built and I need work." Not want, need. Something to keep his hands and his mind busy, something to be productive. "But I mean to go back down there sometime soon."

"I believe Dorian and I may be intending to attempt to find the one to the north. He mentioned that no one has arrived in the northern fountain, but that the northern village is a reflection of this one. The reasoning fits." More than that, his training in stealthy approach would likely come in handy - at least in part. This was nothing he wasn't used to, approaching a location and trying to stay out of sight. He only didn't like that he was... mostly unarmed. One knife was not the armament he preferred.

"If it's a mirror- it'll be close to the fountain when you find it." A relatively short walk, with or without the burden of a few buckets of water. "I don't think anyone lives up there- or at least no one I know does."

Much as he appreciates his privacy, living in a mostly empty village? Would drive him crazy with the quiet. He needs life, noise. Stimulation. Otherwise his brain starts shredding itself with layer upon layer of anxieties. "If you bring back any tools or- pretty much anything you can carry that's not nailed down? It'd make my job easier."

"If there are carts here - wagons? Beasts of burden? I would gladly take it with me to the village edge. Perhaps I should plan multiple trips. The first to scout and report back, the ones following to retrieve what can be located." He had no fear of any of this. No worry. No concern. "If I can be provided with charcoal and a large enough page or cloth, I would make a map as I was there. I am no true cartographer, but I can write what I see."

The plan helped, even if the thought of maps made him think of the bureaus scattered through the Levant, of dropping into the courtyard to be welcomed by the rafiq. Or scorned, if it was Jerusalem.

"But first, I have my own skills to relearn."

"Not that I know of. I think one of the guys had a few moose? Not sure where they went but they seemed docile enough for carrying. For notepaper and pens I can ask Bruce, he got a box of them not long ago." He can't exactly volunteer what isn't his to share, but this is scouting, resource management. Bruce would understand. He's about seventy three percent sure of that.

"I'm not sure if it's all that different from here- unless there's a cornfield that sprung up overnight up there too. That'd be useful to know." A beat. "Relearn?"

The word "Bruce" sounded familiar. Was there some mention of that by the Crusaders? He would have to think further - but he thought it was a name, especially in context. A lead, then, and one he'd remember. Also 'moose', which sounded suspiciously similar, but... Surely no woman would name a child after a beast of burden.

But then there was a question he could answer - and he did, motioning down at himself. "Before my arrival here, I was a man of ninety-two years. Quick movements, all of the skills I was taught as a young man - they had had decades to erode. My lungs gave me a chronic cough. Climbing from the bed each morning was a struggle. My son had to help me. This body is mine, fit and strong, but my mind is used to a slower pace."

"...What century are you from? Because that's....rare even in my time." With medical tech being what it is. Maybe he's got good genes? Still that, well. Makes some kind of sense if he turns his head and squints. Honestly he tries not to think about how much more difficult working the forge is compared to those two weeks when he was his younger, fitter self for awhile.

"Recalibration, right. Check in with Rogers in the mornings if running's a thing you need to work on. He could use the company."

Rogers. Another name. Running - yes, he would need practice in that. Dexterity could come along the way. Altaïr nodded and filed the name alongside the first.

"I was born in-- as the Christians count it, the first month of the year of their lord 1165. The last I knew, it was 1257, the eighth month. I was born in the Nizari Ismaili state of Masyaf in the Bilad al-Sham. Some of the Italians call it the Levante."

"...Well, fuck." How in the hell did he survive to see his 90s? History wasn't something he spent a lot of time on at MIT but the first and third of his boarding schools did pride themselves on world history. Most of it fairly accurate and the lectures scalding enough to linger.

"Christian Calendar of 2018, here. That space is called 'Syria' in my time." He can't quite remember when the changeover happened, it wasn't relevant to much of what he worked on or the defense contracts he had on hand before he pulled the plug on weapons production.

He heard every word Tony said, but one thing stood out. One number. He said '2018.'

Altaïr felt his heart stop for ... seconds, he was sure. His breathing stopped. His eyes thankfully did not go wide, but he knew what he had heard. And what it meant.

When he breathed again, it was first a deep, heavy exhale - and then his hands were on Tony's shoulders, the face that had appeared at best faintly amused and at worst neutral before was beginning to break into a wide, true, grateful smile. "Twenty-eighteen," he repeated, reaching out to take hold of Tony's shoulders. "You said twenty-eighteen. Twenty-eighteen--"

And then the man was hauling Tony in to hug him, joy suffusing him and practically spilling out of him as he laughed, clapping the man on the shoulder. "I did it! He did it! The Prophet! The World! We succeeded!" he practically crowed, soon setting himself back from Tony but with that happiness in his eyes. "It was averted! Humanity still lives!"

That? That's a little concerning. He's seen someone lock up in fear, in anger, in incredulous shock- but this is a new flavor. Rarely does this shit play out well for him so Tony is rightfully wary when hands snap to his shoulders and-

"Yeah? That's when I'm from-" Oh, good. A smile. That's a positive sign, he's not about to get shanked at the dinner table. He's been stabbed once this year already, he'd rather not repeat it. "Midway through. The world's still turning."

Half of it. Half of the universe but-

He staggers a little in Altaïr's embrace, steadying himself with a light, tentative pat on his back. Prophecy? Of the world ending variety. What the hell.? "I'm...a little lost here, buddy. Care to fill in the gaps?"

"The story is very long, thousands of years," he answered, "even before me. But I was the first in a line. We were placed carefully, pieces on the game board, each to pass on information to the next through centuries of hidden messages, puzzles, and blood. Following me, there would be The Prophet. I have seen... glimpses of him. Yet, if I passed him in a crowd, I would know."

He didn't expect this to be believed, and he knew better than to tell the entire story - but that Tony did not know, it meant--... Hm. It could mean more than one thing. His enthusiasm curbed somewhat as he thought, but still, that the date had passed and nothing had happened, it meant there was still a chance. A blessed chance.

"The last in the chain - I understood him to be called The World. But he is the one who could stop the disaster from happening. He was the one who could save us from the sun, but only if the information was passed on. Everything foretold that all life would end in 2012 - but you tell me you've seen 2018." Altaïr's smile began to brighten once more. "And that means all of the pain - it was worth it."

Prophet, world- a bloodline leading to saving humanity? If he hadn't met Norse gods, seen aliens, and had a moon thrown at him- maybe it'd seem impossible. But he'd survived those strange fragments of insanity by the sin of his teeth if nothing else. So it was enough to have him frown and think back in an attempt to place any notable events in 2012 in this variation of the timeline-

Well shit.

New York.

The wormhole.

"It was a near thing but, yeah. We survived it." Mentioning what came after- Thanos, the snap, half the fucking universe... maybe they didn't have the same world. Maybe they did. But telling someone the future they wouldn't live to change seemed cruel; and there was such fucking relief in Altaïr's eyes. What he wouldn't give for a fragment of that for himself. "I feel like there's more to the story but- the world didn't end in twenty twelve."

He could see the thoughts going through Tony's eyes. He could see a weight on his shoulders that gained rather than lost its footing. When the man said there was more to the story, Altaïr felt confident in answering, "I believe there is more to both our stories."

His own relief was gone by then - for the greater part. There was something here he didn't know. But, all the same, neither had he been entirely honest. They both had their reasons, though he believed Tony's to be altruistic while his own were at least somewhat selfish. His wariness was old and well-earned, but as both Maria and Malik had taught him, sometimes, there was more to be learned by being straightforward. "Tell me, Tony - as you seem very involved in your world, do you know of a group called the Templars, or perhaps the Knights Templar?"

"That's an understatement." He shook his head, arms wrapping around himself in a moment, fingers drumming against his bicep. It was- could be that they're from the same world. Maybe. He didn't want to pin anything down as concrete if only to spare Altair the grief of not knowing.

Sacrifice being worth something- that was a heady validation to have. Handing it out wasn't Tony's bag, he hadn't meant to- but he wouldn't take it away if he could help it. "Templars? No. Pretty sure they were disbanded after the Crusades ended, but the Masons get caught up in conspiracy theories involving them more often than not."

"That would be where you are wrong. They were dealt a heavy blow, but they were not disbanded. Robert de Sablé was their head, but others stepped up after him." He spoke with authority - as one who knew. "They were forced to be covert instead of in the public eye. Their organisation is different from those who marched alongside King Richard, though they worked to make it appear that they wished the same as he.

"What they wished instead was to end war by controlling the minds of men. When all think alike, they claimed, all would cease all warring and conflict. True enough, but mankind should not be so controlled."

Speaking this way, his years became more evident, experience adding weight to his words. He had seen this, heard it with his own ears, and said it as fact. "And what I have seen tells me that even into the future, these Templars will survive and continue along this path - which is a part of what I spent my life to work against."

"...That sounds eerily familiar to another organization, not as old, that exists back home." With all of Schmidt and Hitler's curiosity about the occult and the near mythical aura surrounding all things Templar- he wouldn't be surprised if there was some crossover. But even if- and it's a bit if- they were connected, they were the same thing-

He can't say that they managed to pin it down and wipe it out. The more overt branches, sure. But Hydra dug in deep for a long, long while before one of it's heads got dragged into the light. Assuming they've gotten it stamped out would be foolish.

Tony shifts, shoulders tightening somewhat as the weight settles across them again, lips pressed thin. "We've got something called Hydra where I'm from. Similar goals, similarly clandestine, hard to wipe out. It's...a mess."

"It would be," Altaïr agreed. "When I knew of them, they sought an artifact. The Apple of Eden. It granted great power. The power to control men's minds, to project illusions, to give secret knowledge, but also to corrupt the one that wielded it if they wielded it without dire focus and will. I killed those who sought it for selfish purposes, and it showed me, Malik, and Malik's men that it was not the only one of those artifacts.

"Laying plans to make certain the Templars never gained them and allowed the end of the world was my life's work." But then, he looked at Tony with a knowing sympathy utterly absent of pity. "I see in your eyes that, though the world has gone on, it hasn't gone on well."

"...so help me if there are six of them in a technicolor rainbow of suck let me tell you right now to destroy them as soon as possible. Or leave word behind that they should be destroyed." Maybe they aren't from the same world but- fuck. What is it with magical mcguffins twisting things around? Apple of Eden- it sounds like the mind stone, like the reality stone- maybe a little of both or neither.

Tony scrubs at his face, rocking back on his heels, one arm wrapped around his ribs in a self soothing gesture. "It's a mess. It'll always be a mess but- it's...you do what you can. And sometimes it's not enough."

[MINGLE] Saints & Sinners Masquerade

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