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It's summer in Michigan, which means that Chosen have likely been making ample use of both the beautiful stretch of sand facing onto Lake Huron and the indoor pool attached to the Poseidon Dorms. So it will come as some surprise, perhaps, when they're ushered into the Assembly Hall for a meeting, and faced with a mountain of heavy fur coats atop one table near the front -- and a careful selection of weapons from the armory on the other.

Standing between the two setups is Max, aka Maxine Voigt, Headmaster of the Prytaneum. Her teeth are broad flash of white smile in her otherwise dark face, but her eyes are more distant, distracted. Her expression is friendly, but her posture, one arm folded across her chest and the other hand tapping idly against her cheek, is a bit more nervous. She waits for everyone to take a seat, tallying the Chosen with her eyes as they come in, before she clears her throat and begins to speak.

"We've had word of some strange behavior in a resort in the Swiss Alps -- birds terrorizing the locals, and the distinct taste of something unnatural about it." She pauses. Gathers her thought, smile dimming. "Word from above is that we need to send people to investigate. As such, it seems as if this is a good opportunity for you new recruits to test your resolve and your dedication -- and so we're sending you into the fray."

Perhaps a stunned silence follows. At least it makes Max smile again.

"We're be arming and outfitting you. As far as we can tell, this will be a simple rescue mission. Protect humanity from whatever it is that caused a distress cry to light up our hearth."

The rest of the details can be mopped up as conversation starts again. Each Chosen claiming their weapon, a coat, boots [if they don't have them, to deal with traipsing through the snow], and a bundle of supplies designed to last one or two days, and is shuffled along with no questions answered.

OOC:

This thread begins our first Epic! Please make sure you read both prompts above [and that you've completed your Recruitment Solo] before posting your reply.

Your characters are being transported via hearth. This is the main form of transportation for the shop, and is genuinely as simple as walking through Hestia's flames, from one place of hospitality to another -- assuming you're Chosen, and have the protection of a god, as all heroes at the Prytaneum should. Please reply with a short reaction of your character to the task at hand. Are they afraid? Are they excited?

Make sure to also include in bold red font which of the following weapons your character is claiming from the pile. This will be the only weapon your character will have access to for the foreseeable future, so choose wisely!



As a refresher, to help you choose your weapon, please consult from the rules, found in the Combat Thread:



Once you've posted that, head to this thread and start your adventure!

The knowledge that they were being mobilized was kind of startling. Dahl had thought they'd have been given more time, more training, just more overall. It had only been two weeks since their mass arrival at the camp. While he felt competent, in terms of fighting, he certainly didn't feel proficient. But... it was just crazed birds, right? Maybe some god got extra pissed and sicc'd them on people. Regardless of any misgivings, it wasn't as though he had a choice. For not the first time, he wondered if this was really worth it. Nothing bad had happened, but neither had anything good. He was antsy from the lack of privacy and sudden change, missed his old apartment, sparse though it was. Dahl wondered if his website still got hits. Shaking away his thoughts, he shrugged into his own jacket and boots - coming from the east coast meant he had things equipped to deal with snow and cold - and grabbed his weapon, coiling it around his hand.

A whip: something that, before coming here, he'd only used recreationally and, even then, he preferred other implements. But in his time here, he'd gravitated towards it, though he would have preferred the soft metal clink of a chain. Beggars couldn't be choosers, even if they were chosen. Dahl almost laughed at the thought. He shuffled obediently after the rest of the chosen, wondering why the hearth of all places. Eyes flicking up, somehow he felt unsurprised by the motherly kitchen worker being 'in on it', so to speak. But the knowledge of just how much in on it was a little startling. He hadn't expected a goddess, after all, though maybe he should have expected more.

Instead of dwelling on it, he peered dubiously into the fire. So this was their method of travel. They'd be walking through fire with the promise that they'd be fine, unharmed, and presumably unheated... Still, Dahl waited until someone else went through first. It was one thing to be asked to believe without proof and another to have sort of proof. All in all, the process seemed like Harry Potter and that... blue powder? Gloo? He didn't quite recall and it didn't really matter. When it was his turn, he stepped forward and walked through without hesitation, although he wanted nothing more than to gingerly stick a finger in, test out the flames. Dahl knew it didn't matter, since he'd be forced into the flames regardless. Maybe it was like peeling a band-aid: better done in one hard yank.

A meeting sounded like a much needed break from yet another day in the gym at first. She had strolled into the hall with a relief that had slackened into confusion. This place was stunning and the weather had been incredible, so why the hell would any of them need fur coats? She turned green eyes towards Max and waited to understand what exactly was going on.

Birds... That didn't sound so terrifying really but then she'd never done any of this before. Practice was one thing, against dummies and against other Chosens but, real batter. That was all together different. A spike of fear thrummed up into her throat at the thought of it all and yet adrenaline overwhelmed it. She was tired of the routine of practice. It was somehow worse than day after day after day of ballet. Other than the three friends she had made, there seemed to be too much time and too much aimlessness. She wasn't used to either. She needed a task; a goal. And it looked like this was it.

There was a strange familiarity to being ushered out with no time to ask questions. She followed the crowd, taking a whip into her hand--it was the one weapon that never seemed to fail her--as well as the other things she needed. The coat was heavy on her frame, the boots felt clunky after too many days of lighter footwear, but the supplies were welcome.

She could do this, she thought, as she looked around to see if any of her friends or acquaintances had yet to come. Unfortunately there seemed to be no sign of a familiar face. At least until she noticed the woman from the kitchens. She offered a smile until realization caught up with her. This was Hestia; well, damn. The knowledge was shoved back as the goddess began to speak. The idea of walking through flames seemed more disconcerting to her than it did the otherworldly woman but what hadn't been, really.

When none of the three people in front of her burst into flames, she deemed it safe. If not insane. With a breath, she followed suit. There was a brief moment where her mind screamed no but she ignored it. She had to do this. If not none, then eventually. Sooner was better than later. The blue-green flames danced and she stepped through. Into what and into where... Sometimes, she had to wonder about herself.

Being called in for a meeting was actually pretty exciting. She'd been spending most of her time in the gym, practicing with the bow, working on her upper body strength. Maybe skipping over to the studio a bit more than before, and no it was totally only for the film development...

Still patting away the sweat of the mix of the summer heat and working out in the gym, Tara sought familiar faces as she was among the group ushered into the Assembly Hall. Almost immediately her eyes fell on the tables. More importantly, the fur coats. And, of course, the fact that some weapons were also out on display. But the coats confused and concerned her the most of all. It was pretty warm outside--unless a deity was about to blast them with a blizzard for some test, she didn't really see the point for this. The Headmaster's posture and bit of fidgeting didn't help her own nerves, and Tara herself fidgeted quite a bit where she was.

The recap of what was happening in the Swiss Alps--"Wait like... Switzerland?" she'd mumbled, awestruck. Did they need their passports?--had been. Ok so she'd gotten distracted pretty fast with her own amazement. Enough that she'd almost missed the fact that something was causing birds to attack people. "I hated that Alfred Hitchcock movie as a kid."

She'd been nervous to go around sparrows for weeks after seeing it.

Tara was more concerned about the fact they were being sent out onto the field, but her mumbled babbling was her best attempt at trying to sooth her own nerves. Simple rescue mission. From birds. Possibly being pushed on by an unknown force. She eyed the moon bracelet she wore. Birds were animals, and they did fall under Artemis' protection--right?--so Tara figured she should be a little more enthusiastic about this. But she was a bundle of nerves as she got bundle up in her new coat, boots, and picked up a bow.

It was a weapon she felt comfortable enough using, all things considered. Pulling her hood around her head, clutching the bow tight, listening to the woman at the hearth. A woman she'd seen quite a bit at the kitchens--when the realization hit that this was a goddess, Hestia, Tara nearly smacked herself in her face. She'd expecting all the gods to just look... inhuman. Unrecognizable as anything but what they were. Still, her words were... a relief. Tara found herself giving a genuine smile to the woman, and as others began to step through the hearth, the young woman braced herself. Walk through flames.

No big deal.

She took in a gulp of air to steady herself, and... walked.

Jan was a little suspicious of assemblies. Usually in his experience they meant one of two things, someone was in trouble or that something major was going to happen. Neither of those things sat very well with him, mostly because change more often than not meant inconvenience and danger and well trouble went without saying. It turned out in the end it was the latter rather than the former. The pile of heavy fur coats - quite useless in the summer conditions they'd been having - was his first hint that something quite out of the ordinary was going on. Still, he listened to what the headmaster had to say, a little flighty and tense and unable to help his inclination to eye the door hopefully throughout.

When the swiss alps were mentioned all his concerns increased twofold. Switzerland was fine, but mountains were not. Jan was not a creature of mountains and hiking, he was a creature of comfortable chairs and climate controlled environments. They were going to just send them right in there, throwing them up a mountain without so much as a bit of training, without so much as a bit of looking them over to see if they were suitable. Because surely if they looked at him they'd that he deserved a nice little cushy desk job rather than...rather than this.

For all his silent outrage and indignation he complied with what they were told to do, concerned that if he showed dissent he'd be disposed of in some horrible way. After all, this was even more strange and top secret than most government operations he'd read about, if he was in some Project Monarch style thought experiment he was disposable and had to make sure that he wasn't.

He was rather grim as he gathered a coat and boots (slightly irritated at having to admit his delicate shoe size while many other men reached for the shoes that could have doubled as kayaks) and his other supplies. He stuck close to Rodney out of a sheer desire to be close to someone who he knew even a little and who no doubt would be as upset as he was about it.

The weapons were given a horrified look for how frankly barbaric it all was, he didn't intend to fight anyone, fighting people was the first and surest way to get yourself killed, if you went charging up to someone wielding a bow and arrow they'd shoot you in two seconds flat. It was all horrible and frankly terrifying, but this was the situation he found himself in.

Looking over the weapons he tried to find one which was reasonable and wouldn't provoke monsters or people into hurting him for one reason or another. Shields were out because they were heavy and he wasn't going to carry one around with him, even bucklers were awkward and no doubt would chafe when it came to long hours trekking around with one. Bows and spears were right out for the obviousness and sheer size of their construction.

He knew how to use a whip but didn't think it was in the correct context for this sort of venture though, so for now he gave it a miss.

Brass knuckles were a thug's weapon and he was not a thug either. Swords were too big. In the end he chose a dagger, because it was light and in a pinch it might be enough to cut some ropes or be used for survival purposes if they ended up stranded in the alps.

When the premise of the hearth was explained to him he let out the sigh of a man who was completely resigned to the strangeness of his fate and stepped forward to face whatever lay ahead.

Rodney had practiced some using the Tower Shield, and hadn't enjoyed his time cowering behind it. It would be worse, maybe, with something else. But...he'd rather go in with his eyes open. To whatever it was there were doing. He shuddered as he touched each sharp-edged weapon, a pacifist by more than choice. Violence didn't appeal to him. He tried to look at the items as tools, instead. Things that could reach targets. Help in...other ways. He took down the great bow with maybe more ease than some of the others in the group, strapping it to his shoulder like a kayak.

"Maybe we won't have to use them on anyone living," Rodney said as Lawrence took, too, what was mostly a small tool.

"I um, I hope we're not going whaling," he joked a little, in reference to what was essentially a harpoon for an arrow.

He wasn't sure what the historical use for a bow that big had been.

People were also walking into fire, as instructed. Without questioning. He watched with a great deal of nervousness as the first person stepped into the flame...and disappeared. Was it...an illusion? He held a hand out, and he could feel the heat, surely...

But Lawrence, too, disappeared into the fire.

Holding his breath, he stepped in after him.

"--birds terrorizing the locals, and the distinct taste of something unnatural about it."

Mal blinked, and mouthed the word to himself. Birds. Birds? That was-- well, alright, birds. He listened to the instructions and adjusted his glasses, and finally gave up on them. He put them away in the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. Easier not to lose them or break them that way, and his vision wasn't as bad as it could be. For birds, he thought, it'd do.

In a way, the mobilization was not a surprise. Everyone there had been chosen (or Chosen) because they had the makings of a hero in them, right? A hero's life, however long it lasted, was almost always made up of emergencies. Mal couldn't think of any hero who wasn't, at heart, a firefighter; every crisis was a blaze to put out.

Mal shrugged into the fur coat provided and toed out of his usual shoes for the boots, lacing them up with care. It'd be stupid to lace them wrong and lose them half-way through a battle (with birds!) and end up with frostbite because of it. And while it was even likely that frostbite was fixable, Mal didn't know if he wanted to be dumb enough to get it at all.

The table of weapons, divided as they were, didn't make Mal hesitate for a beat. He both liked and didn't like how the sword felt in his hand, so that was the natural choice. And besides, he'd used it a few times now; he preferred familiarity when it came down to an actual battle. (Even if the battle was with birds.)

And the woman-- the woman he'd seen in the kitchen before, in the Dining hall and here before, too, he realized. He blinked. The gentleness of her voice was reassuring as the line shuffled forward and they went off, one by one, to --

Fight birds.

It was no stranger than the dazzling blue-green fire on the hearth itself, which moved like flame. Mal bet that it wasn't, though, and took a deep breath through his nose; he had a feeling it wouldn't smell like real fire, either. The line shuffled forward again, another body gone through it. He hoped there wasn't a pile up; he couldn't imagine a stranger way to begin an adventure than to fall out of a fire (would it be blue-green on the other side?) into a pile of other struggling, fur-coat wearing bodies.

At least, he thought with a ghost of a smile, he was not likely to catch a bullet from a flock of birds, no matter how-- evil they might be. He pushed aside the word that had come to mind first, because it made him shiver and think of things tap tap taping at doors that should never open from the inside. Mal wasn't ready to think about that yet.

He shuffled forward another pace. He was next, and he flexed his hand around the handle of the sword he'd chosen. Familiar, plain hilt, regular length, everything about it innocuous except that it was a sword, and he was a detective, and what on earth did he think he was doing here? Really.

Apparently he was shuffling forward the last step to walk into a hearth big enough to roast a car in, and into magical (blessed?) blue-green flames that would take him somewhere in the Swiss Alps...

So he could fight birds.