Who: Hela and you!
What: The Queen of the Dead comes to New Moore
When: Various and sundry times
Where: Various and sundry places
WARNING: please be advised that Hela is someone who has gone toe to toe with Odin and Thor and is perfectly willing to use magic or violence. If you need to reach me about this for any reason you can find me at ohmygodbees.

Adventure A: Arrival

The arrival of the dread Hela does not come without warning; a few seconds warning, maybe, to feel the temperature in the park plummet to cold and clammy, and stay there. She's the proverbial tall and dark, taller than anyone should have a right to be, clad in black and green armor, and for the few moments it takes her to grasp her situation everything is dead silent.

"Who dares?!" The righteous shriek of indignity, louder than any human could scream, the temperature dropping dangerously and the air hard to breathe. But of course, there's no one there who could be called the culprit. Or is there?


Adventure B: Magic

There's a light display somewhere just beyond the city limits, violent neon green lightning arcing up towards the sky and skittering over the barrier. Hela has a lot of power to bring to bear, and yet no matter what spell she tries nothing seems to work. The portals flash and glow, but refuse to open to Hel; her magic can map the boundaries, but not break whatever wards remain in place.

But she has a lot of power, and nothing but patience. She can stand here for a day and a night and longer, if she has been, trying an eternity's worth of tricks. And if it seems she takes no immediate notice for anyone who might investigate, well. The power to ward herself still functions as it should.


Adventure C: The Search, aka. The Noir Woman

When power fails- when you can't get what you want for yourself- there's no shame in taking the resourceful route and finding someone to do it for you. Hela has a guise for going about among mortals that would make Sam Spade weak at the knees- a dress cut down to her hips, sleeveless and tight, and the sort of large and fancy hat that would make any Southern belle jealous with envy. She can't recognize the magic or the work, but surely someone else can. In the offices of the city hall, the hospital, down to the last bar she can find, lying in wait or walking in like she owns the place; sooner or later, someone will heed, and someone will talk, and she will know who to make pay.

Who: Thorfinn and you!
Where: Outdoors, AT SOME PLACE??? Somewhere. Pick and choose.
When: morning~noon of june 12th, I am flexible.

I'm sure you're sick of the newer arrivals already, right? Sorry to say that this one won't really help you either. With his getup of thick, medieval winter garb, and how he's a little weird in how he moves—cautiously, with erratic changes between walking forward and then whirling around, as if having heard something, even when it seems like there wasn't any noise at all—he's a glaringly obvious anomaly. To make matters worse, or at least a little more complicated, his fists—which repeatedly move up, poising to protect himself or something like that, before returning to a somewhat-neutral position (as neutral as one can be when he seems like he's on a hair-trigger)—have two shortswords planted in them, and while he doesn't look nervous or panicked at all, the sour expression on his unappealing mug and his alertness might be an indication that he's not afraid to use these at any given time, especially to those who might want to approach him.

There is a point, though, when the faint sound of a cell phone ringing can be heard, and he jumps, startled—wildly swirling around to find the noise, only to realize that it's coming from his own pocket. It's then that he throws the cell phone on the ground, which, incidentally causes the following feed:

* * * video * * *

[ while the feed shows nothing but dirt, you can hear someone cursing. ]

What the hell—[ and then a few footsteps, slow and precise, before there's a pause.

and then the feed shifts, like something's poking the phone. ]

.. The hell is this? [ of course, thorfinn isn't one to listen to people's explanations, and as soon as they had told him he was fictional, he'd blocked off whatever other ~helpful~ explanations they'd tried to give him—so it's not surprising that he doesn't know what this is, nor does he have any hold on the situation right now.

another poke, before there's the sound of steel rubbing against dirt; a glint of metal can be seen when the phone flips over, naturally not of its own accord, but of thorfinn's accord. or his knife, rather, as he's handling the phone with nothing but.

something one can notice when they see the boy is, firstly, that he's dirty and bruised, especially in the face, as if still healing from a fight—but his dirtiness isn't merely just from the fight, but years and years of habit and lack of care. rather than a head of hair, he looks like he has a blonde bird's nest, and his brown eyes are barely visible and glaring at the camera, and it's clear that he has.. absolutely no idea what this device is. secondly, while his expression of apparent continual grumpiness and lack of light in his eyes shouldn't belong to any child, he looks to be physically small enough to be one.

with a squint, he crouches near the device, as if having determined that the strange object wasn't going to harm him, and.. pokes it. with the knife. repeatedly, until one of his pokes hits a button and the phone trills, and he moves back instantly, blinking in bewilderment. ]

What in—Odin's name—!?

[ ... another poke, another beep, and more bewilderment. rinse and repeat. ]

* * * end video * * *

... although while you could certainly take the chance to approach him while he's bemused by the smartphone, you could meet him somepoint else in his grumpy walk.

Who: Rufio and you!
Where: Outdoors, anywhere. Starting downtown, but feel free to start a new thread anywhere that's not a building.
When: The morning of June 12th.

Luckily for New Moore's much-damaged hospital real estate, many of the new arrivals are appearing at random all over the island. Given that this one's brandishing a sword, that might be especially lucky. As the sun comes up, he's standing on a rooftop in the business district, strutting back and forth with a scowl, and crowing like a rooster at the top of his lungs.