Plaids
  
  RAVNICA, THIRD DISTRICT  
  Introductions   
Scarcely a week has passed since your world had been upheaved. Ravnica had always been a factional city paved with mutual disdain between the feuding guilds. Though the dense cityscape offered respites and opportunities for small acts of fraternal misconduct amongst the myriad of people of Ravnica every public transaction warranted scrutiny from a superior to probe its impact on  other  guilds. Whether your guild had considered it ecological niche or economic comparative advantages the stances and postures were alike. Your adversaries must never be allowed to occupy the niche of apex predator, and your comparative advantages must not be eroded or serve  their  interests.

 --oOo-- 
The invasion had been violent but short, leaving you alive. But the salvage encompassed all of Ravnica leading to the collaborative restoration of Ravnica. You stand around a waning campfire as a whistling kettle suspended by an improvised tripod announces the completion of your morning brew. Life had been dusty, rough, and gritty since your hasty assignment and arrival Salvage Site 3  Copper Cave . A dirty cart towed by two undead ordained by the Orzhov squeaks by coming uncomfortably close the tripod and ruining your morning ritual. Their jet-black bodies and golden masks offer no apologies while the head of slain  Phyrexian   within bobbles back and forth over every bump in its path. Its open jaw silently cackles at the prospect of forcing you to clean up its mess.

The day had started early and site managers seeking not to be outdone by one their counterparts from rival guilds
"  Divinity abhors layabouts!  " A finely dressed human priestess, chief field general  Elizabeta Evangelico , melodically sighs accusingly towards you. Her Orzhov pendant magnificently shines on her neck. She fluidly sweeps an ornate censer to guide the teams of undead, much more fittingly than any of you she would add, to haul away the rubble.

  "All living things must work to survive and today is not any different". Come, we can still complete our mission on schedule.   Chief physician  Vajsoon , a male Loxodon, remarks warmly before reciting an incantation summoning green ribbons of light spiraled with white veins coaxing maple sweet sap from a tree towards a large retort dispensing sinister black sludge. He discreetly sniffs the sap, allowing it to nourish his soul.

  "Never learning anything new from doing it twice. Let's finish up and blow this site."   Cackles chief goblin scientist,  Magda Fugate . She fidgets in front of an assembly line in search of any small treasures worth salvaging. She giggles excitedly as she thumbs through the lenses affixed to helmet no doubt repurposed from the remains of the optometrist's office you uncovered last week.

The sun peaks over the horizon as even the plane itself seems intent on prodding you to work.
Zhentarim
Thalion Greenleaf takes another juicy bite of a peach from a tree he helps tend in the Selesnya gardens. Juice running down his face, he asks Vasjoon "What kind of repair work is on the agenda? I want to get done as soon as I can so I can go back to napping and eating under the old oak tree back at the Conclave."
Plaids
     Copper Cave Salvage Site    

Vajsoon smiles warmly as Thalion approaches. The elder Loxodon had grown accustomed the relaxed etiquette that had taken root in his young disciple of nature. Vajsoon gives a sly and humored but welcoming smile that embraced Thalion as much as his Loxodon body; broadcasting that  he had  accepted the unique gait at which Thalion charted through life but other senior Selesnian naturalists would be quickly to reprimand such a pace.

  No repairs today Thalion, Madga promised me that doubly so today. All we need to do is keep feeding this machine, the "retort", the sap it needs to continue freeing the land of this awful oil. Delightful, isn't it? Nature has provided us a sticky treat and an essential fluid for reclaiming our world.   He whimsically extolls as he continues spiraling mana to coax sap from the tree. The sweet aroma of the sap diffuses through the air the pace and temperature of the machine rises.

Izzet engineers had provided details on the "retort" machine to Thalion and other Selesnyan acolytes before the salvage had begun. The abridged details re-emerge, the sealed chambers were filled debris and skeletons tainted by the corruptive Phyrexian oil, the contents were heated by runes. The oil would evaporate and travel the body of the machine before being cooled by an ice mephit, frigid water, and the sweet sap. The syrup was a compromise between the Izzets' insistence on the use of experimental, ecologically hazardous, antifreezes and Selesnyan concerns. But many accolytes had endured weeks without pastries drizzled in their sweet maply syrup.
 
 Spoiler: Retort recollections 
  
 

  Whether it is the machinery, plants, or your own troubleshooting I have faith you will do what is needed to advance the mission. I just worry... Some of the other masters have been discussing their theories in the evolution. How the tick despite being cousin to the spider, relies on hosts to feed it, move it to new pastures, and protect it. Causing the tick to lose its protective venom, its nimble climbing feet, and beautiful webs. They believe the tick, like all parasites are fated to lose the natural blessing of nature.   He wearily apologizes to Thalion.

You remember the picturesque Selesnyan arboretums and manicured meadows. Beautiful orb weaver spiders congregated and spun webs around the vegetable gardens and dusty indoor spaces out of reach. But no ticks were ever present. One of the masters had made it apparent during their sermons on the ever-present virtues inherent in nature and the duty of Selesnya, the stewards of nature, to honor them.

  But not all the masters. I still believe every creature has a place in the natural world. Your dreams serve a purpose even if others don't know yet.   He comfortingly replies as some vigor returns to him. Vajsoon doubles his efforts in rushing sap to the retort while black Phyrexian oil gathers in large cauldron. A trail of smoky incense slithers along the ground leading a team of gilded zombies to collect the filling pot.

The rising sun reveals the presence of inquisitive figures partially hidden by the frames of the modest wooden one and two-story buildings composing the town of Copper. The guild less townsfolk observe less tentatively now with the sun making any effort at observing inconspicuously moot.

 
 Spoiler: OOC: Potential tasks 
 There is a lot of skill checks that could be done during the day. Maybe arcana-based engineering, nature-based sap collection, perception-based inspections on people, tools, or the environment, even something else if it makes sense. Two skills can be rolled due to the day being long.
 
bluecrackpot
“Hmmm, many thought-provoking questions posited,” Nitt remarks to no one in particular. “Mayhap the tick has become complacent in its lot in life, mayhap it does not have the mental or physical capacity to survive on its own. What if it is incapable of learning from its mistakes? Hmmmm, thought-provoking questions indeed.”

After a pause to scan over Witt, his lime, almost neon, green pseudodragon familiar and the rest of the salvage crew, the vedalken posits a question of his own, again to no one in particular, “What if it were possible to more safely and seamlessly blend the natural world with the supernatural?”

Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “While predicting the future is a fool’s game, somewhere down the line there must at least be an improvement on  that ” he adds, bleary eyes alighting under the dawning of the day as he peers at the contraption he spent half the night studying.

“Come now,” Nitt instructs his familiar as he dusts himself off and grabs his staff, “It is time to see what lies ahead.”

Dutifully, the pseudodragon emits a brief cheerful chirp and flies onto Nitt’s shoulder opposite the staff. Upon reaching its perch, the familiar begins a curious breathing exercise as it swivels its head to survey the scene, first analyzing the contraption before curiously peering at the increasingly-obvious onlookers.
Plaids
     Copper Cave Salvage Site    
 Nitt's observations 

After briefly contemplating the philosophy of one Selesnyan sect told by senior Selesnyan naturalist Vajsoon the work site comes into greater focus. Each breath of cool air filled with the dual aromas of incense and antifreeze sap bring details of the retort and the growing crowd into greater prominence to Nitt.

The retort

The  retort , a proud Izzet contribution, hums and hisses as it begins the process of separating Phyrexian oil from salvageable materials. The pace of crew's operation is evident in the condition. Dirt coats the heat chamber preventing any casual inspection of its state. The coolant chamber lacks any leaks and the rapid clinking of the machines body indicates the sieves separating smaller debris from Phyrexian contamination is in a taxed but working order. If the machine were a junior Izzet lab assistant, it would be disheveled and momentarily groggy from neglecting its grooming after having spent several nights in lab to complete the final day of promsing experiment in a promising scientific campaign.

The croud

No concentrated use of  Insight  is required to discern the prevailing attitudes of the  crowd . A mix of frustration and accumulated discontent permeates the crowd. The Guildless have had an uneasy relation with the guilds recently. The escalating tensions and arms race between guilds had led to the decline of civil services along with the fracturing of a governing body. The guilds ran every aspect official function of Ravnican society and not everyone was satisfied with it. But complaints were hushed, who could raise objections to what seemed to be the bedrock, the most entrenched premise, of Ravnican society?

"  - cleaning up their mess - what a load of - why I outta. "
The Phyrexians had broken Ravnica's bedrock and shook the most deeply belief. Routines broke along with buildings and most long-standing leaders had receded from constant public view, including Niv Mizzet the guildmaster of Izzet. The crowd slowly begins to grow and creep forwards. The individual figures blend together without a concentrated use of  Perception  though the figures are not all uniform. Perhaps a pendant, attitude, speech, or cloth was distinguishing a few?