westwhere | out you go, shoo

out you go, shoo

READY TO ROLL OUT

That awkward moment when even a brothel won’t have you.

Characters will end their sojourn at the House of Dew early morning, helmed by Haltham (and his murderous goat, chomping on his prosthetic wooden hand for splinter nutrients). Courtesans and attendants will send the group away with parting gifts: a few sacs of grains, handfuls of spice, a small barrel of brew, several of water, thin blankets and four fat chickens.

The decrepit farm stands an hour’s walk east of Sa-Hareth, bordering the forest at the foot of the mountain.

...and it has not wanted for company. Monstrously overgrown wolves prowl the region, with some of the pack settled inside the farm. The wolves are halfway between dead and living, instantly aggressive, sharper, faster, smarter and blue-eyed beyond natural expectation.

The wolves are drawn to heat and fire-bearers. They can be slain, or pushed back into the forest. If the brawl drags on, the wolves may receive reinforcements.

Distantly, characters can observe silhouettes of pale-eyed, humanoid creatures in the forest, covered in animal skins. They seem to speak to the wolves, though it is unclear if they soothe or set them to attack.

Once an elaborate woodsmen’s station, the 'farm' is a generous, sprawling outpost built, home to now-barren inner garden.

The farm spreads across kitchens, bathing rooms, hefty storage barns, a handful of isolated rest halls and broader communal areas. A study room has been crammed with accountancy tomes, papers and other books, many torn alongside glass shards on the floor. A shakily furnished barn was coarsely repurposed for banquets.

Set up, inspect, repurpose. There’s enough dust and mildew to go around, and several walls and roof stretches will need reinforcements.

“Ah,” characters say innocently, “Surely the cold will keep away vermin —” You have rats. Large, uncuddly, distinctly violent, prone to swarming once the sun’s downed. Enjoy that first night.

Haltham will provide some base construction supplies over a few deliveries, along with a personal gift: a herding dog, to watch over two fluffy sheep.

Flex those green thumbs: many moons ago, enchantments were set in place to warm the garden to a tolerable level that will allow the expedited harvest of an arctic patch. These spells will need to be activated and periodically recharged every few days by characters donating recoverable amounts of magic or physical stamina, by touching a nearby rune. But, hey: potatoes, turnips, kale, mmmmmmmmm, a balanced diet.

“Never open your doors at night,” Haltham says on parting. Lend him an ear — and, once the moon rises, hear the forest whispers. Some voices will beg rescue from the cold, others will tease and taunt, a few will imitate enemies or kin. Some will even disrupt dreams.

The voices will seek to lure characters out of their shelter. Those who heed will find themselves compelled to walk into the forest, entranced and ignorant of the cold that slowly envelops them. They will be vulnerable to the elements, tundra predators and the woodland creatures, growing increasingly feral.

Those who survive the night in the forest will wake to find themselves floating in a chilled, but strangely not-yet frozen lake in the morning. They can have faint recollections, as if they themselves lived any of the following events: a friend taking a dark path, the loss of a dear skill, years in a coffin, a close friend parted, a beloved reunion, a lost brother, a tender romance and rare bliss in poverty.

At the bottom of the lake, they may spot the still corpse of an undead that feels too heavy for anyone to lift. His arm has a tattooed red sleeve.

During the day, characters who visit the forest will find it eerily silent, with some trees showing signs of scratches and lingering rope. The lake can still be found, but entering it during daytime will not allow characters to experience foreign memories.

Karsa will reconfigure everyone’s quartz pieces to translate outside of the House of Dew and communicate in a private channel. Still nothing like individual inboxes at this time!

Up to player discretion if Karsa had the time and humour to change their usernames, or stranded them to their House of Dew identities a little longer.

Characters will also be able to access a secondary local fishermen’s network and listen in on their schedules, local gossip and daily weather updates.

Woodsmen, tradesmen and miners will be surprised to see anyone inhabiting the farm, with some men pulling away, calling the place cursed.

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... I'm not naked?

[Sure, the fabric is a little see-through right now but he's wearing robes?]

Be careful. That probably takes a lot of energy. Water is really heavy and difficult to manipulate.

Oh. That sounds complicated. I think if I try to do it myself, I'll probably mess it up.

[His luck being what it is, he'll find a way to turn this into a disaster.]

Someone bought some in town earlier, so it exists somewhere. I guess I'll just have to find enough money for a few sticks. But thank you!

Ah, there's a study or a library, isn't there? Maybe I'll find some paper and ink to make a picture.

[Xie Lian follows, noting the similar garb, although the man's attire is, in fact, deceptively simple. From afar, one could think Xie Lian and this man to be dressed the the same. From up close, it's more visible that Xie Lian's robes are made of coarse cotton and wool, while this other person has silk and embroidery on his.There's a few people like that around that he has seen, wearing clothes he's familiar with but much grander than anything he has.]

We'll fix it up!

[Once in the room, he starts taking stocks of the holes and drafts. The roof...]

We can put a few wood slates over the holes up there, it should be fine. But for the walls... if there are any rags to plug the most drafty holes, it would help before we cover them up. Let me get up here and have a look.

[Easy enough to jump up there, and see the damage. Not worse than in other parts, thankfully, but this room is really far away from the center of the house whee it's warmer.]

Who is this room for? Won't they be cold out there?

The first time he's offered a talisman, Xie Lian blinks and smiles gratefully.

"Thank you! I can't believe I didn't even think of making any. With how many ghosts and spirits there are around, surely, those would help a bit."

As it happens, he was poised himself to paint the picture to put on his little altar, but he can probably used some of the extra scraps of paper....

"I haven't done this in a while. Let's see."

He picks up a piece of paper, but instead of a brush and ink, he just holds it between his two fingers and focuses his spiritual power, what little of it he has access to, and the characters just appear on the paper, bleeding out into existence.

"Okay, good, this still works. And I guess I can paint them if needed. Here."

He holds out his own talisman to the young man.

[Eleven listens intently even as he tries to work, and quells the urge to laugh into a bemused smile. The seeming off-hand details are as intriguing as they are fascinating.

Of course, he can't really help but look back to the God, as though his appearance may have changed with just the mention of possibility. But he hasn't, and Eleven glances away quickly again. There's probably another good reason he shouldn't stare.

And some questions that might come off rudely if asked directly. He hopes he can avoid such offenses, but he hardly grasps the social pleasantries that go hand-in-hand with speaking to nobility- much less the divine]

S-so ah, you.. chose to come to this one?

Edited 2021-05-16 06:55 (UTC)

No, I didn't. I'm still not quite sure how this whole thing happened. I was doing something else, and next thing I knew, I woke up on that ship.

[He gives Eleven a soft smile.]

Besides, my believer who would pray for me to help them isn't even here, so I can't have been called here by him. Whatever caught us, it must be really powerful.

[That's- he really can't bear a smile like that with any grace. Eleven flushes and sweeps the same spot on repeat in the time it takes to find words again,. They're earnest at least, in spite of the flustered strain of them]

..I want to help. A God shouldn't be parted from the- the world and people that believe in him. So, if I can..

[ this is usually the part where he says I'll do it, then. Gil clearly sees the pitfall calling to him, but he will resist (maybe if the ingredients were already& mdash;no no no, stop. ]

...Ah, then it's not so big of a deal to learn. Already-made conveniences are nice.

[ Gilbert pauses before canting his head. ]

... I'm not exactly sure. I think you've been here a lot longer than me, though. So I would take your word over mine, if I were you.

A. the more that you want it

The first few days are a definite adjustment. Their new home away from home has obvious flaws. Five doesn't really care about rats or creaky floors. He's survived in less sanitary conditions, on less food and poorer excuses for shelter, so that's not really an issue. But the more time he spends here, the more he can understand why it was abandoned. There's the unnaturally aggressive wolves who already tried to attack him, there's the voices that he himself has nearly succumbed to at night, and other looming threats he's yet to encounter but feels uniquely exposed to.

Aside from that, the farm also has one considerable up side.

His sister took to the farm quicker than he ever would have expected, what with the pretty horrifying circumstances he managed to suck her into. He thinks she might be in denial, but right now that's not really a bad thing. Keeping Vanya calm is crucial to their collective survival. And seeing her at relative peace... he doesn't want to take that away from her with his paranoid (if legitimate) concerns.

He's not ignorant to the fact that the stress of an unsolvable dilemma has been making him act rashly, and that it wouldn't hurt to take a cue from Vanya. This isn't a time to relax, but even he needs to take a breather now and then. While everyone seemed intent on fixing up the building or tending to livestock, Five spends his time rifling through it. Quickly he concludes that their supplies are inadequate. One would think any possibly-haunted farmhouse would at least have some dusty cellar filled with alcohol, but no. It appears it was either already claimed, or long since spent. Evidently he was going to have to make another trip to the market. It's a shame it's too far to teleport.

There's two problems. One, even if this place seems to be lost in time, it still seems to have an issue with letting him purchase his own alcohol. Not to mention that his face is starting to be more well known, so he'd most likely be relying on his ability again once he got there. The second issue being that he doesn't really want to leave Vanya to her own devises after catching wind of what she's been up to.

Nevertheless, he makes a list of items he sees them lacking and does some quick math to tally the cost. Unlike the rest of them, he's not terribly concerned about running out of coin any time soon. Everyone seems so eager to help, they'd probably enjoy the errand. Rather than seek anyone out, he sits on the kitchen counter and waits for someone to pass by. If he gives them money and the list, something extra for their trouble, he doesn't see why it would pose a problem.

B. the more that you need it

Things were so much simpler when Five could narrow down a problem to a simple matter of killing the right person.

Alone in a quiet dining room, desperate for a cup of coffee, he rubs his face in hands while he idly considers the idea. He doesn't like to kill, had all but sworn off it except when necessary, but he can't help the fact that he's well trained at a particular brand of problem solving. They'd already proven that for all their efforts to stay discrete, there's a certain benefit to gaining some amount of attention. No matter what anyone says, he doesn't regret that taking bold action had attracted the ship where he found his sister. The rest of his siblings could be carted off in similar conditions. Since finding all of them is paramount to getting them back home, he can't very well sit idly.

The natural problem is that he doesn't know the future, or understand enough to correctly predict what could alter it. He has the means to find out, but between the dangers of removing himself from the timeline and the crippling uncertainty of going back, he can't justify it. (Unless he can manage to fix a certain broken time-traveling briefcase.) Their present, the present where he found his sister, needs to remain somewhat intact. That doesn't prevent him from making an educated guess on the path ahead, and examining the variables that could impact it.

For the sake of distraction, or just to get his mind working on something familiar, he starts to map out the effects of what various murders at a certain point in time would have on their situation, based on various probable futures. There's Torsten, who (he was repeatedly--patronizingly--told) could draw attention of the merchant guilds, almost assuredly by his death. There are lesser players, like that... miner. Gorm. Easier to find and take care of, but he needs to make more observations to see if it would draw out Anurr's forces or just rally his cultish supporters. His consideration hinges on the idea that escalating a conflict would improve the odds of more captives showing up to deal with the threat. Risky, but even a desperate option is worth considering when it could get him closer to his goal. Then of course there's moving beyond the obvious. Who has ties to who. He takes extensive notes, so it's just good sense that he make use of them.

He spends the next hour following his little thought experiment down different avenues. None of it sounds like a breakthrough, but even with the imperfect math, there's something satisfying about working the equations and solving things the way he used to before he was so concerned about undead armies. When the death of an unsuspecting gardener could possibly avert an apocalypse. The threat now is less definitively impending, which complicates matters. If he does find his siblings and they were beyond his help, he already knows he'd be forced to take a jump back in time and undo the whole thing. Hope he doesn't jump too far and start from scratch. And that's a last resort he doesn't want to have to use unless the world really is ending again.

Five realizes a bit late that he started writing on the table when he ran out of paper. Of course, he's confident that nobody but him would understand his handiwork, but he should probably cover it with a tablecloth just in case. He sighs as he gets up to see what he can find.

C. I know you'll be by my side

Five has learned enough to only go into the forest during the day. Whatever happens out here at night, he doesn't want to get wrapped up in it. Not when he's witnessed the effects these unseen forces have on the mind. It makes more sense to investigate when it's light out and things are less unpredictable. It has absolutely nothing to do with needing to get away from the group for a while. He's always surrounded by people these days, but that's no need for them to get too familiar.

He's acutely aware of how warm his blazer is the further he walks, and it reminds him.

Not far out from the farm, he's seen the signs that his sister has been using her powers. The clearing he passes makes that very apparent. On the one hand, it's good to know she's training. On the other... well, he'd feel better if he were around for these things. He makes a note to tell her as much.

Though it does bring up a point. Shouldn't he be doing the same? Back in 1963 he'd managed to go back in time a few seconds, successfully, and ever since he's been too afraid to see if he can replicate the phenomenon. With practice, maybe it would get easier. Like training an unused muscle. If his father were here, and if he really were thirteen and subject to his devices, he's positive he'd already be running untold tests on him until he mastered it. Or he'd simply wait for him to fail so he can tell him that he still wasn't ready.

The wolves are easy to spot in the open area, but it's the beings beyond them that get his attention. Movement of creatures that definitely aren't the same as the wolves, but that he can't completely make out. This time he doesn't run, knowing he can teleport past the pack as needed.

"Hello there. Do you talk?" He's loud enough for his voice to carry, and the wolves seem to snap to attention. He pays them no mind even as they predictably begin to circle. "Are they yours? If you want us to leave, you could always try asking."

Has anyone gotten an answer from these things? Well. It's worth a shot.

ooc: action spam or prose idc /slams this fanfic down eight years later

Winnie knows she's fairly useless when it comes to this whole farming thing. It's not that she isn't willing to learn--she is!-- but she's also got a reputation to uphold. She can't seem too competent, or else they really might start expecting things of her, and then where would she be?

So she observes and helps with the gardening and planting, which seems in line with more feminine pursuits she can allow herself to indulge in, and pours over the books in semi-secret. She tidies and cleans as she goes, humming to herself and cheerfully telling stories or reciting poetry to any who might be unfortunately too close to escape her chattering. It's fun and Winnie enjoys herself, as much as one like herself can experience it.

It's late, but she likes the late night. It's quieter, comparatively, and there's some amount of comfort in wandering about when everyone else is asleep, not usually having to worry or work too hard at keeping her vapidly pleasant mask on.

It's the sound of Five getting up that alerts her and, feeling a vague stirring of curiosity she can't let herself ignore, Winnie wanders to the dining room and, without much of a hello, wanders over to look at the little tree he's mapped out.

"Someone's hard at work, I see! Shouldn't good little boys be in bed by now?" Her tone is teasing though and she glances up from where she's examining the table to give Five a warm smile.

His gaze had started to clear a little, staring down those few inches at Five's face and registering the world around him a bit more properly again -- but Five's words turn Archeval's attention straight back toward the whispers that still call out softly from the edge of the trees. A cold breeze whips around their feet from outside to vanish into the warmth of the farmhouse; Arche straightens a little at the reminder, slowly turning his eyes back outward into the dark.

"...I'm meant to come. I have to find her. She's looking for me--" At least, that's what it seems to be saying right now. It's been muddled here and there, cycling through acquaintance after friend after loved one, but-- but no, that must have just been his wishful thinking, it's always been just--

"Ashara. She has to be here."

In fact, what is he still doing here, in this doorway? Whoever else is talking to him right now is hardly of consequence, after all. She must be looking for him, and she's not safe out there-- his apprentice, his friend, his--

"...can't leave family out in the cold," he mumbles, and takes a step out of the doorway, only half-remembering the stranger is still there. Prepared to go alone. It's not like anyone else here would care about this.

"They must've-- tracked me here, but-- She's always been so good at getting lost..."

"So you're, what, going to just politely ask them all to leave? Does it work like that?"

The bone-dry glance he gives Xunxian along with the words suggests Arche is pretty sure it actually doesn't, but he gamely waits for the other man's response as he reaches for a ripped and dusty rag nearby to wipe at least a little bit of mess off his hands. Maybe he could just Force-drag the whole pile off into the treeline, but it feels a little wasteful somehow.

Five had barely gotten up when Winnie appears out of nowhere, and he briefly wonders if she'd intentionally waited until he was finished. As absorbed as he was, he's not sure he would have noticed her hovering nearby. He doesn't make any sudden move to distract her from examining the table, but he does watch her carefully until she turns his attention back to him. Just as cheerful as ever.

Her teasing, as usual, isn't appreciated.

"I must have lost track of time." Maybe it is late, because he manages to say that evenly, even if it's through a tight smile and clenched teeth. Is it any wonder what started him off on that particular line of thought? Forget the logic, nobody could blame him for indulging in a stray fantasy every time someone takes a shot at his appearance. Even someone like her, who he willingly let assume a familial role when it was convenient. It's been a while now, and he still hasn't settled on his opinion of the woman, except that she's almost always entirely too calm.

"Just a fun little exercise." Before she can ask him what it is. He's still keeping his eyes locked on her, studying her reactions. "You know how hard it is to find entertainment around here. What with those pesky wolves and undead lurking around."

It's eerie. That's the only word for it. His behavior reminds him of someone under the influence of one of Allison's rumors, and he knows well enough how hard those are to break. When he gets up and takes a step out, Five is put in the awkward position of being the only person around to stop him.

Does he want to stop him? If he follows him out, he could get a better idea of who's been causing all this. He doubts that it's this 'Ashara' person, but... worse comes to worse, he can always teleport them back. They aren't really in any great risk with him around.

"Let me guess, she's in the woods?" That seems to be where most of these things are originating. He shrugs and takes a step to his side, and he debates for only a moment more before he moves to close the door behind him. Apparently he's going to entertain this for now.

"Okay then. You don't want to keep her waiting."

Five doesn't seem to want her company, which is precisely why she insists on sticking around. His tight smile is met with an-- not quite apologetic look, but there's something of an apology within the amusement.

"Oh, yes, dreadful, aren't they?" But she seems amused, more than worried or concerned about it, taking a seat at the table to peer at the writing a bit more. "But a bit exciting. Maybe they're afraid we'll get too domestic without the constant danger at our backs reminding us."

She sighs, as if oh-so-very tired and rests her elbow on the table, chin in hand while she watches him. Her expression turns curious a moment, observing him in turn, before she smiles a little. "Why do you always look at me like that? Like you're waiting for me to do a party trick?"

Better cold than disturbed.

[ Better a victim of every howling wind and chill's flourish, than a protagonist of the violence Wei Ying fantasises of the canines in his path, conflict interminable and insoluble. The man — anonymous, for all manners prickle and bleed at Lan Wangji's awareness with needle point — sets about his work, scrutinising tile and plaster, corners and mildew. He drifts, from one edge of the room, to the next, and Wangji falls in step wakeful behind him, anticipating the call to help or heed.

It does not come. We'll fix it up, like wisps of deep and deathly scent.
Rags, wood slates, practical necessities. The man asks, and Wangji sets himself to task, hunting down provisions. There are enough textiles, largely remains of rope and burlap. He aggregates them in a bundle, weighted and thick, like dead snake skins, coiling in other rooms he walks freely to feast on their detritus. Then, spare wood, often broken of dismantled furniture and other refurbishments.

Returning, he sets them at the man's feet, no better than the sandalwood before them — scraps, but performing their task. ]

You worked a carpenter?

[ Gracious, he supposes, to inquire after the nature of a man's skill. Evidence of interest, however misplaced. ]

She might be comforted to know that he rarely wants anyone's company. He's not a child who needs watching, and more than that, he tends to be more tolerant if he takes his interactions with others in small doses. Winnie has the benefit of his curiosity that keeps him there. A puzzle he's still sorting out.

Because she is possibly the strangest person he's come across. And that's saying something, among this crowd. He's never seen her upset, or angry. He's also never seen her bleed, which is something he means to keep an eye on.

He also doesn't... hate that she feels familiar to him.

"You owe me one, don't you?" His equations are forgotten now that he's been called out. He'd rather keep the subject right where it's at. "Everyone else seems to have something about them. But not you."

But they are yet again different from Unhalad's undead, or Anurr's.

Or are they? That body in the lake... The people who saw it said it had a tattoo, like the red sleeves.

[A small, pinched smile.]

I would trust our good friend Haltham to have his ear to the ground for these things, but so much of what we have heard seems to be old folk tales come back to life... Most of these have a basis in fact distorted through allegories and retelling, but... legends don't kill people. And they don't bring them back from the dead. Someone is behind this, with an agenda.

There's a flicker of--something. In a few seconds her expression stills; she blinks, her brow furrows and then she seems to settle on just looking pleasantly confused.

"Do I now?" Winnie hums and sits up in her seat, tapping thoughtfully on her bottom lip. "Perhaps that 'something' is being terribly normal and boring. Frankly," here she drops her voice in a whisper, as if not wanting it to be overheard, "it's a bit embarrassing."

She straightens again. "After all, everyone can do so many wonderous things, fun little tricks or know how to fight. I'm afraid, comparatively, I'm really quite useless." It's not entirely a lie either. Her ability only works on those who have souls and requires getting far too close to biting range. Her skills with her pistol and her rapier are rather crude. She looks down at her hands a moment, considering her nails and her fingers, looking less and less like a proper lady's hands as the days go by. Her maid would have a fit.

"Does it truly matter anyhow?"

[Moran only jumps minimally because he was engrossed in his deciphering. When he is focused, he tends to shut out everything around. Once he sees who it is he smiles.]

Good... evening? I'm not quite sure what time it is.

And I suppose it depends on your definition of interesting. Those are accounts books, I believe. I'm trying to use them to decipher the writing of this land, but it's going slower than I expected. I am working on trying to speed it up a little.

Unfortunately, our good friend Haltham cannot read, and I do not believe I want to disturb Lady Karsa with this. She's probably find it a waste of time, or make me pay her for the honor of reading a few words aloud.

[So they are undead, after all. Eleven tips his head and mulls it over]

Well, we know one person has an agenda, but he's interested in removing the undead for the sake of his own profits. [Much as he doesn't like or trust Bloodbonnet, the man clearly works for his own self-interest] But you think, beyond Unhalad and Anurr, there might be someone else trying to rule the region with undead?

He doesn't believe her. That's clear enough from his expression, but he still nods in that slow way of his, with his lips pursed as he considers her answer. Then comes to a decision and walks to the opposite side of the table to take a seat across from her. Why not? They're alone, so it's a perfect opportunity to spend some quality time with his dear old mother.

"It might." He leans forward, keeping his eye contact. Everyone else has been surprisingly open when he questions them, but she does this every time. She's smart. No matter how direct he is, she stays committed to that story.

After an extended silence, he cuts in -- "It's been a while since we caught up. You must have something to tell me. Have you made any progress?"

She should know what he's talking about.

[Oh no, this child... adorable. Before he can think to stop, Xie Lian holds out a hand to give him a headpat.]

I think we'll have to figure out a way to go back home all together, somehow. Besides, I'm sure they're fine without me.

[... Well, Mu Qing and Feng Xin are probably freaking and out, and hopefully Hua Cheng has understood that he is fine simply because Hua Cheng himself hasn't disappeared, which means his ashes are fine, and if his ashes are fine it's because Xie Lian is fine, but...]

Well, they're probably trying to find a solution ont heir side too, so who knows.

"It doesn't," she counters easily, her smile small and sad but still ever-present. It doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. "What can you gain from knowing? And, more importantly...What could I possibly gain? It seems in this exchange, I only lose, while you win. That hardly seems fair to me."

But she looks away in the direction of her room--or more important, the direction of the mirror she keeps carefully wrapped up in the fabric of her old dress. Then she sighs and shakes her head, looking to him again.

"Unfortunately, not much. I was informed it was, somehow, safest with me, and could be terribly dangerous--for the individual--if it ended up in their hands. And that it's not supposed to hear the wind." So Winnie has kept it carefully hidden. "It whispers, sometimes... But I can't understand what it says. The merchant informed me that to know it would mean it knows me, and that was 'a fate worse than death.' I suppose it will become useful at some point, but for now I've been keeping it safely tucked away."

[ He gets a smile out of him for that last comment. Karsa didn't do herself any favors when he spoke to her, so he appreciates the sentiment. She's lucky they didn't speak in person or he wouldn't have held his temper so well. ]

Not a bad place to start. [ Moran has always struck him as being more intelligent than most of the people around here. Learning the language is a solid survival technique, and he nods in approval.

Then, very unexpectedly, he decides to be generous. Maybe he should have thought of it before now. He's no stranger to other languages, and account books sound... mildly interesting for when he wants to take a break from solving all of their problems with math. Not like he's sleeping either way. ]

Let me know if you want a hand. I could look over what you've got so far.

Edited 2021-05-17 01:28 (UTC)

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out you go, shoo

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B!

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