out you go, shoo

[groundrules]

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.

Comments

MOD QUESTIONS

[groundrules]

Hello, hello...!

[foxable]

oh boy oh boy oh boy

Okay, questions!! First, a list for Fox:

1. Can Fox tease Haltham by magicking up an illusory Fox to walk near him and talk to him with Fox's voice

2. Will they know before the morning that they are scheduled to head out, or is it gonna be a "surprise and pack up" kind of deal? I ask because Fox would volunteer to enchant warming spells into people's clothes before they headed out if they could provide components for it (incense probably being the expensive/easiest one to use, but things like matches and the like can be used as well).

3. do ANY of the books have ANY mention of magic at all
like even in passing
ie. "i bought 1 thralled thing for x amount of money"
he would specifically be looking for anything that kept records of the spells/enchantments on the farm

4. If he were to illusion himself to look like a pale-skinned humanoid with animal skins and step outside during the night what would happen to him?

5. If he were to go back to the lake during the day after being told / experiencing the memories, would he find any traces of magic/enchantment on the lake?

Okay i think that's it for him, now for Lee Chang:

1. Are the wolves killable and if they are half-dead what are their pelts like when killed? are they usable to make cloaks with?

[topoiran]

Shocking questions.

Levels of communication for the wolves: do they understand, can he understand them, would they heed him if they do understand?

... levels of communication for the rats, same as above. He tends to be very good with rodents.


Would the body in the lake (ha... ha) have any similar aura to the mirror that was on the boat? Especially to those who were exposed to the mirror regularly.

Re: MOD QUESTIONS

[remugient]

Vanya's gonna push all the water up out of the lake for probably only a few minutes to let people explore around down there. Is there anything other than mud and a dead body they might find?

Re: MOD QUESTIONS

[darkeststars]

yoooo okay a couple q's!

1) Wolves, pale humanoids, scary rats. Can Arche feel their presence, or are any/all of them blanks like the undead?

2) He'd be super interested in a convenient and easily accessible pile of local books regardless of subject, but is language barrier still fully a thing? I'm sure nobody's fluent in the local tongue just one month in, but I've had him trying to pick things up offscreen so is it all right to say he's made some headway in his studies?

[weifinder]

Oh for goodness's horror:

1. Is there anything undead that, after coming down from a dead panic about the wolves, Wei Wuxian can necromance into helping take down the wolves?

2. He would not initially try, but if in the process he tried necromancing the wolves to go away, would it have any effect at all? His control would be horrible and it'd be like having someone in a panic attack trying to direct oxygen through someone else's lungs, but there it is.

3. Can the dog with the sheep be belled. Can we bell the dog alksdjf can he beg Haltham to bell the dog before he vamooshes

4. Placing any "evil go away" charms on a person or a door: would these talismans have any effect on the nighttime compulsions from outside?

5. Would playing his flute all night and sleeping through the days be able to add clarity to people's minds if they're in his immediate vicinity?

[corvis]

Are there any... cats on this farm? Or is it just rat city and cats are on perpetual vacation?

Remember, you love me. you might hate me after this but you love me

[foxable]

So how much DOES thralling cost? I'm thinking for fairly basic enchantments like the clothes-warming he's offered to the other PCs, things that glow when the sun sets, little house guardians that can warn the owner when someone has entered the house, etc. Nothing that could be used as weaponry, all mostly just quality-of-life improvement kind of thing.

Just to get an idea of how much he could be making in a day.

[weifinder]

Now on a different track:

1. Is there any way to make some in on any re-binding of books or copying of scrolls/books/etc over the time right before and following the farm move?

2. Is there any market for, uh, art still going on. Art! Nice art.

In this case, Wei Wuxian's looking into things that the people around him can help with or work on even outside of town, since it's not like their need for funding has gone down and with the possessed wolves around he's only heading out to investigate when attached at the hip to probably Wangji, Sizhui, or our local resident Sith Lord, because those seem like the people who can definitely handle the wolves when Wei Wuxian's sobbing in a not so metaphorical tree over them.

Re: MOD QUESTIONS

[royal_venant]

Just a quick question: Can Regulus read the rune in the garden?

[bearshermark]

A- Chores

They had a lot of work to do: that much was clear. Eleven eyed the snowy estate, wandering decrepit halls as the bulk of them split off to explore the grounds. It was an expansive space, but dusty and run-down and in need of as much repair as Haltham implied. With little else to do, Eleven pulled his hair out of his face and set to work.

Cleaning took foremost priority, with agonizingly slow progress. Just one room could take hours to free of the most base level of dust and grime. While he was no stranger to hard chores, never had he been faced with such a large-scale project.

"Goddess," he said, leaning on his fraying broom. "By the time we're done with all this, we'll probably be leaving."


B- Farm

But by far, his favorite place in the entire estate was the garden. It too required work: weeded and cleared of debris, the soil churned once they'd sorted out how to activate the thralling magic. In a cold world plagued by death, Eleven took a fond, quiet comfort in the patch, lending attentive care to the seeds and growing sprouts with a swelling pride that came with sowing life that grew in spite of the cold.

When taking a rest or not otherwise actively occupied with work, he could often be found there, tending the buds or bundled up and writing in a journal nearby, or else muttering over a small crystal between flashes of small-scale magic. Content, in a way he hadn't been since arriving.


C- Helping Hand

"Here."

In the evenings, Eleven volunteered to seek out those that might have returned late or worse for wear to bring them food, water, a hot drink, bandages, or a brush of healing magic where needed. Almost as though he'd taken the time in the servant's quarters to heart and determined to avail his service toward improving the lives of as many of them as he could manage- though not to the extent of bending to orders. Requests, on the other hand..

Eleven offered a smile, then stepped back. "I hope that helps."


Wildcard

((Eleven's happy to help with most anything around the property, so feel free to make up a task if none of these prompts suit- or pm if you've got a different cool idea! Prose or action is fine))

B

[beitangmoran]

[Moran has probably bene forced out of the study by Xunxian and told to stay out for at least thirty minutes before he comes back because if not, he'd probably just... stay there day and night and forget to even eat and sleep, to be honest.

He likes gardens, though, and it's nice to see this one getting tended, albeit with magical help.

He goes to the spot near one of the runes, rubbing his fingers against it absentmindedly and vaguely marveling at how it seems to absorb from him. he's never met anything quite like that before.]

Quite prodigious, really.

A

[scrapgege]

[Xie Lian is covered in dust smudges from where he is busy scrubbing with a wet rag, but he looks pretty happy with himself and chipper.]

I've cleaned up dirtier places than this! It'll be fine. We just need to make sure we have enough closed rooms for people and a clean place to cook first, and then do the rest little by little!

B

[darkeststars]

One of those days, as Eleven's sitting there in the cold in his outdoor clothes scribbling away, he'll find someone nudging him slightly with one boot and glancing over the other young man with some curiosity.

"An odd place to take your leisure, out in this temperature," Archeval notes dryly, sounding a little bit amused somehow. He too is dressed for the weather, in his battle robes with a cloak thrown over his shoulders.

B.

[foxable]

Fox went looking for Eleven in the garden. He'd only seen flashes of him on their hike up to the farm - he'd been too busy pretending to be a fox for Haltham - but Mingyu had pointed him out once they'd arrived. So he found Eleven in the garden, muttering over a crystal, and squatted down next to him.

"Is that a focus?" He asked, going straight for the magic instead of bothering to introduce himself. Or say Hi.

B

[binghua]

Xingchen has been helping clean and organize the farmhouse where he can, though like in the House of Dew, there's only so much he can do before he simply gets in the way. Even out here, in the open, he's not sure how much help he'll be, but at least he'll have more space.

But when he gets to the garden, and stoops down to touch the newly-tilled earth, he realizes someone else has gotten here first. That's fine, as long as someone has the foresight to take care of it. As he brushes his fingers along the earth or gently over tender sprouts, he speaks quietly to them. "Grow big and strong, okay?" Silly, perhaps, but a little smile rests on his face all the same.

[remugient]

A. Home Sweet Home.

[She stares up at the sprawling outpost, rubbing her hands together a little as she stares up at it. It feels--

Well. She's not sure why it reminds her of the Umbrella Academy she'd called home for many years. It's really not all that similar at all, and yet...

She claps her hands together and looks around, trying to shake the weird feelings away.]

If we get a coop set up, the chickens should be able to warm themselves up at night, we won't have to do much. [She speaks up just. Sort of in general.] Maybe keep them in the inner garden area, to keep a better eye on them... [She's already poking around to clear away space in the garden for this. She looks kind of...excited though?]

B. Practice Makes Perfect.

[She's got her violin! Which, you know, is great! She's honestly pretty excited about it. Some time once things have settled down and she feels like she can step away from farming projects, Vanya's violin can be heard from all over as she practices. It's fairly obvious that she's definitely no amateur to it, playing everything from simple warm-up pieces to hauntingly pretty pieces to more intense ones.

Her eyes are closed as she concentrates, but every once in a while it looks... Hm. It looks like the music takes a physical form in a rippling tendril that weaves around her. There also seems to be a flicker, a trick of the light, maybe? Occasionally her form and violin seem to change before going back to normal the next blink. She looks unnaturally pale until she stops playing and takes a breath, everything seeming to go back to normal.

Rarely, once in a while, maybe a glass breaks or something suddenly bends unnaturally... It's probably fine.]

C. Practice Makes Perfect, But Violent

[She really wants to get more control over her powers, okay? It'd really be good for, uh, well, everyone. Sometimes it goes nowhere. She stands in the middle of the forest with her eyes closed, just listening. She picks out the sounds of the forest or sees how far as she can hear noises at the farm before it starts giving her a headache. Sometimes it goes well.

Sometimes it doesn't. A noise grates just the wrong way, or there's just too many that she can't block anything out to focus. Her head begins to ache and there's a pinprick of pain forming behind her eye. The pain and frustration mount, a freak rain storm beginning briefly, isolated, just outside the farm before there's a small explosion of sorts from where Vanya had gone off to.

Anyone who goes to investigate will find Vanya flat out on her back in the middle of a clearing that wasn't really there before, the trees closest to her bowed over and the grass and dirt pushed away. Vanya groans and rubs at her face, not sitting up as she tries to think about what just happened.]

D. Lake Exploration

[You know what's great? When Vanya's abilities actually work with her for once.

It takes a lot of trial and error, but Vanya's managed to lift the water out of the lake, leaving behind the mud and the dead body and possibly a few stray fish unlucky to not be caught up in the water.]

I, uh, don't know how long I can keep this up so let's make it quick, okay? [Her voice is a little strained, body glowing, her skin unnaturally pale and her irises white.

The water will only hold above for a few minutes, but anyone who gets near the body will only be able to find the following: The corpse belonged to a male in his late forties to early fifties, in good physical condition. It has been notably decaying — not drastically, but enough so that it's difficult to distinguish the details of his features. One of his arms has been tattooed with the red sleeve of Anurr the Bold. He gives the air of someone somehow on the verge of stirring, but never wakes.

Unfortunately they don't get long to poke around before Vanya, voice even more strained, pies up a warning] H-hey, it's not going to hold much longer, get out! [Anyone poking around the lake will only get a little bit of time to get closer to the lake's edge before all the water collapses back into the lake.

On the bad side: Sorry about getting soaked, hope you can swim!

On the bright side: who wants fish tonight?]

Shit--! Are you okay?!

E. Wildcard

[Shit, man, idk, anything else you wanna do? Also will match prose or brackets, whatever]

C.

[paperbutterflies]

[ Sizhui was on the way back to the farm when the sudden storm happened, and he rushed that way without hesitation, to arrive just as the whole thing... implodes.

Quickly, he kneels down next to the girl, reaching to check the pulse at her wrist. ]

Are you hurt? What happened?

[ He swallows down the next part because he can't tell her to stop lying on the ground - it's too cold for it - if she can't move. ]

[beitangmoran]

A. WOLVES

[Moran hasn't had any occasions to actually use his sword here before, also he has mentioned that he has one and knows how to use it. In fact, he has hardly done any kind of physical labor where anyone could see it, save a little bit of housework when asked, and, on a few occasions, throwing out a rowdy patron with remarkably more force than one might expect from someone looking like him.

So, yes, you might be a bit surprised to find out that when he said he is good with the sword, he wasn't actually overselling himself.

He's not a brute force fighter, and especially not now with no armor, but he doesn't avoid the shocks either. Mostly, given the size of the beasts, he tries to aim for eyes and limbs, to maim and obstruct movements before giving the coup de grâce.

If you fight by his side, you might occasionally notice his eyes suddenly flashing a soft silvery purple, and a glowing sigil appearing on his forehead. Every time this happens, he somehow ends up hitting a wolf that was coming rom an angle he should have been able to see, or dodging something that should have been too hard for him to dodge.

And maybe, if your lucky, you'll suddenly get pulled out of the way of snapping jaws or tearing claws just in time.]

B. STUDY

[Once inside, and exploration done, Moran has been attracted like moth to a flame to the study and its books. He will most readily volunteer to clean it up, and once that's done, he will... start reading.

He does not know the language, but back in the city, there was no coin to be spared on books. He managed to acquire a few, mostly star charts, to supplement his own observations, but the point is, he didn't have enough to start truly learning how to decipher this language.

And now he does.

Sure, the language itself is probably extremely mundane. Given the context, Moran expects those to be accounts book, or to extol about crops and possibly the weather. But first, that's good vocabulary to have, and second, the quantity matters more than the content, because the quantity means you can discern patterns, match occurrences and make inferences as to what things mean.

So at pretty much any waking hour - and a whole lot of what should be sleeping hours, Moran will be seated in the study, poring over the estate's account books, making diligent notes, cross-referencing things, and generally forgetting about eating and/or sleeping, clearly activities that are a waste of time and unproductive.

Please feed him or drag him to bed. Or come to see him so he can give you a lecture.]

C. Wild Card!

((OOC : will tag around for more daily interactions, because Moran will literally sequester himself int he study for hours without noticing.))

B.

[topoiran]

[ Well. Isn't this familiar. Xunxian stomps down on a bout of homesickness just watching Moran's focus as he made his way back from the city one day.

He observes him for a little while, then shakes his head and wanders off to make tea and arrange some nuts for Moran to be able to nibble on alongside them.

When he comes back, he settles the plate of nuts and the tea in front of him, careful of not disturbing the book or notes. ]

Moraaaan. Won't you tell me what you have found out?

[ He'll build up to things like food and sleep. But you can't just try to shake your lord out of it - never mind inappropriate, it just wouldn't work. ]

[scrapgege]

A. SETTLING IN/CLEARING OUT

[Xie Lian doesn't particularly want to hurt or kill the wolves if it can be avoided. He's, in general, probably too fast for them to catch him, even severely limited as he is by the curse shackle. And he could probably throw in a good punch or two, but it's not nice to punch an animal just because it happens to be somewhere you'd rather it not be, even if said animal as a lot of teeth.

So instead he throws out his right hand... and the bandage around his wrist flies out.

It behaves almost in a snake like manner, twining around a wolf's legs and trapping it. And then, Xie Lian uses the end he's still holding onto to just.... basically yeet the wolf several hundred feet into the trees.]

B.HOUSEWORK

[If there's one thing Xie Lian is good out, it's housework, and he's not afraid of hard work either. Putting a beaten up house back together is nothing he hasn't done before, and with much fewer resources than here.

So he'll be happily banging to close off all those pesky holes that are letting drafts in, and trying to block the bits of roof that are leaking, and generally dusting and cleaning and washing - just please, do not let him cook for anyone.

He also finds a small spot to put a sort of makeshift altar. There's no god statue or painting over it, and to be honest he wouldn't even know which one to choose and this is not Puqi shrine so it would be a bit too audacious to put himself up there, but it feels like something that should be done nevertheless.

There's no incense either, so maybe a makeshift oil lamp will have to do somehow. And a few frozen flowers from the garden.]

Hm... I wonder if we might be able to find incense sticks somewhere.

[Not only would it feel like home, the smell would make any of the remaining insects, if they have not been killed off by the cold, go away.]

Haaa... It's probably too expensive. Oh well. We'll do without for now.

C.WILD CARD

((OOC: one of the memories int he lake is one of Xie Lian's, if you'd like to talk to him about it!))

B

[corvis]

[ Gilbert has been watching from not far off, curious and also silently debating if he trusts any of these people enough to be willing to not only approach, but offer a helping hand.

( because... he should help... probably. at least until he sees trying to go it alone as a better option.)

the chance to enter conversation comes when he overhears the other speaking of incense. He remembers Ada being really into incense and always talking to him about it. it wasn't anything special that he could recall, but some of it did smell nice enough to be calming and otherwise pleasant. ]

Do you have the materials to make them? Oils are probably expensive, but you may be able to get some different aromas from the woods to burn. [ if it's really that big a deal to this person to want to go there for any, anyway. ]

[darkeststars]

A. Cleaning... kind... of.

Like quite a good chunk of the group, Arche has been helping to clean the dusty, dirty old place since first arriving, in his case quite nonstop and obsessively for at least about the last day. None of you who've spent significant hours around him here have ever seen him skip a meal, but he's made time for a lot less in the way of personal care today, as every time his eyes land on something grimy or cobweb-strewn his hands seem to immediately start twitching to fix it again. In the dark street clothes he obtained for sneaking around Sa-Hareth rather than his battle robes, he's got his sleeves rolled up and has just been roaming from room to room with mop and bucket and cleaning rags in hand.

Right at the moment, however, it seems what's been getting to him the most are the rats. He's standing on the back porch of one part of the house in the midday chill, dumping another unpleasant little corpse into an even more unpleasant little pile, scowling down at the mess of dead rats he's made with dirty hands and an irritable glance as he tries to decide what to do with all of them.

"...ugh. Should I just cart these to the edge of the property and have done with it?..."

He mutters the words to himself with a scowl and -- hearing a faint cheep behind him -- turns to send another quick jolt of electricity through the chewed-out rat hole at the bottom of the outer wall. There's a single tiny screech before the outdoors is briefly silent again.


B. Training.

It's not too horrendously cold inside this big empty barn, and he's really let himself lax over the last month here. He used to get up and train and meditate for hours every morning as an apprentice... then at least an hour daily... then as he got busier, only a couple days out of the week... But letting himself go an entire month without properly disciplined practice is just getting unexcusably sloppy. His old master would be appalled at him -- stars rest her backstabbing, black little soul.

So he's out here before the farm entirely loses that watery pale sun for the day, and he sat for a good hour of meditation reaching out to touch the Force, and now he has his lightsaber lit -- filling the expanse with a neon purple glow and low bass buzz as he runs through familiar practice exercises, fends off imaginary opponents. For obvious reasons, he hasn't invited anybody to practice along with him; it would be a shame to ruin any of the other nice useful weapons they've brought here by putting a laser sword through them. Not that he's never trained with a practice blade in his life, but there's nothing quite like holding the real thing.

With a flick of his wrist he sends some little bits of debris up off the ground hurtling through the air in different directions, twisting forward and around to catch them with blows of the saber. Not quite as good doing it himself as having a partner or a convenient droid, but it'll have to suffice.

As the last one plops back down to the ground in smaller, jagged bits, he looks over his shoulder to raise a brow right in your direction.

"What? Not in your way, am I?"

((Unless you have no soul or the like, hi Winnie, in which case he hasn't sensed you yet.))


C. Night.

He's standing in that open back doorway of the big old farmhouse again.

He knows he shouldn't be letting out precious warmth. He knows he should turn around and go straight inside. This is incredibly foolish.

But it speaks to him.

Like the whisper of a powerful ghost or the lure of the Dark Side itself. It whispers. He's not entirely sure who he's hearing, right now. The second he thinks he has a handle on that tone, that timbre, it seems to change. One of the spirits who was most reluctant to leave him alone. Someone else who he misses very much. Someone else who's probably looking for him right now.

It's so hard to tear his attention away.

"...can you hear her, too?" he murmurs, a little hoarse, in your general direction.


D. Bring Your Own

Anything that comes to mind, or continuations of previous interactions, are quite welcome.

B.

[bearshermark]

They haven't had the space. Going out into the salt mines was all the practice he'd been able to get. And now, with all this land, it seems he isn't the first person to have the idea.

Eleven's happy to watch for the little he catches, admiring the way Archeval can call up debris and combat it. He's obviously quite skilled, and while the exercise and chance to practice forms surely is nice, he finds himself suddenly itching for a spar. Of course, there's an obvious problem, but there's also a very obvious solution.

He grins. "No, but... I have two swords, if you want one."

[topoiran]

I. Rats.

The first night at the farm... well. Su Xunxian was a little too busy to pay attention to any whispers. There are rats who are trying to attack the newcomers, and he will have none of that.

His hands give out a soft glow and he basically talks all night, in a way that doesn't seem like he is talking to anyone else.

But he thinks most of the rats do end up behaving. He will... complete his part of the arrangement later, when he gathers up willpower to walk back to the city and buy them food.

Could the group gathered here kill all or almost all of the rats if they put his mind to it? Probably. Does he want that to happen? Not particularly. So he'll do his best to give a less... violent set of rodents. How long that will last, he has no control over.

II. Morning after.

Necessary as he found the effort, Xunxian was using his power for hours on end, and it takes its toll. The morning finds him curled up in a rickety chair by the fire, fingers stroking over the frame of his fan. It's too cold to even consider opening it up, despite the comfort it would bring.

If anyone has questions... and so on.

III. Training.

The training that he and Moran discussed is, admittedly, much more easily executed here than at the House of Dew. Xunxian is diligent about it, too, though it is clear that while his body is decent enough shape, a sword is not familiar to his arms, and his motions with it are awkward.

He does not cut himself, of course.

But he does occasionally hiss and wince, since specific motions can't really be learned overnight. He'll just persevere.

IV. Wildcard

ooc: Or poke at him at other times. He probably does go back to the city rather regularly, putting in hours at the House of Dew; he also spends time writing, and even making food. It's decent.

II

[beitangmoran]

[For once it is Moran who comes carrying a cup of something warm - it could be called tea, but it's a bit weak for that ; let's settle for subtly fragrant water, although it does have a slight medicinal taste to it.

He'll take a seat next to Xunxian, and hand him the cup, and then... brush his fingers over Xunxian's brow, almost like he is petting him.]

You overextended yourself.

[weifinder]

panic at the wolf farm disco: for five

Wei Wuxian was a mess once wolves manifested, having already been repeatedly failing to tamp down that fear or sticking even closer than usual to the people he trusted could be faster than the teeth of wolves... summarily his son, and Lan Zhan. The problem being once it was a matter of handling the situation, he was fumbling for Chenqing and barely managing to play to no avail, the wolves not influenced as he was trying to play to the dead, not to the possessed.

Which would be something fascinating to reflect on later, but in the heat of his ongoing panic, and his one means of defense (where, oh where is a sword, or a bow and a bundle of arrows?!) had him turning and bolting in a blind panic. Between the cold and everything else, he wasn't calling out for Lan Zhan, despite having his name firmly frozen in the forefront of his mind. No, he simply ran, and ran right into one of their ragtag band, clinging to the young man he almost bowled over.

Meaning Five, shorter than him by more than a head, now had a rail thin necromancer holding onto him, eyes wide and red at the corners, fear all but palpable, squeaking out a, "Save me!" as one of the wolves who'd slunk around the rest of the active fighting group broke off after them both.

night terrors

His music felt stifled, contained to the larger room he settled down in at night, playing a counterpoint to the winds and the voices that hissed and called and cried and cajoled from outside. Those who wandered in, either to test those voices or caught up in their calls, would find the music lessened the urge, left them more sure of themselves in the relative safety of the sprawling farmhold.

Other nights, he works on scraps of paper, painting talismans with brushes he starts making himself from requests of the hunters hauling in furred creatures; every so often, he holds a completed one out to whomever companions nearby. "Here, take this," with explanations following as he waits for their hand.

Yet other nights he sits under layered cloaks and blanket, back to the wall by the largest door, hands tucked under his armpits and a clawing at the door, but the voices and their draw muffled. He shivers periodically, chatting first to what looks like himself, but then proves to be the old ghost of the neatly folded cloak sitting next to him, who likewise lifts his ghostly head and gestures for whomever he sees to join them. Come, talk with an old man (hah) and a ghost, they've got all night.

wildcard potentials

Wei Wuxian travels to the citadel regularly to sell what he's making or what others have made; he's avoiding the dog that lives on the farm something fierce; he has so far avoided walking the woods at night, but so far doesn't mean always, and all it takes is one person of theirs walking out without responding to send him crashing out into the cold at their heels, looking to bring them back or keep the possessed creatures of the wood from having their way.

It doesn't mean he succeeds, and the waters grow deep with memories, but he can try, and he can fail, and he can try again.

[downswing]

It takes a village to raise a child, four to bury a Patriarch. A man alone, and he named, to attend to the dregs and splinters of Wei Wuxian's husk, come mao shi and the wakefulness that stirs inside Lan Wangji like a guest misconstruing the lack of aggressive objection for hospitality.

He haunts the house, in the early mornings: in Cloud Recesses, the rites of security would be observed by greener attendants, learning their scattered blood wards with practice. Here, Lan Wangji substitutes them, rights runes in shallow calligraphy, finger slicking with night's frost to scry characters on each door he passes, inking in condensation. He tries every window for opening, every door for violence, stokes flame in the toothless mouth of a brass hearth, so his companions might greet the sun unwebbed in chills.

After, he rescues their strays: the dog, curled and shivered in an isolated room, lent his blanket. The cat, consigned to rare truce, a half moon of docile warmth against the hound's prominent ribs. He fills their bowls, strokes the silent, grateful arc of their spines.

Then, Wei Ying by the front door, drenched in his darks and his coarse cottons, a pool of limbs and cloying resentment — hands claw-curled with cold, Chenqing inert, mouth a temple desecrated in the absence of laughter. Five of the morning, in the footsteps of a sleepless night, Wei Ying must surely sleep in the bed of all his demons that call him, so close to the doors. Wangji's will not be the selfishness that stirs him, only draws his hands beneath Wei Ying's arms to catch grasp of him —

...and starts very gently to drag Wei Ying around on hard floor, the way of the kitchen fire, as if he were a collapsed and weathered sack of dried rice, irresponsibly heavy. No need to raise or carry him, or afford him the dignity of waking. This will do.

[somebadnews]

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

B!

[soulsrob]

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.

[corvis]

LIKE A RAT RACE.

With the ridiculous rat problem, Gilbert had been sure that there were no cats on the farm after watching the rodents all seem to aggressively multiply the longer the night went on.

He'd gone to find a safeish place to snooze until morning so he could figure things out without vicious wildlife getting up in his business left and right.

That assumption... was apparently very wrong.

Anywhere on the farm throughout the day, you might notice a guy in a black trench coat sprinting in a random direction as if his life depends on it. If you watch long enough, you will be able to notice that he is being pursued, by a small and absolutely adorable (albeit completely useless unless you love cuddles ) little cat hot on his tail (with decidedly less effort and exertion on her part think Pepé Le Pew after Penelope.)

He won't stop if you call to him, but you can probably trip him, tackle him, hit him in the head with a ball, etc. if you have something handy.

Or, you know, you can just enjoy the sad show.

[ ooc : basically, pick a place your character is hanging out and I'll have Gilbert run by/run into OR come chase him down OR join the train as the new caboose if your character just wants to experience the thrill of ... begin apart of something really ridiculous.

So, yeah, it's kind of like prompted wildcard. You can also do your own wildcard if you want something in particular. I'm down with anything.

Will match your format of choice! ]

like a rat race

[topoiran]

So what happens if the cat is no longer chasing him...? At least for a little while, the little thing is suddenly sitting in the arms of a tall man with a long hair in a high ponytail who seems as though he might be talking to her, except clearly not using human words.

That has to be just for appearance, right?

His smiling eyes turn to follow the youth the cat had been chasing. Perhaps waiting for him to notice.