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

[soulsrob]

Winnie smiles blandly, tilting her head as she waits for Five to choose the questions to start with. The question about the husks make her eyes gravitate towards the windows, to indicate that her thought are along the same lines.

"Not like those things. They're just... Bodies. They can be fed and watered. If you stand them up they can likely stand for a period of time. Sit up. But they don't really move on their own. They don't speak. It's like a lobotomy--but one they can recover from if their original soul is returned to them in time."

There's a pause and she shakes her head. "I've removed the souls of others, practicing. I haven't killed anyone that way, though. I've taken souls and tried to find their original bodies and it didn't work." She shakes her head, sighing a little.

"I'm not sure if those things really have souls or not--I haven't gotten close enough to really try yet. They don't seem to really notice me too much--Suppose they think I'm close enough to one of them."

[somebadnews]

That explains a few things. Even if she couldn't feel afraid, she hasn't had a reason to be if they're ignoring her.

This is so far beyond his scope of knowledge that it's almost embarrassing. What's the difference between a soul and a spirit? Is there one? Apparently souls can't possess someone the way a spirit can with people who commune with the dead, and the process is reversible when it's not fully digested? Or does that matter? It annoys him that he doesn't know the right terms here.

"Taken souls from who? They aren't destroyed once they're transplanted in someone else?" That seems like a good thing to know. If the entire process can be undone, it's... still pretty unnerving.

"And why not try against one of them? It seems like it would be an effective weapon."

[soulsrob]

So many questions. They're not questions she can blame him for wanting answers to, but it's amusing all the same.

She sighs a little at that question though, looking away from a moment. "Those that can't fight back, of course. The rich have the money and the resources to make themselves untouchable. It started with criminals and those about to die anyhow. The upper class prey on them and use the souls to better their health or extend their lives, but eventually you run out. So, the poor were next."

Winnie's quiet a moment and sits back in her seat. "Sometimes, at the bigger parties, after dinner those that truly wished to impressed would either have their own pets--people like me-- to give souls out to the guests. Like party favors. I'd take the soul and then try to find its original body. I rarely was successful. The bodies were usually cleared out long before I could get them."

As for his question about the undead-- Winnie raises her hand and wiggles her fingers at him. "I have to touch their mouths, or at least quite close. I'm not exactly keen to get within biting range of them anytime soon."

[somebadnews]

The fact that he's only voiced a handful of the questions running through his head shows that he's still somewhat stunned. Once she'd finally decided to tell him what he's been asking all this time, she's generous in her explanations. It's very possible she only wants to do this once, so this is his chance to ask anything on his mind if he can manage to sort it out.

Sometimes even he can be judgmental, and he finds himself weighing passing around souls as party favors with some of the unspeakable things he's done to all manner of people. On paper the former manages to sound more sinister. To go beyond killing the body, but to destroy their soul. Assuming he understands how that works at all.

Five doesn't remember when he covered his mouth with his hand as he'd leaned forward, but he becomes aware of it when she mentions how she extracts them from their bodies, and he lowers it accordingly. It's a fair point. They probably would bite.

After a moment of thought, he nods.

"Is it a long process?" Is it better if it takes a while, if it could be halted midway? That she has to touch them means she couldn't take out several simultaneously, so it might be of limited use in that regard. "I haven't tried subduing one, but I suppose if you ever want to give it a try."

It's the kind of experiment his father would be suggesting. Probably locked in some room with a stopwatch in hand. That thought prompts him to keep going before she answers.

"I don't blame you if you'd rather stay hidden. Most of them are more trusting than I am, so they might never notice." Because they're all so... young. They don't even consider that any of their own could be a threat. As for Winnie, he has to wonder. "Do you even want to go back to all that, or do you like it here?"

[soulsrob]

The more she answers now, the fewer questions he might have later, when she's not feeling like talking. She's got nothing better to do right now and if at least one person knows, maybe she can bank on their connection to keep her secret. And bank on his comparisons of her to his mother, which she'd be flattered about if she could.

The offer makes her blink slowly as she tilts her head and regards Five with an almost reptilian indifference. But there's a very genuine curiosity there and she nods once, expression going thoughtful. "It'd be interesting to see. I don't mind, if we can keep it bit more hush-hush. Just because you aren't clamoring to burn me at the stake doesn't mean everyone else will be. People tend to get touchy when souls are involved."

But right. Questions! She shakes her head. "It shouldn't take long though. It's just sort of... pluck it away. Like a flower."

And ah...the big question. "It doesn't matter if I like it here or not, staying isn't an option. I can enjoy--for a given value of enjoy, I suppose--the freedom I have here for as long as it lasts. I'll take advantage to learn all I can, but..." Winnie trails off and then shakes her head. "I can't stay. I have too much I want to accomplish back home. Promises I've made."

Resting her hands on the table, Winnie looks down at her fingers, spreading them and pressing her palms against the wood. The pads of her fingertips rub against the grain, feeling the lines and bumps and imperfections. "It's not fair. The things that are happening to those like me and those without the power to fight back... I can't understand emotions too much, but I understand the idea of fairness and balance. I like to try to live as closely by it as possible. It's logical then, if the world is out of balance, to equalize it."

[somebadnews]

There's a certain measure of understanding that comes with keeping a secret like hers. He hasn't been forthcoming with even the most basic facts about himself for a reason. Not necessarily because he doesn't think he could handle any of them if they chose to come after him, but he has family to think of. Trusting any one of them could come back to haunt him.

Which makes it interesting that he's the one she decided to tell. For whatever reason, that makes him more curious. About her, about how her abilities work. ('Pluck it away like a flower.') With his powers, it wouldn't be terribly hard to arrange that test without anyone knowing they were gone. He'll have to weigh the benefits, calculate the risks, so he says nothing more on the subject.

His eyes narrow slightly when she talks about learning all she can while she's here, but he doesn't raise the question of what interests her. It might be enough for her just to be able to hide in a crowd.

"In that case, good luck at staging your revolt." It sounds like a noble cause, righting injustice for her people. He knows what he would do in that situation, but not everyone's mind goes to the same dark places as his. It's just as well that she hasn't asked about the names scrawled on the table, though when he briefly glances at it, he realizes he never got around to including hers.

If he had something to drink, he'd be downing it right now. As it is, he just folds his arms and tries to reach a level of acceptance of everything he's learned since sitting down.

"Am I the only one who knows? Aside from the Merchant." Who seems to know enough about her to think the mirror is safe with her. In hindsight, he probably should have been more careful about what he touched in that room.

[soulsrob]

Her eyes sparkle with good humor and she smiles. "Who said it was a revolt!" But, well, it obviously was going to be something like that. What other outcome could there possibly be?

But she nods, acceptance and thanks for the well-wishes. "You are." She replies evenly, resting her folded arms on the table and leaning in towards him with a faint smile.

"I like you, Five." There's a beat, a fluttering little pause as she tilts her head with a soft, 'hmm.' "Well. For all that might mean. But it's true. The secrets I share with you aren't things you'll share on a whim, not unless it would somehow benefit you and yours' to do so, am I right?"

She smiles more. "There's some comfort to be taken in that. It wouldn't be logical or pragmatic to do so, and I don't believe I've done anything enough to threaten you into doing anything against me out of spite. I'd like to hope you like me a little too. And as I said, I like balance. If you were to do something against me in retaliation for something I did, it would only be fair, so long as my crime was proportionate enough to the trouble I might amass from having my secrets spilled.

But as I've yet to do anything that would give you cause to do such a thing, I feel quite safe."

[somebadnews]

He doesn't smile back when she does, but the look he gives her offers a measure of understanding. There's no judgment behind it, and honestly she'd be justified no matter what she's planning. Let's not pretend that would go peacefully though, shall we?

When she starts to explain why she told him, he shifts in his chair and breaks eye contact once or twice. Of course she would like him for the reasons people usually do. He knows he comes across as calculating and determined to do what it takes to survive, rather than someone with a strict moral code they live by. -- Also notable, she says nothing about his age. Maybe she can tell what he left unsaid.

She might not know how ruthless he can be, but she's not far off in her assessment. Unless given a reason, he has no desire to jeopardize their relationship by exposing her to people he doesn't trust to begin with. So really, he is... safe. Like she says. It shouldn't be a surprise that he's the one she'd gravitate towards.

"Fair enough." His own feelings about her are something he's still sorting out. He wasn't lying when he said she felt familiar to him, and now that he knows the reason, he can see why.

"I can't imagine you'd do anything to give yourself away." Telling someone, whoever it is, was a risk she took for a reason. As obvious as that might be, he still feels the need to point it out. "You also didn't have to come clean. I expect you were hoping to have someone on your side, should you need them."

Some kind of protection, as it stands. He's assuming she didn't just unload on him to lessen her burden. Another person and he might have believed that, but not her.