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

[bearshermark]

Eleven turns a broader smile toward the encouraging sentiment, charmed by the simple tenderness behind it.

"They'll produce the best beets and turnips any of us have ever tasted." He'd always heard that love and care went a long way to helping everything from crops and animals grow and he had no reason to doubt it himself.

"So long as we can protect them from bad turns in weather, anyway."

[binghua]

The answering voice comes not from the plants - that would be strange, even in this place - but from nearby. It doesn't frighten Xingchen; he had sensed another presence close and he recognizes the voice instantly. There is no reason to fear Eleven in his experiences and his own words are kind. "Even if they are not the best, we must be grateful for what is given to us." Then again, Xingchen is the kind of person who would eat an often picked-over vegetable from the produce vendors in the market, so perhaps he isn't the best judge of food character.

He pulls his hand away from the plants and slips it into his sleeve, keeping himself as warm as he can. "We will do the best we can." The cold here rivals some of the worst winters he's experienced back home and Xingchen tries to remember if he's ever grown any kind of food in such harsh months. Even on the mountain, he can only recall helping prepare meals from stockpiled resources. Thankfully they've been gifted some such food, but with as many people as they have living here, it's safe to say they could easily deplete it all if they aren't careful. They truly must take care of this little garden. "Let us hope the laying chickens are fruitful, as well." The thought of eating the chickens themselves of course sounds good, but that needs to be a last resort. Eggs will be valuable during their stay here.

Those are all obvious thoughts, he thinks. Turning toward where he thinks Eleven is, he changes the topic. "It isn't exactly pleasant out here. I hope you are suitably clothed."

[bearshermark]

"More dressed than you are," Eleven assures with a laugh. "I'd bought attire designed to protect a smith from the heat of a forge, but it's doing well to keep away the cold now, too."

Though he wears the gloves on and off, as doing much of anything in them is difficult. His voice softens a little, fond.

"I just think it's wonderful that we're able to cultivate life here, and the plants are good company. I like to think that maybe I'm helping them, too."