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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

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."

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?"

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."

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?"

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.

"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."

As she talks, he leans back against his chair and crosses his arms. Eyes narrowing slightly. Her answer seems to confirm something for him, he's just not sure what.

It's somewhat surprising then, that she's willing to give him a real answer about the mirror. It hadn't been in his possession long when he took it out of the vault, picked at random as quickly as he was moving in and out of there. All of the items in that room seemed to have some importance, but he didn't expect to be handing over something that potent. Something Winnie had asked for specifically.

"You spoke to the merchant about it." He digests that for a moment longer, surprised he was familiar with the item. Maybe he knows what the others do as well. Five hasn't heard many reports, for all his trouble. "Why did he assume it was safest with you? Because you're ordinary?"

He uses that word intentionally. Sensing he's getting somewhere, he takes a breath and continues.

"You can tell me, by the way, what would make this an even exchange. I've helped you. You've helped me. I'm sure we could work something out."

"He reached out to me," she corrects, shrugging lightly. The secrets of the mirror or what's happening here hardly matter to her. It's the personal details of herself that make her wary.

She suspects why it might be safest with her, but she's not sure how the Merchant would know that. But he seems to know far more than he should about everyone, so... Winnie purses her lips and then mirrors Five's pose, taking a deep breath and sighing softly. For whatever reason, it seems very important to Five that he knows these things about her.

There's nothing she can think of to exchange though. After a moment of silence she tilts her head, the smile gone from her face, her expression one of cool observance. "I'd like the answer to a few question. Simple ones, I promise, because I'm only curious." A pause for dramatic effect before she asks simply, "why do you want to know so badly? It bothers you, doesn't it, not knowing. Why can't you accept that I may be ordinary?"

Five frowns, mulling that first statement over. The merchant knew not only what was taken, but who he gave it to? How is he keeping such close tabs on them? It bothers him more that he didn't take better advantage the one time they spoke. His fault for freezing up before he got more of an answer to what he knows... about him. About his family.

His attention shifts back as soon as she speaks again. The questions she asks makes him lift his eyebrows, not expecting her to be curious about why he wants to know, of all things. Why wouldn't he?

"Because no sane person would be able to take this much in stride. Unless you're really desensitized to living corpses back in your time." That doesn't entirely explain his interest though. He gives her a long stare, scrutinizing her further. -- Might as well get it out on the table. For the sake of honesty.

"And because you remind me of someone. My mother was a robot."

"Ah... So my emotional reaction-or lack thereof--gave it away... I see. That's not terribly surprising. No matter how much I practice it seems something will give me away."

The mention of his mother makes her pause too, expression going still and blank. The words aren't completely foreign to he, though she imagined robots to be more machine than human, but clearly he doesn't mean that. How interesting.

She supposes she should probably react in some way to the mention of mothers, but she's not entirely sure how to react herself. She purses her lips and takes a deep breath again, chancing a glance around before she sits up and leans forward. She levels Five with a carefully considering look before she speaks.

"You must understand, Five, that what I am could get not only myself killed--or worse--but would surely get my father and friends executed as well. Simply by being born, I have put everyone at risk by virtue of what I am. I know this world might be different from where we all are from originally, but I don't know how different. Please speak of this to no one, for I may very well actually feel something if I am forced to consider killing you for doing so."

Winnie is silent for a beat, letting it hang in the air. There's no smile on her face, just a cold certainty. She would do it and likely not bat an eyelash, the only thing would be the possibility of feeling something about it. Winnie couldn't even say for certain what that feeling might be.

That said, she brings her hands together on the table and sits up, expression still unwavering even if she keeps her voice low. "Where I'm from, several dozen years before my birth, the existence of the soul was discovered. Don't ask me how, I truly don't know. But it had been a debate for centuries I'm sure-- what made one human? Did humans have souls or not? The discovery that souls existed changed everything. Souls had power. Taking a soul didn't kill a person, but to take a soul from one born with it naturally turned them to something as good as dead. And some people..."

Winnie trails off here, pausing, staring at the table and the names etched on it. There's an unfamiliar fluttering in her chest and she tilts her head as if trying to listen to something before the feeling disappears once more. She sighs a little before continuing, "sometimes people are born with a certain...peculiarity. Some are naturally born without them. These people... aren't considered human. They don't think quite right. And... They can't feel things the way normal humans do." She lifts her gaze at that, chin slightly lifted as if in silent presentation.

"They don't have the ability to empathize with others. They can't cry when they are sad or laugh when they are happy or fall in love, because those emotions simply do not exist for them, not truly. If undiscovered at birth, their only hope is to play pretend, and to play it very well."

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A

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C.

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