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

[scrapgege]

Oh, I didn't even introduce myself, that's so rude! I'm Xie Lian.

[Let him cup his hands and give a little bow.]

[bearshermark]

[Eleven brightens, pleased to have a name for someone whose description he'd otherwise fail to find many helpful words for]

Is that what you'd like to be called? Or is a title more appropriate?

[scrapgege]

Just my name is fine.

[He would really feel uncomfortable having any of these people call him 'dianxia', or having to explain what it means, and that not only is he a god now, he was a royal prince before he became a god.]

Im' not your god, after all.

[bearshermark]

[He nods, then pauses a moment for idle musing]

We call Yggdrasil by Her name. Though I guess.. She can't really say differently. She uh- Her mortal form is a tree. Or maybe that's just the name we came up with for Her. Or maybe Erdwin..

[Eleven huffs, shrugging] I guess it doesn't matter right now. It's good to meet you, Xie Lian.

[scrapgege]

A tree? An elemental god of some sort, is she? I'm sure she can speak, but humans probably can't understand her.

[Most gods are chatterboxes, Eleven.]

[bearshermark]

[He considers that with a tip of his head while he works. But that seems to answer that; Xie Lian isn't familiar with Her]

That could be. We've only ever received visions from Her meant as guidance. She's the source of all life in Erdrea; Life and Light.

[scrapgege]

Ah yes, some gods prefer to work like that. A lot will send dreams and visions, because they're easier for people to understand and act on. And then in some cases, if many people pray for things, we might descend to the human world in person to see to them.

[Mostly, they try to stay out of the way of humans, but heeding your believers is always good for a god.]

[bearshermark]

[Eleven nods. It's interesting insight into an immortal realm he hadn't known existed]

Yggdrasil has already descended into the mortal realm. [He'd never thought about it, before, that it might not be normal] She's hung above Erdrea for as long as history remembers. But it sounds like Gods usually stay out of the human realm, except for short visits?

[scrapgege]

Normally, yes. It's... not good for gods to interfere too much with the human world. And even gods cannot go against fate.

[He would know about that, he tried fighting fate once and it didn't end well for anyone.]

[bearshermark]

[Eleven hums, curious. He's never thought of Gods and fate as separate entities. The will of the divine was fate, as far as he'd known. He mulls that over in silence for several minutes while they work]

Can I ask.. what happens to a God that falls in a mortal form?

[scrapgege]

[Xie Lian smiles, but a smile that seems immensely sad.]

Usually, it ends badly. For everyone, mortal or not. People die. Gods die too.

[bearshermark]

[He stops, biting his lip, expression torn.]

Can- is there any way to restore them?

[scrapgege]

[Xie Lian turns back to his scrubbing, but shakes his head.]

No. Once a God or a Ghost dies, they are gone for good. Some gods will just disappear. Others will turn into other things. But once they are dead, it's over.

[bearshermark]

[Although he'd half-expected that answer, to hear it aloud shakes him with a terrible, numbing dread. He really shouldn't have asked, but he'd hoped, if anyone would know, it would be another God]

Oh. [Eleven leans on the broom for support and takes a deep breath] That's.. horrible.

[scrapgege]

... Nothing is eternal. Gods are existences that are longer than human lives, but they are not forever.

[It's just how things are, Eleven.]

[bearshermark]

..I'd always thought they were.

[But he's human, and no one had ever known a world without Yggdrasil. Until now, anyway.]

It's strange to think about.

[scrapgege]

Everything has a beginning and an end. Gods, heavens, worlds... it doesn't matter which.

[Here, have another headpat.]

Most humans don't need to trouble themselves with that.

[bearshermark]

[He shivers, but appreciates the kindness in the gesture even if he can't quite bring himself to smile]

As expected, you know a lot about all this.