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.
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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. |
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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. |
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“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. |
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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. |
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westwhere2021-05-10 08:56 pm
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He stopped to settle a surprised look on Hendrik, who of all things, was volunteering to leave him alone with Archeval.
"Uh, okay," he allowed, "Um, be careful of the wolves." Not that.. the wolves stood a chance against Hendrik, but Eleven could almost guarantee one of them would find him whenever he stepped out.
He turned back to Archeval. "But no, I'm not- well, that's-" Eleven scrubbed a hand through his hair. "..Technically, I guess, but the kingdom fell when I was an infant.."
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"Well, this has been an... enlightening meeting," he said with another wry glance upward toward the big man. "If you've need of safe passage through the city at any time, come find me -- for a friend of Eleven's I'll see what I can do. I am better at passing unnoticed than most, and I can extend that to those around me as well, at least somewhat. And I suppose if anything else comes to mind, feel free to ask."
He'd never been much of one for social niceties, and he certainly wasn't about to start now, so any 'nice meeting you's or 'see you later's went unspoken as he glanced between the knight and his...apparently noble charge.
"....hm, but so you actually-- You're serious." He took in Eleven's tone and the feel of him in the Force with a vaguely nonplussed blink, voice turning dry again. "I wasn't serious. We've a great deal more nobility amongst this little group than I would've expected, it seems. But yes, from what you've already said-- you were raised as a commoner...?"
Pulling his cloak a little further around himself, he crossed to find a place to sit nearby Eleven in the grass, content to just stop and relax for a moment. From all appearances, he seemed to be asking out of simple and earnest curiosity.
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Woops. But he spared one last reassuring smile and wave to his guardian as Hendrik turned to leave and hoped it was enough to assuage the worst of the man's fears as he reclaimed the same spot Archeval had found him in.
"I didn't find out until last year. And there's only ruins left of it now, so it only means something to a few people in Erdrea- and even less to anyone here, as you mentioned. It's not a title I feel I can claim, but... Hendrik might have told you at some point, so I'd rather you didn't think I was lying to you if he did. I know you- well, you don't like nobles, for some reason."
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"What do you mean? I don't l--... ......Ah. No, it's not like that. I don't like slavers," he corrected quietly, giving a little sigh as he glanced off to one side with a pursed lips and a faintly awkward look.
"...I've nothing against nobles in specific, though anyone with power and money who chooses to misuse it can take a walk out an airlock as far as I'm concerned. But having some title all of a sudden hardly makes you a different person, even if you did choose to claim it."
Another pause. He stared up into the cloudy white sky over the garden for a moment with a bland, unreadable look.
"I was born in the slave pens of a colony world, and now I am one of the rulers of our Empire," he went on, quietly.
"But 'Darth Imperius, the Dark Councilor' -- he is still Archeval, the Vakkari boy who grew up sewing uniforms. I've not become someone else just because I was given a fancy name. And I would never assume any different of you. A title is just a tool, like any other. Pick it up when it's useful, put it down when it's not. It does not define you."
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He'd been a slave- a slave that rose to great power. No doubt he'd worked tirelessly to achieve it, fighting to prove his worth every step of the way. It was rather the opposite for himself, born noble, though raised as a commoner, then thrust into fate's grand (failing) design.
"Hm.." The idea that a title didn't define a person. Certainly, the title of Prince meant little, and didn't make him one. But the title of Luminary affixed itself to the person Yggdrasil had marked for greatness. ..Admittedly, that didn't make him a hero by default.
"You earned your titles. That's probably the way it should be. It's amazing, what you've accomplished."
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Arche wrinkled his nose with a bit of a confused look at that, plainly not having expected this sort of response. Being praised for accomplishments wasn't exactly something he'd experienced much in his life, and it...itched a little. Particularly as he was fairly sure Eleven actually meant those painfully earnest words. At least the last time someone had told him he'd done a good job at something, it had been his old master and he'd known she was only saying it as a way to lower his guard when it came time to murder him. That sort of known quantity was much easier to deal with than uncharted territory like this.
"It's a little more complicated than that, but I guess I didn't... not put in work to get here," he frowned half to himself at last.
"But I wasn't trying to rule the Empire. It got dropped in my lap through exceedingly unhappy coincidence. Just because a Council seat was empty and mine was the closest rear end qualified to put into it--..." He gave a little sigh, scratching his head.
"I just mean to say -- I am still only me, just with quite a few more annoying responsibilities. So hopefully I understand. I wouldn't judge you for an accident of your birth, not when I already know your character well enough. And at any rate--" He offered the other a brief dry look now.
"From your various tales, it sounds to me like you've been doing your best to try to earn yours too."
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"I'm failing mine, pretty admirably. I'm not qualified at all." He glanced down at his lap where his fingers twined together. "..I think there was a plan, before Dundrasil fell, to teach me everything as I grew up, but even the Arborians thought I'd died that night. It wasn't until I'd come of age and went to visit Carnelian that anyone knew I existed."
He sighed, glancing up. "But.. all that matters right now is staying alive in this world. I'll keep praying, I'll try to become stronger and more wise. Then when we return to our own worlds, maybe I'll have an idea of how I can bring the light back to Erdrea."
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"......so then, let me see if I have the right of this," he murmured.
"You were brought up in a normal, unremarkable life. Only quite late you found out you had a power, a birthright that no other could fill. You hastily picked up what you could about the matter with no one to properly teach you, dodging those determined to kill you along the way. And then you found out you were the heir to a lost legacy snuffed out by enemies of your family line? Would that be an accurate way to put it?"
There was... something about the look on Arche's face now. Almost as though it couldn't decide whether to be deeply amused or somewhat unnerved.
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"Um, I don't think the forces of darkness were personal enemies of my birth family in particular- they destroyed at least two other kingdoms long before I was ever born - but otherwise.."
He took note of the odd look on Archeval's face, though couldn't be sure what to make of it. "..I'd guess that's a good summary of why I failed."
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"...The Force works in mysterious ways. Or perhaps your goddess, for all I know."
Apparently no explanation was forthcoming for that cryptic statement, but the expression on his usually dour face was oddly light, particularly considering that heavy confession of inadequacy El had just made. Slowly, Archeval gave a little shake of his head.
"Of course you haven't failed. You're just in the middle of finding the solution. The fight's not over until you're in the ground, and sometimes not even then."
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Eleven hummed and gave a noncommittal shrug. It was tempting, now that he'd admitted to failure, to list all the ways in which it was irreversible, but felt less steady just thinking about them. Instead, he took in a fortifying breath. He had to focus on what he could still do.
"Sometimes, not even then," he repeated with a nod. "I'm only alive through the efforts of others- including yours, now- so I can't waste it."
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"You tell me one thing with your mouth, and then you sit there loudly feeling the exact opposite. What am I supposed to do with that, hm?"
He spread his hands a moment before sitting back a little more in the tundra grass, propping himself against his hands as he turned a slow glance away around the garden. When he thought on it, it really was astounding to see green plants growing in a place like this, smack in the middle of all this desolation. Coaxing a little patch of spring out of the depths of winter -- the ingenuity of humans, of sentients, truly was a remarkable thing.
"I know I am an outsider. I'm not privy to all the details of why you are so sure this thing is unsalvageable. But search your feelings. If you truly believed, in your heart of hearts, that there was nothing to be done and your planet was doomed -- why keep getting up, after you've been knocked down? Why be stubborn if there is no hope left?"
He met the other's eyes with a significant glance, raising his brows. Perhaps it was his own sheer stubbornness that had him speaking at such length about the subject, or perhaps that feeling of being at the end of one's rope that tugged on his senses through the Force just hit a little too close to home.
"I think you already know it, don't you?" he went on softly.
"The answer is waiting out there. You've only to find it, or to discover it within yourself. And it's not like you're doing it alone. The efforts of others surely don't stop at just keeping you alive. Even here now you've your brick wall to count on, and I'm sure there are more back home, hm? Holding down the fort as we speak. Perhaps there is something only you can do, but that doesn't mean there is nothing that they can do."
He gave a little shrug.
"Take it from one who has been to many dark places and back. I wasn't describing your life just now, I was telling the story of mine. I don't see how you haven't earned your title. You've put in your effort, fought the fight and then some. And no matter the odds stacked against you, you have still not failed yet."
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"I, um, Yggdrasil fell," he confessed heavily, gripping his own arms as he turned his eyes back to the garden. "A lot of people.. I don't know how to restore Her, but Queen Marina said, much as you did, that.. my companions are out there- sparks of light- doing their best."
He sniffed and cleared his throat, then shook his head. "I was under the ocean for months. All that time, Hendrik kept going out, finding survivors, bringing them back to the fortress. I was so lost when I made it back, finding the world was dark, but he had become a hero to everyone. I can't help but admire him for that, and if everyone else is trying that hard even without the title of Luminary, well, what excuse do I have to give up? There must be something I can still do, to help. There must be a reason Yggdrasil chose me. Maybe it wasn't for my strength. If that's all She wanted, then Hendrik would have been a much better choice."
He huffed a breath, feeling just a little steadier for saying the words aloud. "I just need to have faith, and keep doing what I can. People are depending on me."
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"In my experience, the important thing is simply to refuse to stop, no matter what happens. Here, too. But, ah, I'll quit with my lecturing like an old grandmother."
He subsided into quiet for a moment, glancing away again with a slightly awkward look on his face. It was one thing to start talking this way with someone like Ashara, a literal student of whatever he cared to teach; but Eleven certainly wasn't his apprentice or subordinate or anything close. And of course, he had no way of knowing the true situation on the ground over on Erdrea, but -- still. If there was one thing he'd learned absolutely without doubt since first being brought to the Sith, it was that a strong will could make the impossible possible, could win out against even the most overwhelming of odds -- could shake the very galaxy itself. 'Through passion I gain strength, and through strength, power'...
A great many aspects of the Sith Order and its hierarchy were utterly ridiculous, of course, but -- in his experience, the Code had always rung true.
"...I'm sorry to hear of your loss, though," he ventured tentatively at last, gaze tilting up toward the clouds again. While they were already on painful subjects and all.
"To have family you never knew. Sounds like a great deal to get used to in not much time."
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"No, that's- it's okay. I grew up happy with Mum and Granddad. I don't regret it or wish I'd grown up in a castle instead. It's only awkward, because my grandfather is alive. I don't have the same connection to them or the kingdom that he does."
He felt bad, only able to muster the distant sadness of a stranger in response to a tragedy he hadn't personally experienced.
He finally chanced a look back at Archeval. "What.. was the birthright only you have?"
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"You remember that helm of mine that you vaguely disapproved of, I'm sure," he said after a second, the familiar wry drawl returning to his voice just briefly before he looked away again.
"It belonged to a man named Lord Kallig, centuries ago. He was a Sith Lord of great power and renown, student of many secret techniques. The Sith are-- mm, something akin to nobility in the Empire. But at the end of the day, it is an order of Dark Side practitioners. Many of us stoop to excess in the pursuit of power or status, and infighting is common. As I said..."
He hesitated for a second, awkwardly running a hand through his bangs, just for something to soothe his restlessness a little. He didn't generally ever have to introduce himself in such bald terms back home; the circumstances of where he'd come from were famous among Sith command, and still held over his head by some.
"...As I said earlier, ah. I was born a slave, and my mother, and my mother's mother. It was only by chance that I turned out Force-sensitive, and that they had a shortage of Sith soldiers, what with fighting a war and all. Ordinarily they don't hand people like me a step up the ladder like that--" A touch of his usual dry cynicism colored his voice for a moment, before he continued on more softly. "But in the pursuit of... learning the craft. I found out a few years ago that Lord Kallig was my ancestor. I suppose the Kalligs were somebody once, but he was betrayed by another Sith Lord, one of the usual power plays. The man killed him and sold his family into slavery. And there we stayed."
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"That's awful," he said, the words closer to a soft gasp than anything else.
Killing someone for power was something he could understand, as terrible as that was to contemplate. But going so far as to sell someone's family into slavery. He shuddered, unable to imagine possessing a loathing that could run so deep.
He breathed a sigh. "No one deserves that."
Small wonder Archeval detested slavers. He looked him over with growing understanding. Their circumstances were different, but he knew just how hard Archeval must have fought to get where he was without hearing the details.
"And now you're one of the rulers," he laughed quietly, "Even after coming into your own power. A lesser person might have decided that was too much responsibility and refused."
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"Ugh, no, I should have. But I was standing in the middle of twelve Dark Lords with the thirteenth dead at my feet, and the senior Councilor looks over at me and gives me the fancy title and tells me to get in the seat. At that point, you're stuck. If I'd said no I imagine they would've slaughtered me for the sheer cheek then and there."
He spread his hands in a careless shrug.
"Not that it doesn't also come with all the usual sort of... fabulous wealth and privilege and that sort of nonsense, I suppose I don't mind owning a house and five sets of battle armor, but the records-keeping is horrendous. My branch is the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge and do you even know how many reports and reams of data a few hundred archaeologists can make in one week?..." He shook his head with an exasperated sigh.
"...But I've muddled along with it. It's a vote on the Council, and occasionally I get the other twelve idiots set on some slightly less stupid course that will get fewer sentients killed. As you said. I do what I can."
For a moment, he stared off contemplatively again at that, pursing his lips a little. Hopefully, if he dared to hope for it at all, things weren't going completely to shit without him. He'd been kidnapped away here just on the heels of cementing the most unprecedented alliance in Imperial history, ekeing a moment of peace and togetherness out of a time of war -- but the work wasn't completely finished, and the whole thing was still fantastically tentative.
Still, as he'd said to Eleven just earlier -- he certainly hadn't done it all on his own. Now that he was stranded here, he'd simply have to trust in the allies and followers he'd left behind. A tall order in some cases, given the backstabbing nature of Imperial politics; but they'd managed to band together in the face of a greater threat once. All he could do now was have faith that high command was shrewd enough to recognize when it needed to happen again.
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Still, to hear such disdain for the minutia of his station was a little amusing. And to hear him speak of it, Archeval wielded his newfound power with as much compassion as he could manage. He only had one more question for the man:
"..What happened to the person whose seat you were given?"
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"The bit where I was running around trying to avoid getting killed while learning to use my power? Most of that was avoiding him and his people. I was apprentice to someone he had it out for, and an upstart slave besides, so I suppose he thought he had free rein. Too bad for that idiot, if he'd only damned well left me alone he could still be going about his slimy business now."
He sneered out at the garden as he spoke the words, plainly without any sympathy toward the man who'd forced him into a duel to the death. It wasn't as if Arche hadn't killed plenty in his career, but Darth Thanaton had been the only opponent to come after him again and again and again until there was simply no choice but to eliminate the man for his own continued survival. Much as Arche had hated him, he supposed he had to be grateful to Thanaton in one respect -- the sheer brutality of those months under his cruel attention had proven an excellent crash course in learning how to make sure no other Sith Lord after him would dare try the same.
".......anyhow."
There was a moment's pause after that, as Arche realized he'd been sitting here going on about himself for really quite some time. He shifted to rub his hands together a bit against the cold as he gave El an awkward look again.
"Enough monologue. I only meant to--..."
Well. He'd noticed El sitting out on the grounds, and had approached with no greater thought in mind but to pester him a moment and perhaps enjoy his company. But now that he thought about it in those terms, he certainly couldn't be caught dead saying that out loud.
".......ah. Nothing important. But I hope you'll think on what I've said."
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"Sorry," he said, abashed. He had been asking rather much. But he was glad that they were friends enough now that Archeval would answer some of them.
"..I'm glad we met before I could sense your energy," he mused with a slight smile. "I would have treated you unfairly. That's something I'll certainly keep in mind."
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"Though I suppose I've had more practice at reaching across the aisle lately. Thankfully so, now that we're stuck among this motley group. Don't know that I would've been quite so good at holding my tongue a few years earlier." Which was a funny claim considering he'd opened this whole conversation doing his level best to antagonize Hendrik, of course -- but perhaps that only meant he'd been even worse in the past, who knew.
"By the way, though -- exactly how long have you been sitting out here in the cold scribbling away, anyhow?" For a moment, another look of amusement passed across his face, though he was adjusting his cloak again as he said it. After years of living on a rainforest planet, and then spending the last few months in the jungles of Rishi and Yavin 4, his own ability to deal with the cold was not as robust as it had once been.
"I must confess I find it hard to believe a bunch of plants could be alluring enough to risk frostbite for. Have you done a lot of... this sort of thing? Gardening?"
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"I do know a bit about farming, though." He turned a smile back on Archeval, the conversation taking on an effortless shift, as though there had never been anything to worry about. "Cobblestone was pretty deep in the mountains, so we grew most of our own food, took care of our animals.. You could say I've put myself to good use, here."
Granted, he wasn't doing much, now.
"Besides," he said, opening his fingers in a familiar trick as fire sprung over his palm. "I don't think I'm much at risk of frostbite."
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"You'll have to forgive us less privileged souls who can only hope for some extra wood around to shock until it catches fire. But it certainly sounds as though you're the right man for the job." He could imagine it being a peaceful existence -- out in some green countryside with beloved family, spending quiet hours digging into the dirt, spraying water over growing stalks, bathing and brushing and feeding...whatever sort of livestock was kept on Erdrea. Not a bad life, surely. No wonder the idea of being a Prince seemed to hold no real allure for Eleven.
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"I'll make you a fire anytime you'd like," he offered, "I only wish I could somehow give it to people to hold or something. That's why I've been trying to learn thralling. But for now, you're probably better off asking Fox to enchant something to keep warm."
He envied the man his skill for that, but he'd promised to help him learn too, so he could look forward to that.
"I didn't mean to keep you out here, though," Eleven said, apologetic. "I should probably head back in, too. Get a bit more work done around the place. The plants only need so much attention."
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