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

[somebadnews]

[ He tries to smile at that, and sort of succeeds. Somehow when he pictured this, he didn't think he'd be the one needing reassurance.

One of their other siblings might have held it against them that he stranded them somewhere yet again (however indirectly), but Vanya seems to be taking it in stride. In the short time she's been here, she might already be better adjusted.

So it's not that he thinks she's lying to him. It's just something he has to ask. ]

... You're okay?

[remugient]

Oh, yeah, totally. [She speaks up a little too quickly, retracting her hand to tap her bow against the side of her shoe idly in faux casualness]

Just stuck on a slave ship for a while with some weird mirror thing. Stuck in some totally different... time or... world or whatever. Yeah, no, I'm good, I'm cool.

[She works her jaw back and forth and looks at him before looking at the violin.] I'm... Trying to just keep busy. I'm worried if I think about it too much I might... [She makes a light explosion noise with her mouth and spreads her hands to indicate an explosion.]

...Kinda almost wish I still had those pills dad put me on. It was-- I mean it wasn't great, you know? But I didn't... Feel. As much. It wasn't as-- dangerous.

[somebadnews]

[ He knows that there's no way she can be fine with everything that's happened. It's crazy, even by their standards. To be dealing with this now, after everything, when they thought they were heading home.

When she admits to her worries, he can feel a familiar stab of guilt for having the same concerns. She's been doing better, but it's a big ask that she holds it together when they're facing literal armies of the undead. If she loses control and the others see her as a threat, even if she is one, that could be the end.

But... he doesn't want to tell her that she would be better off if she were numb. It's a moot point, in any case. ]

You didn't have any time to get used to it. [ He speaks slowly. Careful as he thinks it through. ] Let me help. I know a little bit about mishandling powers.

[ His time travel fuck ups may not be as flashy as an apocalypse, but he's lived a lot longer with the consequences. ]

We live with our mistakes. You can't ignore it and hope it'll get better.