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]

It takes ten long seconds of turning that response over in his head before he snaps.

"What?" Apparently not so obvious to him. Just what was he trying to do in the first place? And weren't the wolves already possessed? Half-possessed? So he'd try to override that with his power... Unless he means he'd get rid of the possession already on them. It's possible that word is starting to lose all meaning.

"You know what, fine. You've obviously done this before, but unless you can do it from here, you're out of luck." If he's seriously thinking about going to face them when they put him in this state, Five isn't above leaving him out here on the roof, and the look he gives says as much. If he wants to get closer, he isn't bailing him out again.

That's as much care and concern as he's willing to show. He huffs out his frustration as he straightens back up to survey the situation down below. It hasn't really quieted down since he removed them from it. Possessed or not, they seem pretty intensely focused on the farm.

"It isn't just the wolves." Stating the obvious, but he can allow that someone with experience with the undead might have some insight. Not that it's the best way to change the subject. "Did you see anything else?"

[weifinder]

Five complaining, roundaboutly, slides off his back, but he's helped bring his focus to this moment and less off his internal panic. Just enough to be able to swallow against a dry mouth and answer the question he brings up. "People, and I felt there's truly dead out in the woods, but—"

Underneath them, the creaking groans of the roof made in a style he's less familiar with abruptly turns into a crack, the whole of the roof underneath them both dropping down a half hand at first, then further yawning and leaning, about to consume them both with the lack of regard all collapsing old buildings left to weather the elements have for burdens of snow and wind and suddenly appearing humans, possessed of adequate flesh and bone.

Wei Wuxian, eyes comically wide in surprise rather than fear, shoves down with his hands to lurch forward just as the roof fully gives out underneath their feet.

[somebadnews]

Five had barely turned back towards him, with genuine interest in what he's about to say, when the roof snaps. They both have seconds to know what's coming, but in the time it takes for him to try to grab hold of the other man, the rotted structure under their feet gives way.

The second teleport is sloppy. He pulls them mid-fall through the floor beneath before they can feel its impact, and winds up sprawled on his back the next level down. Dust and dirt fall around them, and he's content to let it. He looks up at the ceiling, watching it rattle like an earthquake as the collapsed pieces fall into the hole they created above. If anyone was sleeping, that probably woke them.

He belatedly turns his head to locate Wei Wuxian to see how he managed. Then just after he thinks it stopped, he hears one final distant crash. Either from the roof, or they managed to knock over a lamp somewhere.

Okay. So this one might be on him.