singillatim | nature offers a violence

NOVEMBER 2023 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — WHITEOUT: Methuselah makes an unexpected early return to Milton to warn Interlopers of an impending monster storm, and boy does it surely come.

PROMPT TWO — A CHOICE: Following the storm, sightings of a mysterious stag prompts a hunt down in the Basin and out in the Outskirts.

PROMPT THREE — REST MY WEARY BONES: While the storm causes a great deal of mess, it also uncovers some far more pleasant surprises. Hot springs.

WHITEOUT

WHEN: Early to mid-month.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: extreme weather; storms; blizzards; themes of survival; possible character cold-related injuries; possible themes of peril.

In the times that he is no longer occupying the Community Hall in the center of town to help tend to the newcomers, Methuselah is out in the wilds. Despite his growing age, he is a hardened survivor, and has been more than accustomed to life living as a nomad, out in the thickest, deepest parts of nature. Sometimes he can be encountered, sheltered in a cave or out in the woods, huddled by a warm campfire, or busying himself with his latest game catch. He seems to be always on the move, never staying for too long, and never coming into town — unless it’s to begin preparations for the latest batch of new arrivals.

To see him returning to Milton outside of these times is a curious sight, and the grim expression he carries is enough to make anyone wary. Even his voice is grave. The warmth and kindness usually found in his expression is gone, replaced with a deathly seriousness. He doesn’t speak in jest.

"I am long used to this world and its weather, even with the changing times to more bitter nights." he will say. "I have seen the years rise and fall, too many to count. Please, I beg that you hear me with this— a storm is coming. Greater than some of you may have ever known. It is in the air, and we must prepare to see it through. We do not have much time. Three days, perhaps. But no more."

He will tell anyone and everyone; encouraging the word to be spread around. He will instruct on what needs to be done, what needs to be gathered. The storm will be long and hard, and will last for some time. With that, Methuselah will begin to prepare the Community Hall as a place of refuge with a stock of food, fuel and water to get through the storm. Interlopers will be free to join Methuselah and bunker down together, or can choose to bunker down on their own in their own homes, or with others.

You have only three days.

And sure enough, the storm comes. Maybe you can notice the signs too: the sudden updraft, the slow gathering of clouds, the drop in temperature, the changes of pressure in the air.

Halfway through the third day, the storm rolls in: a ferocious snow-storm unlike anything you’ve seen before. Even with the fading amount of daylight as mid-winter approaches, the sky turns as dark as night as will stay like night for the duration. Strong howling winds batter the town, and even the sturdiest of buildings creak and groan under the weight. Trees will be felled, some buildings might not fare the storm.

Relentless snow that falls so hard it’s a complete whiteout, and will be impossible to navigate if one were to step outside. Even then, it isn’t advisable. The temperature is bitter, with a frigid windchill. Going out in this kind of storm would be a death sentence. Staying out in it for longer than a half-hour will certainly kill you.

It would be best to wait it out, to huddle around warm fires in the darkness. It may certainly be a test of patience, depending on your choice of place to stay. The storm will last a full week, a stark reminder of what you are, the words you have heard in your arrival: thrown to Mother Nature’s mercy, the Interloper in her design.

But will you persist?

A CHOICE

WHEN: Mid-month, onwards to end of month.
WHERE: Milton Basin, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: survival themes; themes of hunting; possible animal death.

After the storm passes, there’s a certain kind of hush that falls upon Milton and its surrounding areas as Interlopers are left to pick through the wake. While the temperature certainly doesn’t get that much warmer, there’s days and nights of clear, calm weather — short afternoons of weak sunshine and nights of chilly peace, the moon hung high in the starry skies. Winter is drawing ever-closer, but it’s still for a little while.

In the early evenings, before the sun sets, there’s strange sightings of a particular white stag that can be found roaming the area — particularly down in the Milton Basin. It seems quite elusive, but there’s plenty of Interlopers that have been able to capture a glimpse over the coming days. Even Methuselah himself has seen this beast before, remarking there has long been tall tales of a ghostly stag that roams the Northern Territories and is said to bring good fortune to those who manage to hunt it down.

Perhaps you’re a little low on luck. Perhaps you’re feeling lucky. You’re going to find that stag.

Hunting down the stag, however, will take a great deal of patience and time. You might find yourself waiting several hours to wait for it to appear. Building a snow shelter, or hunkering down in some old shack might be needed in order to keep warm. But if you’re patient enough, and able to withstand the cold for long enough — the beast will soon make an appearance.

In the dying light of the day, it is there. It’s unlike any deer you’ve seen before: tall and majestic, with thick, soft fur of brilliant white. It almost looks ghost-like in some angles, it’s an incredibly beautiful creature. But it seems to have also noticed you, just as you have noticed it. It doesn’t dart away, however. Instead it stands before you, waiting for you to act.

You have a choice: slay the creature, or let it go.

It will not move until you make your decision, holding your gaze until you raise your weapon or until you lower it and give up your hunt. But there is a consequence to either action: if you choose to kill the stag, you will be rewarded with a sizeable bounty of venison. Eating said meat will help you feel fuller for longer, and the meat will keep for far longer than any other deer slain.

However, if you choose to spare the stag, the creature will lower its head, as if bowing to you. Then, it will disappear with a swirling of powdered snow. When you return home for the evening and go to sleep, the next morning you will find a gift at the foot of your bed: a pair of deerskin boots, or a deerskin blanket. These boots are supple, tough and waterproof — allowing for a great balance of mobility and warmth. The blanket is incredibly toasty, and will provide a great deal of comfort in the long nights ahead.

REST MY WEARY BONES

WHEN: Mid-month, onwards indefinitely.
WHERE: Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a.

The storm has blown in plenty of snow to make traversing the area much more difficult, but there’s something else of note that comes with its passing. While the storm has brought much devastation, and some places have been buried in snow drifts, plenty of snow in areas has been blown away, uncovering otherwise lost secrets within Milton. Clouds of what looks like steam can be noted not too far from town, towards the mountains of the north.

If Interlopers head to explore the clouds, they will find old trails leading up towards the mountains. It isn’t a particularly difficult journey, for once, and they will soon discover that the storm has blown away the previously blocked access to a cave. It appears that this is the right place.

The air is warm here, pleasantly so. Warm enough that hats and mittens and coats seem a little unnecessary. One might wonder if someone lives within, and that a great fire is stoked to keep the place warm. But there’s no one in sight, no sounds of life: human, animal or otherwise. If they press on, they will discover that the cave floor is well worn with footfall: plenty of people have come here before, and the reason why is soon revealed.

The air grows even warmer, and more humid. The space opening to reveal small pools of slow-flowing water, warm water. The stone houses a natural hot spring, and following the cave out the other side will lead to another space in the rock open to the air, where there are even larger pools of warm water, perfectly sized and deep enough to bathe in. It seems that this place was frequently used by the people of Milton, where their life of hardship could be forgotten for an hour or two.

The water is pleasantly hot, and incredibly inviting. After so long in the freezing cold without modern appliances and utilities, a natural hot spring sounds like an absolute luxury.

FAQs

WHITEOUT

1. Characters are free to play around with this prompt how they want. Maybe they're dumb enough to go into the cold and get injured or sick. Maybe they're stuck in the Community Hall for the week. Fights might break out as tensions run high whilst everyone's stuck together, or maybe you're actually having a nice time.

2. For those stuck in the Community Hall: there are board games and old school textbooks stored in cupboards. There is also a piano.

3. A floorplan of the Community Hall can be found here.

A CHOICE

1. .... Yes, you can pet the ghost stag.

2. Characters will get one choice only with the ghost stag, meaning they can't keep going back to find it to get extra gifts.

3. If characters can't agree on a course of action, whoever acts first will get their gift. The second character will have a chance to try again another time.

4. If both characters agree on sparing the stag, but players want different gifts (ie. one player wants the boots and one wants the blanket), characters will get the gift the player wants their character to receive.

REST MY WEARY BONES

1. The hot springs will now be a permanent fixture in the Milton Area, enjoy!

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ he says nothing to that - but the subtle tightening of (both the sets) his fingers, and the way his expression shutters like storm shutters coming down over the windows of a house, might tell knives more than words ever could. it doesn't last for too long - maybe a second or two - before vash shifts his gaze away, sliding from knives' face to his forehead to glare at a point somewhere in the murky, steaming water at the edge of the pool. he is annoyed, that much is clear, but he also obligingly curls his fingers to better shape against the lean of the other's head.

that doesn't mean he's given up, by the way - just call it some kind of a futile, useless bit of ceasefire. vash probably has better things to worry about than that at this current moment, as knives drops the bomb. ]

Um - no! I'm fine like this! What do you mean? Everything is okay!

[ want to count how many lies he's just told in the span of a heartbeat? ]

[knives has spent a lifetime and a half simply speaking without a filter, a bad habit that was now nipping at his heels every time he spoke a little too candidly. vash would be beyond irritated if he had heard that quip, even more so because knives' demise before arriving here was something he was intent on keeping from v.

it was a decision knives left to his brother, a delicate situation not suited for his callous touch. v's tightening grip tells him enough that he isn't all that pleased by his sardonic tone and ignores the way v's narrowed gaze burns a hole through him for all of a moment. he hums, obviously not buying whatever v is trying to sell to him. he's never had the patience for the pathetic shows vash like to put on and that sentiment extended to v.]

Join me or leave. I've seen everything you're trying to hide anyway. [he exhales a deep sigh, head still leaning into v's hand as he sinks in a little more under the water.] Shame if you left and I fell asleep again. [a small hum, tone almost teasing at v, a verbal jab at his side. his eyes fall shut as if he really might nod off again.]

[ whether it's teasing or not, vash has always taken things much too seriously ... at least when it came to his brother. it's a similar thing, of sorts, even through all the starburst myriad of differences like tiny pockmarked gaps in fabric that separates knives from nai that has vash wanting to press his face against - like looking through spyholes, straining to catch glimpses of burning trails falling off the tails of shooting stars. it is the little things. like the lingering human heat of his skin. the way the steam catches at the dark lashes as he closes his eyes again. the scattering way that the short crop of his hair presses back from his hairline. the way his words fall as neat as shots of whisky. a burn in his gut, half guilt and half something more visceral that he doesn't want to give a name to.

so vash instead concentrate on the way his palm presses against the high line of knives' cheekbone; the bottle green gleam of the metal fogged over by the steam pressed to flushing skin. the weight of his head against the knobby bend of his knees as he steadies the other with another barely audible sigh of breath.

it maybe occurs to him that he has never been this close, before. since before. past and present. the realisation stings like getting hit with the frozen air. it doesn't make it any better. ]

Is that supposed to make me feel better?

[ he tries. he really does. the laugh comes out right. the right tone and the way his eyes crinkle around the edges, they are pitch perfect from practice. it is posed like a question, but isn't. ]

I'm okay here.

And if it made me feel better?

[it's hard to say what he may mean by that, his voice leveled and toneless. his eyes lift open to peer up at v, flush standing prominent against his complexion made softer by the heat that steamed around them. he's tired, so tired.

and he hates that laugh, knowing what he can hear behind it. knives exhales with the softest tone of irritation. vash played these games, too. now at the end of the line it isn't so bad anymore, but old habits have a nasty way of kicking back up. knives knew that intimately well.

but whatever it meant, they were still tied together by that familiar invisible string; genetics, heritage, instinct. knives trusted v like he trusted their sisters, loved them still even after they had denied him at the very end of everything. he would always love them, their decision was their choice. he could never take that away from them, even if the rejection left a cold burning against his soul. it will never stop hurting.

he would pay his penance somehow.]

Sit with me for a while longer. We can walk back together after.

[ vash has no reply to that; he really is an idiot, sitting there dumb and mute and chewing on the meat of his tongue, pressing eyeteeth to the muscle until it aches. his fingers absently twist at a lock of knives' hair, catching at it like a drowning man would between the turn of digits, before he lets it fall back down. he feels as though he doesn't have a choice or a right to such a thing, anymore.

just a coward, making promises that he can't keep. just a coward, running away from things that would be better to face head on. but it's scary - it's terrifying. to see the bleeding edge of their smiles, the gazes they shoot at each other across the breakfast table, the air thick with silent conversations, the defeated downturn of knives' eyes turned towards his hands to the blade to the dead staring gaze of the hunted prey on the bloodstained counter staining the grooves of his fingers red.

his brother is right, he really is useless. ]

Okay!

[ this is as much as he can do. vash can ignore the irate edge of that sigh. he can bury his head in the sand (snow?), all to avoid that gaze that seems to render him transparent in knives' eyes. he will run as far as he can if it means that he won't have to think about the reason why. ]

[they were both cowards in their own ways, always running from the root of the problem as if maybe the distance would change anything. as if it would ease the pain that never stopped throbbing with every heart beat and inhale. knives learned in the hardest way that there was no running from what was always connected to him, since the very beginning. it would always catch up to him.

eyes closed, he silently relishes in the supporting weight of v's hands as they bracket his cheeks. the threat of slipping beneath the water if he were to doze off again is gone now with v's presence here. knives knows he doesn't deserve these little kindnesses his little brothers are pleased to dole out, yet fighting against it all would be the same as fighting against gravity itself. stubborn fools.

his hand comes up from under the water's surface to cover v's at his cheek, skin warming skin. longer fingers moving to curl lightly around the curve of v's wrist, finger pads brushing over that erratic pulse jumping at his touch. a new melody to learn and convert into song he will forever play in the antechambers of his heart.]

[ the contact is, somehow, unexpected - trust vash to shy away from a simple touch even while he is cradling the other's head in his hands. he jerks - instinctively, the flinch of surprise immediately sliding into guilt, if the way he lets out a silent huff of breath that might, hopefully, count as a laugh.

carefully, vash tips the other's head - fingers twitching against the curve of a cheekbone, handling him as though something fragile. ]

Don't fall asleep, okay?

[ maybe if he had brought a book with him, perhaps. when not in constant motion, gathering food for them, sharpening his hunting knife, fixing things around the church, knives still busies himself with reading dusty worn books that he'd fished out of abandoned houses, his eyes intent on the close-set words filling the pages.

it reminds vash, a little, of how nai used to read to him. how he would fall asleep lulled by the low cadence of his voice. ]

nature offers a violence

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