nature offers a violence

[singmod]

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

Comments

[burying]

[ Kieren's stood frozen, looking like a deer in the headlights, and swallowing thickly at the questions. For a long time, he doesn't answer. He's not sure how, where to even start explaining any of this.

Sleepwalking almost makes him want to laugh. Yeah, what a laugh that'll be. Sleepwalking, and then killing people in their sleep until someone screams and people wake up and someone shoots him dead. But no, it's not the reason.

And sure, yeah. There's nightmares. Plenty of them, each one just as gory and vivid as the one before. He might not have neurotriptyline to keep his brain cells from regenerating, but they seem to be doing that just fine for whatever reason. But that's definitely not the reason, either. ]

I— I was gonna deal with it at my own place, but I'm stuck here, so— [ This is literally the best option. ] Listen, I... I know this sounds stupid, or mental, but— I can't be out there, with the others. This is better.

[ployboy]

[Mental, not so much. Stupid, yes. There's an allowance for idiocy that Tim keeps stocked and refreshed; he's worked with The Bat for years, after all.

Mornings are always awkward. Tim's not built for company either. There's a bone-deep fatigue that won't let him rest even in his sleep, and part of the fault lies with the abundance of Unknown taunting him.

If he can ease that burden--]

You're scared of hurting people.

[What, was he supposed to not see that rope, not read into flustered accusations? It's dark, and he's too tired for this shit.

The door, by the way, remains halfway open with Tim half in, half out of the room itself.

Insurance.]

Half the people here sleep with loaded guns and the other half put knives under their pillow at night.

[burying]

[ Kieren looks taken aback, and perhaps the stunned silence is telling enough. Yes, yes he is. He is terrified of hurting people. He is horrified at the thought of being locked in with so many people, and turning rabid and hurting them, even one person before someone's able to put him down.

He keeps his voice low, too scared to even raise it considering the door's half open — worried about people listening in. Hickey told him he needed to be less scared about telling people things, and Kieren's failing miserably at it in all honesty.

But he's trying. ]

I— I have a medical condition. [ He tries to keep his voice even, but there's a tremor in it no matter how hard he tries. ] I used to take medication, but there isn't any here.

[ And here he is, a ticking time bomb. ]

I could... [ He shakes his head a little. ] without the medication, I lose control of myself. And I don't want to risk one single person getting hurt before someone stops me.

[ployboy]

[That's a lie, he first registers, because there's the option of toughing it out on his own. Away from these others.

Tim brings his hand to his face and scrubs at it, willing those gross thoughts out. The gesture is accompanied by a short, low little noise. Oh my god, Tim thinks, he really did just pull a Batman.

The boy's about to trip all over his story. Tim generously steps fully into the office and lets the door fall closed. Of course he's not going to be the one to lock it.] Look-

[medical conditions galore. Jesus Christ. Tim's shoulders sag, because they (the whole collective 'they') are so fucked it's not funny.]

We'll stick with Sleep Walking. Okay? For when people ask, that's the story. It's a dangerous condition in its own right. And we'll... you weren't actually going to tether yourself to that radiator.

[God, he was. And Tim finds an unoccupied office chair, and down he goes, because he's so tired.]

Have you been getting any sleep?

[burying]

[ Kieren's mouth opens then closes again. Technically, Deadwalking would be a more appropriate term, in all honesty. But he doesn't offer than, his mouth twisting to the side as he mutely acquiesces to it.

And he just stands there, awkwardly, watching the other boy throws himself down on a chair. Kieren's not quite sure what to do with himself. He's... not expecting company. ]

It's— it's better if I do. [ He says quietly. ] I'd rather tie myself to it than not.

[ If he does go, in the middle of the night, better someone finds him tied up than someone opening the office door and having a zombie landing right on top of them. ]

Sorry, but— [ His face screws up tightly and he shakes his head. ] You're not gonna stay here, are you?

[ployboy]

[It's too late, kid. He's already sat down.

To explain all of this, Tim gestures at the space between them and the door with his one good hand.]

You get to rest knowing that you're not going anywhere past me, and I get to pretend I'm not trapped in a convention center with total strangers. I'll read a book.

[burying]

[ Kieren stares, nonplussed. Is he being serious right now? For a long moment, he doesn't seem to react — just stands, staring. What's he going to do? Kick the other boy out? How well is that going to go? Probably not well at all, and that's even if he's going to succeed, which he probably isn't.

He hates his fucking life right now.

After an age, his eyes closed and he exhales in muted, unhappy resignation. ]

Fine. Whatever. This is weird enough as it is.

[ Why not just making it even more horribly weird! He turns, tossing his backpack and throwing himself down to sit on the floor. He busies himself with retrieving the rope from the backpack and sets to work trying to tie his wrist the radiator. ]

[ployboy]

[This is weird enough as it is, and Tim agrees wholeheartedly. So he lets his breathing start to even out, the first sign of real respite because he's not meant to be a performer.

Imagine his embarrassment (because that's what it is, Tim's own shortcomings smacking him upside the face again) when the dude continues his one-man battle against himself.

He wonders again, if the condition is so dire-- why]

Hey. No.

[Eloquent. Tim wonders, again, what parts of his words make them go so misunderstood. He's on his feet again, and everything sucks.]

If you're seriously convinced you're going to Hulk out on us and you don't believe I can stop you, [which is an terrible decision really] then you can't believe that you won't un-do your very own handiwork.

[This is weird.

But business sometimes does tend to be weird.

--he doesn't even know this kid's name.

Tim's just tired.]

If my work's good enough for Iraq then it'll be good enough for you. [An edge there, at the mere memory of Baghdad. Tim gestures to the rope-- Jesus Christ-- and doesn't have it in him to demand it handed over. Instead he takes the worse route, asks, again terse despite himself,] What's your name?

[burying]

[ Kieren stops, turns his head sharply with his brow furrowed. No? He takes a half-step back out of reflex, brow quickly unfurrowing. ]

That's what I've been doing the whole time, so far. [ It's not like he's going to think about unpicking knots as a rabid, anyways. But he can't explain that, so he doesn't.

Maybe it's just better to let him do it, if he's so insistent on being here.

God. He fucking hates this.

Groaning inwardly, eyes closing briefly, he hands the rope over. ]

Kieren. [ There's a little nervous beat. ] Kieren Walker.

[ Another pause, longer this time. Confusion shifting over his face, a little strange pang like he's seen a ghost. Wait, how does that work out? The guy can't be older than him. How's he been to Iraq? ]

You.. you were in Iraq?

Discussion of death, Iraq War, War on Terror, MIC, and military conflicts circa 2000s

[ployboy]

[The handover is a simple task that Tim doesn't take time to mull over. There is one brief period of contact where his hand must touch Walker's, but Tim sets to secure the rope to the radiator first. People have this idea that more knots makes for a stronger tie. The opposite tends to be true. The less bends in a rope, the less you weaken its strength.

He'll bring the guy a blanket, because he'd been freezing to the touch. Anyway. Tim's preoccupied. He has one hand to work with. It doesn't make for slow going, but it does hinder him a little.]

Tim Drake.

[That's what he had told the armed American soldiers surrounding him, an interloper, at the airfield. That's what his passport had read. He'd gotten away with his scam thanks to Ra's al Ghul.

Thanks to Ra's al Ghul he had lived a lifetime in a warzone, and his life had already only been hanging on by a thread. Some days Tim figures he never did come back alive from that excursion.

His jaw's set square, his concentration being willed to be only on the rope. He silently asks for Walker's hand. It's too dark to make out who's undead in this room and who is not.]

I was delivering vests for the troops. They were due an update and WayneTech had created one. We landed in Baghdad.

[Pru would, at times, cackle about Big Bad Baghdaddy. Tim knew she was still hurt about seeing her friends gutted and bled out in cold sand.

It was a popular subject in his own ruminations.]

I'm not a soldier and I wasn't supposed to overstay.

[Maybe it had been his punishment for arrogance. But Tim would, then and now, argue that he had bled because of desperation, and desperation only. It's a hideous thing.

You can't win.

You can't win, hero.

Honestly, he's not sure if he's breathing or not, but doing anything but becoming Quiet and Still seems like

disrespect.

Or something. Tim's no good with words, with putting names on what his soul no longer asks for.]

Got real good at securing the camo netting and securing what goes in and on the Humvees.

[He drops his section of rope, shakes the freezing cold burn from his fingertips, and gets right back to... work. Or something. He offers, voice tired and... gunning at playful, or something,] They drive like shit, by the way.

[Because... he likes cars. Maybe Kieren...?]