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

[flambeaux]

It's not Catholic, Louis notes mechanically. That doesn't mean anything, he's lapsed, but he reflexively notices anyway out of habit. It's modest on the outside compared to the church Louis was accustomed to walking with his brother to. Fairly typical of churches built in more remote, hardier, snowier regions, Louis thinks. The stained glass windows are nice, what little he can see of them through the blizzard.

He risked his life again to leave the Community Hall. He couldn't take being around all those people anymore. He didn't want to wake up one evening driven mad by the hunger and unable to resist biting one of them. He bundled up in his jacket, scarf, gloves, and warm snow boots and left like a thief in the night.

There's a scratching at the doors, then a disjointed banging. Whoever is outside is too weak or frozen by the storm to manage them on his own.

"Help me, please," a crying moan finally filters in, nearly disguised by the howling wind outside. He doesn't think anyone is in here. It's just the desperate cry of a person into the ether, for Louis has no knowledge whether his God is listening.

[skelters]

It only takes Vash a minute - maybe a little less, though it might feel like a hundred years to Louis - to fumble with the handle of the doors before flinging them open. The rush of blisteringly cold air hits his face all at once, and he doesn't think he'd ever get used to it - the way it freezes the air in his lungs, every breath sharp needlepoint that prickles all down his throat; the way his skin breaks out into goosebumps (an entirely new sensation to him, really, who'd never really been bothered by the heat or the cold in the open desert).

But that isn't really the focus here. His gaze falls to the pitiful crumpled form of someone on the steps - even in this distance it is hard to make out the shape, with the burst of snowstorm - and Vash lets out a surprised sound, immediately darting forward to catch at Louis, his arms coming around the other to haul him to his feet, dragging them backwards to the church - to sanctuary, to protection, to somewhere where Vash can lay out the other on the floor shielded from the storm raging outside and to shoulder the doors back closed with a dusty, creaky bang, bolting it shut with another cracking sound of old wood. And only then does he turn back to the other, jumping back into his space and to fumble with the clothing wrapped around Louis, brushing away the frozen ice to lie in half-melting puddles on the floor.

"Hey-" His fingers find the other's cheek. It feels like putting his hand into a bucket of ice. Vash presses the palm of his hand against the curve of the other's face, gently turning his head. He recognises the other man - and his voice drops from surprise to worry. "Louis - That's your name, isn't it? Can you hear me?"

[flambeaux]

Louis scrambles inside. The wind blows him in like an ungainly bird. Coordination in his limbs is down. The doors shut on the howling, and he's gone quiet. Someone is batting at him. His savior. He jerks away from his hand. He doesn't think of a mother feeling for a fever or frostbite. He only thinks of fangs and someone in his space where he shouldn't be. Skin, with blood pumping underneath--

He shouldn't have come here.

"Hear you just fine," he lies. The scream of the storm is still in his ears. His eyes take in the church, mercifully empty. The wood looks warm. Roofs are pitched high so the weight of snow won't collapse them, but that means the ceilings steal all the heat. It's cool, but not freezing. It feels warm to him. His skin prickles as it relearns how to feel.

He makes a convulsive struggling movement up from the floor, but can't quite get himself to rise.

"Maybe I'll just sit here."

[skelters]

Louis can yell at him, or be angry, or offended, or any other myriad of feelings that he might see fit to vent at Vash - he doesn't mind. He's had worse, before. Not that there is anything that much warrants such comparison, of course; his body and his heart had always betrayed him so much quicker than the rest of him, moving before any conscious thought or logic could stay his hands. Here is someone who needs help. And whether the consequence to that was for good or for worse, Vash was going to do exactly that. It only feels right.

"You can't," at least Louis can talk, and he seems conscious enough to try to struggle up from where he has collapsed on the floor - and Vash's voice is a mix of relief and exasperation and worry and dumb, absurd level of soothing. As though the other man is someone who needs such a thing. As though this frozen wasteland of a town would ever allow such a thing to survive.

"How long have you been out there? You need help."

pathetique

[flambeaux]

Without his vampiric senses, Louis must rely on the movement of Vash's lips and, more than anything, his expression and body language. It's obvious to him what he is saying. No translation required. He has heard it before, the intonations of a well-meaning soul. The priest...

"Came from... Hall."

He almost says "Hell" because being trapped with that many humans and his cresting hunger was something like that, and the journey was slow going in the storm. He tries to run over the list of things he needs to do to get his body back to normal. Unfortunately, that is beyond him. He only knows that he needs to move. Lying down in the snow was a death sentence.

"Why you here, no one's supposed to be... here." Of all places. Unless Vash came here, like him, out of some phantom pain idea of sanctuary.

Either he remains here and suffers the embarrassment of being carried somewhere, or he musters up the strength to get up under his own power. Louis likes to keep up appearances. He likes to maintain the illusion that no one can mess with or disrespect him.

He splits the difference. He attempts an awkward shuffle to his feet, one hand attempting to use Vash as a handrail, and the start of a stagger towards the armrest of the nearest pew.