singillatim | nature offers a violence

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

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"No, I'm not that talented." The Netsilik women had laughed at him for even attempting to sew -- though to be fair to them, he stabbed his leg with the bone needle and his sinew stitches were atrocious.

"The parka - the Qulittuq - my pualuuk, the boots...all of it made by the people who saved me from the ice. I would have died without their help."

Raju sighs a little, breath blowing a little cloud in front of his face. Ah, well. Maybe there's still someone somewhere he can learn something like that from. "Do you mean someone here? I haven't seen many other clothes here quite like the ones you're wearing."

He could probably give the instructions well enough, but it's difficult to do much handiwork with one working hand and fingers that are mostly frostbitten.

"No, the Netsilik people. They're from somewhere further north...though I can't say where, since we don't exactly know where Milton is." Or if it even exists. Do they exist? Maybe best not to speculate now. "They live in a place without trees, without plants. Nothing grows. The sea freezes, and they hunt seal to survive. It's a harsh place."

"Then this place..." Raju looks around, hunches his shoulders again. It's hard to see it this way. "It must seem like a paradise to you. Though, I'm mostly certain Canada doesn't have seal."

Does it? Raju's never wondered about it. Everything he's wondered about Canada has to do with its government, with the crown, but there's apparently a great deal that he doesn't know. He glances over at the other man, trying to see whether his assumption is right without having to actually ask, then grimaces as his shoes slip a little on the snow.

"Seals? Not this part, certainly, there's no sea." Is that an almost-smile? It could be! It falters though when his walking companion seems to lose his footing, and his arm flings out to prevent Raju's face from meeting the ice.

"This place is still treacherous."

“I know.” Raju turns his grimace on the other man, too aware how unprepared he seems already and sour at it now, hearing something that says he has to be reminded to be careful.

“It’s these damned shoes,” he goes on, trying to turn the sour emotion on his face in that direction instead. Then he recovers his balance, tries to look more rueful as he gives the man a light, grateful clap on the shoulder and then shifts the weight of the wood into both hands again. “Still. We make do with what we have, don’t we? Thank you.”

Those damned shoes indeed. "Are the soles thick? If we can find some small nails we can increase the grip."

Better to be helpful. Always better to be helpful.

...and offer humiliating stories in return.

"When I was a lad we were still figuring out how best to walk on the ice. You haven't lived until you've seen a Royal Navy officer slip and fall on his arse like a fat bird."

Raju's focusing partly on the idea of putting nails in his soles — only the backs might be thick enough, over the heel, so Raju might have to hold himself carefully — and mostly on trying not to seem so sour while he gets his dignity back, so the image painted by that last part takes him by surprise and he sputters in laughter.

He eyes the other man, smile lingering and humour in his voice. "No no no, he was a very graceful bird. And he only fell because one of you got in his way. Especially if he was a higher rank."

"Ah, or perhaps he meant to fall," he laughs, glad to see a bit of color in the other man's cheeks. He's certainly had his share of officers who were too proud to admit they couldn't walk on the ice, and he might be thinking of one in particular who drove him batty. "Polish the path for the commander with his own delicate hide. Very noble of him, if you think about it."

"I've known men like that," Raju murmurs, still amused but thoughtful now, eyeing the other man's face. It's easier to try to say something here than it would have been back home, where there might have been consequences to think of. Here, he can say it to see what will happen: "Usually the English ones."

Not always, but usually. The superior ranks might be filled with the right kinds of men from any place in the empire, but you can tell by looking which are the ones who have something to prove, and which others don't mind laying down to lick the right set of boots. And you can tell by saying so what a man who's probably a member of the Royal Navy himself thinks about that.

There's a moment of recognition between them, Crozier can feel it with the question. There's a man who's had to prove himself to people who thought they were his betters. "Or those wanting to climb the rungs of English society," he supplies.

"I tried with the Admiralty. Endeared myself well enough to my superior officers at sea -- though I'd be damned if I was ever going to lick their boots."

Maybe it was his pride and unwillingness to perform that really held him back, but he doubted it. "Army?"

There's an instant where it's strange to say it, out of uniform, still looking the way he'd looked back in the city claiming to be nothing more than a student, living like a student. But talking to a Navy man, that instant is easy to dismiss. "Imperial Police."

He holds the bundle closer against his chest to make sure his shiver doesn't dislodge any of the wood. The community hall and the fire inside it is closer than it was, but Raju is thinking more about the other man than getting to it, about studying him. Raju's never been so far away that he couldn't expect whoever he was talking with to know how little difference there is between what was asked and what Raju answered, but he is now, isn't he? This man is too well suited for the cold in coat and glove that weren't made in this place to have spent much time in warmer waters, at least recently. "Our superior officers came from the army, the older ones. We train that way."

Raju studies him a second longer. Then he raises his eyebrows, a little hint of humour in his tone. Given that reaction — lack of reaction — to Raju's comment about the English, Raju can probably get away with a little bit of teasing. "So the fat bird on his arse wasn't you, then? I was wondering."

Crozier is about eight years too early to know about the British Raj, but he has a sense of where that particular continent is going in regards to the Empire.

The goddamned Empire, the thing that chewed up and spat out his entire crew for absolutely nothing. He knows that far-retching claw of Queen and Country, hooking into all corners of the world, poisoning everything.

Even if this man didn't feel that way, there's no denying the influence the Empire has over them all. Not here though, not in this place.

"Not me. You wouldn't know it by looking at me, but I'm bloody graceful out on the ice." He says as he's absolutely waddling a little, grinning a bit in return. "The fat bird on his arse was from...ah, Christ, Parry's first expedition to find the pole."

"The pole?" The hint at a tease in Raju's face turns to open fascination. Travelling distant oceans had never been meant for Raju; by the time he'd started reading about that kind of exploration he'd already known that. So he wouldn't leave to try to do it even if he could. But there's something exciting about it, isn't there? Even one operated by the damned Royal Navy in the name of the damned English crown. There must have been so much to learn, to see. "No wonder you learned how to measure the wind."

When I was a lad, he'd said. "How old were you? When you went?"

"North pole, that time," he clarifies, seeing the glitter in his eyes and perking up, just a little. It's difficult not to be excited to see someone fascinated by the expeditions, the science, the sailing. It's been a long, long time since anyone had cared.

"I was thirteen when I went to sea. Sixteen my first expedition to the north."

"Thirteen," Raju says, eagerly. He tries to remember what it is he's read about those kinds of expeditions; before the last few months, it had been some long years since he'd spent much time on reading anything he wanted only because he wanted it. And for those last few months, his rooms—

Gone now, he supposes. All the books filling up his rooms back in Delhi's warm and living city must be lost to him now, tales of expeditions and histories and treatises and recipe books and everything else he'd found himself starting to believe he might actually have the time, one day, to lose himself in.

He pushes the thought away. It doesn't have a place here. The things this man has seen and done is the first thing like a bright spot that Raju's found yet in this terrible, impossible, frozen place, and he wants to keep that bright spot lit while he can. He rubs his reddened fingers back and forth over the wood in his arms, trying absently to work more feeling into them while his mind wanders over better, more important ground. "How many places have you gone to? How many times?"

The questions certainly accomplish the same thing for Crozier; remembering the times he was happiest at sea instead of the horrors takes his mind away from their harsh existence now.

Arriving at the foot of the community center steps, Crozier climbs ahead and opens the door, a little frozen shut, with a stiff kick. "I've sailed to both polar regions," he explains, smile tugging at his mouth. "North more times than South, mostly in search of the pole or a northern passage over water to China. The scientific findings were incredible, the research of astronomy and magnetism unapparelled. During the expedition to the southern pole we confirmed the existence of a landmass at the bottom of the world. We discovered volcanoes, ice shelves, new species of flora and fauna."

This is the one topic Crozier actually enjoys speaking about; if he's not stopped he could go on forever.

Raju's so taken by listening to the answer that he almost slips again going up the steps. He manages to catch himself and grimaces down at his feet but only briefly, expression moving quickly into fascination again as he divides his attention between the other man and his own feet.

"That's amazing," he says, reminded of the firewood in his arms only as he moves into the community centre and feels the warmth pushing its way in, shivers, looks down at the wood just long enough to set it somewhere. "You have to tell me everything."

Raju can't help looking back at the fire as he says it though, at the piles of wood there and further out of sight, the people moving back and forth, busy, preparing. He shoots a grimacing, reluctant look at the door they'd just come through, knowing he should be going back out to keep helping prepare himself. He slips his hands out from underneath the blanket, shoulders hunched, pushing his palm and what little warmth is in it over the back of his other hand, over the backs of his fingers, pulling on them as if he can try to pull the chill out.

"Can we meet after the storm, if I don't see you here? There's no time to stand and talk, I should be..." He looks back over at the door, shivers again as the warmth tries to keep fighting the chill out from his bones, then shakes his head. The only way forward is to go back outside and push through it. "...preparing. You said we have hours."

"Window of clear weather's quickly closing," he agrees quietly. He could feel the storm at their backs as they walked. They had time to prepare, but not much.

But he's intrigued by this young man, his background, his obvious disdain for the English upper crust and his own position within this Imperial Police. He wants to know more.

He also wants to get him more than a damned blanket to keep him warm.

"I'll seek you out, put a few nails into your boots for you." Crozier offers him a smile, not-quite-joking. "I should spread the word about our timeline."

The enthusiasm is gone from Raju's face, though some warmth finds its way back in as he smiles a little in return. The smile is thin, not much movement to his lips, but it's friendly. Having something to look forward to, stories from distant places Raju himself can never see, is a warm coal burning some place at the back of him, even if he does have to go back to that maddening cold and spend the next few hours in it, has to wait for the storm to pass in the same building the cold has kept him in since he got here, has to stay stuck in this dim, maddening place with no answers and no way to get any and nothing to do about it but stay still and wait—

One problem at a time. First, more firewood. Then maybe, if he makes it through the rest, he'll listen to some of this man's stories, and get some nails for his damned shoes. That will be something, for a while.

"You can ask after Raju. I'll be here." He gives the man a nod, businesslike now even if his hands haven't stopped twisting around each other, trying to find warmth, or at least enough friction to pretend the warmth is there. "Good luck."

"That I'll do."

Whether he'll still seek out the community center remains to be seen, though that conversation with this young man hadn't been unpleasant at all. It'd even been...welcomed. There's just the tiniest spark in his chest at the thought of continuing it.

"Farewell."

Crozier adjusts the hood back over his head and steps back out into the elements.

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