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

the storm!

[fidior]

[ In the past days, weeks — it's too easy to lose track of time in the perpetual white, a state Little is certainly not unused to — he hasn't stayed still, much. His patrols have grown, Edward spending most of his days out on them, circling through the town, making certain things are okay. Safe. (Can they ever really be?)

....Two others from his world and time have arrived here. His captain and the captain's former steward, both men who have haunted his dreams for months, and now exist before his very eyes. (And with them, all of the guilt and horror within him has swelled and overflowed and Edward Little cannot stand to catch a glimpse of himself in the little mirror that hangs in his little cabin.) Though his heart weeps with joy to have them here and alive, it's also deeply thrown him off, and in turn he's doubled down on his responsibilities. Taking care of himself has taken second importance, if even that much. He isn't even certain it would matter if he did. The poison lives in him, and though it may not kill him, it is a presence that feels damaging. Perhaps he even willingly allows it to bite at him, knowing it's what he deserves.

The storm brings him to the community center, along with many others, and Little remains a figure of business, hardly stopping, doing patrols there and keeping guard over the food stores — constantly battling against his own inner fear that he'll fail again to keep everyone safe. He is aware that the wound to his leg from before hasn't exactly been healing as it should be (perhaps it's gotten irritated?), but he's shelved it, kept moving, until the state of it does begin to worry him, and it's on one quiet afternoon (or is it night? It's difficult to differentiate, with the perpetual darkness outside these walls from the storm) he finds Vasiliy's little corner.

He'd already greeted the man when he'd first noticed him taking refuge here, making a point to be amiable to the other man, bringing him a warm drink from time to time. Now there's a hitch of anxiety in his chest, but he offers one of his polite greetings all the same, fingers touching the rim of his cap as he tips his head forwards. ]

Good day. Are you accepting patients at this hour? [ Formal as ever, Little.... ]

[m1895]

[ At some point in the 1930s, Vasiliy himself had become a finely-tuned instrument for detecting the slightest shift in a man's countenance: maybe looking for what was going unsaid when interviewing cadre members in Orgraspred, or maybe later, in the NKVD, when sniffing out potential openings for himself. Either way, he gets the sense something is off as Little approaches, and he has no doubt that the calmness and formality of the question is hiding the severity of whichever issue it may be.

Nonetheless, he doesn't let his own demeanor show that; it's important to let this man feel that he's in complete control of the speed at which information is revealed. Vasiliy sits forward in his folding chair and gestures to the one on the other side of the card table. ]

Of course. I am always taking patients. Are you unwell?

[fidior]

[ Little prides himself on being able to maintain a certain calmness, to not lose himself in the moment to emotion — but the signs of some inner unrest are there and likely become more visible. As he gives a serious nod and moves to sit as gestured, his shoulders are drawn tight, and as his hands come to rest against the tabletop, his fingers routinely twitch and rub against themselves.

To admit to being unwell at all causes a bout of nerves in him, and he seems to meet the concept with some distress. A little embarrassed, and the answer comes with some effort. ]

Ah— Well, I'm sure it's nothing to be too alarmed by, but... [ The man lowers his voice a bit, not wanting to draw attention to himself. ] The scratch wounds to my leg, from the wolves. They seem to be a bit irritated. I thought I should check in with you....

[m1895]

[ It's definitely... Victorian, closer than his parents' generation to his own, to be so flustered by something as unavoidable as illness. (And, more than that, English—when weren't he and his comrades commiserating about their various stress-related ailments? Especially starting around '38 or so...)

The Englishman says the lacerations are 'a bit irritated'; Vasiliy knows by now to expect much worse than mild irritation. They're an understated people, the English, in a way that neither his fellow Russians nor the Americans he was living amongst are, and as a healthcare provider, he's not particularly fond of that tendency. He's not able to glean much of anything from talking to the patient on its own—examination is more important with them than anyone else.

Vasiliy applies some hand sanitizer, rubs his hands together until it evaporates, then pulls on a pair of blue nitrile gloves like the ones he'd worn to suture the wounds when he first saw them and grabs the pen light hanging on his breast pocket. ]

It will be cold, but I need you to roll up your pant leg so I can look.

[fidior]

[ There's certainly a particular degree of shame associated with the concept of illness, to him — in his time, such things are often largely regarded through the filter of the measure of one's habits, company kept, character (as so many things are)... and even inherited susceptibility. Perhaps more the case with things like disease than physical injury, but even so.... He is ashamed for it.

And freshly perturbed when the other man tells him to roll up his pant leg. Edward pauses, brows lifting, affronted in a way that's purely startled. ]

What— here?

[ (What were you expecting, Little.....? To just tell him of the happening and be given some sort of relief under the table?) ]

[m1895]

[ Vasiliy presses his lips together in a rather deliberate, understated sympathetic look. ]

I am sorry. There is nowhere else to go. Bathrooms here are unsanitary for medical work. You can roll up a leg, or pull down your pants. I think it is better to roll one leg up.

[ He knows it is, and knows without a doubt that the Victorian Englishman will be horrified at the mere prospect of the alternative (truth be told, who wouldn't?). It's good for giving a sense of perspective, although he does recognize that the public element of this probably would faze a lot of people in the twenty-first century, too; if nothing else, it's cold in here even with a fire going. ]

[fidior]

[ Little's brows (which are already lifted) shoot higher still, giving him an almost comical saucer-eyed appearance. 'Pull down your pants' has clearly scandalised him in the utmost of ways, shocking him to his core... the concept unthinkable, especially here among so many eyes....

He's visibly horrified before he can control the reaction, reaching up to his throat with a hand as though to loosen the buttons there, nervous. ]

I should think— as much decency as possible will be— preferable, yes. [ Stumbling over the words as politely as he can, for the perspective that the other man has given him is indeed... quite clear... Rolling up his pant leg is the better option.

...Albeit one that will still give him waves of nerves and discomfort, Little leaning forward to start the process, slow and reluctant. The material of his trousers is not tight, has room to be worked, and so he's able to roll it upwards well enough.... though it does tighten as he works it up over his thigh, the material now snug against his body as it's rolled like that. By this point he's flustered, tense and sweating as he tries to keep his back turned towards the rest of the Community Center. His leg is completely exposed, and it's horrifying, actually. ]

Er— here, as you can see.... [ He's less concerned for the angry red of the wounds and more for the horror of being publicly indecent. ]

[m1895]

[ It's pretty bad; all of the gashes are infected, and he could easily become septic like this. Vasiliy does feel for the man in his embarrassment, but he also looks up at him and frowns, lips pressed tightly together, displeased. ]

How long have you waited with this? You should have told me when they first were infected.

[ He'll need to take his temperature, see if it's systemic. He'd be surprised if there wasn't a low-grade fever at play here considering how bad the sailor let it get—shouldn't he know better, being an officer?—and it's not good that they have no way to obtain whatever antibiotics might be left over at the pharmacy. ]

[fidior]

[ There's an uncomfortable shift in the face of the other's scrutiny, a sort of shame to have disappointed him. Edward crumbles in the face of it — of disappointment. ]

I hadn't noticed for awhile, I think. Admittedly, I haven't been paying much attention to... to such matters. Storm preparations have taken up the majority of my time.

[ ....He doesn't take care of himself, is the thing. Hardly takes a moment's pause to check on himself at all. If something hurts, he ignores it. He ignores his exhaustion, his hunger, and his upset. He has to. If he let himself look at those things too closely.... he might not be able to stop looking. ]

I apologise for causing you alarm. [ Meekly, which may seem a bit comical, considering he is An Officer— ]

Do you think it will be all right....?