February 2025 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

FEBRUARY 2025 TDM

PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A new group of arrivals find themselves lost in the frozen wilds and vulnerable to the dangers of nature. With luck, they make it to the town of Milton, and to a friendly face offering food, warmth and shelter — and the current inhabitants, their fellow survivors.

PROMPT TWO — WINTER'S BITE: Tales of superstition from the Northern Territories appear to come to light in the form of fearsome creatures made of ice and bone.

PROMPT THREE — FROZEN HEARTS: A strange, new affliction causes Interlopers to find themselves figuratively and literally turning to ice, and there's only one way of saving them.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Start of the month.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.

'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'

It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.

These are the words of the Darkwalker, you’ll soon come to find.

You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. This place has been ransacked, abandoned long ago. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you.

Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — you are completely alone.

The daylight is thin. Hours are few. It will get dark soon.

You may feel different, too. Any powers or magics you may have feel... absent. Disconnected. Things that may not have affected you previously now do. Something in you has changed.

You know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. You’ll find one soon enough. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, and the terrain is difficult: slips and falls are likely. You’re completely vulnerable out here in the open.

Or it’s possible you may come across someone else here. Someone who looks far better prepared to deal with the freezing cold and frozen landscape, out hunting or gathering. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?

Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights: a small mining town tucked up in the valley. Battered, rusted road signs will direct to “MILTON, POP. 947”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!

As you head into the outskirts and then further into town, you’ll find it’s a little easier to walk but the cold has gripped you hard. You’ll find the buildings, both shops and homes, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more.

Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a school-house of sorts, or some kind of community hall. Perhaps both. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.

The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face. He smiles warmly, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.

“They come again. I had thought we may not see more of you.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you, Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. You are not the only one, the lights are changing things. Come. Mother Nature has not been kind to you, but there are plenty here to help.”

The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.

There are canisters with hot herbal teas, mostly. But some coffee can be found. There’s also soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast for those who have battled the cold to come here.

Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks — aided by a handful of others in the Hall. Your fellow survivors, but those who have been here for some time now. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames.

He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but gesture to your fellow survivors. They will have better answers than him.

WINTER'S BITE

WHEN: The Month of February.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural beings; magical beings; potential cold injuries; potential cuts/bleeding

Amongst the original inhabitants to the Northern Territories, superstition and folk tales were much more prominent — stemming from a mix of superstitions that settlers brought with them to the area and those beliefs of people native to Northern Territories. Some are familiar to Interlopers, others may be less so.

Much of this is now lost, with the population of Milton dead or gone, but some writings can be found in the town. Some wrote of their superstitions in regards to the changing weather and wildlife in personal journals in the lead up to what is known as The Flare, which may still be found in the empty homes uninhabited by Interlopers. Some note feeling as if 'the souls of the animals are angered somehow' or that the changes to the Aurora may be as if 'the afterlife comes too close to the world'.

Maybe they had a point, maybe they were on to something. It’s hard to really say for sure.

Whether it’s magic, some supernatural cause, or something caused by the Aurora, there’s a strange shifting in snow that blankets the Northern Territories. Throughout the month, angry chittering and clacking — like glass or bones — can be heard out in the wilds. Out of the corner of one’s eye, they may see the snow move of its own accord — with confronting it leading to nothing, and stillness.

For a time.

Until whatever it is finally strikes.

Out from the snow, spectral creatures comprised of ice and animal bone spring forwards — jittering and clunky in their movements. Long bodies that twist and dance in the air, all sharp teeth and even sharper ice. Is it a kind of animal? Or spirit? Some mix of both? An angered spirit of nature or some long dead animal? It’s hard to tell for sure.

Despite their clunky movements, their bodies rolling and jaws chattering, these strange spectral creatures are fast and they’ll strike hard — looking to take a chunk out of the unsuspecting and unprepared Interlopers. Even just brushing against one of these strange creatures can lead to some nasty lacerations if they knock themselves hard enough against you. What’s maybe worse than the lacerations themselves is the wounds will burn with their chill, colder than anything you’ve ever felt.

But being made out of bone and ice means they are also just that. Blunt force may just be enough to end up shattering the bodies of these creatures, sending their remains flying. Be careful, though. Those shards are still just as sharp and will become flying projectiles which could cause further injury to Interlopers.

Alternatively, a way to battle back these ice creatures would be through the use of flame. Fire, torches, Interlopers with the Lightbringer Feat would prove vital in getting rid of these creatures long enough to get to safety.

Fleeing is also an option. The creatures will attempt to chase for a time, but will soon give up and end up returning to the snow once more.

FROZEN HEARTS

WHEN: The Month of February, into March.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural ailments; body horror; characters turning to ice; potential character death.

The cold is a persistent thing in the Northern Territories. Even during the summer months, it doesn’t seem to get warm all that much. But the winter is a different kind of beast, and the cold seems to sink into your very bones.

It starts with a kind of cold that you find it hard to get warm, no matter how long you spend by the fire. In time, it feels like that cold has started freezing your body up: your joints feel stiff and sore. Moving around is a chore, even for the simplest of tasks like walking or sitting down. In time, it gets into the smaller joints: fine motor skills become tricky. You drop things, fail to grip on to items, struggle to close your hands into fists. Even talking can be a bit of a struggle, like you’re slowly getting lockjaw.

With that, it’s not surprising that your mood will dip. Sour moods, and even icy manners aren't out of the ordinary. It’s easy to be miserable when you’re so damn cold and you’re struggling to move and speak. It is so easy to find yourself with lowered spirits, to be irritable and closed off from your fellow Interlopers.

It feels as if nothing might warm you, physically or emotionally.

You find yourself being cold towards others, even those you care about most, your closest companions in this world. You may snap at them, or continually brush them off. You find yourself with little patience for them, and are often unmoved by their attempts to bring you some good cheer.

And certainly, what isn’t out of the ordinary is the strange affliction that plagues your skin. It isn’t frostbite, that you know of. Your skin doesn’t turn red, then white then black. No, it turns blue, frosted with white. Your skin looks less like skin and more like stone….. Or, rather, ice.

It starts in the fingers and toes, and will slowly work its way up your limbs, working its way towards your center. Even your hair may start to freeze. As it progresses, you find it harder to move. In enough time, you may find yourself completely frozen on the spot, and in time, unable to even speak as the ice slowly encloses around you.

If something isn’t done quickly enough, you may find yourself completely turning to ice and being trapped as nothing more than a statue.

Hope isn’t lost, though. They say in stories there’s such things that might save some terrible affliction such as this: An act of true love.

This cold isn’t beaten back by flames, but a different kind of warmth.

But what is true love?

It might just be enough to reverse the effects and undo this terrible affliction before it’s too late, to let the ice slowly melt back again and restore you to what you once were.

FAQs

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

1. Arrival threads can be treated as game canon.

2. Items characters have brought from home can be found either strewn around them when they awaken, or in the community hall — as if someone left them out for them to collect. Methuselah will not know how they got there, and will be quite bemused by the happenings.

3. Reminder that all characters are now depowered upon arrival. They can choose not to notice it at first, or can immediately sense something is different about them.

4. If asked any personal questions, Methuselah will smile and say "Oh, you don't want to know about an old man like me. But I have lived all over in these parts for all my life." He will be more concerned with trying to help Newcomers, and is genuinely concerned for them and their well-being. Other Interlopers will say much of the same — there's little to know about him.

5. More information about Milton can be found here.

WINTER'S BITE

1. Digging in the snow where the creatures have returned will prove fruitless, Interlopers will not even find bones.

2. The creatures can spring on Interlopers in groups of up to three.

FROZEN HEARTS

1. The notion of true love is open to interpretation. Platonic love, familial love, romantic love could be deemed as acts of true love. Perhaps even the genuine compassion of a fellow Interloper could be seen as true love.

2. An act of showing true love is very flexible! It could be a kiss, a hug, shedding tears for the afflicted, some desperate attempt of helping the afflicted from freezing. Players are encouraged to play around with what this might entail!

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

esmeray şahin, original character (forgotten realms)

[moonwitch]

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

I.

She feels absence, the quick snap of a bright tether.

Then the cold rushes in all at once, filling her lungs when she starts with a gasp. Snow threatens to soak into the cloth of her light armor, Esmeray having removed the accompanying breastplate and gloves only moments ago — a fact she sorely regrets right about now, considering.

Instinct pushes her to her feet, that she may keep what heat remains. Blood from a recent encounter lingers on her face, her armor. She lifts her hand to her cheek in confirmation and finds it a strange comfort: what she last remembers is real, even if she can't explain the rest. Yet.

Her mace lies some feet away from her, shield nowhere to be found. There's a difference when she holds it. There's a difference in her and she does know why. She pushes past the disquieting thought, the uncertainty, and moves. Shelter is her first priority, but she's on the lookout for supplies, for others.

Snow tends to mute sound, but the crunching sound of footsteps to her left is unmistakable. Her hold on her mace tightens: "Show yourself."

II.

It's the little things sometimes. The smaller victories.

She holds a bowl of soup in both hands, and quietly sighs her relief to feel its warmth. To feel warmth at all. Mildly shivering still, even with a blanket wrapped around her, one might deduce she isn't used to this kind of winter. This is correct, though she's trying to put on her bravest face.

A face that is no longer caked in blood, at least.

Methuselah moves about the community hall, doing the sort of things she would if she weren't so newly arrived and so godsdamned cold: tending to the wounded, fetching this and that.

She looks after him, pensive.

"He is not a man of many words, is he?"

WINTER'S BITE

Her haul for the day is a lone box of adhesive bandages, assorted writings on an event known as The Flare, and ... she isn't sure what the third item is, actually.

But it might be important?

Esmeray places it all in her saddle bag and returns to the community hall, or attempts to. On her way there, she hears the screams of an NPC someone in distress close by.

Too close.

She doesn't have her moon magic, the magic that made her so formidable in a fight. She only has her mace, and a refusal to turn down cries for help. The proximity means she's in danger regardless. When she arrives to the scene, however, the NPC man already looks somewhat mangled.

The good news is a hard swing of her mace shatters the culprit. The bad news is more creatures made of bone and ice are bursting out from the snow.

Assistance would be nice here, maybe.

NOTE: I write all my starters in prose, but I love brackets as well, so go with your preference and I'll match you. Info can be found here.

coin flip gives you kieren! arrival!

[burying]

It's a familiar feeling, and it's almost comforting with the notion of it — playing skivvy. Kieren's good at menial stuff. It makes him feel useful; it helps him get his mind off everything, off every horrible thing he's done back home and in this place. He knows people in town still whisper; he knows he'll be doing anything and everything he can to make up for what he did — even if they deemed him innocent.

The old man said more would be coming, and he's never been wrong yet. So Kieren heads out into the woods to gather firework — looks for small branches of fir and cedar that've been downed in the storm last month. He can't really feel the weight, and the cold doesn't bother him anyway.

He trudges through the snow with an awkward gait, like he can't get his limbs to work as smoothly and fluidly as it used to. Like his body doesn't fit right. It doesn't. Not any more. And then there comes a voice, and there's a woman with— oh.

Kieren's eyes go wide. Quickly dropping his load of firewood, he raises gloved hands in a defensive gesture.

"Woah, woah—" Is that like... a mace? Like seriously medieval-knight-mace kind of deal? Kieren swallows thickly, carefully wets his lips. "It's alright. Uh— friendly."

i love him already

[moonwitch]

A young man.

A frightened young man.

She lowers her mace and shifts her stance into something less combative. The sound of his voice is not the dark and deep one that whispered into her ear, the voice that called her an interloper. Something about him does feel a little off, but she can't put her finger on it. Not when she's this disoriented, unsettled.

"Friendly," she repeats after him, placing a hand over her chest. She won't hold it against him if this assertion is met with skepticism — she hasn't entirely lost her own. There is also... the state of her.

Violence is all too commonplace in her world, though she herself is never quick to wield it. But some suffering can only be stopped with such a tool. It crushed her to learn this truth as a child. Sometimes it still does. There are those who mistake a Selûnite's mercy for weakness. It is often with regret she has to prove them wrong.

Her gaze lowers to the firewood and then lifts back to Kieren. "Where are we? You seem to know."

[burying]

Well— that's promising. Kieren's hands lower a fraction but he keeps his own stance defensive; cautious and anxious. His throat feels tight, and he's not good at this. Not the greatest of welcome wagons. But he tries his best, he always does.

"Northern Territories." He nods. Yeah, he knows. "It's somewhere in Canada."

Allegedly. But there's plenty of flags about, and Kieren's pretty sure that it's true that this is actually Canada. Somewhere. Off the mainland, some isolated mass of land in the middle of nowhere. Just great.

"I'm like you." He offers it carefully, because she's still the one holding the mace and he can't fight for shit. He can run, at least. He'll be able to get away from her a lot quicker than she'll be even to get to him. "You were somewhere else before, woke up in the snow? A voice in your head? The Interloper, not part of nature's design."

The Darkwalker's words, he looks uncomfortable even just thinking about the thing — let alone reciting its words.

"The— the same thing happened to me, happened to a lot of people. We all end up here."

[moonwitch]

Somewhere in Canada.

Esmeray doesn't recognize the name, but she'd already surmised she was on a different plane. She has not yet amassed the levels power necessary to cast such a spell, and is fairly certain she would remember casting it — would remember if their campsite had been close to a teleportation circle, or something like it.

A tear in the Weave, perhaps? But that wouldn't explain Kieren, the others. It doesn't look like he just arrived, not by his manner or the things he's saying. Her inquisitive nature demands that she ask all the questions, but the impulse is curtailed at the mention of the ancient and threatening voice. Her resolve turns grim.

"I heard it, as well," she confirms, still unsure of what it means. It wouldn't make sense for this voice to be responsible for their presence, so quick to scorn her arrival. "I saw bright lights ... and then nothing."

The rest is as he describes, which leaves her no less uneasy.

[burying]

Kieren nods. It's pretty universal, the whole... getting here. Weird lights, then nothing. And then the voice, waking up in the snow. Sometimes there where is always a little different, but the how remains the same.

"The Darkwalker." he explains, his lips pressing to a thin line for a long moment. "I dunno about what exactly brings us here, but that thing sure doesn't like it."

It's not like any of them choose to be here. Not like they actually want to be stuck in the frozen wilderness where there's no contact with the world, with no electricity and they're all just.. trying to survive. No one asked for the monsters and weird cult people and the... weather.

Christ, the weather.

"It's been going on for—" he actually has to pause for a bit to work it out. "About eighteen months now? There hasn't been anyone for a long while, though."

Not since last August, actually. He gestures with one hand: the direction towards Milton, where he's come from.

"There's this old guy in town who can tell when we're coming. It's— weird."

[moonwitch]

The name Darkwalker makes her think of nightshades and eternal dusks, the plane of shadow and a wound that will never heal. She doesn't like to rush to conclusions, and upon first glance everything around her is too unfamiliar to draw any sort of connection to the darkness she knows, but she makes a mental note of it.

"Weird is right," she answers him, chewing on the information he has given her.

All of it, particularly the implication some of these Interlopers have been here for eighteen months, threatens to pierce through the veil of her self-possession. She can't afford that kind of time.

But then, she doubts she's alone in that feeling.

A shiver runs through her, a sharp reminder of what she must prioritize. "My name is Esmeray. I realize as far as first impressions go, ours has been less than ideal — but would you show me where exactly I might find this man? I'd like to speak with him, after I warm up. In theory." Moon above, it's so cold.

winter's bite |

[starscollapse]

The sharp, merciless embrace of this world is familiar to her, if not unsettling. She wakes to find herself on cold stone, tucked into a cave, unmoored by the immediate loss of power that has always lived within her. There is no one to ask a question of, no explanation beyond that voice in her head and in the shadows that surround her and speak in their own way. Vainly, she attempts to summon a light to guide her, sensing the futility in it before she even begins. It does not stop her from decrying the circumstances under her breath; brief, sharp, steadying.

There will be time to learn and understand this place, but not a moment more will be wasted staying still. She has been alone in a harsh world before; that was Dathomir, that was life and all she had known. Her steps are slow, but confident, her pace picking up as she feels her way along the cave wall, and the nearness of the entrance brings gradual light. Her jacket offers a small measure of protection against the cold, and she's pleasantly surprised to find her dagger still tucked at her hip.

Said dagger is about to prove invaluable as Merrin exits the cave, turns left, and manages only a few moments of trudging through the snow before the sounds of someone crying for help pull her swiftly in an entirely different direction. She only just catches a glimpse of a woman wielding a weapon and destroying what appears to be a creature made of...bones and ice? There's no time to think, no explanation needed at the moment for what she's seeing. Like everything else this world has shown her in her short time, she can handle thinking at length about it later. Two people — and easily more — will be hurt if they can't stop the swell of attacking creatures.

For the moment, at least, there isn't even time for words, for introductions. Brute force and a steady hand aiming a dagger at any fearsome thing that moves will do all the speaking for her. Her magick, of course, would have ended this fight in an instant, but they have weapons between them, and at least, seemingly, an unspoken agreement to defend. Merrin will wordlessly counterstep the other woman's movements, doing her best to have her back. As one animal lunges and Merrin stabs at it, large pieces suddenly shatter quickly, and she yells, "Shield yourself!"

[moonwitch]

Esmeray has battled elementals, but none made of pure ice and never without magic.

Nomi would have stories of such creatures, she's certain. Nomi, who hails from the Cold Lands and knows winter days so harsh that a bare hand might freeze in minutes. She could always trust the goliath to have her back when she chose to push forward, could trust their barbarian to flank on the opposite side.

They are not here, her allies. And there is no Moonmaiden to answer her call, no radiant light of hers to harness. There's only Esmeray, and two lumbering spectral bodies that still manage to be fast —

Oh hi, Merrin. Your timing is impeccable.

She lifts her arm in front of her and ducks at the warning, shards of her first kill having slashed her jacket and forehead already. The snow grains at her feet nearly cause her to lose balance in the process, and she turns mistake into opportunity by skidding to a halt at a safer distance. Two creatures down and one to go.

A lunge forward bridges the distance she briefly created, Esmeray bringing the flanged head of her mace down low to then swing it upward, attempting to land an uppercut strike in tandem with her footwork.

[starscollapse]

Though these beasts lack flesh, they are no less dangerous, and in the melee, she worries it will be difficult to tell if her sudden companion has been spared injury, if Merrin needs to shift where she stands and try to shield her. She catches sight of her movements, though, sparing a glance between her and the remaining creature, and she's quickly assured of that passing curiosity; she's steady, her weapon still at hand. Good. Of that, she should not have doubted, and her thoughts firmly root in the belief that they will yet win this. A battle thrust upon them by a world that insists they do not belong. And yet...here they are.

As natural as drawing breath into her lungs, the knife she holds in her hand should become a spear. She would not need to think on it nor exert effort to transform it. That power within has been a constant, a tether to her world, her sisters, her clan, and its absence is nearly a physical pain. She channels that feeling of loss and frustration into the fight ahead of them, watching where Esmeray positions herself and her weapon.

Lacking the spear she would far prefer, for Merrin it means getting up close to this thing, as with the other. But this one has less obvious weak spots for her smaller knife, so she needs to get even closer. As Esmeray swings up with her mace, Merrin ducks and kneels at the opposite end of its body, attempting to shatter the bones of one of its legs. It seems their efforts, at least, are not in vain as the beast is incapacitated, but not before it gets in one last swing of its bony, ice-covered tail. With her free arm, Merrin attempts to block it as she raises that arm, but the force of its momentum means she feels a sudden burning she's choosing to just ignore for now, before the fractured tail continues on its erratic trajectory and finally breaks apart.

She draws in a breath, feeling her two hearts beat wildly in her chest, the cold piercing her lungs like nothing has before. At this point, a hello in greeting at the other woman seems inadequate.

cw: death and violence etc

[moonwitch]

Not for the first time, Esmeray's all too aware of how vulnerable she is without her shield and spells, how small. She anticipates the creature's shattering, and it's instinct to move as far back as she can, as fast she can. And still, one of those flying shards grazes past her cheek, close enough she feels the chill of its burn.

It's unlike anything she has ever known.

A superficial injury though, one that does not demand her immediate attention. Not when the man whose cries they answered is gasping his last breaths; she rushes over to him and drops to her knees, intent on applying pressure to his wounds. But a closer look lets her know large veins have been compromised, and there will be no compensating for all this blood loss, and lost so quickly. Not without her divine healing.

She swallows past that well of grievous frustration. The man has his hand stretched out toward her, the gash on his neck impeding his efforts to speak. She holds it because she knows he is afraid and should not be alone.

Then looks up at Merrin with the slight shake of her head. He's gone.

cw: death & violence cont.

[starscollapse]

Merrin watches her move, and she would follow her more immediately if she weren't concerned with watching her back a moment longer. In this harsh land with its strangeness and cruelty, in this moment in time — the safety of the man who cried out for aid is paramount to her, as is the life of the one now kneeling to tend to him. Should a foul creature attempt another attack while both Esmeray and the man are in vulnerable positions, it will be met with fury.

All too quickly, though, those dying gasps are unmistakable, too familiar, and now she moves closer. Assured that nothing else seems to be coming for them, she stands watch protectively over them both, but for him...for him, as the unending shadow draws near, Merrin can do nothing but guard the passing of his life into memory. She studies the way Esmeray holds his hand, learning about her even in silence, that she would offer comfort in his last moments. She need not say a word, for her actions to show the face of her heart.

Though she cannot know Esmeray's thoughts, Merrin feels an equal swell of frustration, that his wounds might have been aided by her own magick so easily. What will it mean, in the hours and days to come, if this is how the world greets them?

As Esmeray shakes her head, Merrin thinks it a kindness nonetheless, that he does not linger long in pain. She kneels now beside him, studying his face, wondering if there is family who will miss him, and how they would even know out here. Even burying him would be difficult, with the ground as it is.

"He was not alone," is all she can think to say for now. To her, it feels important to remember, in the face of his death.

II.

[getfeldsparred]

Feldspar, sitting on the floor by the fire, raises their head when the alien speaks. Lots of fur on this one, but they still seem so cold. For a second or two they wonder if they're meant to respond to them, or if the alien with the plaited fur is simply speaking to themselves, which is a perfectly normal thing to do they might add.

Eh, what's the harm?

They lower their harmonica from their helmet and follow the exceptionally furry alien named Methuselah around with their eyes. "Maybe social skills isn't one of their strengths," they guess. "I get it. At least they're kind though."

[moonwitch]

So much fur, and wild and stubborn at that; Esmeray keeps her hair in a braid because of it, or at least some kind of half updo. Yet no matter her efforts, it's always a mess at the end of a long day and today has been long. Might be easier to just chop it all off, but she has sentimental reasons not to, practical though she may be otherwise.

Turning her attention to her companion of the hour, she tries to keep her gaze from being too probing. Still, she can't help her intrigue at the sight of the helmet, the prospect of a story she's never heard.

"That he is," she agrees. Everyone she's met thus far has been kind and helpful, really. Her brother would be paranoid, isolate himself. She tries hard not to be her brother. "Did you just arrive, as well?"

[getfeldsparred]

They tip their head in acknowledgment. Good, they weren’t wrong to engage in conversation.

“How can you tell?” they say with a laugh. “Is it the lack of any winter clothes, or the fact that I’m trying to crawl into the fire here to get warm?”

Or maybe it’s that they’re wearing their EVA suit still and trying really hard to blend into the wall. Feldspar’s never been one to shy away from the spotlight, but they never really relished the attention either.

“Did you walk far in the snow?”

[moonwitch]

A subtle, sly warmth enters her gaze, mouth threatening to twitch at the corners.

It's maybe very obvious he stands out, yes.

She's considering his suit still, but stays attentive to his questions — he did answer her own, after all. "A bit of a long walk," she nods, "though I was fortunate enough to stumble on someone who knew the way to Milton. As he tells it, arrivals like ours have been occurring for at least eighteen months."

[getfeldsparred]

“That’s a long time,” they remark, tapping their harmonica against the patch on their knee. “But not a lot of…”

What do they call themselves? Feldspar searches through their mental word bank for something that will be socially-acceptable and not offensive. Calling them the aliens when they’re outnumbered just isn’t accurate. “Not a very large number of us, looks like.”

Saved it.

“But that’s lucky. Was it the…uh…” They gesture towards the big man in furs. “That one? With the fur? They’ve been helpful.”

feast - ii

[notarat]

Billy was in the middle of also having a bowl of soup, but he does seem to pause and put down his spoon for a moment to actually look over at Esmeray as she speaks. He has enough manners for it. Or maybe he just doesn't want to look dumb, stuffing his face in the middle of a conversation - no matter how glad he is for the free food being provided.

"I imagine he does not want us to know much about him," he answers, casting a quick glance in Methuselah's direction before he looks back at her instead. There's a beat, and then he adds: "Most things in this place seem to enjoy being mysterious in some way."

[moonwitch]

One doesn't turn to the moon without understanding the need to conceal at times. There are parts of herself she doesn't reveal easily either, parts of herself she rather likes to keep private. She's in full investigation mode, however, and she's curious — and maybe a little wary — that Methuselah seems to know when to expect them.

"So I am gathering," she says, grateful for Billy's response. "Have you been here long?"

Kieren did mention there were those who showed up over a year ago.

[notarat]

His head dips into a slight nod at that question. A little while back he may have questioned whether or not it was long, depending on the stranger's standards, but Billy is pretty sure being in a place like this for a year would likely be long by anyone's standards.

Especially when he knows a lot of people never make it that long.

"I was in your shoes about a year ago," he adds to the nod, just to show it's been a while. "I am far from the only one though. There are quite some people who have been here for some time now."

II

[solitarysoul]

"No..." Levi was passing by as Esmeray speaks, so he pauses. "What little he says isn't always helpful either. But the food is safe."

[moonwitch]

A subtle warmth enters her expression, her smile more so in the eyes.

"That is good to hear," she tells him sincerely, as she wouldn't want to appear ungrateful — not for the food, not for the shelter. "I'm Esmeray. I only just arrived. And you?"

[solitarysoul]

"Levi. I've been here for awhile. If you have any questions I can try to answer them."

[moonwitch]

Esmeray looks relieved to meet a volunteer; she does, after all, have a lot of questions. "How long is awhile?" she asks, thinking that a good place to start. Like maybe there'll be some insight to glean in the patterns of their arrivals.

[solitarysoul]

"About a year and a half, I think. I was with the first wave."