October 2023 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

OCTOBER 2023 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 — not to mention the fact they are not the first to come here.

PROMPT TWO — GUILTY PARTY: Interlopers are kidnapped and held captive by a being and forced to confess their wrong doings, or face fatal consequences.

PROMPT THREE — OFF THE BEATEN TRACK: Interlopers get more than they bargained for when a mysterious albeit friendly dog comes across them and persuades them to follow them into the wilds.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-October.
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.

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. You look around, it seems like no one has been here in several weeks, maybe longer. The fire is stone cold, the dishes in the sink are mouldy — it's possible the place has been ransacked, as if they've gone through the drawers and cupboards looking for something. 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.

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.

“Ah, more of you have come.” he nods, just as he suspected you might. “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 and coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish, instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast. The old man has been busy. And Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks. 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 is troubled, thoughtful. The arrival of so many is not something that sits well with him. The others from town will eventually trail in too, to eat and warm themselves, and search amongst the new faces.

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 perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.

GUILTY PARTY

WHEN: Over the next month.
WHERE: Paradise Farm Outbuildings.
CONTENT WARNINGS: forced imprisonment; forced honesty; supernatural beings; confessional themes; threat of death; possible character death; possible death by throat injury.

You don’t remember how you came to be here. The air is cold and damp, the rot of wood is strong, and… blood. Why does it smell of so much blood? You can’t seem to see all that much in the gloom, but you think you’re in some kind of outbuilding of sorts. You find yourself chained to a chair, the metal is heavy and cold against you and no matter whatever you seem to do, you can’t seem to free yourself from them. No struggling can ease their hold, and there’s no lock to unpick or break. They weigh you down in your seat, you can't even seem to tip yourself over.

But you’re not the only one here. Across from you in the dark is someone else. One of your fellow Interlopers is trapped here with you, too. They too don’t remember anything either, they’re equally as confused and uncertain as you. Perhaps frightened. Not only this, they’re also sat chained up just as tightly. You have a little time to talk before you realise the two of you aren’t alone.

There's a glooming green light, the feeling of a presence. A huge figure steps into view, cloaked in black. It’s hard to tell whether it’s a man or a woman, and it’s difficult to make out much detail of them. Their face is obscured by a stone mask in the shape of a monstrous, horned and fanged Jackal. Green light glows from behind it, foreboding in the dark. It will not answer you if you try to speak with it.

“WICKEDNESS LIES WITHIN YOU.” The voice is a fierce chorus of whispers, but yet so loud. It sends a shiver down your spine. “I HAVE SEEN IT.”

... You can’t help but know it to be true. Something inside you knows what they speak of is true. Any misdeed or wrongdoing done by your hand, any cruel word you spoke, any life you took or heart you broke. You feel exposed, seen. The figure knows what you have done.

“CONFESS.” the figure demands. “UNBURDEN YOUR HEART AND BE FREE. BE SILENT AND CARRY IT TO THE GRAVE.”

The figure holds an item in its hand, something that glints in the light that glows from its mask. Now you realise why there’s so much blood in the air: it’s a sickle, dripping with blood. You are not the first to be brought here. You will not be the last.

Speak, unburden yourself, and if the figure is satisfied — you will, in fact, go free. Refuse, or not take the demand seriously, and the figure will deem you unworthy. They will move within the blink of an eye, striking you with the sickle in the neck — let it be a mercy that they kill you quickly.

OFF THE BEATEN TRACK

WHEN: Over the next month.
WHERE: Milton / Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural creature; trickster creature; themes of peril; possible character injury; possible dead body discoveries; potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk; possible character death.

The weather will continue to prove difficult for all who try to navigate this world, but with the current footfall in and around Milton, it’s at least helped to keep paths and roads somewhat clear despite the snow’s best efforts to cover up these walkways. Still, it’s a pain to get around, especially on particularly snowy days. Unfortunately, it’s sometimes necessary to go out on such days — survival doesn’t stop for the weather to pass.

And so journeys must be made, hunting must be done, forageables must be collected. You try to keep to the paths and trails, where the terrain yields before you for an easier journey.

… Until you hear barking through the trees, the sound of paws through the snow. Given the recent wolf activity of the last month, it’s understandable to be on edge. However, it isn’t a wolf that comes into view: it’s a large dog, bigger than any dog you’ve seen before. Coated in thick and shaggy black fur, this animal doesn’t seem to be like the wolves that have been found so far in this world. While the wildlife has certainly been altered, this dog remains very much like anyone would expect a dog to act in terms of behaviour. It’s playful with some, certainly friendly, constantly trying to play chase with you as it loops around in circles with a wagging tail.

However, there’s an insistence with this dog. It wants you to follow it. It will bark incessantly, trying to pull you from the path to go after it into the woods. It wants to show you something, take you somewhere. It will even try to gently pull at a coat-sleeve or trouser-leg to coax your forwards before heading off, keeping just in sight for you to go after it.

You’ll find it increasingly difficult to keep up, even if you pick up the pace as you head further into the woods. There’s less snow here, but the forest floor is filled with holes and tree roots that will trip you up. Falls are likely. But even worse is when before you know it, the ground simply gives way beneath you, sending you tumbling into a small valley or getting you stuck deep into soft, muddy earth. With it, perhaps, twisted ankles or worse. Or perhaps simply battered and bruised and unable to climb out of trench of earth. Maybe you come face to face with the body of some other poor Interloper who'd met their own end in similar manner — trapped and injured in the ditch.

Or worse still, the dog might just have you stumbling over a cliff face and tumbling into the Basin. Whatever fate befalls you, it’s as if the dog simply led you into it. And said dog, however, will be nowhere to be seen. It will have left you stuck, hurt, lost in the woods.

You’re sure you can hear some dark chuckling on the wind. Maybe it’s just the trees.

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.

GUILTY PARTY

1. Characters will find that once they have confessed, they will pass out. When they awaken, they will find themselves lying or sitting on the floor — the being, chairs and chains have gone. They are free to leave.

2. Attempts to search the outbuildings at later dates will prove fruitless. There is no sign of the being, nor the chairs or chains that held characters, but there will be blood on the floor that can be found.

3. One character can confess, or both. Player choice! As long as someone's doing some confessing.

OFF THE BEATEN TRACK

1. Gyests, sometimes called Ghests or Bargyests are evil creatures from Northumberland, UK folklore. They seek to lure travelers away from a known and safe road to their miry and marshy demise, or perhaps lead them to walk in the darkness of a Cheviot night over the edge of a precipice. Often taking the shape of horses, donkeys or large dogs, Gyests could also shape-shift to appear as men, or even stacks of hay. But always their intention was to trick humans, for their own amusement, and lure them to their doom.

2. Attempts to lure or trap the Gyest will not work.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

[flambeaux]

He has no inkling his arrival has been foretold. Even if he did, subtlety makes way for survival. He needs to get somewhere warm, and his coffin is able to shut out all light. There isn't a guarantee he can find or make another container of similar advantage before sunrise. Perhaps if he hauled for longer, he might consider leaving it behind, but he's not at the point of giving up yet.

Louis drops his rope and grips his fancy walking cane a little tighter. Why did this man hail him? He looks like he walked out of last century, but the most concerning thing is the gun. Louis feels a little like a fugitive. Now he's got to explain himself, and he's already having a terrible time. Do not be alarmed. What a laugh.

"It's evening, actually--not that it's easy to tell in all this. And yes, since you're wonderin', it's empty--sir," he adds as an afterthought, though it pains him a little. The older he got (and he's much older than he looks) the more the forms of address he was forced to give (and never receive) rankled him. He doesn't let on, letting his accent smooth everything over.

[fidior]

Many hours have passed by since he's been out here searching, and the shift in time has registered only dimly to him. There's a certain startle to hear that it's already evening — though evidence certainly is there, once he's not stuck in his own head and actually brought back into reality — but everything's swallowed up by the startle involving this stranger and his coffin......

Edward's eyes continue staring down at the great box, uncertain how to process the sight. It's an unnatural one to be sure — something so unnatural that the mind struggles how to sort it out. But as the seconds trickle by, he remembers other unnatural sights he'd known (such horrific, impossible things; man is not meant to know them), and his fluttering brain calms a little.

An empty coffin. There is a reason why someone would drag it along; reason is there. Perhaps he means to bring it back to the town, for one of the dead.... Edward's eyes move back up to the man, taking him in. He doesn't recognise him, and he knows the faces of everyone who came to Milton months before. This man is new, and perhaps that is why he is trying to drag back a coffin.

"Unfortunately, the earth is too hardened by the cold to be able to dig deeply enough for it," he tips his head towards the thing. "We have only been burying the dead in shallow ground, by the Church." Come Spring, they may need to be re-buried... a gruesome, awful thought. Edward frowns quietly.

"But your effort is commendable."

[flambeaux]

It if were proper day, Louis's skin would be a burnt sight to see. He might even be dead, just a pile of ash next to an empty coffin and a walking stick. He has no intention of testing that at this time.

The man's eyes keep darting to the coffin. It is a curious miracle how easily people justify what is clearly strange with ordinary explanations. Reason governs Louis's actions, but the truth behind it would drive the reason out of a person.

"Most coffins rest above ground in New Orleans, on account of the floods. If the ice is that bad, maybe you oughta invest in tombs. Louis de Pointe du Lac." He lets his accent drawl over his name a little, accustomed to saying it for people unfamiliar with French. "You get a lot of dead around here, Mr...?"

He really doesn't like being caught alone by a man with a gun. Maybe he's a cop or some kind of militia--no friend to Louis.

[fidior]

Edward gives a soft grimace, not allowing the gesture to take control of his features too severely (he wouldn't want to present himself so unattractively to a stranger....) but enough to convey some slight, polite displeasure. It's one aimed at the whole subject itself — death, and how much of it is seen in this place.

"I am sorry to say, that this place is rife with it. Something... happened, to the townspeople, here. Most of them were dead when I arrived."

It's not news he's happy to report, and he gives his head a solemn dip forwards.

"Edward Little, of Her Majesty's Royal Navy. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir, though I wish our circumstances themselves were more pleasurable."

Formal as ever, the lieutenant then looks back to the coffin, both parts impressed and disquieted that the man is lugging it all on his own — and with a cane in his other grasp, no less.

"Might I lend my hand?"

[flambeaux]

It would be even heavier if it were full, but it drags with a hollow sound on the snow. Being empty of its intended purpose, it is simply a long well-built box.

A military man. Louis has heard what it’s like serving from his friend Jonah; specifically, what it’s like serving as a Black man. Louis doesn’t know what it’s like in England, but Jonah had been hoping for better fortunes being stationed in France. Louis likes a man in uniform, but not enough to tempt fate. Filling this man’s hands with the coffin instead of that shotgun might be advantageous.

"Much obliged, sir," and now the sir is jaunty. He walks, perfectly well without the aid of the cane, and lifts the back. "To town, then."

He doesn’t like the thought of him in his blind spot, nor being spotted in the front by anyone in town looking to make trouble with him. It’s not like he’s Lestat, who flits around without apparent care; Louis has to allow for the possibility that someone might hate him on sight.

He doesn’t think this man does, but Louis is cautious.

"Run into anyone else out here today?" Perhaps someone with a creepy telepathic voice calling people "interlopers". "Do I need to worry about some illness afflicting town?"

[fidior]

Edward wastes no time moving to the front of the thing, taking a moment to readjust his shotgun's strap against his back, and then hoist the coffin up from behind, so that he doesn't have to walk backwards.

Compared to the smaller supply boats the men had lugged like animals, this is hardly anything — a thought that comes slow and uncomfortable for him, the way memory always does. And so from there, he leads them back towards town, boots crunching slow and steady against the snow beneath.

He pauses to consider how to answer. All of this is.... so very strange, and trying to explain to someone else...

"There are many others who have arrived here," he begins. "I came some months ago, and so I've been assisting as many newcomers as I can find. The trek back to the safety of town can be a difficult one."

He pauses again, the rich tone of his own voice becoming softer, something more sombre.

"We are not certain what killed them, but.... there have been no illnesses since, no. It's as though they simply... deceased. I know that offers no comfort to hear, but I assure you that the town is quite safe. There is food there, warmth. And many more people like ourselves, refugees to this land."

[flambeaux]

He should probably have removed his hat in a brief show of sadness over the poor souls, but Louis saw much hardship and tragedy running a business in Storyville. Why cry over one thing when the next was already on its way? Such was the tough façade Louis often wore—even if he was in pain. This didn’t change when he became a vampire and started dealing death himself.

In his current circumstances, he can’t let his guard down. He’s more concerned about the cause of death. Once, a mysterious illness struck New Orleans, but it wasn’t an illness. It was a vampire.

"Hmm. Something in the water? What were they doing when they passed? Are you sure there weren’t any weird marks on them? Bites, maybe?"

Asking for a friend.

[fidior]

His claim that the town is "quite safe" leaves a bit of an odd taste in his mouth. Certainly, there are dangers there, but... overall, the thing itself is a safety, so much more than where he'd been before it. There are buildings with four walls, safe from the elements. There are stoves and fireplaces to build warmth, and there is food, even if it may be scarce.

There is still food. And there's the potential to find more food — wild game, fish.

The... oddness of the place is a factor to be certain, but he knows to be careful, will reveal more details to this stranger over time, as with all the others. Best not to overwhelm someone (although this man doesn't seem to frighten easy, isn't nearly as out of sorts as Little was when he first woke here.)

"Many of them seemed to have been going about their lives, although some... seemed to show evidence of having taken their own."

Edward's voice quiets at that. It's a sombre thing, an awful one. But he's lifting his brows at the next part.

"Bite marks? There are wolves around, but.... no, nothing like that. The bodies were well-searched," he adds. It was an unpleasant business, but he'd made certain to search as many as he could, as well. To check for his men.

"Several of us are keeping a close watch on things. If anything unfavourable tries to infiltrate, it will be stopped," he says, reassuringly.

(Edward you're literally helping a vampire into town right now.)

[flambeaux]

If Louis seems calm, it’s only because he’s hiding his worries. How did he get here? Did some other immortal kidnap and dump him, perhaps prematurely? Where is his daughter? She’s so small and vulnerable, despite her murderous appetite. Louis isn’t sure he wants to alert a stranger to her possible presence until he is in a better position to defend her.

"So you got your own patrols… How do folks usually get here?"

He’ll believe the town is safe enough to live in when he sees it, and not a moment before. He’s well aware he could be one of the unfavorable intruders. Black, gay, vampire, murderer, they could take their pick. This Mr. Little does seem to be trying to reassure Louis though…

A small town full of suspicious residents isn’t Louis’s first choice of hunting ground, but, he reminds himself, he’s no longer beholden to hunt human like the rest of his tiny vampire family. (No sweet-faced woman stuck in a girl’s immortal body to say she only feels “tolerated” when Louis dines exclusively on animals.)

[fidior]

"As strange as it sounds, they seem to just.... appear. I found myself waking in a small cabin..." It should be impossible, but he has only seen more impossible things since then.

"There is a path that leads to the town," he further expands on the thought. "It's just this way, not far— from there, we can follow it to Milton, where they are preparing food for new refugees."

He hopes this is a relief to the other man, whom he is certain must be hungry by now.

"There is a community center, with cots and extra clothing. You can find rest there, for the night." Edward turns his head again to look back to the other man, brows lifted in concern.

"Are you all right, otherwise? If you need more warmth, you may take my coat — I will be fine without it on the way back."

[flambeaux]

There is a moment when their eyes meet, and Louis is caught off guard by an offer of kindness. His brilliant green eyes widen, and he shakes his head as he avoids his gaze.

"Thank you for the invitation. I, uh, can't sleep around other people. But that's just as well--I'm up nights. That's just how the city is where I'm from. The night is young; I have time to look for other accommodation."

The food is of no comfort, and he dreads having to pretend to enjoy it when it's offered to him. It all tastes like ash. And he truly can't make his sleeping place near humans, lest they cotton onto his true nature.

It gets lonely.

"All of you lost your memory and got dumped here?" Needless to say, he's suspicious. "Who's doing this? What do you all have in common?"

[fidior]

Edward gives another nod of his head; that's quite all right, and he can offer information that may be more helpful— "There are many abandoned homes, and you are welcome to take one up, instead."

Though the thought of staying in someone's home is.... uncomfortable, even to him now after a few months of living in someone else's cabin. Their personal belongings, however meagre, are still there. Little hasn't gotten rid of them, or even moved them at all. He knows his presence is the outsider.

To those next questions, however... he falls silent for a few long moments, thoughtful, unsettled. "I do not know," is what he hates to admit. "This may sound.... impossible, but things seem to happen here that cannot be explained in the natural world. For a long time, I've wondered if I'm not dead."

He almost smiles a little, though not quite.

"I have seen no common link between all of us, although a few others from my world have shown up. Perhaps some from yours will, as well."

[flambeaux]

Squatting in an abandoned home because the owners up and died... Louis thinks this might be a new low, and that's including the time he let his own home become a squalor fit for racoons. But he's not above it.

The personal possessions of the deceased might give him pause, maybe more so than the bodies, which have become more impersonal to him. He's thrown plenty in the incinerator. But yes, the personal possessions... lockets, books, things that connect to the lives they lived. Louis could get lost in those.

But he still wants to live, even though he's dead. And he has specific needs. Blood and a sunless space. The coffin is just extra security against the rays.

He shivers. Who from his world might show up? It's like those stories of Hell. Dante and Virgil taking a tour and seeing familiar faces. Realistically, there are too many people in either Heaven or Hell to simply run into an old acquaintance. Or an old family member (covered in blood, white eyes staring--).

"Any family?" he asks him solicitously.

[fidior]

Ah — at that, Edward can't quite suppress a widening of the eyes, finding himself a little thrown off-guard by the question. He controls his reactions well, as he typically does, reserved even through his own surprise. But it... is a surprise. A thought he hasn't nurtured much of. Hasn't been able to, perhaps. There is a particular odd weight, or is it an emptiness? — to the knowledge that he will not see his family ever again. Perhaps he has known that for much time before even this place.

"None, of my own," he answers, after that moment's pause. "And as far as I have known, that is the case for everyone else here, as well. However, it may yet prove otherwise, over time."

There's nothing to say that the families of some residents won't end up here.

It does lead into thoughts of asking about the other man's own, although Little hesitates. There is a line between being conversational and amiable, and asking things that are too personal. Typically, one would wait for the other party to offer information, but he realises that he might be able to offer some assistance here, too.

"If there is a particular member of your family you should like me to keep an eye out for with this latest arrival of newcomers, I will."

[flambeaux]

Louis is aware he struck a nerve there, for good or ill, but he has his own demons to hide. He no longer has his previous family; they disowned him. And if he ran into Lestat or Claudia, he might wish to disintegrate under the sun's rays. How many times can he fail the ones he loves? He dreads the possibility.

It's a fact that crimes and missing people go unreported because of distrust. Louis only ever had trouble from cops before, and he thinks this would be no different. He doesn't trust Edward enough to tell him that he'll be looking for Claudia--feverishly, because if Louis has a hard time surviving out here, what must it be like for her?

"You just keep on helpin' people into town. Don't let anyone die out here, Mr. Edward Little." He should probably ask his rank to refer to him by it, but Her Majesty's Royal Navy doesn't exist here anyway. With a bit of dark humor he adds, "It's bad for business."

and I'm fine if you want to wrap this or keep going with it!!

[fidior]

There is a man here who'd been, justifiably, beside himself with worry for his daughter. While it's fortunate that a child hadn't ended up in this cold, unforgiving place, Edward knows that it must be a horror to be separated from her — and of course to worry that she may yet end up here. Out beyond the safety of town one day, making a sudden appearance. It's a huge reason why he continues to patrol past the town borders, most days. To check. To make certain no one else has arrived alone and lost, certainly not a child who would freeze much faster.

The man doesn't directly answer his offer, which is an answer of its own, and Edward nods again. He won't press, won't inquire further, but he will certainly keep up the work. It's all he can do. It's what he has to do.

'don't let anyone die out here'

It is, of course, what he'd once failed to do.

Partially to conceal the way those ghosts within him howl a bit louder at those words, Edward manages a thin little smile in response to that.

"Certainly, there's been more than enough death. Hopefully, we'll not have to make use of this casket you've found, but it will be good to have it around. Perhaps we should make more."

Was this just... lying around somewhere in the wilds? (Why did this man know to pick it up and start lugging it....?) If those questions would give anyone else a more suspicious pause, they don't to Edward. He only sees the practicality of it, and is grateful.

"Ah — and I see the line of smoke now. We'll be there shortly, Mr. Pointe du Lac."