August 2025 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

AUGUST 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 — IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE: Interlopers take a walk through the woods, and discover who they are as a person in this Quiet Apocalypse.

PROMPT THREE — BEACHED: A threat emergences from the sands of The Coast, threatening to drown Interlopers in a tarry grave.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-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 sun is bright, enclosed in light fog. It is a strange kind of twilight.

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. Once more, you poor souls come.” 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.

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

WHEN: The month of August.
WHERE: Everywhere…?
CONTENT WARNINGS: amnesia memory loss; skeletal remains of animals and humans; themes of honesty; themes of deep/thoughtful conversations/self-realisation; mention of eye-injury/body horror.

You do not remember falling asleep. You open your eyes to find yourself lying in the snowy undergrowth of a burned-out wood. The scent of charred trees hangs in the air, a little petrichor. The world is cold and empty and dead. The sky above you is a pale lavender-grey, a strange half-light gloom and a mist drifts around you. The stillness is not peaceful. Instead it feels like a sense of loss.

You do not remember your name. You do not know who you are.

There are only two things you do know: this is the ending of all things, and you must find out who you are.

When you look down, there are shapes in the snow and dead undergrowth. You reach for them, only to find the things you reach for— bones. Animal. Human. Scattered, half-bleached by the elements. You may be filled with horror, loud and jarring. You might be filled with sorrow. You might be filled with indignant and defiant rage. You might even be filled with something muted and quieter, something like resignation. Because, after all: this is the ending of all things.

You don’t recognise this place, nor do you know where you’re going but you still move forwards — picking any direction and hoping for the best. You trudge through the snow, looking for… answers. Even if you don’t know what those answers will be.

You find another, equally lost as you. Someone else who shares the same situation: not knowing they are and only knowing the same two things as you do. You walk for a while, trying to work it all out. But the woods are endless, and no matter which direction you head in, the burned and blackened trees never seem to thin.

Out of nowhere, a woman’s voice drifts through the trees: What kind of survivor are you?

The question settles on the air. You look at your companion, speechless for a moment. But if you take a little while, the words will come. The truth of yourself: what kind of survivor are you? And you’ll talk with your companion, talking about yourselves like it’s so new to you. You speak honestly. There are no lies here. You begin to remember a little more. A memory, an event, an instance. What kind of survivor you are. You will get your first answer.

Soon enough, another question will come: When you lost everything you knew and loved, how did you keep breathing?

Once again, the words will come. Between yourselves, you will answer and find the answer about yourself — speaking the words as if you are breathing life into your very existence. And more questions will come, giving you and your companion plenty to talk about.

The third question: Do you survive for yourself alone, revelling in the solitude? Or do you hunger for a connection, seeking out others?

The fourth: Do you settle into the silence, and embrace it? Or do you crawl into it whimpering and it crushes you?

The final question: Who are you and how will you face this Quiet Apocalypse?

You remember who you are now, don’t you? Your name. What kind of person you are, what shapes and guides you.

A woman stands before you in the woods. She is dressed in furs. She is gaunt, exhausted — her left side of her face is black and withered, her eye absent from the socket. Her other eye is blue and sad. She looks proud, and she smiles. This is Enola, the First Interloper.

“I see you.” she says softly.

With the blink of an eye, you are no longer in the woods but wherever you last remember being. Your companion is no longer with you, but you’ll find them again soon enough.

BEACHED

WHEN: The month of August
WHERE: Beaches/shorelines of The Coast, Silverpoint.
CONTENT WARNINGS:

The shorelines of the Northern Territories’ Coastal Region have been a boon to those who live there, thanks to the many opportunities for beachcombing and the occasional crates of random goods that will wash up on the shore from long-forgotten ships, along with regular fishing opportunities. However, in the month of August, there's a strange kind of emptiness to the beaches that even keeps some of the locals away. Interlopers who speak with Molly and Jace will be told that something about the beach creeps them out.

Jace in particular will mention that he has seen strange footprints in the sands made of tar. While he’ll point out where he’s seen them from a distance, he doesn't recommend Interlopers going to check it out. It’s bad vibes, and generally when that sort of thing goes down it’s best to stay away.

But he can't exactly stop anyone who wants to go see what the fuss is about.

Interlopers who go to explore the beaches will feel overcome with the strange sensation of hollowness; like something has clawed away at you from the inside. Some may describe it as a sense of sorrow or grief. Others might describe it as a strange kind of inner-disconnection. Some may describe it as a kind of stillness, the kind that comes after death, or standing in an empty room after someone has just left it.

The feeling is small at first but the longer an Interloper spends time on the beach, the bigger that feeling grows.

Interlopers who followed the footprints of tar in the sand after an extended period of time on the beach will notice that the footprints will actually be actively moving. You will see them being made in real time. Soon enough, the footprints will start to turn and walk towards the Interloper. They never hurry, but make a beeline at a steady pace — easy enough to outrun, but will catch the Interloper if they’re not careful enough. If the footprints catch up to them, they'll soon find out just exactly what is lurking within the sands.

Figures burst forth from the tar, writhing and scrambling towards you. A mass of several of them, a mob. The beings look human, but are twisted and distorted, and appear to be entirely made out of the tar. Their eyes are green and smoking, their hands are sharp and clawed. However, they’re extremely solid, as if they are a person after all. They hiss and shriek, trying to grab at you in hopes of pulling you down into the tar that pools and floods around them.

You can shake off one or two of them but let enough of them swamp you, and you’ll be dragged down into a tarry grave — never to be seen again.

The beings can be fought off — guns and bows can keep them back but won’t hurt them. Flames work well on them, too. If they manage to claw at you and draw blood, the blood itself will actually be harmful to them and they’ll cower away from even a few drops. Fighting them off will have them retreating back into the sands, leaving nothing but a pool of tar behind.

Leaving is also absolutely an option, if you can get off the sand itself and back onto land. The beings will not follow and seem to be stuck completely on the beaches.

But the experience will leave you feeling emotionally raw in the days that follow. Interlopers will be left feeling hollow, but spending time around others will have the feeling fading and you’ll feel like your usual self again.

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.

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

1. Interlopers are compelled to speak about themselves honestly — describing who they are as a person, using the questions provided. They can talk about canon experiences or simply share their own thoughts about themselves concerning the question.

2. While they will find bones, there is nothing else living in these woods. There will be nothing they will be able to glean from the bones.


BEACHED

1. While the claws are sharp enough to cut an Interloper, the beings aren't aiming to maim — they're simply trying to grab hold of the person to drag them down into the tar.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

[mikoshi]

[ Good thing this local-looking lady (based on the clothes, which are appropriate for the weather, not out of an understanding of the local sociopolitical map) said peace, because the massive wolfdog gives less aww and more gonna maul your face off to a man who grew up fighting coyotes—and those fuckers, mean little shits, were half the size of this puppy. ] Mighty nice of ya. Does that go for the dog too, or...? [ Does it listen to you? Great time to be unarmed (literally, where the fuck are his Gorilla Arms?) at the mercy of a perfect stranger's control over a mythical beast. ]

[meadqueen]

Ulfrùn serves as my right eye out here in the wilderness. She will not harm you unless you harm me first.

The walk is not long, but arduous in the snow. I can lend you my cloak if you would like it.

[mikoshi]

[ That name sounds Scandinavian. Real shame his software's gone up in smoke, no chance of tapping into the Nordic language packs and do some research. ] Well, I got no intention of doing that. [ He gives a soft, friendly smile. ]

You sure? Not gonna be a problem for you? [ Because yeah, while his current outfit isn't the worst, it's appropriate for a cold California desert night, not alpine tundra, or whatever this is. ] I'm from the desert. Cold sucks.

[meadqueen]

[Perhaps luckily for Randvi, he can't see that she’s named her female wolf “wolf woman” which is not very original.]

The walk is not long. I can keep myself warm until we arrive.

[She can raise her body temperature thanks to her Lightbringer feat, but they can get into that later.

She unclasps the cloak and extends it to the stranger.]

My name is Randvi.

[mikoshi]

[ Not going to ask her how she intends to keep warm with less clothing, the same way you don't ask a nomad how they keep cool by adding more leather and polyester. It's insulting, an admission you don't think they can handle themselves in their own lands.

He takes the cloak, throws it over his shoulders. The clasp keeping it together is simple enough. ] V. [ Force of habit to only give his initial. Vincent doesn't even sound like a name to ears anymore. ] So, um, where are we? [ North? South? Still on Earth or purgatory as he thinks it to be? Is she Christian, would the concept even make sense? ] Not sure how I got here.

[meadqueen]

Do you know the land of Canada? My people call it Vinland. We are in its northern territories, on a small island. The village we are approaching is called Milton.

We still do not understand the mechanism by which we were taken here, but it has to do with the magic of the aurora.

[mikoshi]

I do. I was south, way south—California, between the United States and Mexico. [ God, how the fuck did Alt overshoot the upload that much? But the more Vincent hears about this place the less he thinks it's Alt's fault.

Whether his body is still falling to pieces around him is a more pressing question. The lack of Johnny popping up to give his commentary is promising but not a guarantee.

(And, if Vincent's being honest with himself? Misses his tumor more than he cares to admit.) ] Aurora... wait, the northern lights? Aurora borealis, that aurora? Magic? [ Software sorcerers, Voodoo Boys magic, or magic magic, tabletop, MMORPG style? ]

[meadqueen]

California. [The word sits heavy and foreign in her mouth. She does at least know most of the country names now thanks to the atlas at the library.]

Yes, the lights. At home, they signal victory in war, but here they cause strange happenings. Electricity only functions during that time, but it can be unpredictable. We occasionally hear voices, or see spirits, or powers fluctuate oddly. I saw the lights during the day when I was taken from my home.

[mikoshi]

California. [ He repeats with a Spanish accent this time. ]

Victory in war. [ Yeah, sounds about right for what he's read of on vikings. Scandinavians? Now that Vincent looks closer, she's wearing a rather historic outfit. Wait wait wait, didn't she say Vinland? ] Oh great, Canada's haunted. [ This is a lot of information to keep up with. That, or the brain damage Johnny left behind is worse than he thought. ] Okay, I did see some lights when I got taken from Mikoshi and landed here. [ That giant beam of golden light towards the Blackwall. ]

Wait a minute. [ Stops dead in his tracks. ] Alright, when are you from? Rough estimate, or tell me who was fighting who. [ Did he end up trapped in an ancient server? Or does purgatory apply to people from all times? Damn, what did she do to end up stuck here for millennia? Or are they all engrams, constructs, pulled from different points of time?

His face feels wet. Absentmindedly Vincent dabs under his nose. Yep, there it is—nosebleed. ] Don't... worry about it.

[meadqueen]

[Oh, here it comes. People always think they're prepared for it, but they never seem to be.]

My people do not measure time this way, but I correspond regularly with Christians and for them the year is eight hundred seventy-four. We left Norway when Harald Fairhair began consolidating the clans there and joined the Ragnarssons’ battle against the Saxons and the Picts in England.

Here, in this place, I believe the year is two thousand sixteen. Documents dated two thousand fourteen were found here when people began arriving two years ago.

[mikoshi]

I'm actually talkin' to a viking. Holy shit. [ Rather pleased he got it right. Not bad for a kid with no formal education. ] Listen, the way you all kicked the English' ass? Huge fan.

So you went into the future and I went into the past? [ Context, Vincent. ] It was two thousand seventy-seven for me. Wow. Alt really fucked this up. [ Well, she did say I can return you to your body and accomplished that. His fault for not specifying he wanted to be returned to his realm, in his time. ] Two years? Let me guess, people tried to leave but can't? Disappeared? [ Because if this Canada is haunted... that's how every horror story goes. ]

[meadqueen]

[There was a time that Randvi would have protested being called Viking now that she doesn't raid any longer, but Ragnar had told her that she could call herself anything she likes and she's taking that to heart. She smiles.]

It's their terrible wine, it makes them soft.

I think it is a case of another place and another time. There are people here who are contemporary but this was not happening where they come from.

[She looks pained. There has been so much loss here.]

Yes, the person I know who left to search for a way out did not return. Locals who attempted to reach the coast either died on the road or became trapped in the coastal town of Silverpoint. The sea ice extends far and they've heard nothing from the mainland.

Who is Alt?

[mikoshi]

The food too. [ Grins. ] It's bad.

That's... [ Gonna take a while to get used to. So maybe not Purgatory. Not a server either. Something else.

Best not to think about it for now. Got more important things—getting indoors. All this cold might be killing off what few healthy neurons he's got. ]

So we're trapped. 'Less someone makes a boat or somethin'. [ And then what? Sail into the unknown? If a Viking hasn't attempted that, what chances does anyone else have? He might be a nomad but these are not his lands—there's no roads to map, no technology to lean back on. It's not impossible, but...

Safer to stay put, build shelter, grow food, survive. Same as humanity has done for ages. Or end up like all these people who didn't make. ]

Alt is... [ How to explain that clusterfuck? ] ...this spirit. I am—was?—real sick. Dyin'. Helped her out so I could live. She cleaved my body from my soul, cleansed it, then was supposed to stick it back on, send me on my way. What you're tellin' me though... I don't think she failed. Think somethin' else grabbed me instead.

[meadqueen]

I could make a boat and haul it across the ice, but right now we do not know what we’ll find out there. The woman who keeps the signal fire in Silverpoint says that she thinks things are worse on the mainland.

At this point I'm not even certain I could convince others to come with me. The collective here is not often fond of practical solutions.

[Is she still mad that the town meeting crowd vetoed her plan to rig the mine entrance in case the Forest Talkers in Lakeside attacked them? Yes.]

Yes. Unfortunately I believe these two events are unrelated.

[mikoshi]

I'd go. [ Stated matter-of-factly. ] My people, we don't stay put in one place for long. We follow the seasons, the work they bring. Find routes, map the roads, pitch camps. Already got stuck in a city longer than I'd like. [ And while this place might not feel as claustrophobic as Night City, accepting that they're just stuck isn't acceptable to his cultural and individual sense of freedom. ] What I'm saying is—I'm gonna try to find a way. [ It'd soon foolish if he didn't say it with such conviction. ]

Kinda scary to think there's somethin' in here stronger than Alt. [ Worryingly so. ] What does it want with us?

[meadqueen]

I've long dreamed of that sort of life myself, but I would advise caution. My friend Edward left town over a year ago to search for a way out and has not been heard from since. We do not know all of the threats that might be out there.

The Darkwalker wants us to leave, and it does not seem to care how. However it does not seem capable of removing us, or of killing us all directly at once. It uses its connection to this world to twist it and harm us indirectly.

Enola is its opponent, but I am not certain that this makes her our friend.

[mikoshi]

It's not for the faint of heart—but I'll take it over a stinkin' city any day. [ Warning heeded. Still, there might be other roads to map. ]

Sounds like nature versus man. People as the playthings of gods. [ Gods is, of course, a figure of speech. They're not his gods, technically. They might be just extremely powerful spirits a la Blackwall AIs. They could also be powerful people playing up the god angle, mythologizing themselves for convenience, as a smokescreen.

More he thinks on it, the less he likes it. Recruited for yet another cause without permission. Yet, as always, the mission remains the same: ] "The people are my castles and my stone walls. We show compassion for allies and vengeance for enemies." Shingen... I think. So... [ He tucks the fur coat further up his shoulders, shivering a bit. ] What needs to be done?

[meadqueen]

The playthings of gods… that sounds close enough to the truth.

Our first order of business is to take you to the community hall. Methuselah will serve a meal, and you can get warmer clothing for yourself. There is also a map of the area there, and a board for community messages - jobs and invitations, that sort of thing.

You can choose one of the empty homes if you wish, or board at the hall.

[mikoshi]

Every story that involves 'em. Gods always fuck with us. Gotta have worshipers, right? [ He grins.

Food, clothes, shelter... this place is practically paradise in comparison to where he comes from. And it's always good to have a plan of attack, goals, to keep yourself from spiraling when thrust into the unknown. Idle hands are the devil's tools and all. ]

Wait, I can just... pick a house and take it? [ That'd get you zeroed back in Night City. This place must truly be desperate for soldiers if they're just offering up real estate like it's nothing. ] Assume if it's in poor shape I'm responsible for fixin' it up? [ His woodworking skills weren't the best, that with wood being somewhat of a rare material in the desert. Time to learn. ]

[meadqueen]

The former owners are either dead or have escaped to the coast. Either way, they will not be returning here.

If Milton winds up feeling too… close… there are a limited number of cabins in the nearby community of Lakeside and some locations on the coast. Most living locals are on the coast as well, now.

Yes, you can do what you wish with a home you’ve claimed. Some people run businesses from them as well.

[mikoshi]

Oh. [ Said with such finality. Given up for dead, sounds like. ]

Close ain't necessarily bad. City density ain't village density. About how many people in Milton? [ There's safety in numbers. If there's enough space between them all then it should be a non-issue. And, much as he'd like to, starting out as a lone wolf isn't feasible. Needs to become familiar not only with the land but the people too if he hopes to survive. ] How far from the coast are we? Fishing sounds nice.

Things can't be too bad if peeps can afford [ Heh. ] some commerce. I'll need to find out what I can offer 'sides cracking skulls.

[meadqueen]

Typically there are between eighty and a hundred of us here at any given time. The only locals remaining in Milton are eight teenagers and Methuselah, but there are nearly two hundred in Silverpoint.

There is freshwater fishing here until it gets too cold. At one time there were fishing weirs set up in this area, but I do not know whether they are still maintained.

[There are two people that she knows used them and one is dead and one is missing. Randvi sighs.]

Depending on your strength and familiarity with the route, the walk to Silverpoint from here takes between a week and two weeks. I make the trip every second month for trade.

There is a small store in town that accepts barter, and there is usually work at the farm. There are other odd jobs here and there if you keep an eye on the board.

[mikoshi]

Eight teenagers? No parents? [ The old man remaining tracks, but unsupervised kids? Unless... ]

Guess that's one project I could take on. [ Ancient tech, tried and true. Always liked fish more than beef since the fish was at least organic. Cloned to the point its molecules were probably closer to plastic, but still organic. ]

Don't have anythin' to sell yet, but I'd like to go. Check out the route if anythin', think up improvements. [ One to two weeks. Imagine if they had ATVs. Or sledding dogs. ] 'Sides your wolf, doubt there's other beasts for transportation? Not against hard work, but imagine shortenin' that route to hours. [ Could save lives. ]

Just like back home. Great, won't be bored. That's what scared me the most 'bout this place—being idle.

[meadqueen]

The parents are dead. They were part of a group living in Lakeside who attacked us on behalf of the Darkwalker last autumn. The children surrendered and we took them in with conditions. Now the Darkwalker kills them like any other interloper.

[Three of them have died in their care and this eats at her every day.]

The elder Levi and I have been working on improving the passage through the hydro dam. Individual people have animals, but few of them work.

[Or work for the group at any rate - some people have their own pack animals but they're not shared.]

Yes, there is always work for those who want it.

[mikoshi]

Ah. [ Yeah, that'll do it. ] Conditions, like stop doing weird cult shit, no murder? [ They're just kids. Not too far gone, he knows from experience. ]

Know I just got here, but I'd like to help. If we can't leave might as well make the roads passable. [ Mapping can come later when he's more confident of his lay of the land. ]