October 2025 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

OCTOBER 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 — POWER IN WORDS: Interlopers gather around the campfire and decide to tell stories: only to find their stories begin to come alive right before their very eyes.

PROMPT THREE — FRONTIER COMFORTS: Interlopers come across a surprise baker in Milton, offering up tasty treats — with unexpected effects.

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.

POWER IN WORDS

WHEN: The month of October.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: reality warping; potential fourth-walling; horror monsters/creatures; potential character injury; potential character death.

They say there’s nothing more powerful than stories. Tales of caution told to little children to mind the great and terrible things out in the darkness of the world. Accounts of folk horrors or great adventures to thrill and entertain. Or perhaps stories of valour and hope to help inspire the hearts of the downtrodden and destitute. Words have been spoken over campfires for eons, passed down from lips to lips.

In the Northern Territories, there is plenty of time on one’s hands. The hours seem to crawl by, and there is very little in terms of entertainment to keep one’s mind busy after the chores and business needed to survive is done. Sometimes all there is left to do is to sit by the fire and talk. And with winter quickly approaching, huddling around a fire certainly isn’t a bad idea after all.

And certainly, Interlopers have found themselves compelled to gather around fires as of late. To spend time with their fellow Interlopers, to enjoy the sense of community and togetherness.

Considering the time of year, it’s October — a favourite time of year for some. Halloween draws close, and what better way to celebrate it in a world where nothing much can be celebrated by telling some of your favourite spooky stories for the evening? It feels like as good a time as any, after all.

So you gather around a fire with your fellow Interlopers and begin to tell one another stories. They might be retellings of your favourite horror movies, folktales from your country, stories that freaked you out as a kid. Stories of cryptids or the monsters under the bed. Maybe it might be some supernatural encounter you once experienced. Something to really spook your fellow Interlopers for fun.

… only it isn’t just for fun.

In a world where there are bigger powers at play, there is so much power in words spoken. As you tell your story, something… unexpected happens. Interlopers will find that the horror stories they tell around the fire will start to become a reality. The cryptid from your hometown may just start stalking you from the shadows. The werewolf from that favourite horror film of yours? You hear it howl in the distance. The ghosts you swear you saw once as a kid will appear before you.

You have brought these stories to life, accidentally.

How do you deal with such a thing? Well, how does it end in the story? Your creations only have as much power as the stories that hold them. Stake through the heart for a vampire, a ring of salt for ghosts, silver for werewolves. And you better deal with it quickly, less you become just another victim in the story.

Fortunately, if you’ve talked yourself into a bit of a jam, the monsters you’ve spoken into life will eventually disappear into nothing by the time the sun rises again. You only have to survive the night first.

FRONTIER COMFORTS

WHEN: The month of October.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: altered/magical food items; severely altered/warped behaviours; potential personality switches/animalistic behavioural characteristics; minor body horror; loss of senses; physical age changes; precognition/future visions.

In the month of October, Interlopers have been practically plagued by the delicious scents of homebaking that fill the air in and around Milton. Following their noses, however, has turned up nothing,and no one’s been able to find the source of those smells no matter how hard anyone’s tried to look. Interlopers aren’t exactly living on the most luxurious of diets, and often the most basic and simple of meals is what’s on the table for them in the general day to day. Whatever this is smells practically divine, and no one is immune to being enraptured by them.

One particular day, as you walk around Milton, the scent is particularly strong and this time you’re determined to find the source of the baking. Maybe whoever it is might be in a particularly charitable mood, or might be willing to trade for whatever it is you’re baking.

You see lights on in one of the cabins that had once otherwise been empty, or maybe you’d just never noticed someone lived there. But as you draw closer to the front door, the scents of home cooking are overpowering and you knock, hoping and praying for an answer.

The man who answers the doors isn’t someone you recognise. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about him: he is middle-aged and tall, with a thick beard. Behind him is a busy scene: a roaring fire and the ongoing process of baking. He chuckles at your staring and invites you in. Inside, you find the source of the smell: home-cooked pies of varying types; some more rustic than others, with golden pastry and rich-smelling fillings.

You’re not sure if the man is a fellow Interloper, or perhaps one of the folks from Silverpoint — a Milton native who’s returned home. Or maybe he’s neither. He doesn’t speak much, and only beckons you to pull up a chair at the large kitchen table and eat.

He offers a selection. The choice is yours, Interlopers. But trying out one of these pies might have you biting off more than you can chew.

STALKER’S PIE: A rich pie made with Bear and Wolf meat. Dangerous, mysterious filling. This pie gives the Interloper eating it an animalistic instinct. Your senses are sharp, keen. You hear, smell and see as an animal would. Your nails are sharp like claws, your teeth are now fangs to bear and snap. You see the world in black and white: predator and prey.

PREPPER’S PIE: A dense pie made from foraged vegetables. Rough around the edges. After eating this pie, you feel your mind is clear and untroubled. You feel prepared… in a way you didn’t think possible. For a time, you are able to see things in the immediate future around you. And with that, you are ready for anything.

DOCKWORKER’S PIE: A satisfying pie made from the day's catch. The taste of the sea. As you eat this pie, you feel a sensation of waves washing over you. A gentle rocking, as if you are a vessel on the ocean. With each gentle rock, you feel yourself shift. You’re still you, but another kind of you. Maybe if you’d made another choice, or maybe you hadn’t been chosen. In this world, this timeline, things had gone differently. And now so are you. Different. An alternative version of yourself, rippling through.

BREYERHOUSE PIE: A pie any meateater would love. Lunchbox-ready. Chowing down on this heavy, meat-filled pie reminds you that you too are just meat. And like the game butchered and broken down to make it, the same can be done to you. This pie will temporarily take away one of your five senses: sight, touch, smell, taste or hearing. You may find yourself feeling completely numb to touch; or unable to hear or see anything.

PEACH PIE: A pie filled with sweet, canned peaches. Reminds one of warmer seasons and brighter days. Eating this pie will change your physical age to a younger version of yourself. It will be of a time when things were simpler, happier. The world around you did not feel so empty and terrifying, and you now see it with eyes of wonder and an unbridled heart.

Afterwards, you’ll find you can’t find the man or his cabin again. Once you leave the area and try to return, you’ll find the cabin empty, with no trace of the man or his baking to be found.

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.

POWER IN WORDS

1. While any monsters are fine to bring in, we do ask that players are mindful of bringing in gigantic monsters (ie. Godzilla) that could potentially break the game's setting.

2. Players are welcome to go with monsters from their character's canons, or make up their own ghost stories or go with real-life examples of ghost stories.


FRONTIER COMFORTS

1. The effects of the pies will last between eight hours to a week, depending on how much was consumed. Nothing can be done to alleviate symptoms. You will feel incredibly hungover the day after the effects have subsided, like you've eaten something way too rich, but feel completely fine after that.

2. Dockworker's Pie can be any kind of AU, whether that's a canon AU (ie. Endverse in Supernatural) or a player-made up AU. Genderswaps would also be acceptable in this instance.

3. Peach Pie is flexible in how it can be played out. Characters can keep their normal mind/memories, or they can revert themselves to their literal child stage. Or even an in-between point where they find others around them (ie. CR/canonmates) familiar but can't really truly suss out their current situation.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

Shao Anjun | OC

[wanderwolf]

Arrival

[Shao Anjun is no stranger to wandering in cold, unforgiving wilderness. It’s in his blood, you might say - in his heritage, even if he might wish to deny it.

And so he’s not entirely thrown for a loop when he wakes up under the partial cover of a tall pine tree, head pillowed on the fur collar of his cloak and hands tucked in close to his chest for warmth. It’s cold and snowy, and the sky through the canopy has the foggy, lead-colored quality of a storm that plans to settle in and stay a while. He doesn’t know where he is, and he doesn’t know how he got here. But he’s not without options.

The first thing he tries to do is transform, naturally. His lupine form is much better adapted to the cold than his human form will ever be, no matter how well he bundles himself up. He sits on his knees beneath the tree, takes a deep breath, and relaxes into it -

Pain shoots through his head, brief and tight as a vice around his temples. The muscles in his arms and legs seize before they can surge forward into the easy might of the wolf body, and his spine is set alight before it can elongate into its larger, more powerful form. He gasps, falls forward and only just manages to catch himself before his head hits the ground. That’s - strange. Unexpected, in this weather. Could his curse be flaring up again?

Well, then. His wolf form is not accessible right now. He will have to do this in his human form. It’s inconvenient, but not impossible. He stands, carefully, stretching out the stiffness in his joints and brushing snow and dirt off of his robe. He breathes in again, and this time he pays more attention to the smells, the tastes in the air. Cold lances down his throat and into his chest, not invigorating but not yet painful. And there’s also - pine sap, turpentine, low humidity despite the snowfall: this must be somewhere fairly high-altitude. There’s a smell that he can identify as animal, but he’d need a wolf’s nose to know much more than that, and, as a gust of wind blows from what must be the north, there’s… wood smoke?

Wood smoke. Not the sudden overwhelming stench of a distant forest fire, but just the tiniest tendril of dry, persistently burning logs threading itself through the wind: a controlled, man-made fire. And where there’s man-made fire, there must be men, and all of the things men need to survive, like food, and liquid water, and shelter.

Satisfied that he’s at least found a starting point, Shao Anjun sets off toward the smell of civilization. But he isn’t walking blindly toward whatever he may find - never. Just because it’s civilization doesn’t mean it’s safe. So he’s got his eyes and ears open, every sense alert. If you come upon him while he walks, you can be sure he’ll notice you unless you’re really, really stealthy.]

Feast

[Civilization turns out to be a small, very run-down collection of houses, the partially depopulated remains of a village. The people he meets look strange to him: they remind him of the semu, the “people with colored eyes” that he’s occasionally met in his dealings with the government at home. They don’t belong to any of the steppe people, he thinks, nor to the greater population of farmers, lords and merchants who live in the empire. But far be it from him to judge them for that, because they are also friendly and welcoming, and generous with their food and shelter. Soon he’s in their large meeting hall and, after thanking their apparent leader, he takes a seat among them.

Anyone who meets Shao Anjun now will see a man in his thirties wearing a warm, wide-sleeved robe, a thick cloak with fur around the collar, and sturdy, point-toed boots. His hair is very long, but it is tied up in a braid and topknot, fastened with a jade guan. His demeanor is upright and very polite; he bows formally to everyone who speaks with him. His voice is quiet and calm and reassuring to listen to.

If you catch him later in the meal, you will see him standing up from the table and retreating to a less-crowded corner to take stock of what has come with him to this place. He takes a brown leather satchel out from under his cloak, opens it with care, and begins setting out an array of bundled herbs, bottles, leather pouches and sachets. Anyone who comes close enough will hear him murmur the names of some of these items as he lays them out.]

Ginseng root, jujube seed, and honeysuckle… ah, but the goji berries are running low… the dangshen got a bit wet, better to dry it overnight…

Feast

[meadqueen]

[The man is obviously not Norse, but there is something about him that feels familiar, like he is also disconnected from time here.

Randvi approaches from the left side to see what he's doing - her vision is limited due to the patch covering her missing right eye - and speaks so as not to startle him.]

I do not recognize these. Did you arrive with provisions?

Re: Feast

[wanderwolf]

[Again, he hears the woman before he sees her approaching him, her one eye looking curiously down at his herbalism supplies. As soon as she arrives next to him, he straightens and bows formally to her, in the style of his people with his arms half-extended in front of him and his hands clasped together so that his forehead stops just above the backs of his knuckles at its deepest extent.]

Ah, excuse me, Madam, if I am in your way.

[He doesn't actually think that he is taking up her space, but it's polite to give her a conversational opening in which to shoo him out of this corner if she needs to.]

I arrived with these herbs, yes. But I'm afraid they are not a very complete collection; there are many others in my homeland which might have been of use to people here.

[meadqueen]

[Randvi returns the greeting with a salute of her own, fist over her heart.]

I came to see what you were doing. Sometimes this place gives people gifts that they are not happy to receive. I'm glad to see that this is not such a case.

If you are a herbalist people will be pleased to see you here. We have very few healers at the moment.

[wanderwolf]

[He takes note of her salute, although he does not comment on it aloud. It’s not a gesture that he’s familiar with, but he can guess that it is meant as a polite greeting.]

Ah, yes, I am an herbalist, as it happens - although, not one of great renown. I shall do what I can to help anyone who needs it with what little skill I posses, though. Is someone in need of healing right now?

[meadqueen]

Not that I know of, but things can take a turn for the worse very quickly here. Last month was very difficult.

[She had fortunately been away from Milton at that time, but she's heard that people had been killing one another in the streets.]

The things you have there, would you mind telling me what they're for?

Arrival

[desperate_times_right]

[Well, there is at least one person who can actually turn into a wolf out today. Chloe prefers this body for hunting since it's warmer and requires less stuff, even if it is all a bit more visceral. She's fast and sure-footed, stealthy enough to catch prey but likely not to evade a human’s notice as she stalks a rabbit near his trail.]

Re: Arrival

[wanderwolf]

[The sound of a wolf moving stealthily across the forest floor is almost impossible to discern in this muted, snow-blanketed world - but discern it Shao Anjun does, quickly upon Chloe's approach. He'd been expecting to encounter wolves, really, because forests like this almost always support the wildlife which they prefer to feed on. More than that, though, it's sheer experience that allows him to catch sight of the hunting wolf so quickly: he's been in the same position often enough.

He freezes, instantly, when the wolf comes into view. He does not show fear, even though he currently lacks the teeth and claws he would need to fight a wolf and win. He makes eye contact with those luminous yellow eyes, does not blink. Slowly, he lets his mouth open and his nose wrinkle into a snarl, a human approximation of the expression a wolf makes when he is trying to be intimidating. From his throat comes a low growl. He steps forward, threateningly. This wolf is clearly alone: if she has any sense, she will respond to his behavior by running away and leaving him unharmed.]

[desperate_times_right]

[Chloe’s wolf mind doesn't reason in quite the same way as her human mind does, and she's immediately offended at the rude gesture. Pretty much everyone around here is used to people who can turn into wolves, so she hasn't encountered many people who actually treat her like an animal. (Aside from that time Billy Gibson had made her do a trick to get a jerky treat, but we don't talk about that.)

She snarls back with her lips and teeth, but doesn't pull her ears down the way she might in the face of an actual threat. Excuse you!]

Lol I'm so sorry, I promise he's very polite in other circumstances!

[wanderwolf]

[The behavior of this wolf makes his thoughts race in growing alarm. It's not the way most wolves behave when approached by a human, at least if they are alone. Could there be other wolves close by, a whole pack with enough members to decide that they can safely take down a full-grown man? No, surely not - he'd have heard them by now. Then why is this lone wolf meeting his threat with her own show of aggression?]

Go! Leave!

[He says this in a sharp, loud voice, almost like a bark itself. He kicks up a small cascade of snow to obscure the creature's vision before backing up, never removing eye-contact.]

I wish I could say that about her too but she’s pretty much always like this… rip…

[desperate_times_right]

[The cascade of snow makes her growl a little bit - don't kick things at her! - but Chloe doesn't move toward him.

He’s not just being rude, she realizes. He's scared of her. Abruptly she sits down and tilts her head, studying him. What’s up?]

Feast

[nicehobbit]

[ Every time Methuselah throws his feast, Frodo is selfishly hopeful that he'll find a Hobbit walk through the door. Less selfishly, he hopes for Sam, and that is only because he knows Sam would likely choose to be here with him if he had the choice. But everyone who seems to come here are Men, and he misses home more and more each time.

This particular Man, however, doesn't look the same as the rest, nor does he act quite like the rest. After watching him for a while, curiosity gets the better of Frodo, and he brings his own bowl of food over to claim a seat that just became available next to him. ]

Hello. I take it you have just arrived.

[ He knows that's the case, but it's more polite not to assume. ]

Omg a Frodo, what a cool character you play!

[wanderwolf]

[Shao Anjun only spots Frodo when the hobbit comes over to join him. He stands up to bow politely as soon as he is addressed, hands clasped in front of him and forehead sinking low over them.]

A pleasure to make your acquaintance.

[This is quite the smallest person Shao Anjun has ever met - he looks like a young adult, but he’s the size of a child of perhaps five or six. Still, Shao Anjun doesn’t stare or ask silly questions; he’s well-aware of the existence of conditions like dwarfism.]

Yes, I arrived earlier today. My name is Shao Anjun. How may I address you?

Haha ty! I listened to the books last year and binged the movies over Christmas and was like WHAT IF

[nicehobbit]

[ Seeing Shao Anjun stand, Frodo is quick to put his bowl down and follow suit. He's not really used to being bowed to. It's a gesture he would normally expect directed at a king, not an ordinary Hobbit - respected family name aside. It somehow seems right to try to match the bow, nonetheless, if sort of stilted and awkward. ]

I am Frodo Baggins. The pleasure is mine.

Oooh those are some good audiobooks! What drew you to the blue-eyed Hobbity boy in particular?

[wanderwolf]

[To be honest, Shao Anjun is aware that he is overusing the formal greetings a bit in this situation. The usual protocol is to bow upon meeting other gentry, others of your class or of higher class, but not upon meeting commoners. It is polite to bow to a fellow martial artist, but quite strange to bow to a farmer or merchant. The problem is that he's finding it rather difficult to decide who is a member of the gentry in the first place. At home, there are all sorts of clues to rely on: how people dress or do their hair, how they move and comport themselves, what language they speak and using which accent. Here... all of those context clues seem to be missing. Or, as he knows is more objectively true, they are not missing, but he can't read them. Is this man before him a commoner, or a practitioner of the martial arts? Perhaps he's a prince or a lord. Shao Anjun has no way of knowing. So he will err on the side of caution: he'd rather be comically overpolite than scandalously rude.]

Fro-do Bag-gins. Well met indeed.

[He repeats the name carefully, pronouncing every foreign-sounding syllable. He can't quite tell yet whether the name he is repeating is both a surname and a given name, or just a long surname. As with most of the strange things he has seen upon arriving in this place, he's sure he will figure it out sooner or later.]

May I inquire how long you have been in this place?

He's precious to me so naturally I thought his life wasn't hard enough. :D

[nicehobbit]

[ He nods at the repetition of his name, and sits back down. Most of the time, he tries not to think about how long he has been here because it fills him with a sense of uncontrollable dread. So he takes a slow breath and makes a valiant attempt at not imagining Sam abandoned on the road. ]

About six months now. If you have questions, I will try my best to help, though I'm certain there are others more fit to do so.

arrival

[bigbaddy]

[ Thankfully it doesn't seem like Bigby is trying all that hard to not get spotted in the first place. The fact he's wearing a big coat doesn't really help his case in the slightest, nor the fact that he's wandering around like he owns the place - or maybe just knows it very well.

There's not even any sign of surprise on the man's face when he suddenly spots the other out here. Sure, Bigby doesn't recognize Shao Anjun in the slightest either - it more seems like there's just nothing all that surprising to him about finding a stranger out here in the forest.

The reason for the lack of surprise likely becomes a little more obvious as he opens his mouth to ask: ]

You're new?

[ A very normal thing to ask someone who's new, Bigby.. Stellar social skills on display.. ]

Re: arrival

[wanderwolf]

[Before even catching sight of him, Shao Anjun is aware that there is something large moving around nearby: he can hear the crunch and squeak of snow being flattened under heavy feet, the sound of branches creaking as solid body moves past them. He turns, one hand moving instinctively to his side under his cloak. Then he spots him: a man in strange, bulky clothing, stalking confidently and easily across the snowy landscape. He reads at first glance like a man from the steppes, although Shao Anjun doesn't see any signs to identify his tribal affiliation. In the moment, he also doesn't notice that, although he can understand the man, he doesn't actually know the language that the man is using. He responds immediately in the Khitan language.]

New? New to what, brother?

[The word brother is not actually meant to identify this stranger as a member of his family; it's simply meant to communicate the message that I am not your enemy. It's a vital piece of information, as far as Shao Anjun knows: after all, he is dressed like a man from the Southern Kingdoms, and he therefore looks to almost anyone from the steppe tribes like an enemy. He does not want to come off as a potential enemy here.]

[bigbaddy]

That answer explains enough by itself.

[ Especially that unfamiliar use of brother. Bigby can tell that it's not meant literally even without whatever translates language here having to pick up on it - there's plenty of cultures out there where people use that kind of term more figuratively, after all. He figures this must be one of those cases.

But he does know they don't really do that around these parts. That, coupled with the fact that the other doesn't exactly look like he's walking around like someone local.. ]

This place, I mean. [ Maybe he should have started with that one, but-- again. Stellar social skills going on over here.

At least Bigby is starting to explain now, gesturing to himself. ]

It's a different world. All of us got taken here from our own.

[wanderwolf]

[As he comes closer to the stranger and his features become clearer in the snow-misted air, Shao Anjun realizes that this probably isn’t a man from the steppe - or at least if he is, he’s not from any of the tribes that Shao Anjun is familiar with. He looks like a seren, one of the “people with colored eyes.” It’s strange that he seems to speak Khitan fluently, but that isn’t the thought at the forefront of Shao Anjun’s mind now.]

A different world? What do you mean, and who took us here?

[He doesn’t remember being kidnapped recently, but then again, he also doesn’t remember falling asleep under a pine tree in a desolate, snowy landscape… he must have been transported here somehow.]

[bigbaddy]

Otherworldly beings. [ An answer that seems to be accurate as far as Bigby knows, but he is realizing it's not very helpful to the other, most likely. Especially with the things Shao Anjun is saying.

Still - it's hard to tell where to start with his explanation here. Bigby frowns as he thinks about it. Even looking at the other, it's very difficult to tell what he might or might not be used to. What might or might not make sense to him. ]

We shouldn't stay out here in the cold.

[ That feels like the smartest thing to settle on right now. ]

If you tell me about the weirdest thing you've ever seen where you come from while we head over to town, I can probably explain to you what's going on here in a way you might understand. [ No guarantees, but he'll try!! Despite the gruffness to Bigby's tone and face in this moment. ]

Arrival

[wolf_lover]

[Connor is unaware that seven months had flown by in the blink of an eye since he'd last been in Milton. He still thinks it's the same day he went out into the woods to hunt in his wolf form. He's already found a juicy rabbit to eat and has blood all over his chops as he starts to head back to town. That's when he scents someone else in the woods, someone he's not familiar with.

He heads towards them. What approaches Shao Anjun is a large brown wolf with green eyes, looking fearless the way many predators do. However, he lacks the cautious and wary nature a true wolf would have upon finding someone else in their territory. Ideally, Connor would have liked to transform back into his human form to let this guy know he's not a threat, but he'd be naked upon turning back and being naked in the middle of the snow isn't a good idea.

Instead, he makes it clear he's no threat by coming close (but not too close, he's reckless but not stupid) with a wagging tail and open body language, trying to convey to this guy that he's friendly.]

Re: Arrival

[wanderwolf]

[Shao Anjun sees the wolf easily even in the cloudy, snowy conditions: it’s not difficult to spot something big and brown in a world that is mostly shades of white and grey. He freezes upon seeing the creature approaching, coming straight towards him. Most people would probably react with panic when watching a large apex predator with a bloodied snout moving confidently toward them, but Shao Anjun knows better than to show fear. He knows from experience, in fact, that wolves like to chase things that make startled or fearful movements. Slowly he slides one foot backwards, distributes his body weight evenly, and falls into a defensive stance…

And then the wolf starts wagging its tail. Like a dog.

Perplexed, Shao Anjun narrows his eyes, studying it. It does look relatively well-groomed - perhaps this is a domesticated wolf, captured as a puppy by someone from one of the steppe tribes and raised as a hunting companion.

Well, there’s one way to find out. He speaks in a confident tone in the Khitan language.]

Sit. Roll over.

[wolf_lover]

[Connor can understand Shao Anjun well enough. He plops his rump down into the snow and then rolls over, keeping his eyes on the man the whole time just in case he gets the idea to harm him. When he gets back up, he vigorously shakes the snow off that is clinging to his fur.

Then he walks a few steps away, looking back over his shoulder to see if the man is following him. If he's new, as Connor suspects, he might not know which way Milton is yet. Connor can smell the way home well enough.]

[wanderwolf]

[Well, that clears up his confusion. This wolf is certainly a tamed steppe wolf, and it probably belongs to a hunter from one of the steppe tribes. Perhaps that's where it is headed now, as it starts walking away through the forest - to a hunting party of armed men, Khitan or Xianbei or some other tribe. Shao Anjun isn't keen on going to meet a hunting party on his own; dressed as he is like a man from the Huaxia Empire, most men from the steppe tribes would not hesitate to kill him on sight. But then - what choice does he have? Right now, the cold is a more certain killer than any man.

He murmurs to the wolf, who seems to be expecting him to follow.]

Very well, I'm coming.

[And, gripping his sword with one hand beneath his cloak, he starts walking after the wolf.]