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

[gascogne]

[His eye twitches slightly, a moment where he wants to take that comment as a insult, a facetious derogatory valuation, but the gravity of the situation is enough for D'Artagnan to set his instinctive reaction aside and follow Aviendha without complaint. He's drawn his sword as they leave the presumed safety of the fire, and the darkness settles further as the light dims. Staring into the treeline, the trees hardly distinguishable themselves, D'Artagnan frantically seeks any movement or the feel of some presence.]

What sort of...

[Animal is it, he'd meant to say — a man had told him he was in the New World and they'd more than wolves and bears — but his words are interrupted by the cracking, and then he hears it, attention more attuned once given a direction, the footsteps on the hard crunching snow, a large... entity, on two legs as the pattern of footsteps might attest, and the snapping of branches expansive.]

No person's that large.

[There, it moves, quick but lumbering between an open space in the trees, and does it... they're horns.]

[fardareismai]

[A large fur covered being with the face of a bull carrying a giant club with stakes through it. Aviendha glance past it, the sound of more things breaking further behind has hear heart racing, this one is not alone. She reaches quickly into the neck of the coat she's found and pulls up her veil covering her face before her eyes. They may not be in the waste, but she'll still not kill unveiled.]

It has no soul.

[Which is to say it's not a person. It's instead pure twisted evil. Her eyes dart at the trees a second too long and the large creature swings at them both with a telegraphed action of the club. One that she's able to adjust to, ducking under it and rolling as she pulls both her spears readying for battle. Hopefully this man with her can dance.]

[gascogne]

[There's not time to question the veil, and that it doesn't look as if it for protection, not when he's now fully made out the... thing. It's monstrous, impossible, and his abdomen tightens with a surge of instinctive fear. D'Artagnan is not as quick to react, but manages to dive out of the way before the spiked club impacts with his head. Landing on his back, he scrambles backwards until he hits a tree, rapier still held fast. Peripherally, he can see Aviendha wielding her spears as he then gets to his feet, slipping behind the tree at the same time to avoid another blow that scrapes the bark. A wavering breath does little to settle him, and as he steps out again, he shouts in a ragged manner without words, charging straight at the large bull monster, his movements just short of graceful, more rawness to his fighting style than discipline, and it's clear he has no plans but adaptation in the moment.]

[fardareismai]

[Coming up from her roll she kicks her leg out at the back of the Trolloc's knee. It does far less then the same impact would on a human and her spears swing out with one. Her wrist twists just right and tries to impale his weaponed upper arm but the hide of the creature is thick and it sticks, drawing blood but doesn't seam to cause any major damage. Odd. What it does earn her is another swing of the club this time causing her to scowl behind the veil.]

It's too tough.

[There's a grown of frustration with herself as she retreats a few steps the large monster still coming at them. They'll need find a weak spot to bring it down.]

[gascogne]

It's one your Trollugs, isn't it? 'One or two are no problem'?

[As D'Artagnan backs away as well, he glances to Aviendha with a pointedly raised eyebrow. Pulling the dagger from his back, it's thrown accurate and quick, though perhaps not swiftly enough, at the Trolloc's groin in hopes it has vulnerable bits.]

[fardareismai]

[The man is brash and it reminds her of Matrim in some ways. The horn blower certainly felt like everything someone told them was in the worst light and they knew better. Yet he throws the dagger and it does cause the creature to stumble. Her head cocks to the side a bit with a nod.]

I'd meant the skin!

[It has a certain tone of objection to it but the truth was right. She'd been too cocky. Had her fighting powers lessened since she'd broken her spears and joined the wise one? There's no source to touch here and she will regret it if so. Then she charges in running up pushing off the large body and tries to sink her spear into one of his eyes. It sticks, but the thing doesn't stop as she falls to the ground rolling away with the other, the long spear sticking out of the cow eye unbothered still.]

[gascogne]

[It's difficult to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at the argument, the attribution still towards a complaint of unexpected durability and not perhaps a warning for himself, who knew nothing of Trollocs. D'Artagnan doesn't let his thoughts linger there, keeping an eye on the beast as his hit has at least affected it in a way he can see and note, and therefore, damage can be done. He's stalled momentarily as Aviendha spears it in the eye, only moving again once the bull creature has dislodged his dagger, albeit likely accidentally as it hadn't seemed to particularly irritate it, and he rushes in to retrieve the weapon whilst the Trolloc's attention is on Aviendha, gripping it tightly and thrusting it into the monster's calf. It hardly goes in, a prick if anything, and he's rolling out of the way as the club comes down with significant force, a spray of snow obscuring his vision for a moment.]

[fardareismai]

[The snow sprays out further then sand would and it catches her eyes distracted for a moment. It's still new and unexpected and in many ways it's a distraction she'll later regret allowing herself. The large hands of the creature scoop down into the snow at her as though it's depth perception is messed up and that's when it hits her. Even as it's claws grab at her jacket and move to pick her up she kicks at it trying to break free.]

We've got to get the other eye.

[gascogne]

[Wiping snow from his face, fiercely cold and scraping sharply over his skin, D'Artagnan is for a short moment torn between rushing forward and trying to help Aviendha and doing as she says whilst he has an near instant plan. He goes with the latter, the Trolloc's preoccupation with attempting to hold and keep its struggling prey allowing him to run behind it and jump on its back whilst the creature is hunched, blade in his mouth as he clutches tightly to cloth and thick flesh, and climbs. D'Artagnan approaches from the side where the spear protrudes and half blinds, wrapping his hand around a convenient horn to anchor him. He transfers the dagger to his hand, ready to plunge it into the remaining eye, missing the first time as the Trolloc has become riled, the shallow penetration and hard bone of the forehead that only deflects and has him adjusting his grip on the dagger quickly lest he drop it.]

[fardareismai]

[She thinks for a minute that he's running away. That she's going to die here in this cold hellscape until he adjusts his angle and it turns out the people here aren't nearly as bad. With the creature blinded she's able to kick away as it grabs at its eyes to pull at the weapons letting out a roar as the vision doesn't return even when they're gone. Now they have the advantage and as she circles around the back of him she shoots a look at D'Artagnan and an approving grin. It's clueless now, and it's their turn to hunt it. Coming at it from the opposite side she takes a running leap and uses the things own back to launch up on trying to stab her spear into the side of it's neck though it doesn't get as far there either, still though as she rolls to ground away from it she curses quietly. They'll need be more creative to get rid of it.]

[gascogne]

[With the second stabbing successful, the creature's movements dislodge him near as Aviendha leaps at its back herself. She's soon in the snow again with him, quick to roll away as D'Artagnan gets to his feet more slowly, having landing hard on his back. Staying close to a trees even with the Trolloc's inability to see him, he thinks it a bit of protection from wildly swinging arms or panicked retaliation. He's taken up his sword again, though he expects it to be much as useless as the spears and his dagger. Considering his gun once, it's dismissed reluctantly, for he has only one shot and there'll be no time to load another — might it even fire in so cold a climate, or spark more at ignition and explode in his hand? It's best not to try.]

Run.

[D'Artagnan doesn't shout it exactly, but it is spoken with more volume, a hoarse command and one he waits for no acknowledgement from as he darts deeper into the forest, his pace slow enough it could be clear he intends for the Trolloc to follow, and then perhaps imperil itself in some manner, a ditch or crevasse, wedging its large body between tightly spaced trees... he'll think of something.]

[fardareismai]

[The instructions in battle aren't something Aviendha is easy to brush off. A warrior herself she's trained as such and he says it and takes off and so does she. The way the snow crunches under her feet is loud in her ears as much as the slow thuds of the creature following behind them. It lets out a howl as it crashes into a tree in chase of them, their scent not doubt but it can't adjust for the trees. Aviendha is a fast runner, Aiel typically quicker then their Wetlander companions, but she's also used to much clearer terrain when doing it so though she's able to keep up with D'Artagnan she doesn't overtake him. Instead a panic arising on her face as they start to climb a hill with some elevation, can they keep this up? That's when her eyes get set on a rater large boulder not far ahead, but how can they use it.]

[gascogne]

[The howling sends shivers down his spine, the thrilling sensation of fear mixed with the icy cold, and it spurs him to trudge through the snow faster, sheathing his sword as they start up the embankment. He does catch Aviendha's look towards the boulder, and he nods, scrambling in his haste to ascend and get behind the rock while they'll still have enough time to dislodge it before the creature is upon them. Hopefully they've the strength for it, and leverage, as crouching down, it seems rather stuck in the hard grip of frozen ground.]

Come on.

[Quiet urgings as he digs in the snow at the edge of the boulder in attempts to free it.]

[fardareismai]

[Dropping to her knees she joins him at digging hurriedly at the snow. The coldness seeping through her gloves and making her fingers ache even as they keep snow away. Yet she digs as though she was a young girl playing in the sand, without a hint of the pain showing on her face the snow splaying out behind her. Between the two of them they make progress on it quickly and she moves to get up and try to break a branch off a tree, harder in this place they're firm and not dried out.]

We need something to wedge under it.

[Her hand moves to the spear on her back the other still in the creatures eye, she doesn't wish to risk breaking it if the other is at risk. Yet what choice do they have? She searches around eyes darting wildly on the ground for a stick that could be a better option.]

[gascogne]

[Looking up over his shoulder as Aviendha speaks, D'Artagnan pulls his aching fingers back from the small dip underneath the rock, motioning for her to still as he gets to his feet, drawing his rapier again. He'll not risk it under the rock, afraid of it bending, or even snapping in the cold, but this he can do.]

Hold it fast.

[He nods at the branch, a small warning before he growls and swings wildly, the impact reverberating up through his arm. It doesn't quite cut through, but it might be easier for her to twist the branch and break it free.]

[fardareismai]

[Eyes flicking to his sword she understands what he intends. It's another reason why Aiel do not use swords, they make for poor tools for other things. Simply tools for killing. Yet she hopes to the Light that their assessment of them has been wrong in that moment. She tightens her grip on the branch holding it tight as he swings. It takes a good chunk of it though her initial pull doesn't free it.]

Almost...

[It's muttered as she twists it before pulling with her entire weight and it snaps sending her to the ground with a thud, landing on her ass. Clearly the least prepared she'd been at any part in this battle. She offers the branch up to him as she moves to get up to scurry back to the bolder as she hears the breaking branches from the trolloc grow closer.]

[gascogne]

[He nearly drops his sword, starting to reach for Aviendha as she topples backwards, hastily sliding it back in its narrow sheath, as he quickly reassesses and grabs the branch she offers. D'Artagnan braces himself as best he can in the snow that's both hard and unsteady, not yet taken up a pair of more suitable boots, and shoves the stick in the hollow they'd managed. It settles hard a few inches in under the boulder, and he smiles, a small sharp 'ha' of victory.]

Let's do this.

[Nodding with far more confidence than he should have in this situation of an unknown environment and an unknown enemy, it's genuine. They will prevail. All they must do is upend the rock and send it barrelling down at this Trolloc, surely it will be his incapacitation if not his demise.]

[fardareismai]

[He wedges the stick under and she leans into the boulder. At first it feels like it wont move at all and it's hopeless but she refuses to give up. Digging her boots into the snow to try to leverage more force and slip less she pushes again and whatever D'Artagnan does starts to shift and with one last push it's rolling down the hill gaining quick force as it goes. Then it smacks into the creature knocking it into a large broken tree branch pinning it against the tree impaled through the neck blood gushing from the wound. Still she holds her breath for a moment as the thing twitches only sighing to relief when she sees it stop struggling.]

You dance well and you have my toh.

[This time when she speaks her voice is quieter in volume though it's still decisive in tone. As though both of those facts are absolute.]

[gascogne]

[Bearing down on the branch, he feels it might snap beneath his weight, even as difficult as it was to remove from the tree. But finally, the boulder loosens and rolls forward with Aviendha pushing against it. D'Artagnan loses his grip on the branch as it falls flat to the ground without the rock keeping tension, and he lands on one knee. Still for a moment, he watches it roll into the Trolloc, eyes widening as its pinned and impaled unexpectedly, but he can't look away from the sight, the blood dark where it spills onto the snow. Not until Aviendha speaks, and he can tear his attention away, an unsettled roiling in his stomach.]

What?

[It comes as a heavy breath, confusion evident, and he realises in his lingering shock, he likely appears more bewildered than he is, only wishing for a definition of the unfamiliar word.]

[fardareismai]

[The confusion on his face is something she's seen before, when she'd been less used to Wetlanders. It had been when when she'd first spoke to Perrin about the same thing.]

Ji'e'toh. Honor and obligation it is the way of my people.

[The Aiel, though it's clear enough now that name will mean nothing. This time though she's smart enough to not tell him that her water is his, meaningless in this world as well. She gives him a slight nod, though it's not differential but instead acknowledging.]

You saved my life. I have obligation to you though I don't know your name.

[gascogne]

[It seems to him not so odd a thing, but of a context D'Artagnan interprets wrongly and with internal judgment for what appears to be a custom, a swearing of fealty as if offering servitude for repayment of a debt rather than companionship or trust. His response might've been the same either way, but in this, it's a little more sharp as he rejects her.]

No more than you've saved yourself. You owe me nothing.

[Getting to his feet, he keeps the branch in hand, stuck into the snow, leaning a bit on it, a casual slouch as his tone shifts to something warmer.]

I'm D'Artagnan.

[fardareismai]

[If there is a slight at the insistence at owning him nothing it's well hidden. Expecting such things from wetlanders especially men. Yet she will repay him somehow, though she doesn't reassure that to him. Instead giving him a nod of acknowledgement for his name.]

Aviendha. Is this... normal for around here?

[She motions down to the creature shoving her hands into the pockets of the jacket. Now that the fight is over she's suddenly aware of just how strongly the chill has seeped into her bones. It's almost painful.]

cw: eye gore (belated ig)

[gascogne]

[Straightening and finally tossing the branch aside, D'Artagnan starts down the small hill towards the Trolloc, calling over his shoulder in a dry and faintly accusatory tone.]

It's your monster.

[How is he to know how it came to be? Despite the creature appearing quite dead, he approaches it cautiously, one glance behind to see if Aviendha has followed him, before he braces his hand on the the Trolloc's blood-slick shoulder, the substance already starting to freeze, grips the handle of his dagger, and wrenches it from the eye socket with a grimace.]

[fardareismai]

[Wherever this man is from he would fit in well with Wetlanders. And that ruffles Aviendha's feathers a bit. As they get closer to the creature she's expecting to see it's spear broken in it's eye socket but it's not there. With that moment there's a hope that it might be discarded somewhere along the walk back to the fire and with that hope she speaks in a slightly more neutral tone then she otherwise would.]

Am I to take from that statement that you've also just arrived?

[How would she know such a thing. Her eyes glance up at him sharply even in the dark night the moonlight that cuts through the trees bouncing off the snow. It's odd, she'd not expected it to be so light.]

I was asking if beasts appear here often.

[gascogne]

Yes. Only a few days.

[His voice is softer with the admission he's likely as lost about things as she is. He wipes his dagger on his jacket before sliding it with ease into its sheath at his back.]

I've never seen anything like this, your beast or its manifestation. I don't understand it, where it came from, or how we got here... but I do know we'll freeze if we don't find our way back to the fires.