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

[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.

[fardareismai]

[Those words make the ache starting to set into her bones. It's something she knows to be true. Yet she can't agree too it quite yet.]

You might go if you wish. I must find my other spear first.

[Her eyes move to the snow in the area the trolloc had come form. At least it was on the way back to camp. The ache of losing it painful as it was when she had to break her spears to enter Rhuidean.]

They are important to me.

[gascogne]

I'll help you.

[He'll not leave her alone out here, and there's little reason to protest a search of the immediate area, and where their, and the monster's, tracks must eventually lead back to the treeline. He makes a noncommittal noise for his own logic after he's thought it, for the spear may appear nothing more than a downed branch amongst several of them scattered through the woods, and it's perhaps been flung about.]

[fardareismai]

Thank you.

[They follow the tracks and her eyes dart along the trees. At one point excitedly picking up her pace when she sees a branch in the distance speeding up her trot in the snow only to slow down again. A grumble of frustration under her breath. Perhaps this is a sign she'd not truly earned them back.]

We earn our spears in my home. Warriors. I was a Maiden of the Spears, part of the only female warrior clan we had the rest were men.

[Perhaps he will think her not so odd for the desperation of the search. If anything knowing Aan'allein had taught her was that wetlanders also carried affection and meaning to their swords. D'Artagnan carries one, perhaps he understands that as well.]

[gascogne]

[As Aviendha slows again, D'Artagnan can make out the branch for what it is too, suspiciously straight. He crosses to the other side of the faint tracks to look for any signs of her spear having skidded across the snow, dragging a line through it, and squinting at the darkened areas. With the Trolloc disposed of, the silence in between is loud in its vastness, and odd as it seems, he feels it heightened by the cold, every breath now searing his lungs painfully.]

Female warriors?

[He turns his attention back to Aviendha as her voice cuts through his reflections, the scepticism evident in his tone, its slightly higher pitch. D'Artagnan means no offense by it — he has seen her fight — but, a whole group of them?]

Women don't fight where I'm from. Some of them would like to...

[His heart aches suddenly as he thinks of her, Constance, her bright smile and then, her harsh words, and he kicks at the snow petulantly.]

[fardareismai]

There are Kingdoms like that in my world too.

[At first it sounds like that might be all she says as they trudge closer to the camp. Soon sounds of people at the fire can be heard and she knows that they're running out of space for where this spear might be. When they come to a tree that was clearly rammed into by the creature she takes a wide path around it just in case watching out.]

Kingdoms where the land is softer. Still, most women are roof mistresses or farmers or weavers.

[Aviendha though only ever wanted to be a maiden. Even in those other kingdoms though she thinks there must be others like her and she can't help but smile to herself when she thinks of Elayne.]

[gascogne]

[The monster he'd presumed a legend, a tale, like anyone else might've been spinning at the fires, and it's difficult to consider other worlds as easily acceptable. The time discrepancies had seemed more... plausible somehow. Perhaps she's simply from a land he doesn't know, and he need not think about this. D'Artagnan starts his search at the other side of the tree, split focus between looking for the spear and listening to Aviendha as she speaks of softer lands.]

What's a roof mistress?

[It's spoken like he's never heard the words placed together before, and just as his thoughts drift towards questioning whether it a euphemism for a working girl, a quiet triumphant noise escapes, and he holds up the missing spear.]

Here we are.

[fardareismai]

They are the women who own homes. Or beyond that lead a family or community once she's married. You must ask permission to enter her roof.

[It had all seemed very obvious to her in the beginning. Yet she'd had to teach Rand of all these customs so anymore she expects strange questions. The serious look on her face turns to a smile, her first when he announces the spear and she practically sprints back to him to take it.]

Thank you.

[She wipes the blade off on the snow to clean it some before returning it to it's spot on her back. There is more toh she will owe this man but it is worth it to have her spear back.]

[gascogne]

[An equivalent, he doesn't have, but he might closely associate these roof mistresses with landlords, and so he's content with such an answer and doesn't prod further.]

Of course.

[It's for the spear as he hands it over, his smile broadening with hers, and he waves towards the fires, the cold pressing him to move on and back to others.]

[fardareismai]

[Spear secured her mood is lightened as the clomp through the snow more quickly, not having to look at the snow. It's a quick pace but not one where she tries to loose him and when they get to the edge of the forest breaking still mostly the same people are around the fire her stomach drops a bit. Had no one else seen such things? Was this just them? Her hand reaches over to touch D'Artagnan's arm.]

I just wanted to make sure this was real.

[A sheepish look of apology for it.]

[gascogne]

[Looking down at the her touch on his arm, he nods, his tone a faint reassuring.]

It was real enough to me.

[Until this moment, he'd not thought it might be illusory, though that seems now the more logical explanation. Staying near the treeline a moment, he studies those around the fire from a distance.]

... If it wasn't, if we'd just eaten something disagreeable or poisoned, we'd not have seen the same thing.

[fardareismai]

[There's an affirming nod when he speaks to the poison. Surly the must be the case. Of course, she'd not seen anything like this world in the rings, and thus it feels extremely uncomfortable in a way she can't and won't explain.]

The blood on your clothing certain looks it as well.

[She motions to the arm of his jacket that he'd used the dagger in.]

Thank you, again.