December 2023 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

DECEMBER 2023 TDM

PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A new group of arrivals find themselves lost in the frozen wilds and vulnerable to the dangers of nature. With luck, they make it to the town of Milton, and to a friendly face offering food, warmth and shelter — not to mention the fact they are not the first to come here.

PROMPT TWO — MISTY FALLS CAVE: The Interlopers go out in search of a hidden cave in the mountains found by Methuselah, which may still contain the hidden stash of a doomsday prepper. However, they get a little more than they bargained for when they venture inside.

PROMPT THREE — SERPENT'S BREATH: Interlopers investigate the mysterious cause of whatever is killing and poisoning the wildlife and vegetation of the area — and discover a supernatural creature is behind it.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-Decmber.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.

'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'

It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.

You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. You look around, it seems like no one has been here in a long time. The fire is cold, the dishes in the sink are pretty mouldy. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you. Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — you are completely alone.

You may feel different, too. Any powers or magics you may have feel... absent. Disconnected. Things that may not have affected you previously now do. Something in you has changed.

You know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. You’ll find one soon enough. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, and the terrain is difficult: slips and falls are likely. You’re completely vulnerable out here in the open.

It’s possible you may come across someone here. Another fellow Interloper, 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. Civilisation…?

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 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.

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, even more, still. Just as I thought.” he muses. “I wonder if this is perhaps the new status quo. 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. They bring more of you every so often. 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, 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 with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.

There are canisters with hot herbal teas and coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus grilled fish. There's also things like instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast, although newcomers will note from others who have been here some time that this particular feast is less bountiful this time.

Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames. He is troubled, thoughtful.

He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the time and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.

However, he will speak of something important, and will gladly share with others: “I have been looking for something for you all. There was once a townsfolk I knew of: Matthew. A suspicious, paranoid old miner who was interested in Prepping. He often spoke of the world coming to an end and strived to survive it. He often spoke of a cache hidden in the mountains, where he collected things of value. I have found the place, a hidden cave, but I am unable to get through, myself.”

… Well, he is an old man, after all.

“There are signs outside, so it is promising it is still intact. Perhaps the cache is still there. It might provide something useful for your growing numbers.”

MISTY FALLS CAVE

WHEN: Mid-month, onwards.
WHERE: Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: booby traps; claustrophobic situations; potential injury/maiming; potential hyperthermic situations; exploration horror;


Methuselah gives directions to those willing to check out the lead for the old prepper cache. Following the river up from Milton Basin will lead to rugged, difficult pathways up towards Misty Falls — a waterfall, the river source itself. Most of the river is completely frozen with the freezing temperatures, but it is not completely so the closer to the source you go. Misty Falls is certainly idyllic, or it would be perhaps on a fine summer’s day — good for a nice hike. But the place looks desolate in the eternal winter cursing the Northern Territories.

The half-frozen waterfall is a din of sound, but the water itself is incredibly fresh and cooling for those hot and tired from the hike up. Those paying attention might notice a small space between the water and rock, big enough to squeeze through to get behind the waterfall itself. In the small space, the entrance to a small cave can be found. There are faded handmade signs, all in the same hand, reading ‘DANGER KEEP OUT’ and it isn’t too far of a stretch to wonder if perhaps this might be the secret stash of the old miner that Methuselah spoke of.

Venturing into the cave will not be an easy task. It seems the old miner was keen to keep any trespassers out, and most of this comes down to the cave itself. The walls of the cave quickly narrow, with only enough space to walk in single file. Jutting stone will easily make those stumble and trip. Occasionally the cave’s passage becomes narrower, meaning one might have to stoop or even crawl to carry on through. Here and there, the uneven floor dips, and your feet will find themselves in shin-deep frigid water. It’s slow-going, even if the actual passage itself isn’t incredibly long.

But perhaps the worst of all is the pressing darkness. A darkness so black even with lanterns switched off, one’s eyes cannot adjust to it. It is smothering, pressing. The air is stale and damp, you feel small — and the cave itself still presses in on you. The miner also kept a few tricks up his sleeve in order to keep out intruders. There are dead-ends, making it easy to get lost. Trip wires are hidden in the darkness, causing small man-made cave-ins to fall upon unsuspecting heads.

It might be safer, saner to give up and turn back. But persevering will see the cave opening up once more, this time widening into a room. The place is fashioned into some crude shelter. There is furniture, lanterns to be lit.

With more light, the miner’s stash is revealed: the painstaking, time-costing work of a paranoid old recluse. Crates of non-perishable foods, MREs, and bottled water. Medicines and basic medical supplies, flares and tools.

A perfect supply of survival goods, ripe for the taking.

SERPENT'S BREATH

WHEN: Throughout the month.
WHERE: The entirety of the Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of dead animals; malevolent creature; snakes/serpents; poison/airborne toxins; potential poisonings; potential burn injuries; potential (temporary) blinding.


It’s noticed in different ways: perhaps a trail of dead animals stands before you, each one with no particular injury other than what appears to be burned hides and flesh — it is as if the wildlife simply dropped dead, for the most part. Perhaps you notice huge, tunnel-like grooves in the deepest parts of the snow, a few feet in width — as if something long and thick had made its way through to clear a path. More worryingly for some, they might notice trails of rot: destroyed trees, decaying plant life, as if the very earth itself has been scorched in the wake of something passing through, leaving nothing but destruction and devastation.

Something is destroying the flora and fauna of the world. There seems to be no pattern, simply the random trails all over the place. There appears to be no other tracks, other than the long, smooth tunnel-like pathways. Whatever it is, it must be stopped. Resources are so precious in this world, if the beast is allowed to continue then all who live here will soon starve due to lack of animals to hunt and plants to gather.

Following the tunnels is a sure-way to hunt the beast down, although these paths will lead far from town. It is best to go prepared. But soon enough, you may come across the slumbering beast, curled up on the snow or coiled underneath some jutting space of stone along the mountains. You’ll hear and smell it before you see it: the long grumbling snores as it sleeps, and the putrid stench of rot. Everything in you tells you to flee, much like when an animal senses something toxic, or poisoning.

You press on, finally stumbling across the beast: a long, serpent-like dragon, with tremendous horns and fangs, coloured with muted grey scales and huge, glowing, flamed eyes.

The element of surprise will work in your favour to try and kill the beast, but it will give up a good fight. It will take several rounds of fights with it before it will finally be taken down permanently. It moves quickly, with scales like steel. Its eyes and mouth are its weakest spots, as is the soft underbelly of its body — fire will work well on harming this beast, especially with a well aimed shot into its mouth.

Its open mouth is where it holds its most powerful weapon. Not the fangs, no. The very reason why the air smells of rot, why the wildlife lay dead, why the earth decays at your feet: its breath. The beast’s breath is highly toxic, it will burn the skin of those it comes into contact with. Breathing in the fumes will poison those who breathe it in, and will cause a weakening, sickly illness. The breath may even temporarily blind.

These injuries are not fatal, and will heal with time and the basic medical attention available in the world. Victims will require rest for at least a week, depending on how severe the blast of the serpent’s breath. But killing the best will ensure its havoc is brought to an end.

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.

MISTY FALLS CAVE

1. Tools found would be basic survival/camping tools one might expect: knives, hand axes, rope, handsaws, torches, batteries, etc.

SERPENT'S BREATH

1. The Stoor Worm, or Mester Stoor Worm, was a gigantic evil sea serpent of Orcadian folklore, capable of contaminating plants and destroying animals and humans with its putrid breath. Assipattle, the youngest son of a local farmer, defeated the creature by flinging still-burning peat into its mouth. As it died its teeth fell out to become the islands of Orkney, Shetland and the Faroes, and its body became Iceland.

2. It is possible the harvest the beast once it is killed, particularly for its fangs and skin. The skin/scales will provide ample protection to try to use it for armouring themselves. The fangs would provide useful for crafting knives or weapons.

3. It is... technically possible to eat the meat of the beast. Care should be taken in butchering, however. And it is not advised to eat the head.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

QUESTIONS

[singmod]

Ask them here.

Canon vs crau -- where's the line?

[louboutinjudas]

Hello! I have a question about what counts as canon. I'm playing Wolfwood here straight from the manga, with no changes to any canon events or people in his background. His personality is 100% canon, his powers are 100% canon, all of it.

However, I played one thread as a canon gap filler (and I'm using that thread in my app as a writing sample). My question is, can I claim that thread as part of his backstory for this game, or does he need to be brought in with only canon backstory?

lanfear | the wheel of time

[lanfeared]

methuselah's feast

[ After being sealed away for thousands of years, Lanfear has her purpose, her mission, and little, if anything, proves strong enough to deter her from that — or so she believed.

Waking up on the floor of a house that she at once knows is far from the walls of the Foregate is the first indication that something has changed. But then she attempts to reach for the One Power, an act that should feel as natural and instinctive as an afterthought, and instead of the sensation of saidar opening, unfurling like the petals of a flower there's a stark absence, a distinct lack. It's as if she's been shielded — or worse, stilled — but she won't allow herself to even entertain either possibility. Whatever's preventing her from embracing the One Power, she'll discover it for herself in short order.

Leaving the cabin and choosing a path at random seems the best course of action to take, though if she happens to meet someone on the road beforehand, she'll greet them with a feigned smile of hesitation, grateful for the blue Cairhienien dress she's already wearing that makes her look every ounce like Selene the innkeeper rather than her true identity. ] Perhaps you can tell me if I'm headed in the right direction?

[ Once Lanfear reaches the small town — Milton, as the sign so clearly indicates — she makes her way to the largest building, the one whose smoke she'd spotted on approach. Although the temptation to instantly demand answers from Methuselah is strong, she tempers that instinct, instead settling herself at one of the hall's closest tables and helping herself to some of the stew provided in an effort to warm up. Both hands cup around the bowl for the moment, even if she hasn't begun to eat yet; her gaze rises as someone assumes a seat across from her, trying to determine whether they're as new an arrival as she is or someone she could press for information without their knowledge. ] They seem almost... prepared for us, don't they?

misty falls cave

[ Participating in this quest — for that is what it clearly is — instantly strikes Lanfear as a somewhat futile effort, or at least an effort that stands to yield very little personal reward. But she's bundled herself against the harsher weather, for the moment, and once she's ventured into the cave itself she's already struggling not to gnash her teeth over how simple this would all be rendered if she could access the One Power.

A particularly narrow section of cliff proves harder to navigate in the darkness when she can't see easily, and she stumbles backward into the person walking behind her, covering up her annoyance about being rendered so incapable with a low, husky chuckle in the darkness before she glances back and tries to make out the details of their face. ] I suppose I have you to thank for saving me from a perilous fate.

[ Later on, however, the darkness is harder to press through — cloying, suffocating. It brings her back to all those years sealed away, when she could feel every moment of the passing of time but couldn't escape, and when she thinks she might be alone, she fumbles along the cave wall, fighting to breathe, struggling for purchase. If she finds someone else to clutch onto, her grip is fierce like talons as she gulps for air, trying to regain some control. ]

wildcard

[ if you want a more specific prompt or to run into lanfear elsewhere, feel free to hmu on plurk at favoritings or DW PM with alternate plotting ideas! her current canon point is some nebulous time in early season 2, when she's still pretending to be selene. will match player-preferred format in terms of prose or brackets! ]

methuselah's feast

[lastdecember]

[ The man who drops heavily into the seat across from her still has snow clinging to his black suit, the dirty cloak around his shoulders -- or is that a bedsheet? -- not nearly warm enough for the weather outside.

He turns to her slowly, moving somewhat jerkily, his joints stiff with cold. His laugh at her question is quiet, but more than a little unhinged. He's not having a good day, sorry. ]

Makes you wonder what they want, doesn't it?

Nicholas D Wolfwood | Trigun Maximum

[lastdecember]

Arrival: the walk to town.

[ After a lifetime of suffering through the desert's heat it only makes sense, Wolfwood thinks miserably, that Hell would be frozen. It's a whole different kind of torment, and one that he wasn't at all ready for. Hell is supposed to be hot! Isn't it?

He didn't expect there to be a Hell at all, not really. He'd thought that after death, that was it – there was the great darkness that rose up beneath you and pulled you under and bam. Nothingness, forever. But here he is, clearly dead – his tattered suit shows every bullet that he took, every tear from Chapel's great stabbing weapon, the old blood crusted and stiff in the black fabric. He's dead. He remembers dying.

But his heart is beating, he's breathing, and he's cold, colder than he's ever been in his life. So this must be Hell. What other explanation is there?

And okay, he's been cold before, of course he has – nights in the desert, especially in the high places, get down cold enough to freeze the water in a man's canteen solid as a rock – but the dim light in the sky that passes for sunlight says that it's day, which means that this is as warm as it's going to get. And there's ice on the ground. There's ice crusting in his cuffs, melting in freezing rivulets into his shoes, there's ice still in his hair from when he dug himself out of the frozen ground. There's ice down the back of his suit jacket. His jaw aches from clenching it, but if he doesn't clench, his teeth clatter together until he was worried they'd crack. The dirty bedsheet that he's got pulled tight around his head and shoulders isn't doing a damn bit of good against the cold, but he doesn't dare throw it aside – it feels warmer, having it wrapped around him, even if the thin material is wet with snow and lets every gust of wind right through to his bones.

When he takes a proper step, his feet slip on the ice and tangle themselves in the lumpy ground. He's never seen trees before, not outside of a rich man's park, and has no idea what roots are – all he knows is that the road beneath the ice isn't even, and that there are things underneath that snag at his feet, twisting his ankles and sending him to the ground over and over.

Hell really sucks, is what he's learning.

Step by shuffling step, the man in the black suit works his way towards town, following the path and the faint scent of smoke. ]





In the Community Hall

[ He's added a blanket over top his sheet cloak, and found himself a place near the fire, but he doesn't trust the food. Not yet. It smells delicious, rich and warm, but this is Hell, and he's not desperate enough yet to find out what secret poisons there are, or... or curses, or whatever Hell puts in their food! This supernatural stuff is all new to him, okay? So he sits quietly on his bench, hands out to the fire, watching everyone else in the place milling about, cataloging threats and assessing weaknesses, just in case.



Wildcard

[ Want to meet up with this dead priest somewhere else? Let's do it! Hit me up on plurk (notJoe) or PM this journal and let's plot a thing! ]

In the Community Hall

[pale_elf]

[A lonesone man avoiding both food and company? Oh, that definitely piqued Astarion's interest. If some people were keen on isolating themselves, he wanted to keep an eye on them as potential future meals. Who even knew what wildlife was around the place anyway? No, no, he had to at least approach those who could potentially be resources for him. Or eventual bleeding hearts who'd agree on feeding him after learning of his nature.

The vampire's movements were smooth, even if the large blue jacket he found himself wearing was not doing his body much justice, and his steps were silent as he approached. No malice in that, though, as he announced his presence before being at arm distance with the other man.]

Looks like I'm not the only one not trusting this food in this... oh so happy place. Good thing to know someone else still has his head on his shoulders.

Fiddleford McGucket | Gravity Falls | Will match format!

[terribibble]

[General content warning: Fiddleford, especially at the canon point I'm taking him from, comes with pretty heavy themes of unreality, memory issues/lost time, paranoia and cult activity.]

A. Arrival; in the Wilderness

Something is wrong. That is, a lot of things have been wrong lately, but something is more wrong than he was strictly expecting it to be. This is not the first time he's suddenly come back to consciousness flat on his back with no recollection of how he ended up there, but generally he finds himself looking up at the ceiling of his messy study or the stone ceiling of the Society's halls. Above him right now there's only branches and cold sky. He blinks several times and the branches don't resolve into a more familiar view, which must mean they're real, which is a little alarming.

He sits up and takes in the rest of his surroundings: snow, trees. Cold. Last he remembers it was barely starting to feel like Fall. How much time did he lose? The snow crunches as he stands, sticks to the fabric of the deep red robes he's wearing. They're not really thick enough to be much protection from the cold but at least they've kept the damp of the snow from sinking all the way through to his suit jacket and shirt. He can't have been out long, then. His hand instinctively goes to his side where the Memory Gun is tucked into his jacket, feeling for the familiar weight of it, and he's pleased to find it's still there. Okay. That's something. The smart thing would be to retrace his steps, but there don't seem to be any footprints in the snow leading up to the indentation where he just was.

Hm. That's... unusual. He shakes his head, pulls his hood down a little more firmly, points his feet away from the depression in the snow, and starts walking on the theory that if he just goes far enough in any direction he'll find something. Eventually he's rewarded with a road, and that's bolstering. A road's got to go somewhere. He's not hard to spot out here: bright red stands out pretty stark against white snow and gray trees. If he sees another person his approach will be cautious but not threatening: an uncertain wave, a questioning hello?. In one hand he holds a broken branch, the only thing that was really available to arm himself with. It's better than nothing. Don't sneak up on him or you're liable to get a sharp smack with it as a greeting; this guy is jumpy.

B. Methuselah's Feast

He doesn't get less jumpy after arriving in town. If anything he gets more jumpy, because this very clearly is not Gravity Falls, Oregon, and he's never heard of a Milton in the general geographical vicinity. He's never lost so much that he genuinely doesn't know at least kind of where he is after. And yet nobody here seems to think it's unusual-- or, rather, it's not something unusual that is unique to him. This happens a lot. They have cots set up.

It's when he finds his own belongings set out as though waiting for him that the other shoe finally drops, and the fact that the old man can't tell him how they got there does nothing for his nerves.

"What do you mean you don't know?" There is a scratchy note of panic to his voice and one of his feet is tapping rapidly against the floor. The more he speaks the more his voice raises in volume and pitch. "You have a picture of my wife and son and you don't know how you got it? Have you been watching us? What is this?"

Of course he won't get answers. So eventually, defeated, he retires to one of the cots, now wrapped in a blanket and numbly clutching a cup of coffee. On the cot beside him is the photo, a somewhat-battered looking banjo and a cube puzzle that looks very much like but is Disney approved legally distinct from a Rubik's cube. It's unsolved. He's focused on other things right now. He's lost... what... potentially months of time? What could have happened that was so bad he had to get rid of so much? He remembers bright light, and then darkness, and he doesn't know why but it's grabbed hold of his brainstem and is twisting with a familiarity he really doesn't like.

"At least they have coffee," he says, halfway to himself and halfway to whoever might be within earshot. Find a silver lining. Find something good to hold onto or you'll tear yourself to pieces. It'll work for at least a little bit.

C. Wildcard

[Hit me up at mister_inkwell for plotting! Very excited for Fiddleford McGucket's No Good Very Bad Extended Winter Vacation.]

b — methuselah's feast

[castitas]

With the newest round of Interlopers slowly filling into the Community Hall as they make their way in from the wilds, it's kinda... all stations go, really. This is the third time this has happened, including when she first got here, and much like the second time — Kate's busy with helping Methuselah tend to the newcomers.

Bewilderment is common, the uneasy quiet that comes with trying to warm up, eat something and realign to the new set of circumstances is too. What isn't is the building shriek that comes in the direction of Methuselah and an Interloper she doesn't recognise. She's very fond of the old man, and it's enough to make her gently hurry over.

You have a picture of my wife and son and you don't know how you got it? Have you been watching us? What is this?

"Excuse me, sir?" her tone is mild, hands raised slightly in a disarming gesture. "Please. Mr Methuselah's telling the truth, he doesn't know. Some of our things just turn up with us. He really doesn't know."

Wyll Ravengard | Baldur's Gate 3

[storied_blade]

1.Cold as Hell

[When first he wakes it's to the howling of the wind past the cavemouth he's in. Cold, far too cold even for the unnatural blight of the shadowlands. That it is *wind* making those sounds and not the yowling screams of the cursed peoples of the land is just as surprising as the cold.

Even more surprising is the hollowness within him. The everpresent background hum of others, of the tadpole, of his link to Mizora... all silenced in the face of the storm. His eyes close, brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to reach out with his magic, to draw on his infernal power to use the stone in reverse for once. All he receives in return is silence. As though he were within the draining aura of one of those damnable flowers.]

Mizora... What have you done now?

[Looking out into the frozen wasteland he is swiftly reminded of the moments he spent dragged through Stygia, hardly the worst of the Hells but so biting a cold after the scalding heat of Phlegethos had robbed him of his breath then. It does so again, now.

Only when he ventures forth into the frigid mountains does he finally begin to see trees and wildlife, slowly forced to accept that this is not one of the Hells but an actual place. He's never traveled further North than Waterdeep and this is the sort of cold he'd expect from Luskan, perhaps even further North. Regardless of where he might be his armor is not ideal for these conditions and before too long he needs to find shelter again, to take a moment out of the wind and scrape some of the caked on snow off his horns before his head becomes too heavy.

It's as he's carrying on, looking for a safe enough place to pause that he finds a strange metal box. It is only the fairly recognizable form of wheels that informs him that it may, at some point, have been a manner of transportation? Though the wheels are no material he's ever seen. Nor is there any place for horses to be hitched which is perhaps even more odd. Regardless, a carriage is a carriage and it will, at least, be dry.]

2. A Feast Fit for a Duke

[Getting close to town is more of a relief than it's ever been before. Usually he is fine on his own in the wilderness for a time. The Blade of Frontiers can't very well be >afraid of the frontier can he? But his pack -most of his things, really,- is back at Last Light. His rapier is best for defense against goblins and gnolls but not so much for hunting and certainly nothing to clean an animal with.

He's immensely grateful for the promise of shelter up ahead though he braces himself for the possibility that, alone, the people may well see his infernal eye, the horns, the diabolic ridges on his skin, and turn him away. It's something he has not had to deal with yet but few would truly welcome a lone man reeking of the Hells. Being part of a larger party of well armed adventurers made people think twice. At least long enough to hear him out.

It seems, however, that he will not be alone. He does his best to be quick, to not hold up the others bustling inside, even as he has to duck slightly to ensure he has enough clearance for his horns. It feels strange not to have Astarion or Shadowheart teasing him not to forget before he even has a chance to get inside. But he's swiftly distracted by Methuselah, smiling and assuring the old man that he needn't impose too severely upon his generosity. He's plenty capable of tending to his own wounds, as soon as he's warm enough to do so.

It's as he's collecting a cup of hot tea that he ventures a cautious question to whoever else might be near.]

I'm sorry but... do you know whereabouts this town is on the Sword Coast? Surely we are not so far as to be in the Spine?

((Hi, Hello, feel free to run into Wyll at any point along his journey into town. Any questions cause I haven't actually done much with his journal yet hit me up at draconicseraphim or on disco @ mimicuy))

Cold as Hell (now with company!)

[eighteenhalflives]

[ The car is the first almost-recognizable thing Tobi's seen. Something's off about it - even at a distance he can tell; the shape is wrong, there aren't enough curves and the angles are too square. There's no familiar branding. No sign it was even built with a reactor. He's paying less mind to his surroundings as he approaches it, forcing himself not to think about the cold but unable to ignore the shiver that wracks through him like a compulsion.

Two steps later, Dogmeat leaves his side.

Maybe Wyll doesn't see him coming, won't catch a glimpse of the silhouette in the mirror too long before there's a heavy clack on the door beside him - an unfamiliar dog with mismatched eyes and a bloody muzzle that peers at him through the clouded window before barking excitedly and turning back toward its master.

Tobi is...all too aware he's unarmed, realizing there's someone in there. He feels more vulnerable than he'd like, even with the light armor of his bodysuit and Butch's jacket hanging on his shoulders; his pip-boy malfunctioning has him even more on edge than the impossible number of trees and the strange behavior of the animals. ]

Hey, [ he calls out, careful to keep his tone somewhere neutral, inoffensive and loud enough to be heard but not carry further down the road. ] are you alright in there?

[ One hand falls to catch Dogmeat with a pat between the ears when he returns to him, but the other remains lifted, palm out, nonthreatening. A universal gesture: Hey man, I don't have a gun. Please don't shoot me if you do. ]

Konstantin Veshnyakov | Sputnik

[sputnik]

OVERARCHING CONTENT WARNING that this is a horror character coming into game hosting a parasitic alien (albeit with some aspects to it adjusted / nerfed)! I definitely won't throw the gnarlier parts of this out without checking first, but just to be safe: those themes are a frequent part of him / his introspection and behaviour.


ARRIVAL
cw: introspection about parasitic alien / introspection about suicide (via gun) / internal and external bleeding / emeto associations / throwing up blood

[ Commanding Officer Konstantin Veshnyakov wakes with a sharp gasp, eyes wide — stunned, disbelieving, but the environment in which he's suddenly been thrust gives him no luxury to stay that way. The details become immediately, painfully clear, because everything is cold, colder than where he'd been before. The cold is everywhere. Stark white, glistening beneath the sun; it demands he understand its presence. He is already shivering from it, body giving spasms from the chill.

The man struggles to pull himself up from the snow, groaning out loud as he fails and slumps back down again. What... is this? (He doesn't want to know, to remember anything, but memory comes seeping inwards like poison, and the last thing he knew was the piercing shot of a gun pressed to his own abdomen. A single moment, and then nothing.

He should be dead. He made sure that he would die.)

Something that feels like panic makes his heart beat faster suddenly, and the cosmonaut is leaning forwards as he gives quick, pained breaths. He tries to keep himself controlled, to remember his training, but horror grips him like a vice. He didn't die? Where is Tatiana? Is the creature still—

Konstantin gasps again and looks down at his own body, one hand moving to his middle, tentatively observing himself. Blood stains the front of his t-shirt — white and form-fitting; over this he wears a thin green athletic jacket and matching track pants. His shoes are simple white trainers. Nothing to suit this cold, and his shuddering is becoming violent now. But his concern is fixed on other things, and he's carefully pressing a palm to his stomach, eyes wide. He can't... feel its presence in his mind, the way he was able to towards the end. Is it still inside of him? Is the alien thing dead in there, rotting? Or is it still alive, perhaps wounded but regaining strength even as he slouches here? Can he even die, anymore? Has he become more monster than human?

Something is very wrong. With every ounce of his strength, Konstantin forces himself to stand, wobbling as he leans over, one arm wrapped around his middle. He tastes blood; his mouth is coated in dark red, and it's stained down his chin. He's nauseated, dizzy, muttering to himself as he stumbles forwards in the snow, step by step. He has to keep going. Keep moving. One foot and then another, trudging forwards; the process is slow. But if he closes his eyes against this stark white world, he thinks perhaps he is in outer space again, where everything is weightless instead, and liquid black.

He thinks he hears something and his eyes flutter open, vision confused, glossy. A person....? Konstantin lifts his hand weakly to them just as a convulsive spasm forces him to double over, gagging for a moment before blood pours from his mouth onto the white snow below, and then he's losing all of his strength, tipping forwards. ]

METHUSELAH'S FEAST
cw: introspection about parasitic alien / themes of ""cannibalism"" (feeding on people's blood) / emeto associations

[ The cosmonaut is led to a building, one with warmth, food, people. He's dazed by it all as he slowly walks around, quick to find a blanket and wrap it tightly around broad shoulders, winding it across his body almost protectively, concealing his own blood-stained clothing. But daze is quickly turning to paranoia, and he's keeping drawn tightly to himself, staying close to the walls. This isn't the facility he'd escaped from, but surely it's close by. There will be people searching for him.

At some point, he finds something and he isn't sure if this is reality or a dream, but of course, his punishment follows him here. Konstantin sits at a table alone, an item placed in front of him. It's a small doll, its rounded, swiveling body unmoving for the moment. He stares mutely down at it, and slowly lifts his hands to cup the doll, thumb brushing gently over its side. A little boy's name lives within his mind. His eyes are dark and wet, and he cannot take them off of the item. He'll only look back up when he catches the movement of a person, and he quickly adjusts his expression, but cannot conceal the lump in his throat when he speaks, voice tight for a moment, hoarse. ]

Have you found anything? From your home.

[ A little later, he realises that his mouth waters. The smell of cooking food affects his body whether he'd want it to or not, and it has been a long time since Konstantin ate. It makes him deeply uneasy, but he hasn't felt anything of the creature's bond to him since arriving here. Perhaps it.... is no longer with him? Or dead? Regardless, he is beginning to feel dizzy from not eating.

Cautiously, he approaches someone who is helping hand out food to finally accept a bowl of soup — offering a friendly smile, allowing his eyes to warm the way he's used to. For a brief moment, he is Commander Veshnyakov again: a hero of the people with his bright charm and kind smiles. Thank you, he says to the helper, and he is about to say something more when he feels a flutter of movement within the depths of himself, where things are warm and wet. Perhaps it's the presence of a human so close by that stirs the creature — it's here, he thinks, and it's hungry too, and he remembers how the human blood it prefers to feed on feels and tastes.

Konstantin pales, excuses himself, and sets the bowl down on the nearest surface, before clapping a hand to his mouth and turning and leaving, quickly — finding the closest door that he can. Unfortunately for him, it's the nearby kitchen, lingering with food-smells from the efforts of those who'd been working in here.

His hands come up to the sides of his head, and he groans quietly to himself, leaned over, lips trembling with silent movement as though he means to coax himself through some horror. (Is he imagining things? Was it really the creature, coiling and uncoiling within him, restless? Perhaps he's only paranoid.) He's standing there like that, and maybe you're the helper from before, following him in — or maybe you're someone else happening upon this scene, but he'll freeze as soon as you enter, wide-eyed. ]

What're you doing in here?

[ He sounds angry, tone bordering abrasive, snapping as his severe brows furrow. The hero is gone, slips through Konstantin's fingers no matter how much he tries to hang onto him. ]

---

WILDCARD / ETC

^{Feel free to hit me up at horreur or pm! I'm also just fine with prose if that's your preference ♥}

arrival.... as discussed.... the fateful meeting

[m1895]

[ He's walking toward the community center from the cabin he occupies, cutting through a stand of snow-dusted trees when he first sees the man—tall, taller than him, and something's clearly wrong. He lifts a hand as though to reach out to him—coughs up blood, doubles over, retches. Collapses.

Vasiliy picks up a jog when the man drops and is crouching at his side a moment later, scanning the scene as he pieces together what's happening—there's blood on his shirt; maybe it's an internal injury. Maybe it's a ruptured ulcer and the bloodstain came from within. In either case, there's not much of anything he can do here, though he doesn't allow the adrenaline, a familiar companion in these sorts of situations, to make him anything but more focused.

He's clutching something in his hand. Vasiliy rests his own on the man's arched back for the sake of reassurance and places the other over the hand clutching whatever the piece of paper is—hopefully some form of identification—, gently working it out of his weakening grasp as his latest patient continues to retch bright red blood in the snow. ]

You're okay. [ He speaks softly, firmly, with confidence. ] My name is Vasiliy. I'm a EMT. You're okay. I'm going to help you.

[ It's a photograph. He unfolds it and—stares, disbelieving. The man in the picture, who looks like a slightly less harrowed version of the one before him, is dressed in the uniform of his own country's cosmonaut corps, a Hero of the Soviet Union pinned to his chest. A cosmonaut. A Hero of the Soviet Union. He's resting his hand on the warm, human back of a man who's been to the cosmos.

It doesn't feel real, nor does the physical perfection of the man in the photograph, as though a propaganda illustration was brought to life, materializing in flesh and blood. He's exactly like one would imagine a cosmonaut or a Hero of the Soviet Union looking like, at least in the photograph—less so, doubled over and vomiting blood, but his bone structure isn't negated by his current state.

That's as much as Vasiliy allows himself to think about it—it's unprofessional, allowing his awe to take over, especially if it's at his patient's risk. It does, however, provide the needed encouragement for him to finally use his own mother tongue for the first time in more than a year—although this man would be able to understand his awkward English, he's done enough for his country to deserve the comfort of hearing his own language. He'll find a way to address the sound of his own voice, the inflection, later, to explain it away somehow - if his patient even remembers it.

If he even pulls through. If nothing else, at least he can keep him company here, and maybe help him feel a modicum of peace before he passes. At least someone who has done so much won't die alone. ]

Can you tell me what happened?

Astarion | Baldur's gate 3

[pale_elf]

>Arrival

[While Astarion spent a large portion of his life in cold and dark dungeons, he couldn't say he was a big fan of freezing to death, nor that it was in his list of things to do during his little joyous journey toward freedom. When the Githyanki attacked he was quick to run grab his weapon and rush toward the portal to get rid of a certain, awful voice that was overwhelming him... but no matter what, wherever he was expecting himself to land- it certainly wasn't a frozen forest. A 'What the hell' echoed in the middle of nowhere after he fully processed what happened and he was quick on his feet to search for a cave or anything where to hide.

All he managed to carry with himself were his magical rings, the ones that never left his fingers, and his bow... and neither was going to shield him from the cold, nor he was going to get any warmth from his light white chemise. Perfect for the comfort of a bedroll in the warm weather of Baldur's Gate, definitely inadequate for a winter wonderland. He found himself cussing and cursing while following tracks of wildlife and signs of life, a trail of smoke in the distance the only indication that there could be some camp nearby and snow... snow as far as he could see. Which wasn't much considering the sun was already setting behind the mountains.

If Astarion thought he had a chance to stop and relax after the attack, that was clearly not the case. The vampire wandered toward the only direction that offered him a vague promise of a shelter, constanatly rubbing his hands against his poor arms and cursing the snow that kept getting in his barely warrm boots.

He can be either found in the forest, approaching the city (and studying some of those weird constructs that lied without life in the streets. They seemed to have seats inside their metallic bodies but they made no sense per se. Carriages made of metal without horses? What?) or stealing something warm to wear around the place. Goodness, bless the weird local fashion for warming his poor, poor bones.]

> Methuselah's Feast

[Wonderful. Plenty of food all around him and he couldn't eat any of that for a reason or another. All the things prepared by the local residents were as appetizing as cardboard to him, nothing more than a waste of perfectly edible blood when the animals had been bled dry to prepare them for cooking. As for the still walking meals... he knew better than risking his neck by turning a village against him just because he felt peckish, especially because he still had no idea of where he was or why.

He wrapped himself better under the warm and absolutely pathetic jacket he recovered, an affront to fashion with the bright blue and the delicate duck themed decoration on the bottom, and moved toward the... locals? Fellow prisoners, perhaps? Hard to tell. On one side he knew his tadpole had never been as silent in his brain, on the other one... how far was he from the home not to feel anything that would have usually been there to pull him around? It didn't matter as he approached a random person at that lovely reunion of unfortunate souls and tried to offer them a most charming smile while trying to strike some conversation.]

Isn't this... lovely? Kidnapped [Again, he could say.] and trying to survive together in a frozen, abandoned wasteland. Isn't this the kind of tales bards usually sing about?

Not that I hear anyone playing music in this depressing excuse for an inn but, hey, we could be famous someday! And if our names are going to be out there someday, allow me to introduce myself first- I'm Astarion, magistrate in a city that's probably far, far away from here.

> Misty Fall Cave.

[No matter how he lacked his vampiric powers, nor how he could no longer see clearly in the dark, even if Astarion's body changed one thing managed to stay true: he was incredibly athletic. And he was also opportunistic in nature. As he brought to the residents 'food and supplies' on the regular, animals that had been captured and turned in with their throats well sliced and open he had to cover the puncture marks and he knew he could work the locals' favor a bit more if he joined the little expedition and offered his services.

If he was very lucky, perhaps he could even end up in a death or life situation with one of them, alone, and take advantage of the situation. Astarion was hungry, no need to deny that, and with so many risks and dangers around the place... well, accidents could happen, right? He licked his lips and adjusted his hair, careful not to pass in front of any mirror while approaching the first person who decided to show up in the place where they agreed to gather in.]

Well, well, look who's here early! Good day, darling, your gymnast is here. Difficult terrains? That's my job. Small places where to crawl? Where do I begin? Traps? That's my jam. I cannot wait to get started.

> Serpent's breath

[Astarion was initially thrilled when he started to find non completely frozen and already dead creatures around the place. His diet was fully back on animal blood, knowing that dining on a small little community would have been a mistake, and running into a free meal sounded like a dream- too bad his nose managed to perceive the rot before he even fully approached the beasts. He instinctively gagged as the sweet smell of blood mixed with something he could only call eau de ghoul armpit and stopped a few steps away, frowning and crossing his arms.]

What a waste of wonderful, possible meals! And you can't even say "Let's just cut off the bad parts" with those...

[Mostly in his case, because he could tell the blood was contaminated. Who cared about the meat, that didn't fill him in the slightest and even if others could get a morsel or two it wasn't from him.]

I swear, they're mocking me. The gods of this place, whoever they are. I'm here, starving, and they place a perfect little meal right in front of me- and it's already gone. I swear this place will drive me insane.

> Wild Card

ooc: I'm open to pick pretty much any moment in the middle of the events and run with it. Fair warning for those unfamiliar with the canon, Astarion can be pretty intense and he's not exactly the most kind of all people, so to speak.

arrival!

[sputnik]

[ There is another man roaming the stark white in clothing ill-suited to the cold. The issued wear from the research facility he'd so freshly escaped from isn't quite meant for the snow and ice: a simple green track suit over a plain white tee-shirt, and a pair of white trainers. The thin athletic jacket is hardly enough to keep any warmth in, and Konstantin is shuddering uncontrollably as he stumbles his way through the snow, leaned over, one arm wrapped around his middle.

It doesn't take much inspection to see that he's in an extremely precarious state. He's managed to wipe some of the blood from his mouth and chin, but dark red still glistens against the white of his surroundings, and more blood pools from the middle of his shirt. He is supposed to be dead. And yet here he is, somehow, impossibly, alive.... Not for the first time. He should have died in the horrific crash back down to Earth. What emerged from that site is a fate worse than death.

(Of course, it's the one he deserves.)

If Konstantin closes his eyes, he can picture that he is back in space, where everything is black and weightless, a contrast to the white, thick snow he's struggling to trudge through. His mind is a dizzy blur, body protesting each step forwards, but he has to keep moving, terrified that the military will find him again. They'll do anything to get their science experiment back.

He can't go back. He has to find his son.

Finally, after what seems forever, the cosmonaut finds some evidence of civilisation, although strange. Everything is... too quiet, too empty. Abandoned. There are cars in the streets, covered in snow, as if they haven't been used in months. The man carefully makes his way around them, keeping one arm wrapped around his stomach, and then freezes when he spots movement up ahead. A person....! Instinct has him wanting to flinch away, but he also knows he need help... After a long pause, Konstantin calls out. His voice is deep, rich, and in this place, layered in a Russian accent. ]

Excuse me..... Do you know if this is Kazakhstan?

Heartman | Death Stranding

[20likes]

i. ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST;
There's a strange sort of feeling that's happening inside of him that he's unused to, a singular thought rattling through his brain that's circumventing everything else: time. He has time here and it's stretching beyond thought, infinite like the countless Beaches he's combed in his sisyphean search. His connection to that other plane and his life's work has been severed. He's stuck here. But he has time.

Heartman focuses on the facts: he has something other than a 21 minute window for things now. It's a feeling that's so new and foreign after so many years that he's completely unsure how to process it. He hardly knows where he is and hardly knows what's happening, having shown up in the cold with no knowledge of how he'd gotten there, having pulled himself towards the light and presumed warmth of what he now understands is the Community Hall. Trying to logic and puzzle what's happening here without any concrete facts is enough to drive a scientist mad if he thinks about it for too long, but hypothesizing and studying is all the brunet knows.

So Heartman gets to work himself almost immediately: the physical muscle memory of movement and the mentality of stay busy that kicks in almost instinctual. It's freezing here, colder than his laboratory and far more rudimentary in design, but there's enough around to warrant proper distractions for him as he takes stock of the situation. There's also people. Not chiralgrams, fake and projected, but actual, real people. A lot of them. A rarity. That's another thing he's finding unnerving, if only because he's completely unused to it.

His busyness mainly comes in the form of observing. He hovers over the supplies, leans in a little too close to the conversations nearby him, always quick with a small flash of an apologetic smile if he gets in the way of someone. It's also easy to catch Heartman watching everyone by the fire, arms crossed over a rather bulky looking yellow AED. Connection and companionship. Admirable qualities to exhibit, and ones that are needed in dire situations, if his experience is anything to go by. In an attempt to feel useful, he'll also be moving around the room and pouring coffee or warm drinks for anyone that looks like they need one.


ii. MISTY FALLS CAVE;
"Perhaps it would be in our best interest if we turned back?"

Heartman's not meant for exploring. His heart may have been 'fixed,' but it's still weak. He's pushed himself quite a bit without a single complaint and he's made it to the waterfall's entrance with his traveling companion, but the unfortunate result is that he's completely winded and already exhausted.

This was probably a mistake. Now more than ever he wishes there were Porters to rely on. Heartman, nonetheless, still wants to try despite his hesitancy: he raises a hand to point at a faded sign urging them of an unknown danger.

"The advice appears to be rather sincere."


iii. WILDCARD;
[ Heartman can be seen mainly in the Community Hall, as well as the Hot Springs where he very much enjoys a nice, relaxing soak. There's also the possibility he'll need help dragging a frozen corpse into one of the cabins, and will have no qualms waving someone down to assist him. If you'd like a personalized starter feel free to DM me! ]

maintiensledroit;

[20likes]

Heartman jolts awake--jolts to life, he assumes--on the soft padding of a couch and is immediately hit by the overwhelming smell of what he can only describe as mustiness. He sits up immediately, eyes wide as they try to focus, body moving automatically like it always does.

A flick of the wrist to access his cuff links. Expedition number...

Heartman's face pulls into a frown the moment he realizes his cufflinks don't work. He twists his wrist again, his frown deepening as his device remains unresponsive, lacking even the soft glow of any light. It's only then he truly looks at his surroundings, and feels his stomach drop with fear as cold as the temperature he's experiencing. He's not in his lab.

Another twist of his wrist, and when that doesn't work to start it up Heartman opts for the tried an true method of smacking it as hard as he can with his other hand. That doesn't work either. He exhales, trying to remain calm, and slowly rises from his spot. He's in a cabin. An unfamiliar cabin, with that overwhelming smell of stale air that causes his nose to wrinkle. He rises fully and stands, steady on his feet, chancing a peek out the window only to be met with snow and wind.

His next steps are to the door despite the cold already sinking into his bones, his breath leaving trails of condensation as he struggles to open the half-frozen slab of wood. With a lot more effort than he should be exerting, he manages to get the heavy door ajar just in time to hear something distant. A bark.

A dog? Heartman tries to open the door even further, and though it's mostly futile he can stick enough of himself out to yell.

"Hello?"

There had been a voice, hadn't there? Loud and ringing. It had said something that seems fuzzy to Heartman in his panic. Interlopers? Was that this? Or was the bark not a dog, but a wolf...

william gibson | the terror (amc)

[notarat]

( arrival - cw: blood, brief mention of period-typical homophobia )

[ Waking up on your back in the snow is already not the most pleasant of sensations - and perhaps only less so when you've heard some odd voice only a moment before, and got stabbed in the back only a moment before that. It means the man sits up with a jolt of adrenaline before he even realises the rest of his situation. The cold grips him almost instantly, a familiar sensation at this point, but somehow much more intense in this moment-- or maybe that's just because everything suddenly feels a little more intense, from the way his limbs feel like they're suddenly moving much more easily to the spot of dark blood he can see in the snow where he was lying only a moment ago. The man has absolutely no idea where he is - one may assume the afterlife, but the only way for a man who likes men to just live life in his time was always to not really ponder too hard whether or not that really exists at all times - or what's going on, but all he knows is that he doesn't feel like he's dying.

And he'll take that, in the midst of all the confusion. Especially with how long it's been since he hasn't felt like he was getting way too close to actively dying.

Mercifully he does find his coat in the snow, but even after dusting the snow off that and putting it on, it still feels much too cold out here. All he can do is move, even if he's got no clue where he's going, gratefully latching on to the first sign of a trail he spots out in the woods.

Maybe it's out here in the forest that you run into him, or he runs into you. It's hard to tell if he's even a person rather than a ghost at first out here in the snow, tall and thin, not even saying a word as he stares directly at you. The moment you two make eye contact, his posture shifts into something incredibly defensive, like there's no trust to be given away here, while his facial expression is mostly just hard to read. It's only after a moment of awkward staring that he asks: ]

Where is this?

[ Maybe you have no clue either, making this a real fun totally not awkward conversation. Or maybe you do know, and you can help? He doesn't look like he's actively dying of scurvy anymore, sure, but that doesn't mean he looks like he's doing amazing out here in the cold either.

Or maybe you don't find him until the man wanders into town. Probably looking worse than he did back out in the forest, considering the cold he had to move through to get to town in the first place. You may notice something a little awkward about the man's walk, like he isn't really sure how to use his limbs - look, you try having them scurvy-ridden for a long time and then getting used to having flexible limbs again and not look like you're the awkward human incarnation of Bambi - but he's hobbling into town all the same.

He's definitely looking like a popsicle of a man though. That coat clearly isn't helping him much. Maybe you're nice enough to lend him a hand before he straight up collapses onto the streets? ]

( methuselah's feast - cw: blood )

[ The man can definitely be found at the feast later on. Maybe it's the cold that feels like it's got into his limbs all over again, but rather than sitting down at the table, it seems like he's made himself a spot to sit down on the ground in front of the fire instead. There's a plate on his lap that's been filled with food, and the man definitely seems to be digging into it like he hasn't eaten properly for weeks.

Is it the most dignified of sights? No, but honestly, he really doesn't care right now. He's getting to be warm and not hungry - and also, you know, alive - so he's not going to ask for much more.

It's a sight most people could probably ignore, given the sheer amount of people around here eating, but the fact that the back of the man's shirt - now visible since his coat has been discarded and folded up next to him - is absolutely covered with dark blood. It seems mostly dried up, but it doesn't exactly look old. (Though it does perhaps look a little gross, like it's not exactly a healthy blood colour right there.)

Despite the way the man seems to enjoy the warmth of the fire and the food though, there does seem to be more vigilance than one might expect, his head snapping up to look at you the moment he hears footsteps. There's a moment of awkward staring, and for a moment it seems like the man might not speak up at all, but then he does. ]

Is something wrong?

[ Please, no bad news. He's had a rough day. Week. Month. A rough few years, actually-- ]

( misty falls cave )

[ Later in the month, perhaps having adjusted some to this place, he does trek out towards the cave, like he's unsure of whether anyone will bother to actually share the cache after finding it, and determined to secure his own part of it.

Seems like he's not the only one who had the plan though. Even if you didn't come to the cave together, perhaps the man runs into you while you're also in the middle of trying to make your way around. While you're in the middle of attempting to squeeze yourself through one of the more narrow passages, actually, the kind of place where people have to wait and take turns.

After watching you struggle for a moment, he finally speaks up with: ]

Are you managing there?

[ If it wasn't for the carefully neutral tone of voice and look on his face, you'd think he was side-eyeing here.

(He's totally side-eyeing. Please, Billy, we aren't all built like a stick bug.) ]

( wildcard )

[ I'm also completely up for wildcards! Or if you want a personalized starter, let me know, I can always whip something up that might work better..

I'm also not particularly attached to any style of RP, so if you'd rather do prose, just reply in prose and I'll match! ]

methuselah's feast!

[friendsfordinner]

[ Look, Hickey's not an idiot. If that Methusalah chap is going to keep offering food, Hickey's going to keep showing up to eat. He'll help a little, offering whatever rabbit he's managed to hunt because he's just so nice that way. He's just so nice and caring and helpful. You should trust him.

He's working on some deer, eating a strip of the charred meat with his fingers, looking around at all the various new arrivals, when he spots a familiar mop of curly hair. And it just...takes Hickey a moment.

Of course it could be Billy. Don't be stupid, others have shown up here. Goodsir's dead. Jopson...hell, he's probably dead, he wasn't looking the best before arrival. Of course another dead man would arrive. It could have easily been Billy. It could have always been Billy.

Still. There's something about this that's entirely unexpected. Hickey doesn't know if this is an accident, a coincidence, or if the gods of this land were actually listening to him when he cursed the fact that none of the men here were his men every time a new sailor showed up (because of course the gods of this land would listen to him. Why wouldn't they?)

He watches Billy for a moment, deciding what to do, before he decides that no matter what, he should at least do something. For now, just do. He'll see where it goes later. So he walks over towards Billy, gives him a little nod and his best 'look at me, I'm so innocent, I didn't just stab you' sort of smile, and sits down on the ground next to him. ]

Finally. A friendly face.

scarlett langford | original

[unburies]

❧ ARRIVAL / METHUSELAH'S FEAST
cw: blood/gore; strong language

ONE: [ Scarlett awakes in the snow, a clumsy heap of body and wings and she wonders for a brief moment if someone knocked her the fuck out. The next moment is the sharp bite of pain at her side and she moves a hand to her side to feel too-hot blood: fuck. The mission hadn't been going super great, she'd taken a blade to the side: not too deep, but fuck does it sting and it sure does bleed.

Black blood pools in the snow like an oil slick. She groans, getting to her feet, hand clutching to her side and blinking in wide-eyed confusion at the winter fucking wonderland she finds herself in. This isn't where she was, where she's supposed to be. Not even remotely. And worse yet: Paz isn't here with her, Paz isn't... anywhere. Her wings quiver, shaking off the snow.

Oh, shit. This is— this isn't... good. ]

PAZ—?! [ She screams it into the air, it hurts to breath in: too sharp, too cold. The accent lies somewhere in the northern half of England. She realises her machete is still here, left in the snow. ] Paz, where the fuck are you?!

[ Retrieving the blade, she stumbles off into the white — leaving odd spots of black blood here, yelling at the top of her lungs. She's not hard to miss. ]

TWO: [ By the time she makes it to the Community Hall in Milton, she's a shaky, sweating mess — covered in a dusting of frost and snow. A strange shape in the doorway, a skinny thing of a woman, framed with wings of white, grey and brown. A Shrike, if anyone knows their birds.

The bleeding hasn't stopped all that much, her hand clutched her side slick with black, still dripping onto the hardwood floors. Scarlett heaves through breathes, exhausted. Oh, this fucking sucks. ]

Is there a doctor in the house, or what? [ Yes. Please. Someone please get this to stop bleeding.

Later, when she's been seen to, she can be found by the fire recovering. Her wings hidden now — appearing very much like any other person who's come to this place. She holds her machete in one hand, thumping the point of the blade into the floor in a slow, steady beat. In the other, she has a cigarette between trembling fingers. She doesn't know what this place is, she doesn't know where Paz is. She needs to get the hell out of here. ]

❧ MISTY FALLS CAVE

[ Maybe it's glutton for punishment, maybe it's the promise of free stuff. But she's up for raiding some hidden loot in some weird arse cave somewhere, hell yeah. So she'll be heading right up there once she's had a day or so to recover a little. She's fine. It's fine. Just some stitches, is all. Don't call her out for being slow as shit hiking up here.

Besides, there's free stuff.

Although it's a trail of thought that soon changes when she and her companion finally do arrive. At the sight of the signs at the cave's opening, Scarlett folds her arms across her chest, her expression unimpressed. ]

... Actually, you know what? This is a really shit idea.

[ a quick rundown: Scarlett is a 20-something year old demon, known as Temeluchus or 'The Tormentor/The Torturer' — capable of torturing others by creating illusions of their deepest fears in order to sate her Calling: the drive of her demonhood. Granted, she's depowered, but she does come with different physiology such a oil-black blood, a youthful appearance, a higher body temp / faster heart rate and more noticeably: wings, in the colouring of a Shrike, which she can draw out and put away at will. hmu @ heolstor for qs. ]

Arrival, after she's been patched up

[lastdecember]

[ From the other side of the fire, somebody's watching her.

He hasn't been there long, given the bit of ice still clinging to his shaggy black hair, but somebody's at least given him a blanket to throw over that dirty bedsheet he was using as a cloak. He's got his back to the wall and his eyes on the crowd, but his attention keeps coming back to her.

So many of the people here seem lost, confused. They're scared and cold, and happy to be led by the folks who seem to work here, happy to take bowls of soup, happy to chatter with their neighbors about their strange new circumstances. Happy, smiling, friendly types.

She's different. She's armed, first off, and isn't afraid to let everyone else here know it. And she's not happy, not smiling into a bowl of mystery meat stew, which makes her doubly interesting.

His own cigarettes are mostly wet and crushed, but he's managed to salvage a couple. He's got one twisted butt stuck between his lips now, the smoke soothing in its acrid familiarity. If she looks his way, he won't smile -- he's not very happy either. She gets a steady look back instead, not challenging, not smirking, just assessing, before he turns back to the crowd, scanning constantly for threats. ]

Uzi Doorman | Murder Drones

[darkxwolf17]

[A: Arrival; Methusulah's Feast]
[There is no way for one to smoothly transition from falling down a collapsing elevator shaft, and waking up in an unknown house feeling... alright. Certainly not worse... Physically, that is.

Emotionally, Uzi Doorman was a small, ice-cold wreck when she entered the community hall. Thin, metallic arms wrapped tightly round her midsection. Her decidedly Hot Topic-esque clothes were soaked by the snow drift she obviously awoke in, the last dredges of wet slush fall of her boots as she stomps her way inside. She's not cold; she wasn't built for that, but it felt good to be out of the elements.

Digital optics flicker - literally - from left to right, taking everyone in. All of them; humans. Living humans. Was there no ever-present toxic storm or planet-ending calamity to wipe them out here? For a moment, she's simply dumbstruck.]

Holy robo-jesus... more humans.

[And she thought her day couldn't get any worse. Sure, they offer her warmth and care, but... she can't. She turns away even the smaller gifts that are typically given to the new interlopers. Methusulah himself receives a tired "Bite me!" when her worries become concrete - that she's stuck here for the foreseeable future. Wherever the hell "here" is.

After that, it's a simple matter of finding a decent space of wall to post up on and plot her next, edgy move on her hero's journey... When, in reality, the little worker drone has just found a space away from the fire, and most of the humans, to sulk for a while.]

[B: Serpent's Breath | CW: blood, dead animals]
[Uzi was familiar with death, all too much in fact. Life on Copper 9 meant spending most of her life crowded in the work tunnels with the rest of the drones, living in fear of the disassembly drones stalking just outside their multiple protective doors. Boring. Stupid. Thank god she didn't get into the door business like her dad.

God, she'd kill to talk to her dad right now.

But back to death. Blood - not oil - stained the white snow and provided a trail where the winding paths and festering rot didn't. All leading the teenage robot to the entrance of one of those freshly-dug tunnels.

She stands there, at the yawning mouth of certain doom. Resolute in herself, she takes a step forward.

Aaaaaand immediately takes a step back.]

Ohhh god, this is a terrible idea, isn't it? I mean, I've never even fought anything that was all... alive and gross before - Wait, I don't even have a weapon!

[Good thing nobody's around to see her ranting to herself, right?]

[C: Wildcard]
[Got something that doesn't fit anywhere else? Put it here. Feel free to plot with me at lightdrizzel

A. CW: Mentions of grief and loss.

[guidemyway]

[Honestly one of the last things Ruby had expected to see here was a robot with amazing fashion sense. But... There was a lingering since of sorrow that tugged at her heart that reminded her of Penny each time she caught a passing glance of her. There wasn't much that Uzi had directly in common with Penny, but the feelings were still there.

Eventually though she gathers up the strength to approach, casually leaning up against the same wall as the other girl.]

Hey.

[Great. Nailing social interaction right here.]

How are you holding up?

Damian Wayne | DC Comics

[thefifthchild]

I. ARRIVAL

[The first thing he registers is the cold. The biting, hideous cold. Gotham winters were always colder than he expected, but being on an island off the coast of South America, he can't say he expected to be bombarded like this.

Except he's not on Lazarus. He's in a cabin. The detective in him whirs to life as he gets up on his feet with a leap. The cabin shows clear signs of deterioration, the plates are moldy, nobody's lain in the bed in years, the curtains are filthy, the wood has been weathering the storm of frost for a long time.

Different world. Same shit as always. He might be more used to the climate of his homeland, but challenges of survival were never uncommon amidst the year of blood.

He checks his belongings - nothing of vital importance, but it's nice that he still has his sketchbook. Fine then. He'll play along.

He stops once he reaches a road, scanning for anyone. This is a pain in the ass, but as soon as he spots someone his eyes will narrow at them and he'll call out - undaunted and unafraid of wolves.]

Civilian?

[It's question, not a title, not that that makes it any more jarring to hear from what is blatantly a fourteen year old kid in a dumb little emo jester outfit.]

II. THE FEAST

[His suspicion is rather plain on his face for any to see. He's hungry, sure, though his stomach does turn a little at the meat available. He might not be able to afford to be picky - nobody else is, clearly.

But he stares at Methusaleh, and he doesn't eat. Doesn't stand by the fire. He's cold - almost freezing, but he won't be lulled into a false sense of security by an old man wearing a mythical name.

Instead he wraps himself up in his cloak and sits, content to just watch and glower. Charity exists, kindness exists. Still, it's clear that he thinks there's a catch.]

III. THE CAVE

[Despite his misgivings, there's no denying the appeal of this. In the last few days he's spent here, silent and observing more so than actively interrogating, he can clearly see that they need the supplies. Food supplies are less than they were a few months ago, everyone's freezing and desperate.

So fine. He'll bite the hook. As he gets to the cave and sees others already having the same idea, he clicks his tongue.]

Tt. You can wait here. It's probably too dangerous for you.

[Extremely condescending, thanks. But maybe you'll encounter him later, in the actual caves. He does relatively well. If he can't see, he'll use his other senses. There's very little space, so he uses his size, the thing that everyone keeps making fun of him for, and squeezes through.

It's claustrophobic. Suffocating. Like his lungs are filling with sand, or fire, like he's being held in the grip of the devil. Like being bound in chains with a gun to your head and a stranger who thinks he's your family sneering at you.

He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, and he focuses on the pain. It's better. Better to forget.

If you're having trouble, he might just bump into you with a noise of irritation.]

I suppose you're stuck?

[Unlike him, who is built different.]

IV. THE SERPENT
(cw for animal dissection)

[He stands within the monster's trail of destruction. He's been here a week and a half now, making himself useful wherever possible. And currently, he's crouched over the body of a goat, poking it with a batarang.]

...It's close. Goat's only been dead for about ten minutes, and based on the patterns we've observed I'd say the monster's probably resting.

[The sun is going down, and it'll be dark soon. It's only natural. He points the batarang suddenly toward the animal, turning it over, and begins to cut the goat's stomach open.]

V. THE WILDCARD
[Don't like any of my prompts? Feel free to pm me or reach me at ectoplasmfear!]

I. Arrival (lol, lmao)

[eighteenhalflives]

[ Even in the distant frozen north it's impossible to escape the plague of Little Lamplighters.

The figure coming up the road stops when he calls out, as does the dog at their heel; dropping the leather jacket he was using to keep the cold wind off his head and neck down to his shoulders, Tobi squints at the (sassy? lost?) child in the distance before answering. ]

Unaffiliated. [ Take another look, though; the bodysuit he's wearing is elite Chinese spec ops recon armor, the kind of prized Pre-War technology people kill to get their hands on. 'Civilian' is the last word Tobi expects to be thrown at him, unless the person saying it is on his short list of enemies or a jumped up brat playing soldier. Ignore the number of times those two intersect. ] Who the fuck are you?

Stanford Pines | Gravity Falls

[cryptograms]

( arrival )

[ It's not the first time Ford has woken up somewhere completely unfamiliar with no idea as to how he got there, even in an interdimensional sense. But this is definitely the most alarming example, and that's entirely thanks to where he was, not where he is now.

But Ford is not someone for sitting around idly. He's not even slightly dressed for the weather, which means that a frosty clearing in the middle of the forest is a death sentence if he stays here too long. The snow is already creeping into his completely seasonally inappropriate Oxfords, so he trudges ahead without hesitation.

But at least he has his crossbow! Which might make it a little bit alarming for the first person that stumbles across him, given that the very second Ford becomes aware of their presence he responds by whirling about, raising the crossbow, and pointing it directly at them. ]

Don't move. Who are you?

[ Ford's hands are steady on the crossbow and his gaze is unwavering. It might even be a bit intimidating, so long as you ignore the suit he's wearing and the red fez perched on the top of his head. ]

( serpent's breath )

[ Ford has had some time to get used to his new situation. He's found a much better set of clothing—heavy coat, turtleneck, sturdy boots, scarf—gotten his bearing within Milton, and started to figure out how day to day life works here.

And then a giant worm shows up.

At least, he thinks it's a giant worm, or at least worm-like, when he first sees the huge tunnels carved through the snow, but the more he looks the less certain he is of that. The burrowing is definitely more wormlike, but the tracks aren't as smooth as he'd normally expect from a worm.

And realization is all it takes to send him down the rabbit hole of curiosity. Hunting this thing down to get rid of it is wise, of course, and Ford won't stop anyone from trying. But even so: ]

Hold on a moment!

[ He holds up a hand, forestalling anyone who's approaching from coming any closer. Then he lowers his hand and scribbles a few more notes in a journal, taking notes on the tunnels or the decay or whatever else he happens to be observing for a moment. Only once he's done does he finally look back to the person. ]

Go ahead. Are you here to study the creature, too?

Serpent's Breath

[darkxwolf17]

Study it? Nope.

[This robot teenager is just as ready as Ford - more, possibly. Her attire isn't important, though. It's the bow and arrow in her hands.]

I'm taking that thing out!

julia wicker ⛮ the magicians

[unsever]

arrival ➤

[ She'd watched with growing horror as the monster wearing her skin committed atrocity after atrocity, afraid for her friends and the world at large. She knew they needed to take her down, but she hadn't expected the searing pain that came with an axe to the back. A mixture of voices echo in her mind; Dean Fogg, Persephone, Quentin, and one unknown. Deep. Rumbling. Old.

It sends a shiver through her body, followed by another as her senses return to her. She's awash with sensations hitting her at once -- cold, pain, confusion, and fear. Julia doesn't move for a long minute, laying in the snow, the only stark thing making her stand out against a mostly bleak environment being a melted flourish of bloody snow slowly expanding as her body heat continues to melt the layer beneath her. Slowly she sits up, groaning loudly as her body rebels. Julia delicately rolls her shoulders, testing the wound at her back. There's a tight and uncomfortable pull, but no blinding pain. Nothing she'd expect from an injury she'd just received.

Good.

She couldn't say for certain that she was dead, but she wasn't in the Underworld or Fillory. Perhaps her soul had been ripped from her body again and took her consciousness with it. Hardly ideal, but not the worst outcome of a nightmare. But then why was she wounded? It didn't make sense. None of this made sense.

The wind whips across her face, tangling in her hair as she takes in her surroundings. She needed to find shelter sooner rather than later. Her coat wasn't meant for this level of chill. Mustering whatever energy she can, she pushes herself up with a loud groan -- her muscles protesting every movement. ]

Fucking shitting fuck. [ She'd forgotten what it was like to be destructible, for her body to not immediately knit itself back together.

Keeping an eye out, she moves towards a road hoping it'll take her somewhere warmer or at least let her cross paths with someone. Another set of eyes to check on her back and maybe point her towards warmth before she becomes a popsicle. ]

methuselah's feast ➤

[ To say the smell of food makes her suddenly ravenous would be an understatement, but she can't quite bring herself to eat. Instead she sips some tea, reveling in the warmth as she listens. Takes it all in. To anyone watching her, there's a lack of surprise at the revelations -- already old hat to being brought to strange new lands. It's just strange that the rest of her group didn't follow.

Shit.

Maybe they were out in the cold still. A sudden rigidness takes over her small frame, the bowl of stew in front of her quickly abandoned as she sets down her cup of tea. She can't go back out... Not like this. So she sets to work, questioning everyone she comes across with an urgent tone. ]

Hey. Have you seen anyone else come in by the name of Quentin? 5' 8", might've asked if this was Fillory? Or anyone else asking about Fillory?

misty falls cave ➤

[ Should she be helping with this? Probably not. She didn't have any magic, wasn't indestructible, and was still on the mend from her own near death experience. But, the need to survive and to help often outweighed the more mundane impulses. Even if she couldn't actively do a lot physical fighting or running, she could solve puzzles and put her rapid fire analysis and critical thinking skills to good use.

Selfishly, it also served as a welcome distraction to her current situation and a chance to avoid the ever imposing realizations wrapping around her like a dark cloak. She was less alone than when she was trapped by the monster, but she still wasn't sure that this was better. Wasn't sure any of this was better or real. Maybe she didn't recognize anything because she hadn't moved through Purgatory to reach the Underworld last time. Only way to test theories was to participate. Besides, she has a smaller frame than most, short and petite and perfectly sized for narrow passages. Might as well put that to good use while her mind works through the newly formed layers of her mortality.

Navigating through the small crack between the water and rock, Julia manages a soft chuckle at the faded signs. ] Well, seems like we might be on the right track. Hopefully nothing's boobytrapped... It's probably fine, right?

[ She may or may not be also talking herself into this adventure. ]

wildcard ➤

[ yolo let's go - she'll be wandering around town and trying to find a non-ripped top and some warmer clothes. Feel free to find her just about anywhere or hit me up on plurk @ hoopskirts or through PMs if you'd like to discuss anything. ]

arrival

[load_aim_shoot]

[The laugh the words get out of Raju is more breath than noise, the frozen cloud of it puffing out around his face before the warmth dissolves away into the air. Every day he thinks he can't hate this cold any more than he's already grown to, and every day he proves himself wrong. But being out in it is something to do. Find any of the others who are apparently arriving soon, and see if he can find out anything new. Better than being cooped up inside with nothing that needs doing, nothing to do but pace and pass the time, and try not to think of how helpless he is to figure out anything about this place, any explanation for it that would allow him to go back home, and fail, and write down every explanation he can think of before having to admit to himself, again, that he can't confirm or deny a single one. Not even the one that it can't be, that he can't allow it to be. He surely would have known if he was dead.

He'd sewn the damn blanket into something more like a coat, at least. That had passed the time, too. He wants to conserve his thread too much to give it much structure, it's still just a blanket, but if he wraps it here and ties it there, he doesn't have to hold it closed around himself any more. He'd cut enough off from the bottom to wrap his hands in, and the thinner blanket the navy officer had given him makes for something like an inner layer. It isn't enough, he's still hunched around himself, hands easier to keep still while they're busy trying to shove themselves further underneath his sleeves. But it isn't what it was, and at least this way his arms and hands are free.

Then the trace of humour disappears from his face; he's spotted the bloody snow melted where she must have been lying. No trail of it, he notes, frowning. Only a circle, as if whatever happened had happened right there.]

You're hurt.

[He's hurrying closer, much as he can while making sure his shoes aren't slipping on the snow, but he sounds more confused than concerned. The concern is there, of course it is, somewhere. But he needs to know.]

What happened? Did you fall on something?

Chloe Frazer | Uncharted (game)

[desperate_times_right]

Arrival

[Chloe had been enjoying a pizza with her friends in a crowded square, luxuriating in the warm glow of the best thing she's ever done, when everything around her had suddenly lit up, then went dark. So she can't exactly be blamed for ignoring the cold at first upon waking up in the tiny cabin, assuming one of her rivals in India had locked her up somewhere. She barely checks her surroundings at all before slamming her fists on the cabin's wooden door, yelling threats and curses at whoever's keeping her in here.

It's pretty embarrassing when the door falls open immediately. Hopefully no one saw that.

The blast of cold from outside is as shocking as it is confusing, and knocks her back into the cabin. The chances of survival out there in a thin T-shirt and jeans for more than a few minutes are pretty much nil, but staying here isn't an option. This place has been pretty thoroughly looted, but hopefully the moth-eaten wool blanket crumpled up at the foot of the rickety looking bed will be enough to get her to civilization, or at least cell service.

Anyone on the trail may encounter a shivering woman with bruises on her face, wearing a blanket cloak and talking to herself.]

Okay. You can do this, Chloe. One foot in front of the other.

Methuselah's feast

[So. She's found civilization, but sadly cell service isn't going to be a thing. Chloe's seen too many post-apocalyptic movies to eat mysterious food from a friendly but reticent old stranger in a creepy little town like this. She does accept a tin cup of tea against her better judgement, nods her way through the prepper story - is it really paranoia when the shit obviously has since hit the fan? - and then parks her ass by the fire to try and warm herself up, cup in one hand and a small bronze teardrop-shaped figure she's produced from the bag at her hip in the other.

She's looking at the figure, a representation of the Hindu god Ganesh, seemingly lost in thought, so anyone passing nearby might be surprised when she speaks to them:] Who's in charge around here, anyway? What's up with grandpa?

Misty Falls

[Chloe's not really the altruistic type, but as someone who's just arrived getting first dibs at whatever this miner's left behind is appealing. Hopefully her fellow spelunkers aren't too uptight about it. It's also a great opportunity to get herself kitted up in case she needs to split later.

The group stops at the first homemade "danger" sign, and she turns to them with a grin.]

Oh, this is going to be fun. Piece of cake.

[She may not be the altruistic type but she is the overconfident type for sure. Sorry to whoever is going to have to save her from a trap later.]

Wildcard

[Chloe will be around town, trying to get the lay of the land, being annoying, maybe trying to nick anything unattended that looks useful. Feel free to find her anywhere, catch her stealing, or hit me up at nonhoration with any ideas.]

Methuselah's feast

[flambeaux]

Louis is used to someone in a reverie addressing him. He and his little family had vampiric senses and picked up on the most tiny changes in breath and shuffling of fingers. They just don't act like humans when they're alone. So, the man wearing his long woolen coat indoors has to process his little moment of déjà vu before he bookmarks the page in his novel and answers,

"No one in charge, miss, but a few of us have started on some ventures. Rabbit farm. Library. No idea what's up with him. He don't mix much. Leaves to go who knows where. Food's good, no fatalities, if you're worried about that sort of thing," he says helpfully.

He seems friendly enough, with indefatigable Southern charm designed to weather hurricanes, but quietly pensive as well. The cold (and lack of readily available sources of fresh blood) leaves him tired and the bright green of his eyes lackluster.

"Louis de Pointe du Lac, miss." It's rude not to introduce himself.

Randvi | Assassin's Creed

[meadqueen]

Arrival, Methuselah's Feast

[Waking up sprawled in the snow in the middle of a warm English summer is such a shock to the system that Randvi thinks she must be dreaming herself back to Norway. These moments of homesickness always come on stronger when the raiders are away, so she shouldn't be surprised. Despite the violence of the wind and the cold biting at her skin, it's almost peaceful. There's nothing to do but pull her fox fur up to protect her face, tuck her hands close for warmth and move forward until she awakens.

Of course, that isn't what happens. At the end of the path, instead of her ancestral home there is a strange village she's never seen before. At least what passes for a longhouse here contains warm food and strangers who welcome her without violence. It also contains the short bow that she had constructed with her sister's help when she'd been learning to hunt as a child, which is a much more baffling thing.]

How did this get here? How did I get here? Are we in Norway?

[It doesn't feel like a kidnapping but what else could it be?]

Serpent's Breath [cw: animal death, potential injury]

[Randvi isn't the best at squeezing into small spaces but she can hunt well enough, so she winds up joining the hunt for the venomous beast that's been terrorising the local area. The tracks are like nothing she's ever seen, a furrow gliding along the surface of the snow one moment, a tunnel diving beneath the next. The size of the creature is almost enough to give her pause, but things can't go on like this much longer.

She looks up from the tracks near something that may have been a fox before it was burned beyond recognition and points:] It's heading toward the mountains.

Wildcard

[Randvi will be around town looking for ways to contribute to the community.. Feel free to find her anywhere, confuse her with modern terminology, or hit me up at nonhoration with any ideas.]

Arrival

[solitarysoul]

We don't really know.

[Levi is nursing a mug of hot something, coffee or tea probably he wasn't paying attention, and just happens to be near Randvi when she speaks.]

Well, the old guy probably knows but he won't tell us. How we got here, or how our things got here. We're in Canada, though, not Norway.

[Wherever that was.]

Wriothesley | Genshin Impact

[armwriostle]

A. METHUSELAH'S FEASTI.
[He wakes with a start. The cold around him is different from the usual chill in the Fortress. More so, it's cold enough that it bothers him and that's enough for him to get up immediately to take in what was around him. He isn't feeling groggy, adrenaline already deep in his veins. He finds himself surrounded in pure white. Snow. It would be gorgeous if not for the situation feeling somewhat dire already.

Wriothesley shivers.

The boxer quickly looks around and grabs any of his stuff he finds strewn around. He shakes his coat to rid itself of snow before pausing. Wriothesley runs his finger over his Vision. It feels...wrong? Wherever he was, even the Gods of his world can't reach him. The blessing from his Vision. He already can tell that he no longer has it. With a sigh he puts his coat on and buttons it. He needs to find civilization.

He walks forward. He doesn't know where he's going, but it doesn't matter. He isn't familiar and standing around isn't an option. When he finds the road, he also sees a person or two.] Hey. You wouldn't happen to have a map would you? [He keeps his tone light. After all, people will feel more at ease if you are at ease, right?]

II.
[With a loud thud, he drops his mechanical gauntlets next to a chair and takes a seat. He had found a few of his belongings since arriving in the town. His boxing gloves and handcuffs specifically. He had tucked the handcuffs onto his belt before taking advantage of the food and drink. If they were going to be offered food then he wasn't about to say no.

It's now that he can take his time to observe everything around him and take a moment to gather his thoughts.]

What's his deal? [He sips the tea he had grabbed and sighs contently as he watches Methuselah work.] Sorry, you probably get asked a lot of the same questions. Suddenly, I'm seeing why people make those welcome brochure guides. One would be handy right this moment.

[Despite the situation, Wriothesley seems to be taking it easy. He offers a cheeky little grin.]

B. MISTY FALLS CAVE
They didn't make this easy for us did they?

[After the third dead end, he decides to voice his thoughts in a more casual manner. He's somewhat irritated, but he thinks anyone would be irritated when they've been stuck in the dark looking for a potential end after who knows how long.

He knows how long. After living in an underwater fortress for so long, he had picked up an innate sense for time passing. It isn't completely accurate, but he could ballpark an estimated amount of time passing and it definitely has been an hour or two. At the very least, the damp, darkness was something he could endure for awhile. The darkness here did slowly creep into your psyche.] How are you holding up?

C. WILDCARD
[If none of these work for you, let me know. Feel free to hit me up with a starter or you can PM or contact me on Plurk rakuranger and I'd be more than happy to write a starter tailored to you!

Feast - II

[pale_elf]

Trust me, I wish I knew.

[Astarion spent almost an hour just sitting around and letting his body reach a decent temperature: his undead self had to let his fingers thaw before being able to move them and the simple idea of moving away from the little happy party and venture out on his own... he's not eager to do so.

He studies the metal gauntlet just for a moment and he does take a glance at the tea before decising it's not his priority right now. He needs to be smooth and do his bestt to gather as many allies as possible but he also needs to process what's happening first. The vampire sighs, turning his attention toward the young person who spoke to him, doing his best to sound annoyed by that situation and nothing more.

Being kidnapped in a frozen land is just a minor inconvenience, isn't it?]

Let me say this: our current guide should probably retire and let someone else take over, someone who can tell us more that we're somewhere on the Plane of Canada or something. Possibly a dashing adventurer so we also have something nice to look at.

renny oldoak (tav) | baldur's gate 3

[cantor]

1A | ARRIVAL

[For the first time since childhood, it's quiet.

No matter where he went, Renny always had his music's magic. A whistle let him touch the world's fabric, a chord let him bring a little light in lieu of company. He always had his ears pricked for the subtle hums of the Weave, waiting to be orchestrated.

This cold, silent world refuses him. The halfling, having helped himself to some soup, feels physically warm but emotionally at a loss. He sits close to the fire, careful not to edge into Methuselah's space, deep in thought.

-there's murmured and not-so-murmured conversations going on, the soft clinking of utensils, the shuffling of weary bodies. It's not the best of atmospheres. Renny decides to do something to bring his mood up - and hopefully the others. He carefully tunes his lyre and, once he's satisfied with the sound, begins playing a song.]

1B | CACHE

[Renny, who's gathered his bearings by now, is beginning to adjust to this strange, new scenario. Even if this world isn't his, there's others he can rely on. Right? After Methuselah shares what he knows about the cache, Renny will sidle up to a fellow listener.]

Sounds like an interesting adventure, don't you think? And one with a good reward, too.

2 | MISTY FALLS CAVE

[Renny's never been a caver. Exploring the underground has always been his brother's passion, not his. He preferred his explorations to be aboveground, safe from any unfortunate cave-ins or floods, where one can move instead of squirming like a trapped animal. But the cache is too promising to pass up.

Renny looks up at the roaring waterfall. He can't help shivering. Even the mist coming off the waters feels freezing.]

Makes you wonder how many trips that miner took... he must've been as fit as an ox.

3 | WILDCARD

( pm me if you wanna hash out an idea, or just hit me up! i'm open to anything )

1A;

[calicoat]

[ A life at sea is a rough one, and the life of a pirate even moreso, but unlike most of Jack’s peers, he has an appreciation for art. He’s not only literate, but enjoys to read, and has an ear for music more sophisticated than drunken shanties about trying to fuck mermaids. So, once he’s quit making a scene about the nightmare that is their present situation, his ears perk up at the sound of plucking strings, a sign of some sort of humanity in all of this mess.

He moves to sit closer, and listens as he finishes his meal. Jack’s mouth is full when Renny finishes, with the last of his stew sopped up with a ripped off bit of bread, but it doesn’t stop him from addressing him. ]

Bravo. Are you from here?

[ He’s from The Normal World, where he’s never actually encountered anyone of the bard’s unique proportions. At least not any old enough to have grown such fetching facial hair. ]

Hu Paws-of-Clay | OC (world of darkness/wta 20th)

[humeansfox]

I. Arrival

Hu was not really sure how she ended up in a snowy forest. She remembered lights, and a strange voice, and swelling up to her most combat ready form just in case. But instead of a fight or an angry spirit or bakemono she was simply met with darkness, then sometime later she awoke face down in the snow in a forest. While she'd taken it to escape or fight whatever must have been coming, she was immediately grateful for being in her half-fox/half-human for simply because of the fur. She was not dressed for the cold. Her fur wasn't really that fit for it either, but it was much better than bare skin.

Still, in a strange forest she'd rather be in her natural form. Easier to hide if needed, and she was light enough that she could probably just walk on top of the snow. Except when she tried to revert back into her animal form she couldn't, nor could she take any other shape. This was...well, maybe not bad, but probably not good. Weird. Perhaps interesting.

Staying still won't help, so Hu starts moving forward. She can smell that someone's cooking something, so that was as good a direction to go as any. What spirits or creatures would be in a place like this? She's very excited to find out!
But still cautious, for if there are humans here she really shouldn't be seen like this. But her senses aren't as sharp as she's used to, so its very probable that someone may come across the two-tailed fox-headed humanoid girl slinking through the forest (and occasionally stopping to play in the snow) without her noticing.


II. Feast

Whether she runs into someone on the way or not, Hu's curiosity eventually gets the better of her and she goes into the community hall with the others. It felt very awkward, since everyone else appeared to be human and she was still stuck in her midform, but there were too many people and things going on inside for her to stay out. Think of all the stories she could learn here! With how so many confused people seemed to be following their noses here it wasn't very likely it was earth. Or, she thinks, at least not her real, physical realm of earth. Or if it was something very strange was going on here and a fox-woman would be the last of their worries.

She has politely greeted Methuselah and anyone who's offered her food, but is too interested in people watching to ask any questions yet. One thing she would like to know, though, as she sits at a table peering at a bowl of soup, is how best to eat with a muzzle and a spoon. Does she lap it up and risk burning herself, or carefully use the spoon to bring it to her mouth, hopefully not dripping too much. Hm.


III. Cave

Hu was not really that interested in whatever was inside the cache in the cave. Even if stuck in a half-human form she was a fox, after all. She assumed she'd be able to get by with just hunting what she needed and finding streams or something, but the cache itself was still interesting to her. What had this Matthew stored here? What did he think would help him get past the end of the world? Did he leave any personal belongings or writings behind? She just needed to know, and the best way to learn was to go in there and see it for herself.

She's managed to find better clothes for the weather, even if the tails and claws made them a bit oddly fitting. But no boots really fit her digitgrade feet (and she's not desperate enough to find doggie booties yet), so she was just going to have to live with it. She probably climbed better with out covering on her paws hands and feet anyway. Her joints had felt a bit stuff since she'd arrived here, something she wasn't sure if she could attribute to the cold or whatever had frozen her like this and dulled her senses, but she's confident she can get through any twists and turns the cave throws at her and her companion!

Later on, after the cache has been found Hu is reluctant to leave it. Not so much because of everything in here, but because going back out involved going through water. Her fur was still soaked! How was she expected to go back into the snow like that, she'd freeze. No one wanted a kitsune-sicle.
She's going to have to eventually, perhaps you can help coax her out?

🏴‍☠️ Jack Rackham | Black Sails

[calicoat]

a. feast;

[ Jack left England more than ten years ago, and made several promises to himself as he did so. Firstly, and most crucially, was that he would make a name for himself, if not as the most fearsome pirate, then the most cunning, the most steadfastly determined to be a thorn in the motherland’s side. Secondly, and not all that far behind in terms of importance, was that he would never have to trudge through the snow again.

It’s been an unpleasant morning.

He woke up face down in the snow as if he’d passed out drunk there, and somehow blacked out the entire journey from Nassau to wherever the fuck he is, spent a healthy amount of time cursing and kicking and shivering, even more time calling out for his partner, Anne, to no avail, before finally making his way here, to the center of town. Jack nearly kicks the door in, with his not-winter-appropriate boots, and is greeted with a rush of warm air, the aromas of rich stew and fresh bread, and a sea of unfamiliar faces. None of them are the one he’s looking for. He turns to whoever’s nearest. Man, woman, young, old, they all earn the same sharp tone. ]

What the fuck is this?

b. it's a stick up;

[ One of the first things that Jack learns is that nobody’s sure how they all got here, or what they’ll need to do to get out. It’s not ideal, obviously, but finding those answers is going to have to wait until after the immediate, urgent questions of survival are taken care of. The first of which are his shoes, light and breathable and meant for walking around on the white sands of the Bahamas, not through the frigid cold of this place. He’ll need something else to keep him from losing toes to frostbite before he gets anywhere else.

Usually, sudden bursts of violence are Anne’s domain. He’s made a career as a pirate using the element of surprise much moreso than brute strength, by strategizing and politicking and finding allies that can make up for what he lacks, but he figures that a long life of mediocre fighting ability is still a leg up on most law-abiding citizens, on sheer quantity alone. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

He lurks in a dark corner of the town, scoping out passerby for who might look like an easy mark, or at the very least, someone approaching his shoe size, before rushing up behind them, pressing his dagger to their throat as if he’s danced this dance a hundred times. ]

Your boots. Hand them over quickly, and we can go about our days with no bloodshed, hmm?

[ Playing the part with a snarl, lips curling over his teeth. ]

c. misty falls;

[ Of course he’s going. After Jack finds a way to outfit himself with warmer boots and a proper coat, whether it be through looting or violence, he can’t resist the allure of hidden treasure. This is what men back home boast about in taverns, squirreling away untold riches, far from prying eyes. Those stories are all lies, but here, he deems it worth the risk. It’s not like he has anything to lose, now is it?

This isn’t as glamorous as a cache of jewels in a treasure chest, but lanterns and these futuristic ready-made meals will do. ‘Pork and rice’ is simple enough, but alas, he had the misfortune to be born English in the late 17th century, so... ]

What is chow mein?

[ He asks someone also combing through supplies. It occurs to Jack that he ought to have brought a bag or something, there’s only so much he’ll be able to pack in his belt and coat pockets back to the little house he’s made something halfway livable out of. More knives, matches, gasoline, lantern. The rest ought to be mystery food. ]

Do these really not go bad? How’s that so?

[ Shaking an MRE bag that’s tightly, vacuum sealed to prove that there are, in fact, meatballs inside. ]

wildcard;

[ Yeah I’m late to the TDM but I’ve been peeking in here since the start so hit me with whatever I’m down!! You can pm me or hit me up at dorsquee if you want to discuss anything! ]

c

[solitarysoul]

I think its noodles.

[The boy in the oversized coat with the rifle on his back speaks up as he goes through another box of supplies.]

They last a long time. Everything's been safe so far. Because of how cold it is and how they're packaged.

[Hm.]

Do you have cans? Some of the other packages are sort of like that but not metal.

levi ackerman // attack on titan

[wingbound]

--1. ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

[ Levi jolts awake in a dusty old cabin, disoriented, on high alert. It was... an explosion, it was supposed to be an explosion, but instead he woke up here. What happened? Did he get knocked out? But who brought him here? ]

[ Upon some inspection -- and finding the mold -- he makes the decision to leave. Maybe someone else is there; if not, he'll make the trek by himself. He's used to scouting hostile territory, so the journey alone through apparent nothingness doesn't bother him too much, but he's hardly dressed for the weather. By the time he sees the smoke of a settlement, he's shivering so hard he can't suppress it, and he's starting to feel the numb tiredness of hypothermia. ]

[ He doesn't talk much once inside. He does take the offered food -- stew, mostly -- and water, though not a lot of it, and sits on a cot in a corner, still watching everyone warily. He's not unlike a wounded animal in that way; still suffering from the aftereffects of cold but refusing to sleep or turn his back on anyone. He's not hostile either, though. Just... not companionable. Maybe he just needs a moment... ]


--2. MISTY FALLS CAVE

[ He does seem to warm up to the rest of the interlopers in a day or two, though he doesn't exactly get any nicer. He's helping around the settlement, though, and once the village leader proposes the mission, he agrees to go on it too. ]

[ Things go well until the scouts are forced into a mild case of spelunking. Levi had looked somewhat apprehensive about entering the caves to begin with, but he'd did it anyway; however his mood seems to be steadily growing worse as they're progressing deeper into the cave system. If someone's watching him, they might notice that his breath seems to be picking up, almost as if in mild panic, as the air gets damper and more stale, even though it's not really showing in his expression. ]

...I hate cramped places like this.


--3. SERPENT'S BREATH

[ Navigating snow tunnels certainly feels more escapeable than deep diving into the earth, and Levi happens to be one of the newcomers in pretty peak physical shape, height aside, so it's another task he doesn't need convincing to volunteer for. ]

[ He takes point, a makeshift knife in his right hand, and moves forward, soundlessly, checking what lies in the tunnel beyond the turn. He motions you over once it seems it's safe -- so far. But there's a drift of something putrid in the air, and for a moment, he's giving you a judging look before a distant snore can also be heard from somewhere ahead in the tunnels. ]

[ He gestures something with his hands that reads suspiciously like guess that wasn't a fart, huh and continues moving ahead. ]


--4. WILDCARD

[ If you'd like something else, or a different spin on a prompt, let me know! You can hit me here or on jigglyballs, or just surprise me~ :> ]

1

[solitarysoul]

Its safe here. It really is.

[He doesn't even have his rifle on him! Though the army coveralls still ID him as a soldier pretty well.]

You can relax for now.

[He knows that look, he had the same one when he first arrived. Levi's not sure if this guy'll listen to him, but he kinda wishes someone had managed to tell him that when he first arrived.]

yelena belova | marvel cinematic

[vdovy]

Arrival CW: Threat of gun violence.

[ Two options, one outcome:

In the first, Yelena startles awake on the rotting wooden floor of a deserted cabin. She takes stock of her surroundings and quickly realizes she is not alone.

In the second, she makes it outside and finds a worn path to follow until the sound of snow crunching under approaching footsteps alerts her to another presence.

Regardless of the scenario, it ends the same: with Yelena pointing her loaded gun in someone's face. ] Stay back.

Methuselah’s Feast

[ With plenty of reason to be wary, Yelena scans the feast apprehensively. Despite their tempting warmth, she looks past steaming beverages and hearty stews— too easy to infuse with poison or sedatives— and lands on simple meats.

She carries her modest bounty to the nearest table with an empty chair and claims it without stopping to acknowledge (or request permission from) anyone else seated there. Then she bites into her charred deer and makes a face. ] They did not braise this long enough.

Wildcard

( OOC: Feel free to have your character encounter Yelena under any prompt scenario, including those not covered above. Reach out via PM or cosmology with any thoughts/questions/or just to brainstorm. )

Arrival 2

[solitarysoul]

[The boy in the oversized coat has a rifle on his back but holds his hands up instead of going for it.]

It's alright. I'm not looking to hurt anyone.

sam carpenter | scream

[killer]

ARRIVAL

[ She doesn't get it. Not the kidnapping; that part is, unfortunately, par for the course with the way her life has been going. But the people who want her dead have typically spent months, if not years, planning their moves. Who would go to the effort of rendering Sam unconscious and dragging her out to Bumfuck, Nowhere just to leave her unrestrained and unsupervised? Not to mention the hunting knife she finds tucked into her jacket...

Fuck it, that's their problem. She exits the cabin with such speed and force that she nearly takes the flimsy wooden door with her. And then it hits her, the freezing air, like nothing she has ever felt before. ]

Fuck! Oh, fuck!

[ Sam isn't built for this kind of cold. She could handle New York City; they say it doesn't snow as much as it used to, anyway. Even when it did, Sam can't imagine that it was ever this cold in the city. This kind of cold only happens out in the middle of nowhere because humans, despite their endless lust for expansion, are reliably driven away by the threat of freezing to death.

Was that the idea here? To leave her at the mercy of the elements? Maybe someone wanted her dead but didn't have the balls to do their own killing. They couldn't know that spite is one of her best motivators; she'll become Bear fucking Grylls if it means not letting an enemy win.

She zips her jacket up, not that it does much, and wraps her arms around her middle. And then she starts walking, although it feels— and probably looks— more like trembling in a forward direction. ]

MISTY FALLS CAVE

[ The whole "it was the lights" explanation leaves much to be desired. Maybe it would soothe her, if only she could believe it. But she can't, so she has to assume that someone out there has it out for her. Someone who, for all she knows, has infiltrated this very group.

By that logic, volunteering for a group expedition would seem like a needless risk. But said expedition seeks the loot of some survivalist prepper and that gets Sam's attention. If there is even a chance of finding a radio or satellite phone in that cave, she has to take it.

And that is how Sam ends up in a dark cave keeping a healthy distance from people she can't trust. When the path ahead narrows such that only one can fit at a time, she hangs back, waits for the next person to approach. ]

Why don't you go first? [ She suggests, and if she seems suspicious, it's because she is. ]

WILDCARD

[ OOC: If prompts above don't work, choose your own adventure! Happy to match prose or brackets. Sorry for the abysmally late addition to this TDM but very grateful to anyone willing to help me collect samples. ]

Misty Falls

[desperate_times_right]

Sure, if you give me your knife first.

[Chloe doesn't trust any of these people either, and figures going on the expedition is the only way to make sure she gets her fair share. Also she's bored. And the last thing she needs is some squirrely chick behind her shoving a knife between her shoulder blades.]

snow white | the wolf among us

[powersuited]

arrival

[ Well, this is certainly a far cry from Fabletown.

The cabin, as abandoned and derelict as it is, clearly hasn't been used in some time — though as Snow pushes herself to her feet, feeling a bit woozy and disoriented, she already knows she's a long ways away from home. Whatever answers there are that can be provided here, she won't be finding them in this abandoned building, but it's with a determined furrowing of her brow that she sets off looking for someone, anyone who can tell her where she is and maybe even how she got here in the first place.

Only a few steps out into the winter and Snow becomes painfully aware of the fact that she's underdressed for the climate, still wearing her sensible heels, her silk blouse, her pencil skirt — none of them meant for walking in this kind of weather.

But she presses on, jamming her hands underneath her arms and hunching her shoulders to try and preserve as much body heat as she can while she wanders down the road. More than once, the sound of a wolf howling somewhere in the distance makes her attention prick up, though not immediately out of caution or worry — what if there's the possibility, however small, that she isn't the only one from Fabletown who's been brought here? What if...?

Almost as quickly as she harbors the thought, she releases it, not necessarily wanting to give herself false hope just yet — and besides, there's a figure she can't quite discern a short distance away now, prompting her to lift an arm in beckoning. ] Hello! Excuse me, do you have a moment?

methuselah's feast

[ Later on, once she's imposed on a stranger's kindness enough to get her as far as Milton, Snow sits in the community hall, a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a cup of coffee sitting in front of her, the latter still steaming since she's presently staring off in the distance.

It's a result of her getting lost in thought, dwelling back over everything the old man — Methuselah — had been willing to share with the dubbed Newcomers. She might be so distracted that she doesn't notice someone is trying to get her attention until she glances up into their features, blinking dazedly as she's snapped out of her reverie. ] Sorry, what were you saying?

[ Much later in the evening, once the contents of a bowl of stew are now settled in her stomach, Snow doesn't necessarily feel any less uneasy, but she wanders over towards one of the cots anyway, sinking to sit on the creaky frame with a certain numbness that isn't completely brought on by the cold. The roaring fire at one corner of the room has already banished the worst of the winter's chill, but the worst of her unsettled feelings have been conjured up by the fact that she doesn't recognize anyone here at all — no other Fables, not a one, and she's always made a point to at least know each of them by faces, if not every single name.

Does anyone back home even know she's disappeared? Are they looking for her now? Perhaps she's getting too much in her own head about this, Snow decides. Anything she's experiencing now will likely be resolved with a good night's sleep — well, as good as she can muster in a shared space like this — so she starts readying herself for bed, sliding off her pumps with a soft wince before reaching down to idly rub over her sore feet and muttering just loud enough to be overheard. ] Never thought I'd actually be longing for a pair of boots.

wildcard

[ if you want a more specific prompt or to run into snow elsewhere, feel free to hmu on plurk at favoritings or DW PM with alternate plotting ideas! her current canon point is from the end of the first game, after she's become the deputy mayor of fabletown. will match player-preferred format in terms of prose or brackets! ]

arrival

[bigbaddy]

[ It's not too unsurprising to sometimes see newcomers showing up when you go out into the woods - which Bigby does often enough to hunt. Even with his reduced sense of hearing compared to the usual, it's still easy enough to tell the crunch of footsteps from a person apart from most of the animals around here, so he can tell there's got to be a person approaching. Probably a new person, given they tend to show up in bursts, and considering the direction this person is coming from..

.. except then a voice calls out, and Bigby freezes on the spot. He'd know that voice anywhere. It's the first time he's heard a familiar voice in months. It feels unreal, after all this time and not a single other Fable showing up. Maybe it's this place messing with his head again. Wouldn't be the first time it made him hear things.

But what if it isn't? What if she's really here, and what if she's alone out here in the cold, alone with all the dangerous things that sometimes appear in these woods?

Bigby starts to head over in the direction of the figure, his footsteps quickening the closer he gets without even fully realising he's walking faster.

It means he will quickly become visible to her, once he's closer. Bigby is definitely recognizable as himself. Perhaps not quite as clean-shaven (or, let's be real, clean-stubbled) as the usual, and wearing a thick brown winter coat with the hood up, but Bigby in every single other way - standing there, and staring at her with shock on his face. ]

.. Snow.

[ The name flows out of his mouth instinctively. For a moment, Bigby isn't even thinking about what could have happened back home - did she notice he was gone? - or about everything that went down the last time they saw each other. It's all momentarily faded against the backdrop of having been here for months, against the sheer shock that she's here at all. ]