BCTheEntity

An Unseasonable Chill

Accepting the gloves and scarf gratefully- Ravenclaw, eh?- Miriam put on the scarf first, followed by one of the gloves. Handmade, too! Hattie clearly knew her stuff, and she had to say, she was beyond impressed. This was the sort of work that came from years of practice... in fact, it'd be a perfect note for her novel. Pulling out her phone, she typed out the experience in short notes - "Hattie, older lady, highly skilled crafter, scarf of various fibres, deerskin gloves".

And good thing she pulled the phone out, too. Dangerous animals were one thing, those had been researched and catalogued already... but the lore on cryptids! Quickly, she tapped in details as the strange man, Elias, babbled about them, drawing parallels to commonly-referenced creatures in turn. Pagwadijinini, mischievous gnomes, possibly akin to older fey-like beings in Europe. Widjigo? Wendigo, clearly, but under a much truer name - worth looking into if plausible. Bi-bon, Northern Winds, Father Winter... damn, there was so much this man knew! He'd make for an excellent character in and of himself! In fact, as she put her phone away and pulled on the other glove, she resolved to ask about those other cryptozoology concepts.

'Mister Malkinson, Miss Hattie, if we get time later, I'd like to interview you both more thoroughly,' Miriam requested, smiling under the scarf. 'You seem to have great insights into this area, and um, your knowledge might be exactly what I need for my next book.'

An Unseasonable Chill

'Miriam Holdstead, pleasure to meet you all,' she uttered from within the hood of her coat. She had to be frank, she did love the snow... there was a way to have too much of a good thing; somebody getting lost in a blizzard was one of those. And even if she wasn't overwhelmed with cold, thanks to her trusty, lovely coat of course, even she could admit it was quite frosty today. Beyond that...

'Miss Hattie, was it?' she asked the older woman. 'Um, I think I would like to borrow some of those gloves and scarves, if that's okay.' She didn't want to impose- she never did seek to take from people- but if they were being offered, then there was no point going out under-prepared in weather like this.

An Unseasonable Chill

The Author

Miriam Holdstead

| Books | Darkness | Snow | Being alone |

Physical Description: Miriam is light-skinned, about 5'4" tall, and weighs 120 lbs. Her hair runs down her back in an elegant brown curtain, and her eyes are hazel in tone. Her usual clothing includes fairly decorative shirts, stretchy jeans, and most of the time a thick puffy pink coat, especially with the decreasing temperature of the town.

Age: 23

Relationship with Hildon: Miriam is an out-of-towner, somebody who heard about Hildon's quiet, unassuming atmosphere, and visited the town to gain inspiration for her next book, for she is...

Occupation: A writer! More specifically, she is a semi-professional novellist with the one book under her belt to date: Holding Down the Light, an adventure novel about a woman gathering allies from across the lands to deal with a great threat, and in turn making those allies into unexpected friends. She hopes Hildon will help her gather more insight into small-town life, and thus grant an idea of how to base a tale within the borders of a similar town in her writing.

Useful Supplies: -Pepper spray, for self-defense
-Bersa Thunder 380CC, a concealed carry pistol with a magazine loaded and one spare, for when the pepper spray doesn't work or is simply unavailable
-Big puffy pink coat, kind of a personal effect she enjoys, but perhaps the only thing keeping her from freezing in current temperatures

Backstory: Miriam's life has been fairly plain - no overly-destructive family members or anything, but born in an area with a lot of interesting stories to tell. Her home city of San Francisco was highly multi-cultural, especially for the United States, and simply by looking around, one could find all sorts of people to talk with about all kinds of things! One of her favourite people was a homeless man named Joshua, who had tried and failed to write several books, falling on hard times until he was living under bridges. A tragedy, but Miriam made firm friends with him as a teenage girl, and with her help over many years managed to get him back into an apartment and back into writing, be it for himself or for an audience.

This proved something to her: anyone could succeed with the right support, and anyone could be brought back to their feet in the same way. Inspired to become a writer, both by her experiences with the populace and by Joshua's tale specifically, she authored her first book at 22, an adventure novel called Holding Down the Light, to reasonable enough success. Seeking further inspiration, she has come to the small town of Hildon to see what might inspire her next... the inspiration in question is probably not the sort she was expecting, however.

Persona - Soldiers of Fortune

Alina Sanford

Soon, the end came. The end of the cell... and surely, their lives too. She should have stopped and let them kill her when she had the chance... now, with no hope for any of them, it was too late. And her ankle was sore beyond reason... she slumped to her knees, awaiting the rending pain and subsequent silence.

And then they fell through a magic hole. Why not, they were already dying... or... wait, they were falling... oh shit, they were falling! For the first time in a while, Alina panicked, yelling with primal fear, flailing desperately for something to grab hold of as a pinprick of light opened up into a flood beneath them- and they landed on a pile of moss.

She had not landed on her ankle directly. But hell if it wasn't still agonising to try and stand up on it. She needed a minute... or two, or... it was probably fully broken by now. Crap. The pain did eventually subside, though, and she managed to stand with most of her weight on her good foot, examining the cavern. It was... pretty. Better than the prison, and far better than that godawful cell.

And just as one of the girls asked what they'd do now, two more creatures showed up, these looking more like tiny demons than anything. Anti-cherubs? Hell, not more monsters... or? No, one was leaving, stating its intent to go and get its mistress, whilst the other just sat down and watched them, laughing every so often.

Okay, fine. Sure. She was present, she'd survived the twinned nightmares of the university-prison and the ash cell. She could handle this. What could she do first? She could, she could... ask questions? Maybe to the one who was still there, yeah.

'Where are we? And who is your friend getting?'

An Unseasonable Chill

The Author

Miriam Holdstead

| Books | Darkness | Snow | Being alone |

Physical Description: Miriam is light-skinned, about 5'4" tall, and weighs 120 lbs. Her hair runs down her back in an elegant brown curtain, and her eyes are hazel in tone. Her usual clothing includes fairly decorative shirts, stretchy jeans, and most of the time a thick puffy pink coat, especially with the decreasing temperature of the town.

Age: 23

Relationship with Hildon: Miriam is an out-of-towner, somebody who heard about Hildon's quiet, unassuming atmosphere, and visited the town to gain inspiration for her next book, for she is...

Occupation: A writer! More specifically, she is a semi-professional novellist with the one book under her belt to date: Holding Down the Light, an adventure novel about a woman gathering allies from across the lands to deal with a great threat, and in turn making those allies into unexpected friends. She hopes Hildon will help her gather more insight into small-town life, and thus grant an idea of how to base a tale within the borders of a similar town in her writing.

Useful Supplies: -Pepper spray, for self-defense
-Bersa Thunder 380CC, a concealed carry pistol with a magazine loaded and one spare, for when the pepper spray doesn't work or is simply unavailable
-Big puffy pink coat, kind of a personal effect she enjoys, but perhaps the only thing keeping her from freezing in current temperatures

Backstory: Miriam's life has been fairly plain - no overly-destructive family members or anything, but born in an area with a lot of interesting stories to tell. Her home city of San Francisco was highly multi-cultural, especially for the United States, and simply by looking around, one could find all sorts of people to talk with about all kinds of things! One of her favourite people was a homeless man named Joshua, who had tried and failed to write several books, falling on hard times until he was living under bridges. A tragedy, but Miriam made firm friends with him as a teenage girl, and with her help over many years managed to get him back into an apartment and back into writing, be it for himself or for an audience.

This proved something to her: anyone could succeed with the right support, and anyone could be brought back to their feet in the same way. Inspired to become a writer, both by her experiences with the populace and by Joshua's tale specifically, she authored her first book at 22, an adventure novel called Holding Down the Light, to reasonable enough success. Seeking further inspiration, she has come to the small town of Hildon to see what might inspire her next... the inspiration in question is probably not the sort she was expecting, however.

An Unseasonable Chill: A Horror RP

I'm keen, yeah. Let's do some mystery solving!

Persona - Soldiers of Fortune

Alina Sanford

'...it's... fine.'

She was used to being dragged around, even if she was exhausted and hurt. Trapped in a prison cell with far too many bodies, not so much... something in her chilled even as the others panicked out loud, until she realised along with the others that the corpses, if they even were, were practically falling apart. Hardly qualified as corpses at all.

The eyes, on the other hand... they came closer. They became the driving focus of the room, they and the body they were attached to - hooded rags, shadows hiding its face, and ultimately a figure soaked red with blood. Nightmarish in an utterly distinct way from the principal-judge, physically horrific rather than an authority who demanded no less than obedience. And... calling them out for their flaws. The one dragging her losing what she was supposed to have, Alina running from her family, and the darker-skinned girl losing her job. She... she hadn't run away... right?

And then came the attack. At the Fallen's word, the ashen corpses rose, then charged at them; and at Jin's word, they each began to flee once more, back down the... cell? Which twisted and stretched even as they approached. Her ankle was actually going to snap in half if she kept this up, she imagined, and her lungs really couldn't handle another bout of fleeing... whatever this place was, she felt it might crush her if she didn't stop, just for a moment... she ought to, she was a waste of energy anyway. Maybe, if she stayed behind, she could stop slowing down the others... give them a chance to survive. At least then she'd be useful.

Itiner: Heroes of Ardenfeld

Lael Xiloscient

Lael Xiloscient

Who I Am

Once a fairly bright-eyed child, with a keen sense of right and wrong, intense trauma at a young age followed by years of having been put down from all sides has rendered Lael rather antisocial. Prone to lengthy silences, not least due to their damaged throat, they are not keen to actively seek interaction with their home city. In fact, they shun society as a whole, considering it quite an unfair system in practice; whilst they have a modest reputation as a solid guide between distant locales, they feel in general that they do not need or really want to communicate with the vast majority of people longer than strictly necessary, not least because they struggle to keep their emotions under control when they are pressured. Because of this, the list of people they might reasonably consider friends is slim to none, though those they do befriend- typically those who recognise when they desire their personal space, verbally or physically- are watched over and guarded like a parent protecting their child, with instantaneous wrath brought down upon those who would harm this slender minority.

My Story

Lael was born to the pairing of Amaril and Quelenna, a couple of explorers who had settled down in Ardenfeld long ago, and now dispensed the knowledge of centuries to their younger allies, village sages of a sort. Their child received no less, and within the decade or so provided to them, they had passed on to Lael a lot of the awareness that an elf may need to function in life - from the weapon skills that came as part and parcel of their kinship, to how one might use nature as a veil, and even how to play the pan flute. Lael quickly grew into a confident young man, befriending quite a few of the village's inhabitants in turn... before the bandit attack.

His parents were not, precisely, unequipped to engage in combat. By their own words, spoken outside their home as flames drew toward it, they were happy to sell their lives if it meant Lael escaped without harm. However, it had been far too long since their last true fight - sheer numbers overwhelmed them, leaving both with mortal wounds. Lael was not one to let his parents die so readily, but he was but a child, and was quickly bested and dragged before them, knife to his throat. Quelenna, naturally, begged them to spare him in exchange for their own lives.

'You're already dead, you stupid bitch. What's your life worth compared to his?'

The question was a cruel trick. She offered them everything she could think of with her remaining lifespan, but to no avail, for as they pointed out, they could already take whatever they wanted from both parents. What left Lael alive, ultimately, was his specific captor's execution method: rather than slicing open his jugular veins, he plunged the dagger directly through his throat, bypassing major blood vessels, only to seriously damage his vocal cords. Before he was thrown to the ground and left for dead, he watched his parents be slain much more decisively by decapitation.

Bleeding, traumatised, and scared for his life, Lael barely found refuge with but a small proportion of those who he had befriended before, the bandit's words ringing in his mind. "What's your life worth compared to his?" It was his fault, his fault...

In the end, he lived, albeit near-unconscious from blood loss, but even with what little support healers could provide for such an egregious injury, his throat was scarred and his voice permanently damaged, leaving him unable to say more than a few words at a time without coughing and choking on his breath. Just as pertinently, he in fact refused to speak at all for quite a long time, his loss and those of his fellows heavy on his mind.

Landeil Family Orphanage did him no favours. Those running the orphanage, much less racially diverse than Ardenfeld's population, were not fond of some skinny knife-ear who wouldn't speak when spoken to and weren't shy to tell him so to his face, with a firm slap if need be. At the same time, the orphans who hadn't lost their entire village found him an easy target to pick on - though they learned not to, after several incidents where at least one joint was bent back upon itself to the point of snapping, despite how that further hurt him in the staff's eyes. Even the prospective adopters overlooked him again and again: most humans did not want a son who would outlive them several times over, and the few elvish parents who showed up were put off by his sullen attitude. Worst of all, he grew away from those from the village as a result of all of this, losing his boldness in favour of isolation, though he always considered them friends despite his worsening connections, and vowed as readily as the rest to return to The Lying Wolverine on the tenth anniversary of the village's destruction.

In the end, he was one of the first of the Ardenfeld pack to be removed from the orphanage at 14 years of age, deemed unfit for adoption and lacking in the way of life skills. For a while, he managed to serve as a cleaner at a tavern, but grew ever less enthused with the sorts of people he saw there - far too many mocked him for some reason or another, and too often he saw them at their worst. More and more often, he kept to the wilderness beyond the city proper, learning how to build shelter for himself and hunt for food, and at some point in his sixteenth year, he simply didn't bother coming back to Sarinan. The untamed wilderness was more interesting anyway - and for them, as they chose to abandon their gender along with their civility and simply be, almost more like beast than humanoid, it proved something of a balm, at least in terms of avoiding new stress. The worst they experienced was an incident with an unpleasant berry; afterward, they learned to feed a nearby animal with anything they were not sure was edible, and through this means established how to distinguish between poison and treat handily, even learning to combine the latter in ways that produced herbal remedies. Truly, they felt themself self-sufficient, without need of the outside world.

Until one day, when they were happened upon by an explorer lost deep within one of the forests surrounding Sarinan, who begged for help in returning. The plea was eye-rolling, but they weren't bluntly evil, so they helped guide the man back to civilisation. This, they shortly felt, may have been a mistake - not long after, another person sought them out, requesting guidance to the next city over. Then another, and another... before they really knew it, they'd become an unofficial wandering guide, leading folks to and fro on what almost resembled a more typical work schedule. It was not exactly fun... though, granted, they did find solace in that they need not speak to do this work.

And they learned new skills, too. Surprisingly many people demanded they drive them to their location, and they figured out how to handle wagons, carts, and the like in difficult terrain quite readily. Likewise, many wished for maps to follow so they could take themselves through the routes followed on their own; it took a few rich patrons, but they established how to draw maps soon enough, even if they never found use for such drawings in their own right. Most interesting, however, was a man in a dark cloak, often ferried back and forth betwixt Pallaviel, Sarinan, and other cities... an assassin for hire, they realised after a time. Though it became clear he wished not to hurt his guide even at bowpoint, he did reckon he could teach Lael a few things as an alternate form of payment - after all, they already had an idea of how many natural poisons worked. It was just a matter of formal training with the proper equipment, something readily established with no risk when miles away from any other civilisation. And so they gained a great understanding of how to produce ever more potent toxins, and an unusual sort of friendship with the killer despite their disparate paths in life.

Until the day the man declared he was dying. He'd been double-crossed on his latest contract, and targeted by another killer with a poisoned blade, both keeping a stomach wound from healing and toxifying his blood. He made note that, yes, this was something Lael could not help him with... and yes, it hurt greatly to see them so agitated by their own helplessness. But if they truly wanted to help, then they could do this: find the perpetrator, and kill them for him. As for the assassin... he took a rest on a nearby rock, and encouraged Lael to leave him. He'd had enough with what he'd experienced, anyway. Best to pass quietly here, than publicly in a noose or something.

This became Lael's quest. The first step to accomplishing it: following through on the appointment they'd made all those years ago.

Going Forward

Lael is not entirely sure where they want to go in future. Though physically an adult, they are far from the experience needed to deem themself so by elven standards, and in a way far too traumatised to seek that experience out directly. The civilised world has not been kind to them, and returning to it is an unpleasant, almost fear-inducing thought. Even so, this does not mean they cannot cope with it; indeed, if they wish to fulfil their dying friend's request to avenge them, it is likely to be a necessity. A small part of them wonders if they can reacclimate to an urban environment, or if it is simply infeasible by now.

As for their friends... they tried to keep in touch whilst still in Sarinan, but as one of the earliest "adults" out, returning to communicate with former equals was taken in a poor light. They of course found it entirely infeasible once they took up residence in the wilderness, meaning that they have not especially attempted contact for the better half of a decade. This is not to say they have not seen any of them since - their role as guide has granted them contact with quite a few folks in quite a few places, and those companions who also took residence away from the cities were not infrequently encountered - but they feel they have grown apart from them, even if in their mind's eye they still hold the friend group as precious, and do everything in their power to keep them safe when they can. In truth, they rather suspect they've let down the Ardenfeld pack by effectively abandoning the others, and they wonder if they will actually be welcome at the planned reunion by the time they arrive.

Persona - Soldiers of Fortune

Alina Sanford

The moments after she was picked up went by in somewhat of a daze. She was lifted, then dropped, then the guards transformed into monsters... she couldn't bring herself to move away, even as somebody came to strike them down, telling them to run. She was frozen in place, the wrenching feeling in her body leaving her incapable of rational thought. Was that fear? Or just her usual laziness? Was she really so pathetic that she'd rather just die?

That was answered the moment one of the other girls grabbed her hand and dragged her along, snapping her out of paralysis as she sprinted with her. Yes, this was fear, she was terrified. Was she screaming? She couldn't hear herself, or much of anything else, she just knew they were running after some of the others.

They made it into the courthouse. About then was when she got the chance to breathe properly, and perhaps process what had just happened. That woman... who was she? Why did the guards turn into monsters? The judge's vision, what... never mind, this was beyond comprehension to her. She was barely managing to cope with her grandparents becoming permanent fixtures in her life, let alone being arrested and assaulted. All of this, all the pain, the too-real agony of her ankle... and she still hadn't answered Mary's question earlier!

Then along came more guards. With that, everyone more or less ran as the guy they'd followed insisted, Alina following along with the woman whose hand still grasped her.

Except that that woman turned, dragging har back the way they'd come. No, why, what- ...oh, there was another person. Yeah. Sure, that looked reasonable too. She was... she... she was running out of energy. Her leg hurt. Her body ached from her sprint earlier. Her lungs were still struggling from the previous chase. The woman didn't even seem to notice, pulling her along like a doll as they followed the maintenance suit's progress - and the lone stork that followed her. Care was disregarded, apparently. Okay.

At last the chase ended as the chasee ducked into a cell, escaping the notice of her pursuer, whilst the woman pulling her took cover against a wall as a patrol of untransformed, faceless fabric guards passed by. Those were dangerous enough, anyway. Didn't need them to turn into freaks of nature, too. Oh God, they were gonna die here, shit shit shit. That was too close. Her ankle was starting to swell. Crap.

She waited a moment as the guards, the monsters, the... whatever they were left the area, until no clear threats presented themselves. They were too exposed, her and her new friend who was still clinging to her. Okay. Okay yeah, they should...

'We should get in the cell.'

Standing up, and pulling the person along as best she could if they would come, Alina limped to the cell door, stepping inside and to the side of the door proper, looking around until she spotted the person they'd been following in the first place.

'Hi.'

...that was all she had? Useless. Idiotic.

Persona - Soldiers of Fortune

Alina Sanford

Alina had been kind of out of it since getting cracked across the ankle, a couple of times even. She was aware that most of the others were appalled by the hobbling of all and sundry, and that it was the one homeless guy's fault for trying to escape, but she couldn't blame him for it. He was stronger willed than her, that was for sure; she hadn't even tried to resist. She couldn't do it. But the pain... she could feel something twinge sharply in her ankle every time she took a step. She hoped it was just a trapped nerve.

She returned to full awareness about as they reached their destination. In the end, it was President Myron Pondwater who proved to be the warden, and evidently the judge, of the prison - but some weird version of him, with one discomforting yellow eye peering out and all that garb. No... the outfit was the same as usual. Just warped. And enough people had questions, alongside the dumped and beaten form of the runner from before, that Alina couldn't say anything about the matter for a time. And... they were here of their own will? That- she-

'No.'

Why do that, Alina? Why did she say anything? What was "no" going to accomplish? This man, he didn't care about whether they lived or died, or anything even vaguely resembling justice, he just wanted to put them on trial and ruin them!

Now they were all going to die because of her. She should have just kept it shut and done as she was told. What came next was her fault.