Open | November

[wwrench]

WHO: wwrench + OPEN TO ANYONE
WHEN: November
WHERE: Solvunn + Horizon + Nocwich
WHAT: Fortifying for winter and doing some shady (?) shit, setting up his Horizon and offering some ASL lessons, and general exploration
WARNINGS: TBD - will be marked and added as they appear

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COMMUNICATION FAQ
If you'd like to plot a closed starter with Wrench, catch me at stickyholograms

Comments

SOLVUNN.

[wwrench]

preparations

While Wrench has mostly settled into a new way of life in the months since his arrival, the man has not as quickly adopted anything that might fairly be considered a home.

He's no stranger to winters spent among the elements, and past experience has left him with a healthy respect for the whims of nature he knows he can no better predict than control. As November creeps in, Wrench can be found preparing himself for the following months with all the urgency of someone who knows better than to rely on anyone else for his own wellbeing.

That means hunting and fishing for what meat he can fell with his miniature tomahawk, or whatever weaponry he's been able to whittle, borrow, or liberate. Wrench has also taken to foraging and trading the flora and fauna native and plentiful to Solvunn that might fill a person's belly or season their meals.

Nothing goes to waste. Hides are scraped, soaked, and tanned, pelts are skinned and stretched, and blood is collected in containers for an unspoken use all its own. If there's something he has that you want, Wrench is open to offers. Trade him for clothing, supplies, or teach him some magic.

gods

Should paths cross, one might find Wrench making infrequent but surreptitious trips to the Offering Grove, around a bowl that managed to survive the damage caused by the Darkhounds. While he may appear to both arrive and leave empty-handed, after his departure the once-empty bowl might be seen bearing bits of animal entrails, macerated bone, and blood.

Or maybe he's nowhere near the shrines at all. Perhaps he's in the middle of a gathering -- a feast or a dinner or a collaborative build -- when all of a sudden Wrench stops and seems to pay his whole focus to someone in the crowd. The object of his attentions may appear innocuous enough, but something about the way the tall man stares at them makes it seem like he can't make heads or tails of whatever it is they're doing at the moment.

preparations

[nomnoms]

Blood in containers?

Although Nanaue spends most of his time in the Primary Settlement, there are days when he wanders to the south while hunting, trailing long distances on the trail of wild boars. Some of the hunters have even suggested to him (gently) that he widen his range, in the hope that his appetites don't conflict with the settlement's own needs.

Maybe Wrench is only just returning from a task when he notices a familiar silhouette standing close to a container. Nanaue is chomping down on the hind leg of some beast, tearing the remaining flesh from bone and peering into the container. He stops eating for a moment to turn to the approaching figure, waving with the same hand holding the half-eaten leg.

[wwrench]

For better or worse (though mostly the latter), Wrench has had a fair few more run-ins with various creatures since his initial meeting with Nanaue when he first arrived. "Creature" may be an unfairly broad descriptor for a category that spans from talking raccoons and women with fish scales to Darkhounds and skeletal beasts. He's trying to draw more specific categorizations in his mind, and the last month spent with the Dracone has gone a long way toward helping, but there's no pretending this all isn't still a little strange for the man.

That much is evidenced in the way he recoils when his approach back to his makeshift home base puts him face-to-face with the enormous man-shark. There's a split second where Wrench worries about what Nanaue has found. Not because he thinks the other might raid his supply of offal and ichor, but because he's somehow worried that whatever he just finished processing might've been a... friend... of Nanaue's.

Except clearly not, if his casual snack is any evidence. Wrench raises a hand in return, and approaches a little more slowly.

Hi. You can read?

[nomnoms]

Even if a creature was once a 'friend', as soon as it stops breathing it is difficult for Nanaue to distinguish the body from 'food'. Only a month or two ago was he partially stopped from feeding on the corpses of villagers left behind by the flower-head monster. Nero had tried to explain to him that some friends would be upset to find the bodies eaten, and would rather bury them.

To him, this seems like a waste of nom noms, but he conceded to Nero's argument.

As the text flashes across the nearest surface - the ground, he carefully reads it to himself before looking up at Wrench again.

ME GOOD READ
THIS YOU DRINK?

He points with the leg at the blood container.

preparation

[carmesi]

Wanda does not go up to Wrench for anything in particular. She isn't without her own supplies, and whatever she might be without she can create one way or the other. Still, it doesn't make her any less happy to be able to go up to him and practice what she's been learning from him during moments when nothing at all happens.

She signs a hello, feeling comfortable enough with the basics, and motions to the basket on her back. Putting her hands up for him to give her a moment, she starts again, shoulders straight and hands moving about as she signs the word honey.

With another pause, she manages to sign— Do you want some? Wanda can't think of the word for 'jar' at the moment, but that should suffice.

[wwrench]

The smile that crosses Wrench's face may be brief, but it's earnest. He settles his expression when the moment passes and gives her a cursory nod until he can clear his hands of the knife he's been using to scrape at a small bone. He cleans the blade on the grass and stuffs it back into his waistband before offering her a more intentional hey.

Most people in Solvunn have been more patient with him than he might have expected, but Wanda has gone beyond that. In the short time he's been here, she's sat with him and taken care to explain her thoughts and give him background on what's happened in the commune. Even when they have had to make heavy use of her telepathy for their own mutual understanding, she's been patient and respectful. Wrench might not know it if she ever saw more in his mind than what he thinks he's let her, but if she's caught a glimpse of anything that he hasn't wanted her to, she's never given him any indication of it.

The offer perks him up immediately. There are plenty of uses for honey -- more medical than culinary, even -- and he doesn't have the knowledge or the skills to brave collecting or processing it. But as quickly as he shows interest, Wrench tempers himself again.

Trade? His hands mimic an exchange of objects. What do you need?

gods;

[dogmeats]

It isn't his first time wandering carefully around the paths that surround the Offering Grove, nor is Wrench the first person he's stumbled across making their offerings to shrines. It doesn't put him off the way it might put off most folks — where he's from, worship of the old and new gods is fairly common. Less common but still something he's familiar with are the offerings made to the Lord of Light, beasts thrown into the fire to satisfy the flames. Religion marrying brutality, sacrifice in the form of flesh, these aren't new concepts.

If anything, he's more surprised by who it is doing the offering. The Lady Witch made sense to him, she seems the closest to a Fire Priestess this place can conceive of. Wrench, on the other hand...

Not but a few moments after Wrench makes his bloody offering, he'll receive a message.

DIDN'T PEG YOU FOR THE GODLY SORT.

Sandor's a few paces away in the treeline, a casual hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other settled comfortably at his waist. Watching, warily.

[wwrench]

As far as Wrench can tell, belief has always been a useless concept. Nothing has ever been more or less so simply because he believed in it. That doesn't mean, however, that religion has played no part in the man's life to date. True, he's experienced it only tertiarily -- first through the eyes of his partner Grady's grandmother and later through Hanzee. And maybe he could have learned to appreciate the culture and the community and the ritual of it all if he'd been given enough time, but mostly what Wrench has come to learn is that it, like everything else in life, is transactional.

Give and take. A price and a reward. Do for me and I'll do for you. It may reduce the whims of the Gods to something profoundly human, but at least it's comprehensible. And Wrench knows what he's meant to do. It's easier when the expectations are clear.

Since arriving at Solvunn he's met men who have claimed to be Gods in their own right, and Gods who have claimed to be women. Maybe they're all liars or maybe it's all true. The simple fact is that it's easy enough to do what he's been asked. It gives Wrench purpose and if it grants him a bit of protection, all the better.

He deposits what he's brought into the untarnished basin in the middle of the spiraling grove and wipes his hands clean of blood. He's still crouched when the message comes through. Wrench would be a lot more startled by it if he didn't recognize the handwriting. Something in his expression shifts from anger to wariness to amusement and he stands.

Didn't peg you for a voyeur either, but here we are. Or here I am. Where the hell are you?

Preparations

[lightkeeping]

Even without the semi-recent gathering at her compound, Aloy likes to pay attention to all the things that go on in the woods, both for her own safety and to stay ahead of any potential threats to the settlements. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Wrench seems to be preparing for a winter outside of civilization (such as it is), and Aloy keeps tabs on it, simply because it’s prudent to do so.

And he does seem like he knows what he’s doing, which is also good. She got that sense upon their first meeting, but seeing him in action makes her a little more heartened that he’s not going to end up in a bad spot, if he’s out here when the weather turns.

Hey.

She projects the words where he can see them, and then offers a raised hand in greeting and a tight-lipped smile (more a function of her own awkwardness than displeasure at the company).

Looks like you’ve been busy. Did you want a hand?

[wwrench]

If Aloy senses any wariness from Wrench, it might be easily explained away with everything that transpired at the last gathering for the new summoned. Her homestead made for a surprising locale, but there was no mistaking the man’s delight at his surroundings for the time he spent there. A few spoils of that evening still remained — the felled hogs were the first to give Wrench the idea of collecting their offal, and the big man made off with a couple of their skins for his trouble, too. Much as he tried to set right some of the snares and traps the chaos had triggered, he can’t say for certain they left her place as good as they found it.

So when he sees her now, maybe he’s half-expecting a lecture. Wrench sets down the knife and wipes a few remnants of blood from his hands onto the grass before offering his own wave by way of greeting.

I won’t say no, if you have the time. Not sure what winters in Solvunn look like, but I thought I should get ready.

Gods - gathering - late with starbucks

[divinityfrompain]

Julia is at one of the group dinners and she's getting a drink when she spots Wrench staring at someone. Her head turns to try and figure out who he's looking at, because it seems like a strange glance and she wonders if there's trouble, but after not making heads or tails of it, she walks over to him. She sets her food and drink on the table and then turns to face him.

Are you okay? I saw you looking.

She has learned a little more sign language thanks to his enormous patience and her determination to give him some conversation that isn't only mental. It'll take a while for her to get up to a level where they can actually talk fluidly, but Julia is determined to get there. Wrench seems (to her) like a good person who never knew magic so he must be doubly at a loss here, compared to most.

Dark hair is in braids and she turns again to look toward where she thinks he was, now that she's closer to him and the angles are better, but nothing is standing out to her. She glances back at him quickly so she doesn't miss a sign though.

[wwrench]

It feels prudent to try to fit in; now that Wrench is sure there’s no escaping this place he’s got to find better ways of conducting himself. So far, no one here seems terribly put off my his presence in Solvunn. It’s a relief to think that perhaps he’s managed to outrun his previous reputation, even temporarily. In fact, Wrench is startled to find that he’s invited to most tables. The conversation might be a little bit lacking, but it doesn’t stop the general members of the commune themselves from looking over what he has to trade and inviting him to drink.

Tonight, he’s probably not making the best impression. Sure, Wrench often finds himself staring into space, overwhelmed by the conversations flowing around him and disinterested in interjecting too much to try to keep up. But this expression isn’t one of boredom or detachment; it’s too pointed for that. The man he’s captured under his gaze looks no more than 20 years old. For all intents and purposes, he doesn’t seem the least bit out of place. There’s a small group around him, all of whom seem to be friendly with each other. They’re sharing a laugh over some story that someone’s told, and the man seems neither to be trying to stand out nor hide away.

Wrench glances up when Julia sits down, then double-takes when she raises her hands to sign. Fine, comes his dismissive reply, so casual and immediate that it doesn’t look like he’ll revise it. But after several seconds he takes a long drink and narrows his eyes thoughtfully at the woman across from him.

Is your magic all back?

foraging!

[beautifullies]

It shouldn't come as a surprise that Claire's out in the woods and when she sees Wrench, she has a fond greeting for him in the form of a warm smile and greeting in his mind.

𝑊𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑚𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠, 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘. She's certainly only teasing, and gives a wave of her fingers once he's facing her. 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑟, 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒?

[wwrench]

Wrench is not so distracted by his work that he doesn’t take note of Claire’s approach, but he lets the woman’s words be the first thing that raises his gaze from the bundles of foraged flora he’s preparing for what he expects to be a harsh winter. A smile edges at the corner of his lips for her joke, silent appreciation passing for a response that he doesn’t give in words. But he dusts off his hands and sets back from the tidy little piles to meet her eyes.

Glad to see you with all of your blood inside your body.

Actually, yes. A few things.

He gestures to a plant he’s collected that looks almost like a bundle of flowers with dark tubers and winged leaf blades. Protruding from the long stems are a smatterng of flower buds, some red and some a blue-ish purple.

HORIZON.

[wwrench]

He's only made a few trips in so far, but the act of creating something as easily as thinking it to life is clearly alluring. And it shows in the way that Wrench's Horizon space is starting to come together.

The modest cabin sits on the edge of a sparkling lake where the weather feels like early autumn all of the time. It's almost always dusk, with the sun just having set behind a ridge of unreachable mountains, but somehow the amber light doesn't blot out the thousands of stars in the sky.

Wandering a little further will reveal other amenities to take advantage of: a modest campsite with a nearby natural spring, broad swaths of forest with active wildlife, and even a patch of frozen water and an ice fishing hut where the Horizon's ambient temperature suddenly turns frigid.

Visitors can find plenty to entertain themselves with, but Wrench is also trying out something new when he's present in the space:

American Sign Language instruction.

[thedreamer]

The Doctor has learned quickly now about the Horizon being a shared space, having quite unfortunately encroached on Wanda's space recently. She'd been kind and gracious about it, and he's tended the area around his blue box the best he can, with care and reverence due the shared space. A gift, truly, to share it with another. As ever with him, though, it's rare to remain in one place, unless someone happens upon his Horizon and then, of course, he'll monopolize their time as long as they allow.

Wandering today brings him to a space he's not seen before and truthfully, it makes even this wild, fidgety, eccentric Time Lord actually slow and take stock of his surroundings. The stars, in particular, hold his attention for reasons that would be obvious to anyone who knows him. He's traveled the stars for so long that sometimes he forgets what they look like, especially from here. Even if this place is altogether different. It's quiet and peaceful, and he forgets what that's like sometimes, too because there's so much noise in his head all of the time.

Speaking of noise — he pivots when he spots a man not too far in the distance, and he intends to call out to him but then he notices the sign, so he waves hello with a bright grin as he approaches (perhaps too bright, but forgive him, he's just excited around people), and then he signs, Love your space. It's beautiful here.

He's fluent in sign language, despite not having occasion to utilize it much.

[wwrench]

To the average outside observer, it may be hard to discern why anyone would've bothered to spend their time constructing all of this. If the physics of the Horizon make nearly anything possible, the scene before them is among the most mundane. In fact, apart from some key details, it's not altogether dissimilar to some areas of Solvunn itself. What's the point of leaving his body back in the commune, defenseless and alone, to astrally project himself into another version of the same?

Maybe those stars, for one. While the whole place manages to be as familiar to Wrench as the back of his hand, it exists as the perfect ideal. Every detail feels plucked from some aspect of the best day of his life, or the greatest one he could ever imagine. There are only a few key things missing, and most of them the kind Wrench will never realize. Like the fact there's no internal sense of sound here. Water may flow and tree branches may tremble, but the only noise that exists here has to be brought in from the outside. It's another clear indication of just who may fit in here, long before any curious intruders meet the creator.

Wrench is busy lashing the stern of a canoe to the dock when movement catches his eye. He squints at the wave, but the face isn't one he recognizes. He's about to cross his arms warily when the stranger does the most unexpected thing he can think of: he signs. For a moment, Wrench is too stunned to reply. Did he create this too somehow?

Perfect weather, too. Never a bad day.

You sign?

[theidlemaiden]

Maybe it's having her own little cabin or cottage now in the Horizon that piques Hilda's curiosity about this particular one (not that she needs any sort of encouragement, she often wanders from domain to domain anyway), or maybe it's the blanket of stars above them that coaxes her to linger a little longer in this place instead of just going on her way. An enchanting place deserves a proper exploration, doesn't it? And hopefully the owner wouldn't mind a visitor.

Before venturing further into the domain, she leaves Waffle, her wyvern with a gentle stroke of his snout and a promise to return soon. The domain is quaint, lush with life, calming in the way that touches her soul. The axe throwing is what gives her pause. It's been so long since she's seen a set up like this; it's familiar and different in the same breath and something that she can immediately name as homesickness washes over her. Her hand lingers over the handle of one of the axes laid out, picking one up without thinking twice. Feeling the weight of it in her hand she lines up her shot and releases. A satisfying "thud" close to the centre of the target signals that it's hit its mark.

The footfall she hears behind her causes Hilda to turn around in surprise, a pleased smile springing to life on her face. "Sorry, I didn't realize that you were here. Is this your domain?" The sign however gives her pause. Sign language exists in Fodlan, although she'd never had to learn it herself or was close with anyone who did know it. "American" is familiar only so far as having heard it in passing conversation with Sam and Steve, but she's been here long enough to know that it was unlikely to be the same as the sign language in Fodlan. Curiosity sparks in her gaze. Instruction denotes expertise but she doesn't want to presume anything either.

[wwrench]

It's not as though the idea of ownership is foreign to Wrench; the big man certainly knows what it means to possess something. Despite the uniqueness of his upbringing, America has never been a particularly egalitarian society. But he's never had much use for trinkets anyhow. The important things have always been tools to aid in getting to something else. Here in this space, there's no reason to guard them carefully or hide them back. If someone walks off with something, he can simply recreate it anyhow. Nothing in the Horizon is particularly finite anyway, so it's hard to imagine it being precious.

For all that Wrench has created here, there are still some clear gaps in his construction. The occasional warm wind rustles through the leaves on the branches of a dense thicket of trees, but it doesn't make a single sound. Neither does the water that rushes over the pool of smooth rocks, or the canoe that bobs and sways with the gentle, manufactured current on the lake. All of the sound that exists here is brought in by someone else's imagination.

And perhaps the bigger oversight: Wrench hasn't conceived of a clearer way to communicate than the tricks he uses back in Solvunn. He could've whipped up a dry erase board at least, or maybe even a couple of cell phones with texting capabilities. But he hasn't even considered it.

So when he spies the slight, pink-haired stranger, he's a little taken aback. Wrench holds up a hand, like he's placating a cornered animal. It's a force of habit, really, and she is near a far few throwing hatchets.

Hi. At least brain texting still works in Horizon. Nice shot.

[northerndragon]

Jon had seen what felt like the entire North as a boy, but he had not really traveled outside of it, except to go North of the Wall. And a time had come when he had been resigned to living at the Wall for the rest of his life -- ten years, fifty, he wasn't sure. He might see the Haunted Forest; he would never see Oldtown, way down south, or Dorne, or anything of the whole world beyond. Braavos, Lys, Pentos... great cities, to be sure, but still only stories to him.

So he likes to walk about in the Horizon from time to time. Some of the things he encounters are so alien that he tends to steer clear of them.

Some...

Well, this isn't so different from the hunting cabin in the woods that had been his own contribution for much of a year. It has vanished, replaced now by a castle he feels little right to. So the person who would put up what looks like much the same thing he initially had, wood instead of stone but near enough on it, is a person he'd like to meet.

He tries to announce himself with a rap on the door, but maybe the great white wolf following him is more easily noticed.

[wwrench]

It’s strange to Wrench how this place can look so real and still contain so many clues to its seams. The stars in the sky have no right to shine as brightly as they do when the ambient light still illuminates the lake next to the little cabin. The breeze that rattles the leaves on the trees never seems to send a single one of them fluttering down to the ground. Neither does it make the air over the water cold enough to chill anyone. And of course, while Wrench himself doesn’t know it, the absence of internal sound in this place might be a good clue to anyone who wanders up.

He’s not in the cabin at the moment, but he’s not far off. So when Wrench reaches the clearing and emerges from a thicket of nearby trees, he sees the man standing at his door. Unfamiliar as he is, Wrench’s wariness lasts only a second. He’s done a little bit of wandering around the Horizon himself and his curiosity has led him into others’ domains, so he can hardly blame anyone for doing the same. But more than that, he hasn’t met anyone so far he’d consider an enemy. It’s weird to feel like some of those old habits that have helped keep him alive aren’t useful to him now, but he finds that he’s starting to shed them, one by one.

As Wrench approaches up the wooden path, he makes his footsteps a little heavier and his movements a little bolder, for all the good it does. That is, until he catches sight of the wolf at the man’s side. A moment of shock follows — he hadn’t put any wolves here himself — and Wrench stalls his step, then stamps his foot twice against the path to gain the man’s attention. When he does, he points to the large animal like the stranger somehow may not have noticed his own furry companion.

[restingstitchface]

Crane observes from the deck. His calm and quiet presence is mirrored by the serenity of the lake and surrounding woodland. Twilight is a fascinating time; suggestive of rest for most when for him it precludes being able to work. Not with people - or for them - but on everything that matters. Observations, hypothesis, predictions, experimentation and analysis.

He adjusts his glasses and wonders about the results of his interactions with this man. This man as given to silence and solitude as himself. There is little more to think, though. Because there is much more to say.

𝒩𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒.

Sometimes less words are better than more.

[wwrench]

Maybe there’s a certain irony inherent in the fact that, so soon after their previous conversation, Wrench has run off to create something familiar. With limitless possibility laid at his feet, all he could conjure up is some version of what his life has always looked like. Idealized, yes, but neither ornate nor unattainable.

He could’ve stayed in Solvunn and enjoyed very similar surroundings. It’s getting colder there, of course, and the sky may not cast such a brilliant kaleidoscope of color and constellation, but it’s not all that far off. The only real material difference is that this is his. Top to bottom, side to side. He can knock it down and build it back up as many times as he’d like. It’s a place of no consequence.

You like it? Wouldn’t think you’d be comfortable here.

NOCWICH.

[wwrench]

TBA

WILDCARD.

[wwrench]

Please feel free to throw anything Wrench's way. Can also be used for brain texts, passers-by, or observers who want to indicate they've seen Wrench doing something, but don't want to engage with him around it.