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The Village Mod ([personal profile] villagemod) wrote in [community profile] villagememes2020-11-19 10:10 pm
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test drive — winter



WINTER TEST DRIVE

Welcome to the test drive and thank you for your interest in The Village. This test drive is not game canon but will allow players the opportunity to experiment with game mechanics, the setting, and the flexibility of choice allowed by this game. The following prompts are examples of typical situations characters might face in the game. At least one thread from the TDM is required as part of the game's application process.

The setting details and locations are still being unveiled in the game, so prospective players are welcome to play with established locations or create their own within the general setting of Mathias.

( Recommended listening: )





INTO THE ENDLESS

Winter has arrived in Mathias. Snow falls steadily, big puffy flakes that pile up quickly in drifts as the wind blows them around town. The trees in the forest are covered in it, the branches bending under the weight and shaking when the piles fall from them to the forest floor. The roofs of buildings become solid white and drifts form in doorways as the wind tries to rush inside anywhere it can.

New arrivals wake in the forest, with its winding paths twisting back on themselves as they branch in either direction. It isn't safe to stray from the path, there is a menacing fog that waits just a few yards inward in any direction, but for now, there is nothing impeding movement along those snow-covered paths that cut through the trees. Continue stumbling in one direction and you'll reach the small town, coming out near the mishmash of quaint houses that nestle beside crumbling ruins that used to be homes. But choose the other and you'll seem to stumble on forever, huddling against the wind until there seems to be a clearing up ahead—

And then nothing. The earth opens up before you in a ravine so deep that the bottom cannot be seen. The other side can be seen, tantalizingly out of reach, and there is the sense that safety is just beyond, if only you could get there. But with that sensation is also the knowledge that if you stay here, you will die. The edge seems unsteady, like getting too close would set it crumbling and send you tumbling into that dark endless nothing that waits below...


BODIES WITHOUT SOULS

Benedict Books is nestled quaintly on the square surrounding Mathias's Town Hall, a thick layer of dirt covering the front windows. Looking through those windows provides a much different view than looking directly into the shop through the doorway — vague shapes and forms of figures seem to be inside, though no details can be determined through the streaks of grime. Flickers that resemble flashlights can be seen passing along the windows from time to time, and on occasion there is even a muffled tapping sound that comes from behind the glass, as if someone is trying to get your attention. The same distorted figures can be seen looking through the windows from the inside outward, but moving from one side or the other reveals... nothing. There is nothing there, and perhaps it is all in your imagination.

A portrait hangs at the front of the store to illustrate the namesake of the little shop... that may, in fact, not be so little. Dust covers everything in sight and detritus litters the wooden floor, as if someone left the door open and allowed half the forest inside.

The books are mostly familiar titles from the 1990s and earlier, but close examination will reveal that key details seem to have been changed. They fill shelves in neat lines along the walls and rows in between, the building almost seeming to stretch on forever until, finally, a small office can be seen tucked away in the back. A glance back toward the front door gives the impression that the room isn't that big, after all. Strange that you previously thought so.

Prying the door open is the only way to get inside the small office; the hinges have rusted and are caked with dirt and grime. Search as you might, there are no interesting bits of information to be found here beyond a few inventory lists on the little desk. There is, however, a green and gold safe in the corner that, no matter how many times one turns the dial, simply clicks and clicks. Scratches around the safe indicate that someone tried to get in at one point, though there's no indication as to whether they succeeded.


THE END APPROACHES

Standing at the center of Mathias, the town hall is a modest two-story building that would be welcoming if not for the faded sign, chipped paint, and deafening silence within its empty halls. It's a typical government building, with a reception desk at the front and rows of identical offices within, the names half faded from each door. But what catches the attention is a large bulletin board on the main wall beside the reception desk, once meant to hold flyers or announcements for the community.

What it holds now is decidedly different. Tacked onto the board are scraps of paper covered in an assortment of handwriting styles — requests for supplies should anyone find them, pieces of information shared in the hopes of someone understanding the strange symbols and mathematical equations, notes about those missing or recently deceased. And over the center of the board, tacked on top of other papers, is a map discolored with age. Mathias Township can be read in the corner, a stretch of forest displayed beneath it, but everything else has been smeared to illegibility with red... ink? Upon close examination, a keen eye will realize that the ink is actually blood, though whether it is human is unknown. And scrawled across that forest, nearly covering the illustration of a clearing and a large house within, are the words

he is coming

A number of tarnished metal pushpins are scattered around the edges of the board, waiting for future messages to be shared, and a stack of pristine white paper and pile of cheap ballpoint pens rest on one of three chairs beside the board. The chairs are clearly meant for those waiting for meetings and are covered in the same layer of grime as everything else in the building — everything except the pens, paper, and bulletin board.


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lovescold: ((03))

[personal profile] lovescold 2020-12-12 09:39 am (UTC)(link)
Elsa understands that, perhaps better than most people she knows. Not every stranger means to cause harm, but there are some who do, and that is reason enough to be wary. Just because she means no harm to anyone (except those who would hurt her or her loved ones) shouldn't mean anything to anyone who doesn't know her. So if Ellie is wary around her, she understands completely.

"I certainly didn't either. Something about this place is changing how I- Well, it's changing what I can do and how it affects me." She rubs the back of her neck a little sheepishly. "I'm not in the habit of falling into snowbanks."

And then she looks around them for a moment before turning her focus back to Ellie. "I did. I barely understand where we are, and I don't know how I even got here." At first she thought this was some intervention from the spirits, but now she's not so sure.
lovescold: ((08))

[personal profile] lovescold 2020-12-12 09:48 am (UTC)(link)
Old habits die hard, and when Elsa realizes that she's not alone in this room, it almost makes her want to freeze up more. It's bad enough that she's trapped with one hand frozen to the board, but now she's about to be seen by someone that could easily turn out to be a foe instead of a friend. She's not afraid of people seeing her powers for what they are, but there is still the smallest amount of deep-seated fear of being hated for what she is.

Still, when she realizes that all John's doing is leaning against the door frame and watching her, she relaxes just slightly. "Really? I hadn't noticed." First with the way her powers seemed to bring on exhaustion out of nowhere, and second with how she couldn't create a bridge of ice, she's already begun realizing that. And now that she's frozen herself in place, it's just further confirmed.

Oh, and now he's laughing, which she might have let roll off ordinarily, and it's not even that she's angered by it, although she frowns a little.

But she still carries her experiences from being a queen with her, and as such, she straightens herself up as best as she can, trying to give off the proper appearance of one, even if she isn't one anymore. "So it would seem, but I have this under control."

Only she doesn't, not in the least, although she's not about to tell him that. "I'm glad that you find this amusing."
hellblaze: <user site="insanejournal.com" user="frakkingcylon">. (cocky 🔥 and he swears he's not to blame.)

[personal profile] hellblaze 2020-12-12 10:11 am (UTC)(link)
"Oh, right. Under control." John lets out a wheezing laugh again, gesturing to her hand. "Do you always get your hand stuck on message boards with spooky writing?"

He shakes his head slightly at her. Oh, someone's right proper. High society! He can tell by the turn of the nose and the up-tilt of the head. Years of roaming around London gave you a bit of an insight on who was who and where they stood on the ground.

"Suppose we have the highly educated, now the proper people. Well, isn't Mathias just..." he presses his lips together. "Quaint."

Still, John raises the lighter in his hand. With a bit of a shake, he gestures to her hand.

"Now, if we're done acting like you're on a higher pedestal than me just because of that gorgeous white hair of yours? How about I work a bit of my own magic?"
hellblaze: <lj user="synthnights">. (annoyed 🔥 about time for anyone.)

ii. bodies without souls

[personal profile] hellblaze 2020-12-12 01:02 pm (UTC)(link)
I wouldn't call it empty, luv.

[ john has a way with words -- and a way of stalking into a place without being noticed.

a bit of a miracle considering he's not walking properly. happens when the ribs are cracked and he's too stubborn to actually rest and heal.

he lofts an eyebrow at her dress. fancy. fancier than most people he's run into in the town. not to mention she's very easy on the eyes. he gives her a slow grin, tucking the cigarette behind his ear. then, he goes to lean against one of the pillars.

--and hisses. that's a bad idea. ]


Unless you mean ghosts. Then, yeah, the whole town is bloody empty.
liliowy: (Default)

[personal profile] liliowy 2020-12-12 02:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[ yennefer's head snaps sharply in the direction of the voice, a sudden break in the bitterly cold silence.

she didn't hear his approach - a point of unmistakable annoyance to an already sour mood and the look she gives him is one of equal parts weight and calculation. he's injured, the stiff and crooked motions of someone eager to avoid the pain their own body afflicts them with.

and, he seems to think he's ruggedly charming. quaint.

her brows knit at the statement, a look cast back into the bookstore.
] There were lights inside. [ her pivot towards him is slow and measured, answer a statement rather a blatant explanation. this conversation may stand to still be a touch more useful than the dust gathered on old books. ] Lingering spirits seems like a very particular point to bring up. Why?
tinstar: (say what)

[personal profile] tinstar 2020-12-12 07:03 pm (UTC)(link)
Raylan's head tilted as she came into view. Whatever he was expecting, she was not it. But in places like this, anything could take that form, he figured, and he didn't trust that she wasn't some kind of manifestation. It sounded insane if he said it out loud, even still, but that didn't make it any less possible.

"Never sure how far I need it to carry," he answers.

Sure, she wasn't hiding which is why she came out of the treeline when there'd never been anything 'alive' there before.

"Where'd you come from?"
vicarium: (pic#14482229)

[personal profile] vicarium 2020-12-12 11:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[The sudden movement with him reaching out to her and staring all while he pulls back leaves taken back since that was the last thing she expected when she answered his question.

Her brow furrows in confusion as she looking at him questioningly. There isn't an ounce of recognition in her expression, they had only just met and for some reason he seemed to regard her as she was supposed to know him but considering he called her by a different name, it only confirms for her that it was probably a case of mistaken identity]
I'm sorry but— who are you?

I don't know anyone named Claire but my name is Allie.
aprofoundbond: (If love is what you need)

[personal profile] aprofoundbond 2020-12-13 12:30 am (UTC)(link)
[As she looks at him in confusion, Castiel comes to realize his mistake; this isn't Claire, he thinks. They could very well be twins, or long lost relations of some sort, but this young woman is not Jimmy Novak's daughter as he originally assumed. He feels a strange combination of both aching regret and a quiet relief.]

Sorry. You just...you look like someone I know. A very close resemblance.

[He clears his throat, wondering if there's a way he can salvage this conversation and prevent it from becoming even further awkward on his end.]

My name is Castiel. Did you just arrive here, Allie?
hellblaze: <lj user="synthnights">. (scarf 🔥 man is what he loves.)

[personal profile] hellblaze 2020-12-13 02:10 am (UTC)(link)
[ he looks around, gesturing to each side. lights? well, if the lights were inside, they aren't here now. he half turns, another wince showing on his face as a hand reaches up to gesture to the windows of the shop. ]

Are you sure the lights were inside the building? [ one eyebrow raises at her pivot, but he lets a lazy grin take his face instead. oh. sizing up one another are we? he could play along. ] Because we tried looking for spirits here. No connections whatsoever. Not even the ones that play on repay.
cluing: (115)

Sherlock Holmes ✣ BBC's Sherlock

[personal profile] cluing 2020-12-13 02:14 am (UTC)(link)
i. into the endless (cw: mentions of drug use)

[ It's a peculiar turn of events, which is putting it quite mildly. For a man who almost always everything worked out steps before it happens, Sherlock is immediately frustrated upon waking up in the middle of a snowy woods.

Granted, it's not the first time he's ended up somewhere unexpected. Whether it's been from using too many substances himself to someone else purposely drugging him and tossing him somewhere, it's definitely happened. But there was usually reason for it. Now? Sherlock has no reason without reaching too far for explanation.

With no obvious sign pointing one way or another to go, Sherlock makes his choice of direction. He's thankful for the heaviness of his coat and his usual scarf and gloves. While they're more ideal for a London winter than this, they provide some insulation against the chill and the falling snow. He's gotten to the point of ignoring the way it bites at his ears and his face when, at last, he sees the clearing ahead. Thank God, he thinks, but the sigh he exhales is short lived.

A clearing, yes. But also a dead end.

As Sherlock edges close to the edge, he feels a horrible pang of deja-vu. His eyes glance down, then to the other side of the ravine, then back the way he came.
]

Oh, come on.


ii. bodies without souls

[ The main thing that Sherlock has gleaned since his arrival is that he is not in England anymore. That's about the only thing he's positively certain about, which isn't a state of mind he's used to, and he's doing a poor job of not letting it get under his skin. Mysteries simply don't go unsolved around him. The fact that he can't pick up even the vaguest clue of anything is growing exceedingly more annoying.

Naturally, the best thing to do is check out the buildings. The township is small. A thorough investigation of each place will only take a few days at best. No matter how good anyone is, they always slip up somewhere. Eventually, Sherlock thinks, he'll find where this person has gotten lazy. No one can commit this much effort without something not lining up.

So he goes to the bookstore. The supposed figures inside must be projections. The tapping on the windows, a mechanism of some sort. That's the most easily explained thing so far. The books inside, a little less so. As Sherlock investigates the decades old titles and makes not of the mistakes in the writing, he wonders just why someone would go to such drastic extremes. There are people of all sorts out there, but what can be the possible gratification from kidnapping people and putting them in a fake place?

(Sherlock has since ruled out that it's some sort of studio lot for filming, and he hasn't found evidence of cameras hidden around, so he doesn't assume someone is watching them. It could still be a strange social experiment.)

He shelves the book in his hands and turns his attention to the office. He'll turn the whole room over if he has to.
]


iii. the end approaches

[ A map smeared with blood is nothing new to him. Sherlock barely pays it any mind at all, knowing almost too soon what it is, because he's far more interested in the map. Rather than simply commit it to memory, he takes up some of the paper and one of the pens and begins to copy it out, detail by detail, including the ominous message.

Figuring out the identity of he is important, of course.

The other things are important, too. Even the simple messages asking for things can say something about the people who wrote them, and everything else is just another piece of the puzzle. With a fresh piece of paper, Sherlock begins to copy down all the notices as well. Addresses, names, in memoriam notices. It's all written out and folded up before being slipped into his pocket. Then, Sherlock tacks his own information up.
]

Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.
Please leave notice here should you know anything
of importance.



iv. wildcard

Choose your own adventure. Anything goes~


liliowy: (Default)

[personal profile] liliowy 2020-12-13 03:03 am (UTC)(link)
[ she gives him a stare that, at very best says: yeah no shit john she has eyes.

but she needs him for answers. her power ebbs and flows here, a point of indescribable frustration. more so, she can't even reach out with her mind - she feels his presence somewhere in the periphery, just enough to tell her he's there. his thoughts are firmly locked away out of her proverbial sight.

fuck.
]

I'm certain enough. [ pinched. he keeps wincing. she's almost curious. she may not be trained explicitly in healing magics, but she knew enough. a bargaining chip, perhaps.

yen is nothing if not calculating.
] Perhaps they had no desire to linger. [ she knows that sounds wrong. no one was ever that eager to move on. ] Or something drove them away.

[ she tilts her head, and tries to ignore the chill. small thing to be cling to pride over, but small things is where it mattered most. ] What happened here?
cluing: (121)

i. into the endless

[personal profile] cluing 2020-12-13 03:45 am (UTC)(link)
Hello?

[ Sherlock wouldn't say he's pleased to see someone else. He's rarely pleased to see people at all, but even he can't deny the very human response of relief that rushes through him. Another person wandering must mean there's something nearby. A town, a cabin, something.

But he comes up from the side of her, one of the winding paths that has the danger of circling back on itself if you're not paying too much attention.

Luckily, Sherlock is always paying attention, so he knows he hasn't doubled back on himself.
]

Are you the only one out here?
hellblaze: <lj user="synthnights">. (crew 🔥 there's always time to change.)

[personal profile] hellblaze 2020-12-13 03:57 am (UTC)(link)
[ someone isn't much of one for playing along. he smirks at that. looks like she would rather get straight to it then. a bit boring, really. he preferred some foreplay.

john steps one step closer. his hand stays gestured to the windows. then, it looks like--could it be? a light. is it moving outside? ]


Or, they were never inside to start with, luv. [ he motions for her to follow quietly, his tone dropping to hushed whispers. ] Your guess is as good as ours.
lovescold: ((022))

[personal profile] lovescold 2020-12-13 06:25 am (UTC)(link)
"Yes, under control," she repeats, still holding herself upright, as tall as possible, even with one hand frozen to the board. "I can- Well, I can control ice, so this is no problem at all." That's just the smallest of stretches, but she's trying to save face here, and he's not really helping matters any.

"And what's so wrong with being a little proper?" She doesn't mean to be so argumentative, but like it or not, he's pushing some of her buttons. "Is that what this place is called? Mathias?" She remembers seeing that name before, but she hadn't quite made that connection until just this very moment.

And then she chuckles in spite of herself, because as frustrating as he evidently is, he's at least a little funny as well. "That white hair of mine is not the only thing placing me on a higher pedestal than you. But all right, if you're so inclined, I wouldn't mind seeing what magic you have."
hellblaze: <lj user="synthnights">. (cocky 🔥 in the meantime we let it go.)

[personal profile] hellblaze 2020-12-13 07:36 am (UTC)(link)
There is a laugh at her attempt of standing tall and in charge. It would do a lot of good if he bothered to respect any sort of laws or crowns. Unfortunately for the once queen, John could really give two shits that she had a crown atop her head. He didn't even care for the queen of his own country.

Though, Elsa is much better looking.

"Mathias Township. Welcome to our little corner of maddening puzzles." John gives her a lazy grin. "Ah, sorry to break that little bubble of yours, luv, but... no one is going to care you've got the gorgeous hair. Unless they want to try and seduce you by complimenting it."

He presses his lighter into his hand. With closed eyes he mutters something in a foreign tongue. Latin, perhaps. The cross on the lighter glows just a bit. His hand then rests surprisingly gently on hers. A warmth spreads through his palm over the back of her hand. Then it feels as it quickly shoots through both of them and into the wall.

Fingers curl around her hand then pull it from the wall. Takes a bit of a force, which his ribs certainly don't agree with, but he laughs all the same.
lovescold: ((05))

[personal profile] lovescold 2020-12-13 08:23 am (UTC)(link)
She might not be Arendelle's queen anymore, but she can still comport herself like one. And, well, if he doesn't respect laws or crowns, that's fair enough, she supposes. He's like no one she's ever met before, which makes her think it's not really fair on her part to expect any kind of deference, because clearly he's from a very different background than herself.

"I see." She doesn't, actually, but she's not going to say that just yet. "So I suppose it's safe to assume that you aren't from here either." Just the way he said that makes her think that's a possibility. "And in case you wondered, I don't care if anyone thinks I have gorgeous hair." She rolls her eyes, because saying that, even somewhat sarcastically feels so incredibly arrogant. Her hair could look like a damaged broom and she wouldn't be that put out. Hair can be cut, after all, even if that isn't remotely the point.

As he starts working his magic, Elsa watches him closely, and a little warily, as if unsure about the safety of this whole thing. But the next thing she knows, he's pulling her hand free, and her eyebrows shoot up almost into her hairline.

"How- How did you do that?" She sounds incredulous, almost disbelieving, but she's seen enough of magical things to not be that surprised. "I mean, thank you. You did that quicker than I expected," Elsa adds, because it wouldn't do to not thank him for his help. And then flexing her fingers as if to restore some of the lost circulation, she gives him a quick looking-over.

"That was very impressive."
hellblaze: <lj user="synthnights">. (smirk 🔥 the sun shines on everyone.)

[personal profile] hellblaze 2020-12-13 09:10 am (UTC)(link)
"None of us are," John explains easily and gives a dashing tip of her hand before letting it go. Oh, play it up, Johnny. "You say that, luv, but I can't help but think a small bit of you likes being complimented by a tall dashing mysterious bloke in a trenchcoat."

He rolls the lighter in his hand before placing it back in his pocket. A quick smirk takes his face and a perk of his eyebrows. "Magic."

Obviously it's a shit answer. He raises his finger to the bulletin board, more importantly the business card. Just in case she somehow hadn't put it together that it was him.

"If that's all it takes to impress you, then, your head will be spinning in a day or two."
abrightboy: (a bit smug)

iii

[personal profile] abrightboy 2020-12-13 03:39 pm (UTC)(link)
"You're taking notes," Malcolm observes from just at the front corner of the reception desk. "Most of those were left by the other people trapped here. I'm not sure they count as clues. Though some of them are warnings." Including his own message, which he didn't sign.
liliowy: (Default)

[personal profile] liliowy 2020-12-13 04:21 pm (UTC)(link)
[ excuse her for being too cold and pissed off for foreplay right now, john.

her frown deepens further, threatens to twist into a full scowl as she turns to look at the flicker of light outside.

is she being toyed with, again?

he motions for her to follow, and while she does, it lacks enthusiasm. she takes a deep breath, her face a mask of passive irritation, a sharpness that is borne out of natural distrust. rugged charm and easy grins won't disarm her so quickly, after all.

still, she follows because maybe he can show her something worthwhile.
] You aren't a local to these parts.

[ she does keep her voice low. ] So you're just being cryptic on purpose?
liliowy: (Default)

[personal profile] liliowy 2020-12-13 05:18 pm (UTC)(link)
[ her head snaps to up at the sound of another's voice coming from the side of her, breaking through the snow-blanketed landscape around them, cold and unfamiliar.

she isn't sure who she was expecting to see, but her eyes narrow, confusion written clear across a soot-smudged face. his clothes stick out of the most, dark silhouette carved across the flurry of white, coat cut too-sharp.

and no armor or sword in sight. she isn't sure if it is relief she feels, exactly. perhaps it is, beneath the bone-deep tiredness. the cold had done wonders to numb the wound at her side she keeps out of sight, and blurs her senses enough for him to be able to approach her without hearing him first. a stark point of irritation.

with a set jaw, and unease bleeding out into her posture, she frowns.
] So far. I woke up here without a bloody memory of how.
fika: (pic#14497076)

i. into the endless!!

[personal profile] fika 2020-12-13 05:35 pm (UTC)(link)
[ five isn't sure when pacing around and into the forest truly became habit, but it did. whether it is in the hopeless search of familiar faces (faces he didn't want to see appear here, no more than the singular one already had, because that added complications. it made solving this stupid place of a puzzle more urgent. and urgent meant messy. sloppy. prone to mistakes.)

so five takes to the forest path anyway, because habits are a hell of a thing. because he wonders if this time he'll stumble back out to the clearing of gravestones.

he never does, instead encountering new faces the forest decides to spit out into this haunted place.

he picks up on the footprints early on, and teleports enough of the distance to catch up just as sherlock finds him at the edge of the ravine.

five's blink is, for the most part, a silent thing, lifting up some snow as he lands by a tree, steadies himself and straightens his coat. habitual movements of a once-professional.
]

Town's the opposite way. [ a bit cheeky, maybe.]
cluing: (Default)

[personal profile] cluing 2020-12-13 06:32 pm (UTC)(link)
"Well done."

Does the man want a gold star for his incredibly astute observation? Though the word note implies a partial copy rather than a complete one, so technically the statement isn't wholly correct, which is neither here nor there. Sherlock doesn't even spare the stranger a glance, much more focused on finishing the last of his copyings.

"I'd prefer to only return here for new information, not waste my time in coming back to verify what I've already seen."

And, really, not even Scotland Yard would assume that a girl thanking someone for a guitar or asking for jokes would be a clue.
abrightboy: (a bit smug)

[personal profile] abrightboy 2020-12-13 06:38 pm (UTC)(link)
"It's not exactly a library. You can't remember that much?" Malcolm remarks, his tone casual. Still, he feels like maybe the stranger needs to be met where he lives. Arrogance Street, apparently.
cluing: (Default)

[personal profile] cluing 2020-12-13 06:41 pm (UTC)(link)
One would hope so.

[ But that's actually good to know. There's a town, seemingly nearby enough for a teenager to wander away from in this weather. Towns mean phones and phones mean he can, against every desire he has, call Mycroft and get this all sorted.

He turns on his heel and takes in the young man, deciding that, if he had to be find by a child, this one seems preferable.
]
cluing: (Default)

[personal profile] cluing 2020-12-13 06:47 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Good, they can both share a moment of being perplexed by the other, though the way she looks is low on the list of Sherlock's priorities. What is more important is that she clearly isn't a local and they've both ended up in the middle of this forest with neither rhyme nor reason as to how. ]

That would make two of us.

[ But perhaps if Sherlock can find a connection between the two of them, it might lead to the person behind this.

First, though, some sort of shelter might be nice.
]

There's a ravine back the way I came. I'd say we can't be worse off by carrying on the way you've been going.