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singillppl2025-02-05 07:03 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2025-02-05 07:03 pm
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February 2025 Test Drive Meme
FEBRUARY 2025 TDM
PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A new group of arrivals find themselves lost in the frozen wilds and vulnerable to the dangers of nature. With luck, they make it to the town of Milton, and to a friendly face offering food, warmth and shelter — and the current inhabitants, their fellow survivors.
PROMPT TWO — WINTER'S BITE: Tales of superstition from the Northern Territories appear to come to light in the form of fearsome creatures made of ice and bone.
PROMPT THREE — FROZEN HEARTS: A strange, new affliction causes Interlopers to find themselves figuratively and literally turning to ice, and there's only one way of saving them.
ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST
WHEN: Start of the month.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.
'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'
It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.
These are the words of the Darkwalker, you’ll soon come to find.
You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. This place has been ransacked, abandoned long ago. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you.
Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — you are completely alone.
The daylight is thin. Hours are few. It will get dark soon.
You may feel different, too. Any powers or magics you may have feel... absent. Disconnected. Things that may not have affected you previously now do. Something in you has changed.
You know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. You’ll find one soon enough. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, and the terrain is difficult: slips and falls are likely. You’re completely vulnerable out here in the open.
Or it’s possible you may come across someone else here. Someone who looks far better prepared to deal with the freezing cold and frozen landscape, out hunting or gathering. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?
Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights: a small mining town tucked up in the valley. Battered, rusted road signs will direct to “MILTON, POP. 947”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!
As you head into the outskirts and then further into town, you’ll find it’s a little easier to walk but the cold has gripped you hard. You’ll find the buildings, both shops and homes, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more.
Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a school-house of sorts, or some kind of community hall. Perhaps both. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.
The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face. He smiles warmly, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.
“They come again. I had thought we may not see more of you.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you, Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. You are not the only one, the lights are changing things. Come. Mother Nature has not been kind to you, but there are plenty here to help.”
The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.
There are canisters with hot herbal teas, mostly. But some coffee can be found. There’s also soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast for those who have battled the cold to come here.
Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks — aided by a handful of others in the Hall. Your fellow survivors, but those who have been here for some time now. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames.
He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but gesture to your fellow survivors. They will have better answers than him.
WINTER'S BITE
WHEN: The Month of February.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural beings; magical beings; potential cold injuries; potential cuts/bleeding
Amongst the original inhabitants to the Northern Territories, superstition and folk tales were much more prominent — stemming from a mix of superstitions that settlers brought with them to the area and those beliefs of people native to Northern Territories. Some are familiar to Interlopers, others may be less so.
Much of this is now lost, with the population of Milton dead or gone, but some writings can be found in the town. Some wrote of their superstitions in regards to the changing weather and wildlife in personal journals in the lead up to what is known as The Flare, which may still be found in the empty homes uninhabited by Interlopers. Some note feeling as if 'the souls of the animals are angered somehow' or that the changes to the Aurora may be as if 'the afterlife comes too close to the world'.
Maybe they had a point, maybe they were on to something. It’s hard to really say for sure.
Whether it’s magic, some supernatural cause, or something caused by the Aurora, there’s a strange shifting in snow that blankets the Northern Territories. Throughout the month, angry chittering and clacking — like glass or bones — can be heard out in the wilds. Out of the corner of one’s eye, they may see the snow move of its own accord — with confronting it leading to nothing, and stillness.
For a time.
Until whatever it is finally strikes.
Out from the snow, spectral creatures comprised of ice and animal bone spring forwards — jittering and clunky in their movements. Long bodies that twist and dance in the air, all sharp teeth and even sharper ice. Is it a kind of animal? Or spirit? Some mix of both? An angered spirit of nature or some long dead animal? It’s hard to tell for sure.
Despite their clunky movements, their bodies rolling and jaws chattering, these strange spectral creatures are fast and they’ll strike hard — looking to take a chunk out of the unsuspecting and unprepared Interlopers. Even just brushing against one of these strange creatures can lead to some nasty lacerations if they knock themselves hard enough against you. What’s maybe worse than the lacerations themselves is the wounds will burn with their chill, colder than anything you’ve ever felt.
But being made out of bone and ice means they are also just that. Blunt force may just be enough to end up shattering the bodies of these creatures, sending their remains flying. Be careful, though. Those shards are still just as sharp and will become flying projectiles which could cause further injury to Interlopers.
Alternatively, a way to battle back these ice creatures would be through the use of flame. Fire, torches, Interlopers with the Lightbringer Feat would prove vital in getting rid of these creatures long enough to get to safety.
Fleeing is also an option. The creatures will attempt to chase for a time, but will soon give up and end up returning to the snow once more.
FROZEN HEARTS
WHEN: The Month of February, into March.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural ailments; body horror; characters turning to ice; potential character death.
The cold is a persistent thing in the Northern Territories. Even during the summer months, it doesn’t seem to get warm all that much. But the winter is a different kind of beast, and the cold seems to sink into your very bones.
It starts with a kind of cold that you find it hard to get warm, no matter how long you spend by the fire. In time, it feels like that cold has started freezing your body up: your joints feel stiff and sore. Moving around is a chore, even for the simplest of tasks like walking or sitting down. In time, it gets into the smaller joints: fine motor skills become tricky. You drop things, fail to grip on to items, struggle to close your hands into fists. Even talking can be a bit of a struggle, like you’re slowly getting lockjaw.
With that, it’s not surprising that your mood will dip. Sour moods, and even icy manners aren't out of the ordinary. It’s easy to be miserable when you’re so damn cold and you’re struggling to move and speak. It is so easy to find yourself with lowered spirits, to be irritable and closed off from your fellow Interlopers.
It feels as if nothing might warm you, physically or emotionally.
You find yourself being cold towards others, even those you care about most, your closest companions in this world. You may snap at them, or continually brush them off. You find yourself with little patience for them, and are often unmoved by their attempts to bring you some good cheer.
And certainly, what isn’t out of the ordinary is the strange affliction that plagues your skin. It isn’t frostbite, that you know of. Your skin doesn’t turn red, then white then black. No, it turns blue, frosted with white. Your skin looks less like skin and more like stone….. Or, rather, ice.
It starts in the fingers and toes, and will slowly work its way up your limbs, working its way towards your center. Even your hair may start to freeze. As it progresses, you find it harder to move. In enough time, you may find yourself completely frozen on the spot, and in time, unable to even speak as the ice slowly encloses around you.
If something isn’t done quickly enough, you may find yourself completely turning to ice and being trapped as nothing more than a statue.
Hope isn’t lost, though. They say in stories there’s such things that might save some terrible affliction such as this: An act of true love.
This cold isn’t beaten back by flames, but a different kind of warmth.
But what is true love?
It might just be enough to reverse the effects and undo this terrible affliction before it’s too late, to let the ice slowly melt back again and restore you to what you once were.
FAQs
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.
1. Digging in the snow where the creatures have returned will prove fruitless, Interlopers will not even find bones.
2. The creatures can spring on Interlopers in groups of up to three.
1. The notion of true love is open to interpretation. Platonic love, familial love, romantic love could be deemed as acts of true love. Perhaps even the genuine compassion of a fellow Interloper could be seen as true love.
2. An act of showing true love is very flexible! It could be a kiss, a hug, shedding tears for the afflicted, some desperate attempt of helping the afflicted from freezing. Players are encouraged to play around with what this might entail!
III.
Louis is doing terribly. He hates it here, like a tropical plant thrown out into the cold. He has nightmares about how Claudia is missing and what danger she could be in. The irony is that she took to killing better than Louis ever did.
He generally avoids a fight, but he reasons that the supernatural swiftness granted to him by the Aurora will carry him away from danger. He follows a trail of footsteps and blood to see the ice and bone creatures chasing an indistinct figure.
He thinks of the intrepid Claudia again, whispers, "Aw hell..." to himself, and opens his lighter to ignite a torch he carries for occasions such as this. He darts supernaturally fast over the snow, and the torch collides with ice and bone in a shower of sparks. He yells, "Fuck you!" as an explosion of icy shrapnel rips his jacket and the torch gutters out in the struggle.
This was a mistake. He retreats from the remaining creatures. Louis is now sure that this figure spotted with red is not anyone he knows. He couldn't give two shits who he is. Maybe in the shelter of the building he will ask if he has seen Claudia. Maybe he will perform a coup de grâce and not have to hunt tonight.
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Louis.
They may not have the happiest companionship, but he's still his companion. Exactly how is he still moving so quickly? That's a question for later.
For now, he swings the two-by-four with all his might, shattering the ice holding bones together. This isn't about to be how either of them die.
"Here!" he shouts, seizing another two-by-four and tossing it in Louis' direction.
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He rushes to close the door with haste, allowing Armand enough time to get inside, but only just. If he dallies, Louis will not consign both of them to death. He slumps panting against the door, but he needn't barricade it. The wraiths outside are only ice and bone, and they clatter fruitlessly against the wood.
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But Armand's nervous system has a job to do, and it isn't behavior analysis. After approximately 450 years of existing, most of which were spent being the scariest thing within his immediate proximity, his self-preservation instincts have more or less taken flight out of the equation (unless he's facing an awkward social situation, like potential rejection, but that's neither here nor there).
And maybe his regard for his own life isn't all that, either.
So it's not until after the creatures have settled upon the surface of the snow as little more than fine dust and splintered remains that it occurs to him that he could have died. He looks down at the sluggish bleeding oozing from his wounds, noticing with macabre fascination that it isn't healing. How novel, still. The pain is bracing.
Winded--also a new sensory experience, it's like experiencing rebirth and earning all those little mortal milestones all over again--he casts aside the two-by-four and thumps twice on the wall Louis is hiding behind.
"It's me. They're gone."
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"What the hell were those things? And... did you see anyone else out there?"
He resists to add "by any chance," feeling that he is unable to force any casualness, that his quiet desperation would show too much in his voice. (It already has.) There is a softness to it that speaks of someone lost, someone with whom he once spent happy times.
Louis covers his nose and mouth then, as he cannot resist the rising smell of blood. His eyes flutter closed, and he forgets what he was about.
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Without another word, he tries to close the distance between them for a brief kiss--nothing passionate, as Louis hasn't felt passion for him in some time.
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He can understand a stranger approaching him in relief, danger making for strange bedfellows, metaphorically speaking. He does not understand a stranger getting uncomfortably close. He feels it, the parting of air as it flees the space between them. The blood is close. He is close, too quick, too familiar. There's something soft and almost chaste against his lips, but that is nothing compared to the rising hunger for blood that threatens to drown him. He will kill this strange young man with the large liquid eyes, and he will hardly know what he has done until he sees the drained body crumpling to the ground—
Louis's eyes fly open in alarm, his previous uncaring attitude about this person's life forgotten. It is not the taking of someone's life that bothers him—he has killed thousands by now—so much as succumbing to his baser nature. It is selfish, the amalgamation of all of Louis's faults, but the end result is the same: He roughly pushes Armand away.
"The hell you doin'?!" he blurts out in a desperate, strangled way.
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"Louis?" Armand's voice is concerned, and he gives Louis a long, unblinking stare with bright orange eyes before deciding what's wrong: his companion is hungry.
"I see," he murmurs, uncovering the painful wound across his ribs. "Take it. It has always been yours, my love."
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Louis has never seen this person before in his life. This person... is a vampire. Louis was distracted before, but it is plain to see now. The funny eyes, the flawless skin, the disregard for his wound. Any human would be immediately seeking a way to patch it up. The smell of blood chokes the air, or so it seems to Louis. Louis's eyes linger overlong on the wound when he should be paying attention to the vampire's movements. Louis should be concerned that he might kill him. That was always his worry should he cross paths with another immortal, however curious he might be about them.
He is afraid for these reasons. Louis feels his own body pressing against the wall. It's always unsettling when a victim offers themselves up willingly. Killing humans was always a sordid affair to him, the shame to be hidden away in a dark alley, the blood to be taken by force in the end despite how enthralled his victims might be by his beauty.
"Who the hell are you?" he manages to get out. "How do you know my name?"
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Armand's face falls, and his gaze goes distant.
Louis does not know him. Louis is, of all things, afraid of him. Like Lestat, something is missing. Time is missing.
As many times as he has wished he and Louis could have a fresh start, he never would have actually chosen it. They've been through too much together. Some of it might be stuff they put each other through, but the point remains.
None of that applies anymore. It's all been erased, in spite of everything.
"I..."
Armand covers his bleeding wound again, slowly, his eyes dimming from bright orange to clear amber.
"Forgive me. I thought we had met. I'm the vampire Armand."
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He can't even say it. He called him love, something only one person has uttered to him in that way. He offered him his blood. He kissed him. How is this possible?
"I've never met another vampire. No one besides..."
He raises his hand to his mouth again, a quick fluttering motion. He is too human. His old human gestures are gentlemanly to a fault. He has to stop wishing he'd taken Armand up on his offer. He has to stop thinking about blood and the kiss. He can't reveal too much of himself or his little vampire family to this strange vampire who already knows his name. It's hard to gather his wits when he's been unbalanced.
How much blood can this vampire lose before he gets hungry? Once again Louis wonders if Armand will kill him. All evidence points to vampires being vicious, and they are now weak as any human. Of course, all thoughts of killing Armand save in self-defense have flown out of Louis's head. He's too curious now.
Louis blinks a few times to reorient himself. His eyes remain dilated. The smell of blood is almost obscene. He grasps at something, anything. He reluctantly pulls off his own scarf and tosses it to Armand.
"Haven't you ever gotten hurt? Taken a lick when you were young?" How old exactly is this vampire? "Wrap that up 'fore you bleed to death. We don't heal like we used to."
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He takes the scarf awkwardly and tries wrapping it around his ribs, but it isn't tight enough to stop the bleeding on its own. He undoes it and tries again, brow furrowed in concentration.
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He digs out a generously-sized handkerchief and balls it up. He approaches Armand slowly like someone trying not to get eaten by a tiger.
"Press that on it tight. You need a doctor. You told me your name, but that don't mean anythin' to me. Do vampires usually go around introducin' themselves as such?"
He's curious, he can't help it. Was Lestat going off script when he courted Louis for months before revealing his true nature? Or is this Armand just so bold?
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But this could be a blessing in disguise. This could mean a fresh start for them. The same vampire, but from before Armand broke him so terribly. Oh, he is broken now, of course, to an extent, but he is broken in a beautiful way. The events of Paris killed Louis' spirit in a way Armand hadn't anticipated. This Louis has never even been to Paris.
"Only to other vampires." It also takes up the awkward space left by the lack of a surname. "We do not reveal our nature to humans."
Well, they can, but then they have to kill the human, which seems like it would draw attention here.
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Lestat revealed himself to him, but only on the night he turned him. If Louis had refused Lestat's Dark Gift, would Lestat have let him live? Lestat kills with impunity, yet he has a soft spot for musicians and those he loves.
"I would have thought that dangerous." He watches him carefully, his emerald eyes bright even in the gloom. A calculating stillness slips over him, though Louis was never great at being calculating. At most he could dissemble wielding his Southern charm. His voice dips lower. "Are you dangerous, Armand?"
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Well. Armand cannot read his mind now, but he remembers how skittish Louis was when they first met. What he had said then, I will not harm you, had worked to put him at ease. Without the influence of Claudia, urging him to seek out other vampires, it may or may not work now. But he knows Louis is frightened. He does not need the Mind Gift to know that.
"Forgive me," he says quietly. "The way I spoke to you must have given you quite a shock. But I will not harm you. It is only...we come from different times. And in my time, we know one another."
Louis question is left to the wayside. Not only is it immaterial, but the answer is obvious. Of course Armand is dangerous. But he is not dangerous to Louis--at least, not in his own mind.
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"We sure as hell do, apparently." Louis switches back and forth from smooth low gentleman's voice to profanities. Posturing again.
Louis likes Armand's voice. Lestat's has too much honey. Armand doesn't answer his question, and Louis despairs.
"Finally find another vampire, and he doesn't even answer my questions. All vampires are dangerous, then. How did we meet?"
Perhaps it's best not to know his future self, if his past self is any indication. But Louis is a seeker of knowledge, for better or worse. Claudia even more so. And where is Claudia in his future? Louis yearns for her to return to him again, even in this frozen wasteland. Louis is scared to ask.
Did he, Louis, actually take up with another vampire lover after so many years with Lestat? Louis can't imagine letting him go, not fully. He haunts him. He is here even.
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"You came to Paris with your sister in the Blood. The two of you were looking for other vampires. I was master of the coven there."
The delicate subject of Lestat can, perhaps, wait. Though considering how badly Louis was haunted by the attempted murder, it's probably best he never find out. Certainly he must never know about Claudia's ultimate fate.
cw: Louis being dumb about religion
"'Coven'? Like witches? I'm not..." He shakes his head, frowning. "I'm... not lookin' for any of that."
Why does he feel like he needs to brush off the whiff of religion like a Jehova's Witness just came to his door? He should be cringing in fear of devil worshipers or something, but he and the Lord have a complicated relationship. He's not even sure He exists, honestly. And there are days when Louis wonders if witches and vampires are better company than anyone from his old church. He never even raised Claudia in the faith.
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"Simply a fanciful word for 'collective.' A pack of wolves, a flock of sheep, a gaggle of geese, a coven of vampires. Often, they are unified by some common purpose. Ours was a theatre troupe. Others may style themselves as kingdoms, cults, or families."
He lets that last word linger.
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"Let's get you back to town," he decides on a distraction. "We can't be caught out in the sun, and we can't freeze here."
By now, he thinks, surely Armand has noticed that the cold affects them as much as any human. It makes him feel slightly better to play the part of escorting the injured Armand to safety--as if Louis weren't entirely out of his league in this conversation--as if he weren't half afraid and half intrigued by Armand.
"I ain't much for theater." He did like the opera before Lestat wore out its welcome on him, but that's not something he readily admits. "What's in it for a vampire?"