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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!
cw: death and violence etc
It's unlike anything she has ever known.
A superficial injury though, one that does not demand her immediate attention. Not when the man whose cries they answered is gasping his last breaths; she rushes over to him and drops to her knees, intent on applying pressure to his wounds. But a closer look lets her know large veins have been compromised, and there will be no compensating for all this blood loss, and lost so quickly. Not without her divine healing.
She swallows past that well of grievous frustration. The man has his hand stretched out toward her, the gash on his neck impeding his efforts to speak. She holds it because she knows he is afraid and should not be alone.
Then looks up at Merrin with the slight shake of her head. He's gone.
cw: death & violence cont.
All too quickly, though, those dying gasps are unmistakable, too familiar, and now she moves closer. Assured that nothing else seems to be coming for them, she stands watch protectively over them both, but for him...for him, as the unending shadow draws near, Merrin can do nothing but guard the passing of his life into memory. She studies the way Esmeray holds his hand, learning about her even in silence, that she would offer comfort in his last moments. She need not say a word, for her actions to show the face of her heart.
Though she cannot know Esmeray's thoughts, Merrin feels an equal swell of frustration, that his wounds might have been aided by her own magick so easily. What will it mean, in the hours and days to come, if this is how the world greets them?
As Esmeray shakes her head, Merrin thinks it a kindness nonetheless, that he does not linger long in pain. She kneels now beside him, studying his face, wondering if there is family who will miss him, and how they would even know out here. Even burying him would be difficult, with the ground as it is.
"He was not alone," is all she can think to say for now. To her, it feels important to remember, in the face of his death.
no subject
She looks for some form of identification — someone, somewhere, might be wondering where he is. Might be waiting for him to come home. They're close enough to the community hall that she can point them in the right direction, she thinks. She doesn't have the strength to carry him, but abandoning him entirely feels wrong.
When she rises back to her feet, it'll become evident their thoughts are not dissimilar, awaiting future dangers. "We shouldn't linger," she says, though she takes the time to look Merrin over. She helped Esmeray without question, despite the fact they're strangers to each other in a strange land. That matters.
"Are you hurt? I'm a cleric — a healer, that is."
She may not have her magic, but she still has been trained to treat injury through other means.
no subject
There is a burning where her skin was pierced, and she wonders if Esmeray feels it, too, but she's quick to add, glancing at her own bloodied knuckles, "These wounds pose no danger." Unless there's a nasty surprise awaiting them. But it's kind of her to worry, to ask, and that she's a healer explains the compassion she'd shown the man. It must also be even more frustrating to her, that his injuries were beyond her abilities now.
"It does not feel right to leave him here, to not bury him," Merrin admits quietly, sparing a mournful glance to the man they could not save in time. "But we shouldn't linger, as you said."
no subject
She is no martyr — as her party's cleric, she knew the importance of ensuring she remained standing, to look after the others. With limited resources, however, she endeavors to prioritize according to severity of wounds. From what she can tell, Merrin's are as surface level as her own. They were fortunate.
Her gaze softens at the quiet admission, and turns back to the man's body. It doesn't feel right, no, even if it's the pragmatic thing to do. Which isn't to say they have no other alternative.
"We'll come back for him," she says, decisive. She looks around, searching for downed branches or rocks to build a landmark — something that will mark the location and make it easier to find. There's a risk, of course, they might return and find nothing at all... but they should at the very least try.
"There are others," she adds as she works, "not far from here. They arrived suddenly, like me. Like you?"
There's a look in Merrin she recognizes.
no subject
She slips her knife back into the holster at her hip, quietly mimicking the other and aiding her in searching for a few things to mark the site, the path leading towards the man.
"Yes," she nods, kneeling and digging into the ground for a few small rocks. "There was a voice that spoke — Interloper, it said. It would not seem to want us here, but..." She trails off because regardless of the voice's sentiments, here they are.
no subject
"They call the voice Darkwalker," she tells her with a whisper-light voice, as though maybe the Darkwalker can hear them. Maybe it can. "They aren't certain of what brings us here. Only that the Darkwalker scorns it."
Scorns them.
The two of them finish their markings not a moment too soon, Esmeray's head whipping to the side at the distant sound of angry chittering. She looks to Merrin, aware she doesn't need to say: they should flee, now.
no subject
Before she can think on it further, or speak to any of those thoughts aloud, there's that unmistakable sound, and her eyes quickly lock onto Esmeray's in silent synchronicity.
"To the others," she notes, a hushed voice under her breath, tense and resolute; to the others that she spoke of not far from here, to the safety of more numbers. It is a frustration again, that it should be a thought at all. Those creatures would be felled so easily with her magick, they need not run like this. She would not tempt it, though, not with the life of another beside her to consider. They were lucky before, she wouldn't risk it now. Later. Esmeray has more than proven herself capable in a fight, so it is not doubt in her abilities that has Merrin linger just a half-step behind her when they flee, but rather a flicker of protectiveness. She is a healer, by her own admission; whatever lies ahead in this world, her talents will be needed more than most.