singillppl | February 2025 Test Drive Meme

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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

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

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.

WINTER'S BITE

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.

FROZEN HEARTS

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!

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Now that's interesting. A creature? A war? Dorian tamps his interest down, letting a quizzical look spread over his face, but doing a damn good job hiding his true interest. Because Dorian Gray has never met a monster that he doesn't want to literally or metaphorically poke with a stick.

"What's this Darkwalker? I've never heard of something like that before."

"No one had, before now," he says, watching him for any signs of balking. They still have a long walk ahead of them and Thomas is determined to get this well-dressed idiot across the finish line.

"It is - a dangerous creature. It's killed our kind before."

"Yes, but what is it?" Dorian asks, a little creep of insistence sliding into his voice. He's interested. He's so interested. And he's doing his hardest to keep this lovely man from spotting that interest.

"A wolf? An odd bear? Or is it something more?"

He isn't doing a great job of it, unfortunately, and Thomas eyes him a little more suspiciously.

"No one seems to know. No one's seen it," he tells him. "At least no one I know."

"Well then how do you know it even exists in the first place?" Dorian points out. Fuck, is it a god? Do they believe in this Darkwalker thing like people believe in gods and angels? Did he fall face first into a cult?

"What makes you certain that Darkwalker thing killed someone and not...I don't know, some lunatic with a knife and a lot of creativity?"

Thomas shakes his head. "You know," he tells him darkly. "You'll know."

"How annoyingly cryptic of you," Dorian lightly sasses. Because seriously, only one person here is allowed to be cryptic and vague and that's him, thank you very much.

"Is there anything else here of interest that you won't tell me about?"

Thomas doesn't seem to mind. He grins a little, giving him a bit of a look out of the corner of his eye. "Ah, plenty, yes, but I'm afraid most of it you will need to experience for yourself."

Dorian will happily indulge in some petty whining as he complains, "But I don't want to experience it for myself. I want to go home! Where there's central heating! And takeaway!"

He knows he's going to be goddamn useless in this survival scenario. So might as well play it up a bit. If everybody thinks so little of him, he'll be able to get away with more than they realize.

Thomas can't help but roll his eyes.

He does, at least, keep from laughing and gives him a friendly nudge instead.

"Come now, sir. We've children here who have adapted well enough. Certainly someone of your - fortitude and means - can do the same."

Thomas has no idea about future brands, but he can read "wealth" easily enough.

"Children are resilient," Dorian grumbles, this time indulging in a little sulk. Though for all his grumbling and sulking, he's still moving towards the town. He's not stopping or anything like that. He'll head to Milton, but he'll bitch the whole way there!

"That's why they can fall off things. They bounce." He has no idea how kids work. "Anyway, my means are most likely next to nonexistent here! I work at an art gallery!"

So he's exceptionally pretentious.

Thomas nods in understanding.

"We all find our places," he assures him. "And no one goes hungry."

"I hope you're right about that," Dorian sighs. There's a moment of humility as he admits, "Because I am a terrible choice for someone living in the wilderness. Which I suspect you knew already, but best to say it out loud."

"My name is Thomas Jopson and I live on the other side, in Lakeside. If you find yourself in need, come to find me. I will ensure you have everything you need. In Milton, there is Constable Fraser who will help no questions asked. You can also call upon Francis Crozier. Tell him I sent you," he adds quietly as they start to spot the lights of Milton ahead.

"Call me Dorian," he says, with a little nod. Though hang on a minute, "How close is Lakeside to Milton? And which town are we going to now?"

"Milton," he answers, gesturing towards the firelight in the distance from some of the occupied homes. "And Lakeside is about a half day's walk," he explains. A full day for him, but he knows that he's an outlier. His knees and joints still ache constantly.

"If it's a half day for you, it'll be a full day for me," Dorian points out, like it's obvious. He knows his limitations. He's not going to be any good at any sort of activity that involves tromping around the woods. There is very little about Dorian that one would call 'outdoorsy.'

"Still, could be worse. A day of walking sounds miserable but it won't kill me. I'll have to visit sometime. Sounds delightfully scenic."

"It takes me a day, as well, sir. You are in good company there." He laughs, pausing by a tree to catch his breath. "There are plenty of places to live here."

"What do you mean by that? How the hell am I going to pay rent in a world where I don't have any sort of credit history? Or hell, any sort of money to begin with?"

Guess who hasn't gotten the 'post apocalyptic' bit of the memo yet.

Rent.

Thomas can't help but laugh.

"No one here owns this land. No one is here. No one - has money or land. We simply survive."

Well. That's interesting.

"I can't decide if that's annoyingly Communist, annoyingly egalitarian, or annoyingly practical. Surely someone's tried to reinvent the wheel of capitalism by now—especially considering that some of our number are English."

It's what Brits do!

"There was a shop at one point, if I recall," he says but shrugs. "But everything is bartered. There's a greenhouse, too."

Dorian frowns, thinking all this over. He might be up a creek without a paddle here. Growing vegetables, creating goods, being useful enough to survive in a barter economy...

He's in danger. His useless ass is going to have a bad time.

"How many total people are here anyway?"

"Now that the Aurora has come, I'm not certain. I've never counted more than eighty or so at a time," he explains. "It's usually far fewer."

Eighty. Good Lord.

"You know, I lived in London before here," Dorian lightly muses. "There were over eight million people living there at the time. To go from eight million to just eighty...it's a miracle nobody's murdered a neighbor yet. That is far too few people."

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