October 2023 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

OCTOBER 2023 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 — not to mention the fact they are not the first to come here.

PROMPT TWO — GUILTY PARTY: Interlopers are kidnapped and held captive by a being and forced to confess their wrong doings, or face fatal consequences.

PROMPT THREE — OFF THE BEATEN TRACK: Interlopers get more than they bargained for when a mysterious albeit friendly dog comes across them and persuades them to follow them into the wilds.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-October.
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.

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. You look around, it seems like no one has been here in several weeks, maybe longer. The fire is stone cold, the dishes in the sink are mouldy — it's possible the place has been ransacked, as if they've gone through the drawers and cupboards looking for something. 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.

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.

“Ah, more of you have come.” he nods, just as he suspected you might. “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 and coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish, instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast. The old man has been busy. And Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks. 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 is troubled, thoughtful. The arrival of so many is not something that sits well with him. The others from town will eventually trail in too, to eat and warm themselves, and search amongst the new faces.

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 perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.

GUILTY PARTY

WHEN: Over the next month.
WHERE: Paradise Farm Outbuildings.
CONTENT WARNINGS: forced imprisonment; forced honesty; supernatural beings; confessional themes; threat of death; possible character death; possible death by throat injury.

You don’t remember how you came to be here. The air is cold and damp, the rot of wood is strong, and… blood. Why does it smell of so much blood? You can’t seem to see all that much in the gloom, but you think you’re in some kind of outbuilding of sorts. You find yourself chained to a chair, the metal is heavy and cold against you and no matter whatever you seem to do, you can’t seem to free yourself from them. No struggling can ease their hold, and there’s no lock to unpick or break. They weigh you down in your seat, you can't even seem to tip yourself over.

But you’re not the only one here. Across from you in the dark is someone else. One of your fellow Interlopers is trapped here with you, too. They too don’t remember anything either, they’re equally as confused and uncertain as you. Perhaps frightened. Not only this, they’re also sat chained up just as tightly. You have a little time to talk before you realise the two of you aren’t alone.

There's a glooming green light, the feeling of a presence. A huge figure steps into view, cloaked in black. It’s hard to tell whether it’s a man or a woman, and it’s difficult to make out much detail of them. Their face is obscured by a stone mask in the shape of a monstrous, horned and fanged Jackal. Green light glows from behind it, foreboding in the dark. It will not answer you if you try to speak with it.

“WICKEDNESS LIES WITHIN YOU.” The voice is a fierce chorus of whispers, but yet so loud. It sends a shiver down your spine. “I HAVE SEEN IT.”

... You can’t help but know it to be true. Something inside you knows what they speak of is true. Any misdeed or wrongdoing done by your hand, any cruel word you spoke, any life you took or heart you broke. You feel exposed, seen. The figure knows what you have done.

“CONFESS.” the figure demands. “UNBURDEN YOUR HEART AND BE FREE. BE SILENT AND CARRY IT TO THE GRAVE.”

The figure holds an item in its hand, something that glints in the light that glows from its mask. Now you realise why there’s so much blood in the air: it’s a sickle, dripping with blood. You are not the first to be brought here. You will not be the last.

Speak, unburden yourself, and if the figure is satisfied — you will, in fact, go free. Refuse, or not take the demand seriously, and the figure will deem you unworthy. They will move within the blink of an eye, striking you with the sickle in the neck — let it be a mercy that they kill you quickly.

OFF THE BEATEN TRACK

WHEN: Over the next month.
WHERE: Milton / Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural creature; trickster creature; themes of peril; possible character injury; possible dead body discoveries; potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk; possible character death.

The weather will continue to prove difficult for all who try to navigate this world, but with the current footfall in and around Milton, it’s at least helped to keep paths and roads somewhat clear despite the snow’s best efforts to cover up these walkways. Still, it’s a pain to get around, especially on particularly snowy days. Unfortunately, it’s sometimes necessary to go out on such days — survival doesn’t stop for the weather to pass.

And so journeys must be made, hunting must be done, forageables must be collected. You try to keep to the paths and trails, where the terrain yields before you for an easier journey.

… Until you hear barking through the trees, the sound of paws through the snow. Given the recent wolf activity of the last month, it’s understandable to be on edge. However, it isn’t a wolf that comes into view: it’s a large dog, bigger than any dog you’ve seen before. Coated in thick and shaggy black fur, this animal doesn’t seem to be like the wolves that have been found so far in this world. While the wildlife has certainly been altered, this dog remains very much like anyone would expect a dog to act in terms of behaviour. It’s playful with some, certainly friendly, constantly trying to play chase with you as it loops around in circles with a wagging tail.

However, there’s an insistence with this dog. It wants you to follow it. It will bark incessantly, trying to pull you from the path to go after it into the woods. It wants to show you something, take you somewhere. It will even try to gently pull at a coat-sleeve or trouser-leg to coax your forwards before heading off, keeping just in sight for you to go after it.

You’ll find it increasingly difficult to keep up, even if you pick up the pace as you head further into the woods. There’s less snow here, but the forest floor is filled with holes and tree roots that will trip you up. Falls are likely. But even worse is when before you know it, the ground simply gives way beneath you, sending you tumbling into a small valley or getting you stuck deep into soft, muddy earth. With it, perhaps, twisted ankles or worse. Or perhaps simply battered and bruised and unable to climb out of trench of earth. Maybe you come face to face with the body of some other poor Interloper who'd met their own end in similar manner — trapped and injured in the ditch.

Or worse still, the dog might just have you stumbling over a cliff face and tumbling into the Basin. Whatever fate befalls you, it’s as if the dog simply led you into it. And said dog, however, will be nowhere to be seen. It will have left you stuck, hurt, lost in the woods.

You’re sure you can hear some dark chuckling on the wind. Maybe it’s just the trees.

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.

GUILTY PARTY

1. Characters will find that once they have confessed, they will pass out. When they awaken, they will find themselves lying or sitting on the floor — the being, chairs and chains have gone. They are free to leave.

2. Attempts to search the outbuildings at later dates will prove fruitless. There is no sign of the being, nor the chairs or chains that held characters, but there will be blood on the floor that can be found.

3. One character can confess, or both. Player choice! As long as someone's doing some confessing.

OFF THE BEATEN TRACK

1. Gyests, sometimes called Ghests or Bargyests are evil creatures from Northumberland, UK folklore. They seek to lure travelers away from a known and safe road to their miry and marshy demise, or perhaps lead them to walk in the darkness of a Cheviot night over the edge of a precipice. Often taking the shape of horses, donkeys or large dogs, Gyests could also shape-shift to appear as men, or even stacks of hay. But always their intention was to trick humans, for their own amusement, and lure them to their doom.

2. Attempts to lure or trap the Gyest will not work.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

[brutalact]

[the threat, empty as it is, is a mistake and knives knows this the moment it leaves his lips. doubly so as vash reacts to it at his side, the grip on his arm tightening to a bruising strength that knives hopes will leave a lasting mark. vash could break his arm at the junction and knives would have let him take his pound of flesh without a fight. the layers of power and experiences that had once separated them, tinted glass obscuring knives' vision to the truth of his actions and their consequences were gone now. everything was terribly clear, his brother's fear as vivid as a nightmare. he feels guilt and shame, all rolled up and twisted together so terribly he couldn't hope to separate the chains.

vash, for whatever reason, expected better from him and he wished he didn't. at least then the disappointment would be understandable.

he can feel the way his brother's glare bores into him, knives' looking away to avoid burning up under its intensity. now would be a great time for a wolf attack, but even that would be too kind of the universe. he's ready to withdraw into himself, cowed by his brother's wild fury, but any chance of that is knocked out of the water when vash - blonde, bright-eyed, and smart mouth - steps in front of them. knives can't immediately parse what it is he's seeing written across his face, can't distinguish between what he feels falling off of his twin in uncomfortable waves at his side and the frantic, wide-eyed concern vash is presenting to them now.]

What? [he's cut off on the exhale, his mind bluescreening as hands reach out to touch, carding through coal black hair. an animal caught in the headlights of a touch far too soft for the vitriol he just spewed without thinking, flesh and metal brushing over skin and leaving a flush to bloom across his features. he stares back at vash, unable to formulate a response, but then he's moving away to reach out to his twin in turn and knives is left unmoored at sea. waves of emotion battering at him on all sides, his heart pounding so hard his head throbs with it.]

[amo]

[ He's half-expecting for those fingers tucked into his elbow to disappear so Vash isn't surprised when they do. What does surprise him is how his other self moves in front of them with that panic-stricken expression, halting them in their tracks. Vash is left feeling like he missed something crucial when his double proceeds to reach for Knives, fingers dancing through the ichor black of his hair. Vash can only stare in bewildered wonder as it happens. That the news must come as a shock is to be expected. Neither he nor Knives learned what the changing of their hair meant until it was too late and by that point there was no turning back. Vash hadn't particularly cared, carrying on with the conviction that he would kill his brother and die along with him if neither of them burned out along the way first. Would he have cared more if he'd learned of their limits sooner and fretted over Knives the way the other Vash is doing now? Probably not. There had been a lot more genuine hate he held for his brother in the past.

So, knowing that and given his brother's cruel words mere moments before, his double's actions come as a bit of an incomprehensible shock.

Although the most shocking part yet is when that selfsame frenetic attention is turned to him and he finds himself being inspected much in the same way his twin just was. Vash goes still, both in surprise and because it feels like he should so he dutifully doesn't move, blinking under the onslaught of careful fingers darting from his face to his hair as he stares at wide blue eyes dulled by orange lenses. The thing that lives underneath his skin only cares to answer to the Aurora's call now and yet Vash could swear he feels it stir now, responding perhaps to its own kind or the presence of an active gate. Before he can figure out if it's his imagination or not, the touch is gone again as abruptly as it came.

In its wake, he feels as stunned and disarmed as Knives looks. Only he's quicker to recover because there's something about the sound his other self makes and the desperate concern on his face that breaks Vash's heart. Maybe he and Knives have been too callous, weary and exhausted as they both are, and they should have gone about this with more tact. The hurt they inflicted just now won't do.

He lifts his arms and reaches out — in doing so releasing the too-tight hold on Knives' arm though still keeping it somewhat tucked against his side — to mirror his newfound brother's previous action. He cradles his other self's face between his hands with equal care, the smile he offers soft and apologetic, before he leans in and presses their foreheads together. His attempt to comfort is the same manner in which he soothes his sisters. Or rather, the way he would if there wasn't thick glass separating him from them. It's all he can think to do to convey his sincerity, voice going quiet and gentle to account for their proximity. ]

We're okay, I promise.

[ They're here. They're alive. His other self doesn't need to know that Knives is meant to be gone, that he has returned from the dead. ]

We just can't use our powers anymore, that's all.

[ That's all. ]

[skelters]

[ those words have been sharp - cruel and vicious, dripping with emotions that's had centuries to rot and fester as only knives could really do. there would have been days when confronting it head on like this would have made vash run in the other direction as fast as he is able, running until his legs gave out. there would have been days when fear would have spiked cold and sharp in his bones to reach out to his brother like this, love and terror and hate mixed in so much confusing swirls that he wouldn't know what to do other then tell him to stop. please stop. his teeth rattles. his heart jumps in the cage of his scarred ribs like snarled rabbit, buzzing like staccato drum beats in his ears, and vash clenches his eyes shut tightly with a shake of his head to dispel it somehow.

we're okay. we're here.

the hands that come to cradle his face should make him jump. the feeling of being held, to be fixed down like this to one place within the cage of vash on one side, knives on the other, just at the edge of his peripherals, should make him start and wriggle out of the hold. but instead vash finds himself reaching out too, fingers winding themselves tightly to the front of the other's coat as vash presses their foreheads together. dark strands mixing with the gold.

it feels familiar, in a way. vash can feel a faint echo of the song they share reverberating through the scant contact like the gentle humming of an engine, the way he'd used to lean against nai with their backs pressed to the walls of the ship. the way the vibrations would travel through his hands pressed into the grass of their eden. the way the glass would trill, their sisters glowing blue, blue. however faint, it feels like life. they're alive. they're here. ]

[brutalact]

[he shouldn't be here.

not here, not in this moment, or any moment after this. cruelty comes easy to him, whether he wanted it to or not, spending his life biting every hand that came too close. there was no erasing what he's done and the damage it has caused and he knew better than to waste effort trying to color over the past.

vash wanted him here, still holding onto knives even after snapping like a dog, teeth all stained with blood and angry foam. a lifetime of living on the highs of manic emotion and avoiding the low swinging pendulum of anxiety wouldn't last forever and now he was here, the weight of guilt sitting heavy inside his chest. he looks away from the display between the two, the static warmth left behind by vash's fingers on his face still tingling.]

We need to keep moving.

[his voice is quieter, diluted down from his earlier irritation. now he'd wait for vash and vash to finish. idly, he thinks they'll have to come up with a way to refer to both without confusing one for the other...

an issue to deal with later.]

[amo]

[ It's not a full resonance, there's no open channel for Vash to pour soothing thoughts and feelings through and thus no way to brush his mind against another, but there's the humming of a response he can feel under his skin, however faint, and that's enough. It will have to be because Vash isn't sure he should even attempt anything more than this; his powers have always been too unpredictable, his gate too eager to consume, and he's assuming the same for his double. At least there's a comforting familiarity to what their contact brings and if he closes his eyes and solely focuses on it, he thinks he could maybe hum along to the reverberation and vocalize it. It's tempting to do so. He still remembers what it's like for Rem to pull them close and sing to them, how it would calm them.

But Knives' quiet voice cuts in, a stark reminder of their circumstances. Comfort is not going to help keep his other self from getting frostbite.

He tilts his head back a tiny bit to get a better angle to look at Vash without breaking the contact. His voice goes softer still when he speaks again, meant only for his facsimile, like he's letting him in on a secret. ]

We're going to be alright.

[ They don't really have a choice in the matter. Somehow, some way, they will go on. They always do. They are Vash the Stampede, after all. Their life isn't theirs to forfeit, not really. For all that his hair is stained with rot and decay, he still has some go in him yet. Now that he has Knives back, he's not going to let his brother slip away again so easily either. Whatever happens here and whatever his other self might gleam from him and Knives, he's going to be okay, too. Their tough and tender days will continue on in these foreign lands.

His thumbs follow the lines of cheekbones in a gentle caress before Vash drops his hands down to the desperate ones that are clutching at his coat, lightly covering them to have some lingering tether as he reluctantly pulls back. His expression is one of aching understanding, nearly turning his warm smile rueful. ]

Knives is right. We're almost there.

[skelters]

[ somehow, even though he wants to, so very badly that he can't help the anxious, spastic clench of his fingers even while they are pulled away, vash can't quite bring himself to believe the other. it is not for want of trying. it is not that he would, in any time or space, wish for their nonexistence - however unlikely this scenario is that they are both and all sharing the same spaces like this. he is a coward, after all, clinging to what little that he has and deluding himself to all the others until the guilt feeding on the marrow of his bones subside its hunger a little. it never completely goes away, even with his other self's lingering touch - or the soft cant of his smile. it is at odds with the stiff line of knives' back as he half turns away from them, counterbalancing the weight of vash's forehead pressed to his, the way he leans towards him - making vash an unlikely conspirator in this farce of a situation.

but he is weak. he has always been weak. he knows the weight of his soiled conscience, yet is only too happy to turn back and close his eyes against all of the thousands of dead, staring eyes that follow his every step. he lets himself smile back - hoping against everything that the choppy arc of his lips would be more attributed to the cold that forces them to cut this conversation short than anything else related to the sickening altitudinal drop of his stomach. ]

- Okay.

[ vash lets himself be pulled aside again - back into the orbit of the other's presence, tucking his face, with its hot-and-cold throbbing cheek still aching from the trail that his double has left upon his skin, back into the shelter of his pulled up hood. it almost feels like a regression - he feels four foot tall again, clinging to the edge of rem's sleeves, being pulled along to a destination that he can't visualise yet to make it a reality. ]