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singillppl2023-10-09 11:52 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2023-10-09 11:52 pm
Entry tags:
October 2023 Test Drive Meme
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
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. 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.
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.
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[ No offense to this mountie looking guy. Sorry, this mountie full stop, it's definitely official with how snazzy the uniform is. There's his attack dog that's huger than a goddamn bear and wild animals are not a thing whatsoever with March sans the scant few times he's been to the zoo. March stays almost completely behind Fraser out of the intense need for self preservation.
March flashes half an apologetic smile--no offense, bud, he's like this with everyone--until something catches up with him. This is probably not the time. This is also probably not the place. It comes out anyway. ]
Did you just say your dogs name was Diefenbaker?
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[ He glances over his shoulder at the other man, apparently unconcerned by March using him as cover. ]
Are you familiar?
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[ Because the large black dog has decided to trot closer, dipping its nose toward Fraser's sleeve, and Diefenbaker explodes into silent, furious action, barreling into the dog with his hackles raised and fangs showing. ]
Diefenbaker!
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He's still slightly behind the mountie, of course, but he's stepping to get clear from him and aiming his pistol with practiced precision towards the very minor kerfuffle. Classic American escalation. ]
And what the fuck is that?!
[ Does he mean the black dog that's been there the entire time, or Fraser's wolf who has been there for the same amount? who knows. ]
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That's a very good question, but I think we can at least narrow it down to 'not a normal dog.'
[ No normal dog would act like this, and he has serious doubts that a normal dog would stand toe-to-toe in a fight with a wolf. His brow crinkles. ]
I really do think it would be better for you not to follow this animal, Mr... uh...
[ He glances over, apparently unconcerned about the stand-off happening a few feet from them. ]
I'm terribly sorry. What's your name?
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Holland.
[ Yeaaaaah, he's not going to follow it. His gun is still out, pointed neatly to the side at the stranger's gentle command, and he squints, taking a few steps back while his eyes never stray from the black dog. ]
What's your deal? [ It's purposefully vague. Is he asking Fraser's name or why he's so polite and dressed like a mountie? Who knows. ]
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[ The other man at least no longer seems to be in danger of shooting Diefenbaker, but Fraser lifts his voice anyway. ]
Dief! Leave it.
[ The wolf gives the dog another pointed look, then comes trotting back towards Fraser and March as the dog slinks further away – never leaving, simply remaining a smudged black shadow in their line of sight, seemingly biding its time. ]
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[ Guy's gotta talk to his dog--wolf, his goddamn wolf--and March isn't going to get in the middle of that. His self preservation instinct actually kicks in from time to time, and sure, Fraser's so Canadian Polite that March wouldn't be surprised if he smelled like maple syrup to people that could whiff that sort of thing, but that wolf is still a wolf. ]
You always this nice?
[ Maybe it's time to leave. Yeah. March is gonna back up a bit more and then jerk his chin in the direction of the little village. ]
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[ Which isn't exactly the same thing as 'nice,' but he's heard the sentiment before: from Lieutenant Walsh, from Ray, from the Vecchios, from the people they meet. Residents of Chicago appear to become entirely flummoxed with presented with basic human courtesy.
He nods and falls into step beside the other man, Diefenbaker taking up the rear. ]
That's an interesting choice of firearm for this particular climate.
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Came with me.
[ Yeah, maybe he's a little proud of it, so he's gonna keep his thumb off the trigger and slide the safety on before he points it towards the sky so the other can get a good look at it. He may be a schmuck, but his gun safety is impeccable. He glances over, makes a snap assessment, and is very quick with his next words. ]
I got a license to carry, don't worry.
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[ He casts a keen-eyed glance at the gun, the way the man is holding it, and Holland's face in quick succession. ]
You have clearly been trained in use of that weapon, or one very similar, and trained well. Despite the extremes of the climate and terrain, you've kept it in pristine condition. And though you might have fired off a wild shot earlier, you took the gun out only when it seemed as though we might be in danger.
[ That's maybe a little generous; it was probably when it seemed like Holland was in danger, but Fraser's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. ]
But most telling was that you showed no signs of guilt, nervousness, or furtiveness when I declared myself to be an officer of the law, suggesting you had no reason to be concerned over having a weapon on your person. Ergo; a license to carry.
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It all dissipates when Fraser keeps Going. And going. And going. And damn, March is quickly figuring out that he can't be defensive like this when Fraser is correct. He can be annoyed about it, though, and that's a feeling he's way more familiar with, so he furrows his brows. ]
Damn.
[ He should probably say something else, but March is still kind of reeling. Eventually, though: ]
You make a lot of friends, Fraser?
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[ He's a little abashed, but it won't stop him from being absolutely – some might say too – honest. ]
Well, no, not as such.
[ It's not something he's allowed to bother him overmuch. Really, he'd hardly noticed, considering his most recent professional duties have kept him far from most of humanity. He'd had Diefenbaker for company, and that had seemed like enough.
But he has to admit, he misses Ray. ]
But that's not my point, my point is –
I'm curious where you trained, and for what purpose. I suspect not military.
[ That's almost a definite, given Holland's general lack of discipline and decorum, but – well –
He's been wrong before. ]
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I'm a detective. Used to be a beat cop. Far cry from a Constable, but I do pretty good.
[ He glances down at Dief. ]
Got a dog for a partner, too.
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Sometimes. ]
You do? You're in a K-9 unit, then?
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Nah, just a big dumb hulk of a man. Not sure he's house broken. [ God, he misses Healy. ]
Was. Private investigator now--which means I get to do the fun stuff you can't. [ As if it'll prove some sort of point, March decides it's best to wink. ]
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[ Holland doesn't talk quite like Ray, but it's close enough that Fraser feels that familiar combination of relieved and disconcerted by him. Still, it's good luck to have met another detective... even if he's no longer an officer of the law.
Perhaps it would be best to make some sort of light-hearted, joking comment back? That may assist in building camaraderie. ]
Well, I don't know about that. I often find much to enjoy in the course of performing my duty as an officer. For example, just the other day, I met a celebrity. Well, I opened the door for him. And he may not be a celebrity per se, but he is a very fine second-chair oboist in the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.
...Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, it may have been someone else entirely. But they were very grateful. Well, they didn't say they were grateful, but their arms were full of packages, so I expect they were, nevertheless.
[ So fun, right? ]
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[ March inhales. Exhales. Stares. ]
What are you doing?
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Just making conversation, Holland.
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[ But why isn't it? He doesn't know, and he's not sure March will tell. ]
If you'd prefer to discuss something else, I'm sure we could find an amenable subject.
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Hey, just out of curiousity, where did you go to school...?
[ This is March politely asking if Fraser is homeschooled. ]
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Is that... relevant?
[ He honestly doesn't know. ]
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[ Sneezing the name aside, it throws a wrench into March's idea. He puts his hands on his hips--a true March power stance--and nods, completely not answering Fraser's question. ]
Okay. Here's what we're gonna do: I'm putting you on the Little route.
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