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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.
no subject
So here he is, in an unfortunate situation, but there's someone there. Edward lifts one of his arms in response, even if it aches, before the man pops off again and he's left alone again for the moment — er, wait, not alone actually, because there is a very large dog coming down the slope now— no, no, that's a wolf. That is! A wolf!
Edward ogles the creature, heart skipping several beats in his chest. Unfortunately for Diefenbaker, wolves have recently plagued and terrorised the town of Milton, and Edward himself was even attacked directly.... Instinct wants him to scramble away from the animal, but fear keeps him frozen in place. He goes extremely rigid, eyes wide and horrified as it approaches him.
But the man up above treated the beast almost as though... a pet? Is any of this really happening to him! Edward stiffens, one hand lifting up almost placatingly to the wolf. Its manner is nothing like the creatures that had torn through the town, howling and snarling, and he is aware of that.... Trying to keep his fright in check, Edward's speaking to it as one would a dog one is unsure about. Voice just slightly higher in pitch, and lilted at the end, like a lingering question. ]
Ahhhh, yes, hello....? It's all right....
no subject
In the next moment, Fraser appears again at the top of the slope. ]
Diefenbaker!
[ When the wolf looks up, Fraser undoes and tosses down his Sam Browne belt. Diefenbaker retrieves it, holding one end securely in his mouth, and pants, waiting, hot breath misting in the air as Fraser directs his next words to the man who had fallen down. Despite the volume of his voice as he projects, he sounds perfectly calm, almost conversational. ]
If you'll just grab hold of the other end of that belt there, Dief will help you up the slope, and then –
[ He lowers a sturdy branch, a little out of the man's reach. ]
Grab hold onto this and I'll have you at the top in no time at all.
no subject
Until the man calls the word again, and Edward's quickly looking back up the slope, completely taken aback by this entire experience. He witnesses, in real time, the wolf... take the belt from the man and... offer it to him, as though it has not only heard what the man said but understood it.
Is it.... possible to domesticate a wolf to this severity...? Did he hit his head on the way down? Perhaps it's the poison...
...But Edward is in no position to refuse whatever is happening right now. Almost numbly, as though in a dream, he reaches for his cap to put it back on his head (even though there's snow all over his hair....) and takes hold of the other end of the belt as directed, trying to get himself up to his feet. With the wolf's strength helping pull him it'll be a much easier feat, and the man stumbles to, blinking widely as he then lets the animal begin to pull him up....
It's surreal, to be certain. So many things these days are!!!
Once he's close enough, he'll reach out for the man's hand as instructed to get himself up and over the edge, fumbling forwards with a sharp gasp as he grasps hold of his arm, a little breathless from the exertion. ]
Ah—! Thank you!
no subject
[ He grips the other man's arm in his own gloved one and hauls as the man scrambles up and forward, then assists him in standing upright before he lets go and retrieves his belt from Diefenbaker.
As he fastens it around his waist and chest, he proceeds to have a slightly lopsided conversation... with the wolf. ]
Well, there's no need to give me that look. I agreed to come out, didn't I?
Yes, I know you were right that someone was out here. There's no need for I-told-you-so's.
[ Once back in pristinely regimental order, he shakes his head at the wolf in exasperation and turns his attention back on the other man with a small smile. ]
Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, at your service. And this is Diefenbaker, who you've already met.
[ The wolf whines, then sits, wrapping its tail around its paws, panting gently in the frozen air. ]
It looks as though you took quite a nasty tumble.
no subject
It's... a peculiar display, and Edward can't help staring, ogling a little — but he's in no position to make any judgments or even let his unease weigh him down too much; this man (and his wolf companion) very likely just saved his life. Edward's looking down to the animal for a moment with stun before lifting his head again, brows lifting. Royal Canadian Mounted Police..... Constable. There's an immediate flutter of relief, something that might even be a hint of joy (imagine, Edward Little feeling joy....); this stranger is an enforcer of the law, like the peelers and bobbies of his time.
You don't know how glad he is to meet you, Fraser.
That emotion does show on his face even through the odd breath or two of exertion that Little's still giving, and he's nodding his head with enthusiasm — politely, but brightly. ]
Lieutenant Edward Little of Her Majesty's Royal Navy. It's my pleasure to meet you, Constable Fraser. [ A beat as he looks back to the wolf, still quite stunned that a wolf is here at all, but the animal is clearly of supreme intelligence and obedient, reliable; he's grateful— ]
And you as well, Mr. Diefenbaker.... Ah yes, I was... following something before I fell. A black dog. [ Little frowns, casting a glance over his shoulder, and boots easing a few feet away from the edge of the slope, for good measure. ] There have been reports from multiple people in town, hearing its barking... I thought I should try to find it for myself in order to see if it may lead me to civilisation, perhaps another nearby town....
[ Or to the lost men of his ship, but it feels odd to say that out loud. To admit to chasing ghosts. The man blinks, looking back over to his new companion as a thought comes; could this man have come from one of those towns? Little doesn't recognise him from Milton, though he may have been part of the new group to make an appearance. ]
Are you from around here, Constable?
no subject
You don't mean... I mean, you aren't... you wouldn't happen to be... Lieutenant Edward Little of Her Majesty's Ship Terror?
[ Almost instantly after he dares to voice the thought, as Dief looks up and whines inquisitively, Fraser shakes his head at himself. ]
No, that would be impossible.
[ Wouldn't it? Although he's already met someone from his future here; why not someone from his past?
But someone from the Terror; he can hardly believe it. He'd read book after book about the lost expedition; held those men up in his mind in almost as high esteem as any of his most respected idols. He knows every word of Stan Rogers' song and even – one day – hopes to follow the path of the Erebus and Terror and find whatever might be left of the expedition and the brave men who were lost along with their ships.
But the Lieutenant asked him a question – Lieutenant; again, Fraser straightens somehow even further, though he has to apologetically say: ]
I'm terribly sorry, what were you asking me?
no subject
He...... knows of him...?
Granted, such a thing isn't an impossibility; he knows that now. Miss Earp told him how there were songs, stories about the Expedition and those on it — folk heroes, she'd said. Still, it's... completely baffling to actually meet someone who knows his name. 'No, that would be impossible.' the man says, and Little's slowly shaking his head — to agree? To disagree? Perhaps for a moment it's not quite clear, but then after the other man asks him that question, he's clarifying, an awkward stagger to the flow of conversation. ]
I am— Yes— I serve aboard Terror.
[ Served. He's stuck somewhere inbetween his own present and the future, and yet feels like a ghost of the past. ]
You... are familiar with Sir Franklin's Expedition....?
no subject
His mouth hangs open for another heartbeat before his manners kick in and some stuttered animation returns to him. ]
Ah... yes. Well, I learned as much as I could.
[ Even now he recalls the piles of books borrowed from the libraries his grandparents ran; staying up late at night with the oil lamp burning low, reading about the explorers of yore. He feels rocked to his very core.
At his feet, Diefenbaker looks up at him with a small whine, and Fraser does his best to grasp his way toward equilibrium. ]
If I may, sir, you – the expedition – well, it's always been an inspiration to me.
no subject
An inspiration.
Edward Little truly never thought that he would hear words like this. Not even back in the normalcy of his own time. The thought of exploration and adventure was a strong call to most men: the promise of discovery, and the glory that would come with such things.
Edward had never sought glory himself, however. He'd wanted to do great, but not necessarily to be great. But of course he'd wanted to succeed in his own ways, to continue to rise up in his rank; he'd worked hard for his appointment to Lieutenant and had planned to work harder still. (He'd failed no matter what, failed everyone. Failed himself. Ironic that he would receive a promotion to Commander while missing in action.) ]
I— I see. Forgive me, it's just— a lot to process. That I should be standing beside a man who knows of it at all.
[ He pauses, brows lifting as he realises he should explain. ] In my own time.... I was still on the Expedition itself, you see. We'd been trapped in the ice for some years... You learned about all of that?
no subject
[ Fraser holds up his hands, palm out, placating and a little embarrassed. ]
It was thoughtless of me to bring it up without any warning. I hope I haven't caused you any distress.
[ He's more than a little starstruck, still, but he does his best to get himself under control. First Lieutenant of the Terror. They'd never believe this, back in Tuktoyaktuk. ]
I-- yes.
[ Fraser pauses, uncertain, and takes off his hat, walking the brim in his fingers, contemplative. Should he say anything? Is there anything useful to say? ]
I learned as much as there was to learn. Do you, ah... want to know...?
[ Will he cause a time loop, telling this man of their ultimate fate? But then,he doesn't know their fate; no one does. It's quite a conundrum, and not one he's feeling especially mentally or emotionally equipped for just now, it coming as it has as a shock to them both. ]
no subject
[ He lifts his own hands, palms out, an almost comical mirror to the gesture of Fraser's own, just as placating.. The last thing he wants to do is cause someone distress by worrying if they've caused him distress....! ]
It seems I come from... rather far back in time, than most around here. I realise I must be considered history to most of them.
[ There's a faint thing on his face that's not quite a smile, not when he's still so startled, but some wry awareness of the fact; he realises it must be a lot to encounter someone like himself. And he's had some time to process such an idea, after Wynonna spoke of it; he's not fully shocked to hear this now, even if he hadn't expected it. He takes a moment to try and compose himself, brushing some lingering snow from himself, slowly. 'Learned as much as there was to learn'... it's a rare opportunity, to be faced with a man who'd studied about it all. And while he might ordinarily shirk from it, and had before...
Could it provide some answers...? Would it be a relief to learn if any of those men had managed to survive? In his heart he thinks he already knows the answer, but... ]
If it causes you no distress to speak of it, then I would be grateful. I... suppose you'd know all about our plight. I was trying to help our remaining men reach safety, but...
[ He swallows against the tightening lump in his throat. He'd clung to the possibility of hope far longer than most, but... it's difficult to see any more of that now. ]
...all of us were very sick by then. I do not know if it were even possible for there to have been any survivors.
[ And with a pause of breath, waits to hear what the Constable will say to that — rather confirming or denying, it would be an odd ache either way. ]
no subject
I'm terribly sorry.
[ Throughout his career, he's had to, on occasion, deliver terrible news with the full knowledge it will devastate the hearer. Conscious of giving pain, he does so as gentle as possible, his voice quiet and respectful.
He glances down at the hat in his hands, determining his words, then looks up to meet the other man's eyes with his own steady and sympathetic. ]
Your suspicions were – are – correct. The expedition was apparently lost in its entirety. If any men survived, they never came forward to speak of it.
no subject
(But some part of him crumbles inwards, realising that it means he hadn't even managed to carry out the captain's final order — not the true order, which was to stage a rescue, but.... the surface command on top of that. The order to keep going and to live.)
Everything was lost. And perhaps there are more questions to be asked — what of the bodies, were any specifically identified...? Able to be returned to their families? But Edward finds that he can't. He dips his head for a long moment, gazing at the white snow beneath his boots. ]
I understand. I have been.... dreading as much. [ He thinks of his family, waiting for his return. He had never married, so of course never had children — such things were really never possibilities or even desires for him; when he'd been promoted to a lieutenant of the Royal Navy in his mid-twenties, he accepted what it came with. It meant he would likely never marry, and he had been fine with that. But he had his mother and father, and several siblings. It... is strange, to know now that he will assuredly never see them again.
(So if he wakes from the dream that is this place... he will be dead?)
He swallows again, and meets the other man's eyes with a little nod. This will take some time to process. ]
...There are others like myself here. From the Expedition. Why this place drew us here, I... do not know. But perhaps we can speak more about things. Perhaps there are answers to be found as to why. It seems to be more than coincidence that I have met you, Constable.
[ There has to be something to it, right? That he should meet this man... him, a ghost, meeting someone who has devoted so much time studying the past — his specific present? Although he offers a soft smile, a little sad, empathetic. ]
If it does not burden or upset you, of course. To be in the company of ghosts.