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

[climbingwalls]

It's a relief when the sickle goes against the stranger's throat instead of her own. Fear is already twisting in Abigail's stomach, sickening and harsh, and the smell of blood makes her think of her father, of hunting. The metal against her throat would only make it worse. It's the smallest mercy possible, that brief reprieve.

"Is that really worth dying over?" She's almost detached from the panic in her own voice, strangely numb. If he refuses, will that get them both killed no matter what she does? Or will she just be alone, left with the figure standing over them and a corpse to hear her?

She'll tell, if it will get her out of here alive; even as she tries to wrestle down the guilt enough to keep it to herself if she gets the option, she knows she'll do whatever it takes to live.

are spoilers ok?

[flambeaux]

"Depend on who you ask, but no," he remarks as the sickle draws infinitesimally closer as a warning. He can smell the iron in his own sweat, belying the nervousness he'd rather hide. He would like to live, so--down to business.

"Ain't no way you can prove what's lies and what's truth out here. You repeat anything, I'll deny it."

Even if he thinks all this is a farce, it's hard for him to be businesslike about a confession. He's inclined to be truthful, not for absolution, which he suspects is out of his reach, but for the bittersweet ghost of it. To suffer is to be human, and he clings to his humanity.

Louis settles, foregoing his bristliness and posturing. He looks contemplative, like the statues of the saints. Being chained up, he can resist the urge to make the Sign of the Cross. He looks not at his kidnapper, but at nothing in particular. He speaks to neither of them.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," he rattles off, the years not having dimmed the familiar words. "It has been... decades since my last confession." He only looks in his thirties, but he sounds so tired.

"I'm a murderer. By the dozens, Lord. By need, by wrath. I cut down lives to preserve my own, but I did not need to. I killed a man and strung his body up. I was complicit in acts of torture, great cruelty. I hated it but I let it happen, Lord. Infidelity--We allowed it, never did us no good. It hurt us."

He blinks and glances up at the masked figure. "Want me to keep going?"

yep, go for it!

[climbingwalls]

I'm a murderer, he says, and in the dimness, Abigail's form shifts again, the slightest relaxation of her shoulders. She should be scared, maybe, but he's not the one loose and threatening her, and this -- she can use this. If he doesn't want people to know, he might understand if she doesn't, either.

The last time she made this sort of deal, it didn't end well for her -- but she isn't dwelling on that, scrambling to figure out a way to get out of here instead.

She waits for a few moments at his question, half-expecting that either that will be it, or it will lead to the next hoop to jump through. When the masked figure doesn't move, doesn't say anything, she asks softly, evenly, "How much more is there?"

Her words are for Louis, but it's a mistake, and she realizes it immediately when the figure's gaze turns on her, making her freeze in place, breathless -- but it still seems to only be waiting.

i'm sorry about him | cw: familial abuse, religious homophobia

[flambeaux]

Some frantic part of him wonders if he can distract their captor from her long enough. He's done it before, kept a monster's attention on him to protect another. She's a stranger to him, but Louis is still caught up in things Lestat always scoffed at, things like morality and compassion for his fellows.

To that end, he answers her immediately, "I could write a book. But this'll have to do."

The figure turns back to Louis, as he hoped. He watches the baleful glow behind the mask for a moment. It gives his own green eyes a virulent light. He looks away and continues to speak to a God he knows will give him no answer:

"I brought new shame on my family, Lord. I was... callous. I needed to hide. They needed me, and I did not go to them. My sister couldn't bear to look on me, as there is something... unnatural in me. I'm dead to her, Lord.

"I--I failed my daughter." Here his voice falters, and the smoothness of his face cracks. "She so unhappy, she left us. But she came back for me. I did not go with her. I consigned her to a prison, and the prison was our house, and the warden was--"

Who? Louis is unable to continue for several moments, but the masked figure does not relax their grip on the scythe. Louis knows proper confessions need to be complete, so he doesn't protest. Some part of him needs to let it out.

"They say lying with a man is a sin, but it don't feel like no sin. Feel like love. Whatever sins we committed--and there was a host of them, Lord--love wasn't one of them.

"I killed him, Lord. He was a monster, and--I killed him."

don't be it's fantastic | continuing cw for familial abuse

[climbingwalls]

She's silent through his ongoing recitation, listening closely. One sharp breath when he mentions imprisoning his daughter is the only sign of the way that one part affects her; otherwise, she appears unaffected. But the unsteady, guilty feeling of being known keeps growing, almost distant in how strange it feels, and in some way his own accounts seem to be making it stronger. It isn't enough for one set of confessions. The room feels -- unbalanced.

The feeling is ludicrous. Abigail tries to keep a lid on it, knows she should keep silent, but it's compelling like she's never felt before. The masked figure glances at her again when her companion falls quiet, and she's speaking before she even realizes it, like the words are being torn out of her, soft but unmistakable in the quiet room.

"I killed Nicholas Boyle. He was innocent, and I gutted him, and I -- I felt good about it.

"My mother died because of me. My friend. And nine -- nine other girls. I led my father to eight of them. I lured them to him and I... I left them to..."

Her voice falters, and it's unsteady when she goes on a moment later. "I didn't want to die. So I let him kill them instead."

assume my cws continue because louis can't quit anything in his life

[flambeaux]

He was innocent, and Louis swallows. A murderer, so young. This young woman has some years on Claudia, but not many, and they pale in comparison to a vampire's lifetime. Eternity, for as long as they can stand it.

Claudia could come and go and hunt as she pleased, but not far. She always had to come back to the home she hated. Louis was prepared to let her go her own way. Lestat was not.

Lestat and Claudia, his tiny vampire family, were the only ones to truly know Louis as he is now. It's lonely. Louis is rarely so seen. Even so, if he makes it out of this alive, he will deny it all until high heaven. He has his lies prepared (but they feel thin as paper).

The chains fall away. He, or Abigail, have satisfied some unknown requirement. Immediately he bolts up, intending to snatch the scythe and gut their captor, at all times aware of the too-human sluggishness that slows an otherwise smooth and deadly movement. By some trickery unknown to him, he goes limp, a dark curtain falls over his sight, and he does not feel himself hit the floor.

[climbingwalls]

When Louis bolts, so does Abigail -- but her eyes are only for escape, running for the door, hoping that attack is distraction enough to get away from whatever else their captor might have in mind. This can't be the end of it. There must be more; it would be too easy, for that to be enough. Some kind of punishment, maybe. Some other game to play.

She doesn't get there. Her limbs buckle mid-step, and her last thought before darkness is a bitter certainty that there's more to come.

But she wakes up, and the masked man is gone, and so is the feeling of being known and exposed. She scrambles to sit up, glancing around to make sure, but it's quickly clear the two of them are alone. She's still wary, as she studies him in the dim light, painfully aware of what he now knows about her -- but he hasn't been a threat to her yet, has he? And would someone who had confessed to all of that care about telling people her secrets?

She opens her mouth to speak, hesitates to bring it up unprompted. Pauses before asking instead, her voice soft, "Do you think they'll let us leave now?"

[flambeaux]

He blinks slowly in the twilight between sleeping and waking, not sure who she is. Then it all comes back to him, and he rises with a vengeance. Ignoring her, he thrusts the door open and strides into the night, grabbing a rusted pipe sticking out of the snow.

But the kidnapper is gone. That answers that question.

He stands there simmering in wrath deferred. Now the weight of what’s happened fully descends on his shoulders. The harsh truth is, someone who has sinned as he has might just well throw Abigail to the wolves to protect their own skin. Luckily, Louis still entertains the notion that he could be a good person if it weren’t for some circumstances. It’s shifting blame, but it means he isn’t looking to blackmail or kill Abigail.

"Keep your distance. No telling if you’re an accomplice. You know, like magic shows, a 'volunteer' from the audience."

It’s too cold to unpack anything standing still. He starts walking with a vigilant eye, having an idea as to the vague direction of town.