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singillppl2023-10-09 11:52 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2023-10-09 11:52 pm
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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.
methuselah's feast
He searches everywhere he can, stepping off from the path and out into the wilderness. Looking through neglected shacks and the variety of small, abandoned cabins like the one he'd found himself woken in. His searches are almost relentless, with the aching worry that he might accidentally leave someone out there alone. Leave them behind.
He helps people in and heads back out, and several hours pass this way. Finally, he steps into the Community Hall to take a quick break, to have a cup of coffee to warm him (but more importantly, to keep him awake, refresh his senses so that he can do more searching). He keeps his gun strapped to his back — now loaded with a few more bullets thanks to young Levi — and begins to move around when he sees.......... a familiar figure, sitting.
It feels as though he's been hit; it stuns him, the sight of one of the men. Not his, technically — one of Erebus' — but towards the end, they'd all become one collective, hadn't they? Those survivors, dwindling and dwindling down. His men.
But the last time he saw Collins......
By now, Edward knows that the rules of this... place, this impossible place, don't make sense on the surface, don't match up to what he'd known to be reality. Goodsir and Hickey are a testament to that, seeming to come from.... slightly different places in time. Perhaps this is some ghost, perhaps not, but either way — it's Henry Collins. Little's moving quickly towards the other man who sits there with his head bowed down, his voice lifting. ]
Mr. Collins—! I'm here!
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His gave shifts upwards, eyes wide and watery. For a long moment, he is non-comprehending, slack jawed in the face of the Terror Lieutenant as he draws close. Is he real? Or is this some other vile trick? Is it part of it all, what he fears has become of him? To disappear into the darkness he knows no return from, to surrender himself unwillingly to that void of unimaginable torments he suspects waits beyond that trap door.
He forgets himself for that moment, and then he remembers.
Lurching to his feet, he staggers at the sudden weight upon his injured ankle. He grips the back of the chair to steady himself, shifting his weight appropriately to stand as best as he can. He is a wretched mess of sweat and nausea, the sweet joyful euphoria has long been spent. He... wishes for it back. ]
Lieutenant Little. [ A beat. His stance uneven, swaying a little with both ankle and the lurch of his stomach. ] Sir, I—
[ Trembling, he nods his head. Then, hesitantly: ]
... I am not deceived, am I? It is you, is it not?
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But Collins looks.... worse, looks as though he can't comprehend anything at all, and Little wonders if the man even knows him in this moment. Then it seems to come, and he watches Collins get quickly to his feet, staggering like that — Little quickly slides his gun from his shoulder and dips to let it rest against the ground before standing straight again and moving quickly to the other man's side. ]
It's me, truly. This is no trick of the eyes. [ He'd known the same question, fumbled with it over Goodsir and even Hickey — is it really you? Can it be? All of it still feels like some nightmare, most days, and it's understandable that Collins would be in a state of great confusion. Though he seems.... especially bad-off, eyes glossy and swaying the way he does. Edward reaches to grip the taller man's shoulder firmly, his other finding Collins's forearm, holding him like that, as though to keep him steady; he seems ready to keel over. With that, Little will try to coax him back down again. ]
Please, Collins— sit back down. Here, off your feet. It's all right.
[ He's alarmed by the state of him, and simultaneously filled with a sensation of relief so immense it threatens to bring tears to his own eyes. Another of the men, here... ]
Have you been injured? Are you all right?
[ Of course, the answer to that is most certainly no, but the frantic question comes regardless as Little looks him over with a fretfulness. ]
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Good. Good. [ The last word breathed with a shaky sigh, his eyes growing even glossier. He fights to master his tears, but he already knows he will not win. But the hold is steadying, much like the anchor steadies the vessel, and it too feels real. He nods stiffly in thanks, taking little coaxing to lower himself down to sit once more. ]
A twisted ankle from chasing some black-furred mongrel out in the woods. [ He'd lost the dog, and found himself injured for his troubles. His eyes glance over to the other side of the room, watching the old man in furs busying himself with directing a fair-haired girl laden with blankets. How is it possible? Buildings, civilians? These are no Netsilik people, either. But... people of home. ] ... Mr. Methuselah says it's nothing to worry for, rest will be enough for it.
[ But he understands the other question, dimly. Even in his clouded mind, he understands what it means. He does not look away from the old man and the girl as they speak, almost captivated by the sight of them. But he knows if he looks back, it means he will have to answer. His hands tremble in his lap, and finally he turns his head back towards Little with a small shake of his head. He sounds apologetic for his state. ]
I am... out of sorts, sir.
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For the last time he'd seen him alive, Collins had been.... strange, though Edward had glimpsed him only for a moment or two, shuffling up out of the fog in the middle of the trials for Hickey and Tozer before.... before everything had fallen apart. He hardly remembers the details of it, only a numbing horror and the sound of men screaming.
Later, when they'd identified the bodies of those torn so cruelly apart, Collins was among them.
Edward stares at this man, this trembling, sick man he knows to be dead. Follows his gaze dutifully over to Methuselah himself, and the young woman accompanying him — watching for a long moment, Kate hard at work as usual to assist. As has become usual for him these days, he's looking to make certain she seems all right, before his eyes move back to Collins, heart perpetually heavy but features maintaining a certain resolute calm. He must be calm for him. ]
Goodsir is here. Dr. Goodsir. [ Somewhere along the way, the title stuck; Edward picked it up from the captain. ] He can have a look at your ankle, make certain it isn't anything worse.
[ He pauses, brow knit, uncertain how to... explain any of this. How can he? How can one explain that this dream-state is much more than that? ]
I know this must be terribly confusing. I myself do not know how it is we've come to be here, but.... somehow, we have. To this place, with food, and shelter, and warmth.
[ He pauses, looking worriedly over Collins's face again. He truly looks ill.... as though feverish, perhaps. There's much to... ask him about, but Little doesn't want to rush him to recount things that may upset him too much in this moment. ]
But I assure you, you are safe now. Can I bring you something? Coffee, or something to eat?
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There are others, sir? Dr Goodsir, yourself— [ Surely there must be more. He recognises none here. If Little and Goodsir are here, then surely others have come in from the wilds. It can't just be all these strangers, these... civilians.
(He thinks of his siblings, his sisters. He cannot recall their faces.)
His head lowers, ducks a little closer to Little — almost imploringly as he asks: ]
The other men? Our... our Captains?
[ They must be here, surely. The Lieutenant would know. They cannot be alone. Crozier and Fitzjames must be here too. And the others, the other men of camp. He wipes at his hand with his mouth. It feels much like a dream. Some sickly one and he shakes his head at the words. But I assure you, you are safe now. ]
Safe. [ He repeats the word, but he can't help but not believe it. Much like a battered dog cannot tell the kindness of a gentle hand. Safe? How could such a place be? With that beast haunting them? ] We... have not known safe for years, sir.
[ It's a candid confession, but the bluntness feels needed. And he's miserable all the same for it, even more so when he looks to the tables, laden with food. He does not know the meats. He cannot stomach it. But he cannot voice his thoughts, not to the Lieutenant. He had tried with Goodsir, it was too much. ]
... Coffee, perhaps.
no subject
He does not want to answer, to convey to the other man the truth — and to himself as well. Speaking it aloud... makes it real, makes it almost unbearably so.
And yet... hope still lingers within him, even if it's padded under so much ache and heaviness. If Collins had come stumbling up, these months later.... then perhaps others still will. That possibility, however impossible it should be... is there, isn't it? That more of the men may come? The captains—
......Fitzjames. There's a quiet horror in Little now as he realises he knows information that Collins... doesn't, can't know. Fitzjames died, and before him..... so did Collins.
He sits there, body tense and fretful with uncertainty of how to handle this. He cannot tell this man that his captain is dead, that he'd suffered until pleading for it. And he cannot tell Henry of his own demise... the way they'd found his body — how horrible, how gruesome.
He swallows, eyes flitting away from the other man's for a moment. ]
Very few have come here. The captains.... unfortunately, have not — nor have the other lieutenants. But I have been keeping order, maintaining things, so that I may brief them on our situation when they do.
[ He hopes it may offer some reassurance. It's what he clings to, each day. Though the next mournful sentiment draws Edward's eyes back to the other man's face, and his frown softens as he reaches out his hand again, giving the man's shoulder another comforting squeeze. ]
There are dangers here, but we are.... safe from some things. From hunger. From the relentless cold. ....From sickness.
[ Not... fully; hunger, the cold, and illness are still a part of this strange white dream. But not to the degree they'd known. There are places to sleep, warm blankets, four walls... There is fresh food. On that note— Little moves to stand again, leaving his gun on the ground beneath the table. ]
I'll go get some for you. Wait right here. [ He'll quickly move to fetch two large mugs of strong coffee for them both, heading back round to check in briefly with Kate before he returns to the table and sets one in front of Collins. ]
Fresher coffee than we've had in quite some time. It will help.