April 2025 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

APRIL 2025 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 — and the current inhabitants, their fellow survivors.

PROMPT TWO — THE THING WITH FEATHERS: The Aurora has long since begun to alter the behaviours of animals in the world, and the Interlopers face a threat from above.

PROMPT THREE — MISFIT: Interlopers haven’t been feeling themselves lately. And one day they wake up to find they aren’t themselves at all: they’re someone else.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-month.
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.

These are the words of the Darkwalker, you’ll soon come to find.

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. This place has been ransacked, abandoned long ago. 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.

The sun is bright, enclosed in light fog. It is a strange kind of twilight.

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. Once more, you poor souls come.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “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, mostly. But some coffee can be found. There’s also soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast for those who have battled the cold to come here.

Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks — aided by a handful of others in the Hall. Your fellow survivors, but those who have been here for some time now. 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 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 gesture to your fellow survivors. They will have better answers than him.

THE THING WITH FEATHERS

WHEN: Throughout the month.
WHERE: Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: animal attacks, altered wildlife, gore, possible character injury/death, possible animal injury/death.

It is no secret that nature has been warped here somehow. Interlopers discovered this in the very early days of their time in the Northern Territories, when packs of wolves descended upon Milton. A frightening and terrible thing to try and survive — plenty were injured in the attack, a few unlucky Interlopers even lost their lives during that time.

There have been other ways in which the world around them has become strange: extreme weather, shifts to the flora of the world, changes in native animal behaviour, supernatural creatures, beats from the world’s old stories—

It is hard to tell what may happen next.

The flocks of crows are common sight enough, soaring through the skies, and often the heralds of death: a body, human or animal is close by. But soon enough, the crows began to gather in large groups around Milton. They watch the Interlopers with interest, and seem less easily scared by the people around them. That is the start of things.

Over time, their behaviour grows… unsettling. Interlopers who attempt to chase, scare or even hunt the birds will be met with squawks and even attempts to divebomb. Crows are very intelligent creatures, after all. They recognise the fact that someone is trying to harm them. An Interloper might even kill a crow will be met with raucous anger with their fallen fellow crow. They Will Remember That.

But what is stranger still is to see the birds fighting amongst themselves whilst in flight.

It’s hard to tell why the crows fight one another, but it’s a startling sight to see: the birds tackling into one another, talons trying to rip one another to shreds as they swoop and rise in the chilly air. Some will die, too, and even if one misses such fights in the skies — it is common to find the bloodied remains in the snow, feathers strewn about.

Soon enough, Interlopers may find themselves jumping at the sudden sound of something quick slamming against a door, a window, a roof, a half-buried car in the ground. Investigating will find freshly-dead crows with broken necks, glass cracked where their beaks have struck glass, blood upon wood.

And in time, the birds will stop their assault against themselves. They will turn their attentions to those below: other animals, and to the Interlopers themselves — flocking in huge groups to divebomb the unsuspecting below.

To be set upon is to be met with beaks and claws: the birds are set upon tearing you to shreds, a fluttering fury whirling around you. The best you can do is to try and protect your body from the attack, or run. The birds will be kept back by flames, filling the air with burning feathers as they try to flee — but the best that can be done is Interlopers find somewhere indoors to hide. At the very least, these birds are no stronger than usual animals changed by the Aurora — but they will likely cause some damage to buildings, particularly windows, as they try to get themselves inside.

In time, they will give up their pursuit, finding something else to focus their attention on — whether it be another unfortunate Interloper or some other poor animal.

MISFIT

WHEN: Throughout the month of April.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: personality shifts; body-swapping; possible themes of body dysmorphia; potential body horror, of a sort.

In the month of April, Interlopers have days when they feel….. off. It’s in little ways, at first. Maybe you don’t feel as brave as you normally are, or feel a little more melancholy when your spirit is usually upbeat. Changes in your personality. Little things.

Or perhaps it’s particular habits you keep. Maybe you find yourself not liking your tea the usual way like it. Maybe you find yourself less of an early bird, or prefer to sleep in a different position that you usually do. Those sorts of things.

It is really all that strange, considering the circumstances? Far from friends, family? Stranded in an unfamiliar place, with little-to-no luxuries or even the most basic amenities? Cold and hungry and afraid? God forbid someone feel unlike themselves for existing in this place, just trying to survive.

Eventually, you realise, something is far more wrong than those little shifts in personality or in personal habits. One morning you wake up and you feel… physically different. The weight of you shifts differently, and as you pull yourself out of bed, your perspective is different. Your limbs don’t feel like your own, and as you look at yourself— it doesn’t look like you.

It’s only when you find yourself a mirror do you really realise: you aren’t you at all, you’re someone else.

You’re in someone else’s body.

How do you broach this new existence? Do you roll with it? Do you recognise who you’ve become? Do you feel shame, embarrassment, or an opportunity to cause a little chaos? Are you curious, or very much determined to put an end to this nonsense? Are you horrified? Feeling a deep and strange feeling of wrongness?

Go look, and you’ll…. Well, find yourself. Eventually, somewhere in town is the person whose body you’re currently stuck in, now stuck in yours.

Good luck dealing with that, Interloper.

It’s not permanent, though. Probably. Maybe.

What’s that old saying? Something about walking a mile in someone else’s shoes? That might have something to it.

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.

THE THING WITH FEATHERS

1. Interlopers who have hunted the crows previously will find themselves subject to more aggression in their attacks, and the crows will be less likely to give up their hunt for them if they choose to hide.

2. Which... yes, you can eat the crows. It isn't recommended, as they are carrion birds.

MISFIT

1. This prompt is pretty flexible in how players wish to approach this! Interlopers can wake up in the other's home in the other's body and come face to face with a stranger's home and potential housemates. Alternatively, they can find themselves in their own homes but their body has swapped. This would also mean that whatever clothes they happened to wear to bed that night would now not properly fit them. Oops.

2. Interlopers can undo the body swap by talking it out and trying to reach a moment of empathy and understanding with the other.

3. If Interlopers don't reach that understanding, the 'curse' will eventually run its course after 72 hours.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

[meadqueen]

That's the closest of anyone who’s told her, and Randvi can't hide her surprise.

“It is 2015 here, but the month is…” She frowns briefly, thinking. Her people typically don't use this calendar so it always takes her a moment. “April. If you ask five people here the date that they were taken you will likely hear five different years.”

She doesn't give her own just yet. It tends to be a lot to take in even for people who have been here a while.

Randvi looks up, scanning the sky for the smoke rising from the village, then heads for Milton. Ulfrùn yips excitedly. This is the first dog she's met who isn't either related to her or living in her house, and she wants to sniff all over his face.

[computation]

Bear and Ulfrùn go about dog greetings -- copious sniffing is involved -- but once Root starts walking off after Randvi, Bear immediately breaks away and trots after her. He's willing to be playful while he goes, he just doesn't lose track of his assignment.

Root goes back to tromping through the snow in her ill-fitting boots as she answers. "So if it's not hell, what is it? What's going on?"

She's in information-gathering mode, which means she's suspending all disbelief currently and looking to ask as many questions as she can.

[meadqueen]

Once Bear separates, Ulfrùn snaps to attention and rushes over to run along at Randvi’s right heel. They are working!

Randvi considers her words carefully. “Unfortunately, we do not have much solid information. We have all been brought here against our will with no knowledge of how it occurred. I believe that we have been brought here to participate in a battle between two powerful figures in this world: Enola is a person like us with supernatural abilities, and the Darkwalker, which is a death god of sorts. You likely heard its voice on arrival.”

'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'

[computation]

Caught up in a battle between two deity figures, now isn't that familiar? Supernatural abilities, death gods... Root doesn't believe it right away -- people have been making up gods or calling things gods for thousands of years, and she doesn't think any of them were right, either -- but she's not going to get anywhere by criticizing the person leading her to shelter, so she doesn't push on that. The idea that they're in a simulation gains more credibility for her, however.

"I thought that was pretty rude, personally," Root answers, conversational. "And falls for the tired trap of ascribing agency to evolution. Nature doesn't have a plan or a design; we just are."

[meadqueen]

“It is rude,” Randvi agrees, her voice grave. “Since I've arrived here, it has killed six people directly, and countless others through the cruel tricks it causes this place to play on them.”

Sometimes it feels as if the world itself hates them.

“It is my belief that it cannot fulfil its function while one of us lives.”

[computation]

Oh, she took that totally seriously, and also didn't engage with her pithy joke about pseudoscience. Disappointing, but okay, Root can roll with that. Killed six people directly is nothing to sneeze at, but it isn't enough to rile her up, either. She's routinely killed six people in one week before -- that doesn't sound like such a wild kill count to her.

"If we keep arriving, that must make it hard to accomplish that," she muses thoughtfully. "What's the ratio been like so far -- arrivals to deaths?"

[meadqueen]

“It's not always regular,” Randvi warns as a bit of a disclaimer. “Typically new groups of between ten and twenty people arrive every second month, but there was a gap of several months where no one arrived at all.”

She blames a particular person for their imprisonment here, and that individual had been out of commission for many of the months in question.

“Losses can be slightly more difficult to tally, but I would say five per month on average. Sometimes more. Two or three confirmed deaths, the rest missing.”

Which could, in this place, mean anything.

“I doubt that this creature has the power to kill all of us at once, or it would already have done so.”

[computation]

This is actually more detail than Root was expecting, and she appreciates it greatly. There's some long moments of silence as she processes this, thinks it over, the wind whipping around her and grating against her exposed face, Bear and his new friend occasionally veering toward one another to exchange sniffs or playful shoves.

She keeps plodding through the snow.

"And here I thought I was special," she muses, reflecting on ten to twenty others arriving at the same time she did. Not special at all, as it turns out. "You called it a death god. What makes you say that?"

She's already garnering enough respect for Randvi to assume it's more than just a misguided religious assumption.

[meadqueen]

“Perhaps it's fortunate for you that you were not.” After all, it's only the knowledge that people routinely appear in this area that had Randvi out here looking for people in this situation in the first place.

They trudge through the snow in silence for a moment as Randvi considers how to describe the situation with the Darkwalker in a way that a person from a world like this one won't instantly reject.

“There used to be a group of locals in Lakeside who worshipped it. Most were killed in the autumn after they were instructed by the god to kill us, but several teenagers were spared. I take them into the forest sometimes so they will not be bothered while they pray, and they have described some of their beliefs to me.”

She had seen it in action as well: one of the adult Forest Talkers had quoted directly from a letter that Randvi had received from her sister back in Norway, and the children had told her that the knowledge had been delivered to him by the Darkwalker.

“Though I suppose the main reason is the fear. When it kills our people directly it has to appear physically, and the way it feels when it is present... I have survived war, and spent time on death’s threshold, and I have never felt fear like that. They say that the victims died from terror. Their hearts stopped.”

[computation]

It is fortunate that she's not here alone -- solo wilderness survival, even with Bear, is nothing Root has ever had on her bucket list -- and she listens carefully as Randvi continues, building out a fuller picture of not just the situation but Randvi's character as she talks. It's not everyone who would take the survivors of a death god worshipping murderous cult under her wing, and shepherd them to their preferred prayer spot. She's clearly no fan of said death god, but she still sees those teenagers as human, as worthwhile.

It's the kind of thing the Machine -- the kind of thing Harold -- would do. It warms her to Randvi even though she has no intention of volunteering for prayer chaperone duty herself. Root knows who she is, and she admires the rare shining people out there who prove her disillusionment wrong.

"I don't know if I equate death with fear," she says out loud, pondering. "There's a lot of things I fear worse than death." Spoken like someone who had just died for something. Spent time on death's threshold is a cute way to put it.

"... You're a very generous person to look after those kids."

Root doesn't mean that lightly, and she doesn't believe in coming across something rare like true altruism and not commenting on it.

[meadqueen]

“There are many things that are worse than death.” It's something that she knows well enough, and these children, the last of their kind, likely do as well. “But I think it would take a god to strike fear to such an extent. You instinctively run to ground before even laying your eyes on it.”

She isn't exactly accustomed to running, and it doesn't sound like this woman is either.

“I think of it as a god of death because the children told me that it is destined to eat this world so that a new one can be formed. I understand that they believe it is unable to do so because of our presence.”

It does explain why the cult had been so intent on killing them.

She inclines her head to the other woman at the compliment. “Thank you. In my own world I have been the one called heathen and it was not a pleasant experience. If I can spare these children that, I will.”

[computation]

Although she's a staunch atheist, Root knows a decent amount of history, which means by necessity she knows something about culture and religion as well. That does sound like a classic creation tale, one world being devoured so a new one is born. It's the kind of thinking Greer indulged in regarding Samaritan, and Root doesn't agree with it. Could have, at one point; she could've been that person, easily. But she found the Machine and so she's someone else, and she isn't looking back.

Being a heathen is probably a lot like being an atheist, now that she thinks of it. Ostracized and forced to trust yourself, or give up.

"And they're a good source of information," Root adds prosaically, moving quickly past the sentimentality of it. "I don't believe in literal gods but I do believe there are things beyond my understanding." She says this to explain her position in the interest of honesty, and also to explain why she won't argue with Randvi about it.

"So we're in a war of attrition about who gets to make the future of this world. Have you met Enola?"

What about the other figure in this drama? Root isn't taking it for granted that there's a good side if there's an evil side. Or that there's an evil side at all.

[meadqueen]

Randvi barely understands what that means - are there metaphorical gods? - but she has met one person here so far who had no concept of magic at all, so all things are possible.

“I have not met her in person. We can hear her voice here sometimes on aurora nights, or see her in dreams.” No, Randvi doesn't like it either. “She speaks to us at times of her choosing and we have little opportunity to speak back. She furnishes us with weapons against this place without telling us what they are or letting us refuse them.”

She's not really a fan.

[computation]

There are absolutely metaphorical gods, and Root follows one of them. Not blindly, but damn near absolutely. And she's never had cause to regret it. Even here and now, without the Machine's voice in her ear, she'll still do what she can to follow her based on her own understanding of her wishes.

Technically, the Machine is remote and untouchable the way Randvi is describing Enola, but Root has never found her to be that way in practice or emotionally. It's only like that for the peons who don't understand. The Machine is always, always listening; always caring, calculating, recalculating; Root doesn't have to strain to be heard, she has to strain to hear her. She speaks in the smallest gestures, the fewest words. Root absorbs them all greedily.

"Not doing a great job with the morale part of rallying her troops, huh?" Root notes. "It sounds like we're de facto on her side by virtue of not wanting to die, but she isn't making it easy to fight back. Is that fair?"

Does she have that right? Root is all about fighting back, and if Enola isn't giving them direction, she'll find one herself.

[meadqueen]

Randvi nods thoughtfully, looking to the sky. “What is it that they say, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'? The Darkwalker wishes to kill us and Enola opposes the creature, so we are allies by default.”

Since she is not present in this realm most of the time, they do serve as foot soldiers for her.

“What she gives us…” Randvi frowns. This is always difficult with people from the future. “In the world that you come from, is there magic?”

[computation]

"Nope. Nothing like it."

Root says this cheerfully and confidently, without room for debate, but she's still brightly interested in what Randvi has to say.

"I really should be dead right now, so I'm keeping an open mind. Enola gives us magic? What kind?" The word magic seems like it could encompass a lot of things.

[meadqueen]

It's an interesting response. Most people who come from worlds without magic are resistant to the idea when they're new.

“There are many different abilities. Some are simply enhancements to the body, but others can heal injuries, communicate over great distances, or turn into wolves. I can light fires with my mind.”

[computation]

When she's had her whole worldview abruptly rearranged in a very dramatic fashion and correspondingly rearranged herself, who she is, in response... then found herself here, when she knows she should be dead--

Root's not going to argue with the evidence in front of her. She's one of the rare scientific minds who is comfortable with ambiguity, with the unknown. It doesn't bother her; it just makes her fascinated, laser-focused, a mystery of the universe dangled in front of her and her small human mind trying to comprehend whatever corner of it it can. This isn't as good as discovering the Machine, of course, but it's something akin to it.

She parses Randvi's response to be something like RPG abilities -- she likes video games even if she's not a diehard gamer -- and ponders that.

"What do we have to do to earn that?" She assumes it isn't given out for free, or to the unworthy. "I wouldn't mind some of those."

[meadqueen]

“As with many things here, it is all a bit ambiguous.” Because of course it is. “Occasionally we have dreams, and when you wake from them, Enola has given you a gift.”

These are the weapons she had spoken of so bitterly.

“We are not warned of the side effects in advance and have no opportunity to refuse. Not everyone has them every time: I have received two abilities but some people have three.”

[computation]

"Great. Love an unclear set of expectations."

That's obviously sarcastic, but Root wouldn't really expect anything better from a mysterious dubiously-morally-aligned entity. Enola is no Machine, that's for sure. Not that anyone could be.

They're starting to come up on Milton, and although it's ramshackle it's more a glimpse of civilization than anything else Root has seen so far -- some of the buildings are clearly repaired, shored up for habitation -- and she looks on it with a greater surge of swimming relief than she'd expected to feel.

"Now that's a sight for sore eyes," she says, half to herself, a softer tone to her voice. She really does hate being alone.

[meadqueen]

“Welcome to Milton,” Randvi says. It's unfortunate for this poor woman that she's been taken here against her will, but Randvi is proud of what they've managed to build here, despite everything. “There is a community centre that serves as a barracks of sorts. They will be holding a feast there tonight, and you can find warm clothing and a map of the area.”

[computation]

Root doesn't stop to process, because she's always been able to deal with her emotions on the go, without faltering in her mission or current ask. But she does let out a breath and her steps slow momentarily as she registers the news.

"Do you know what Maslow's hierarchy of needs is, Randvi?" she asks out of nowhere.

[meadqueen]

“No,” Randvi says. A thousand years will pass after her death before Abraham Maslow is even born. “But you will find that I have not heard of most things with which you are familiar. Could you describe it to me?”

[computation]

"Abraham Maslow was a psychologist who theorized that humans have a hierarchy in their needs. Essentially, that you can't get to higher order needs unless your basic ones are met first. A starving person might kill their neighbor for food, but if they weren't hungry they might see them instead as a possible source of safety and connection."

Root rattles this off as she sets off again toward the town, starting to feel the true weight of tiredness as she trudges through the deep snow. The possibility of relief ahead of her, of sitting down somewhere warm, is hitting her hard.

"Having food and safety and warmth... I can start feeling like a real person again," she finishes ruefully, to explain why she was thinking of Maslow.

[meadqueen]

Randvi nods. She can absolutely understand the concept, and had felt the same way once they had arrived at the site of what would become their village of Ravensthorpe weeks after sailing away from Norway.

“I see. We do work hard to keep basic needs met here.”

Even when they'd been starving, they had been serving watered down cans of soup at the hall to try and keep people fed.