singillppl | June 2025 Test Drive Meme

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June 2025 Test Drive Meme

JUNE 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 — WHAT LIES BENEATH: New fissures caused by seismic activity within the Northern Territories physiologically alters the Interlopers who check them out.

PROMPT THREE — SUFFOCATION RISK: Interlopers find it hard to breathe, and need a helping hand to catch a breather.

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.

WHAT LIES BENEATH

WHEN: The month of June.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural ailments; mental manipulation; altered physiological states; potential character injuries; potential dangerous situations; potential cold injuries.

The world has gone quiet since last month’s quake that caused a considerable amount of damage around the Milton and Lakeside regions. Newer Interlopers have been met with a town still in the process of being repaired and rebuilt, and some properties have been abandoned all together, used only for spares and repairs of homes that are actually occupied. Milton was home to some thousand people in its hey-day, now it remains a shell of itself. Some hundred or so people making this place a home in a harsh and unforgiving world.

But the world is not completely quiet: tremors and minor quakes can still be felt as time goes on. These tremors don’t have the same impact as earlier quakes, but they’re enough to give someone pause — keeping Interlopers on their toes.

What’s more is the damage caused by this ongoing seismic activity is dotted all over the landscape: scars are beginning to show in the earth itself, or rather — open wounds.

The fissures are small and unassuming, but can easily snag someone’s attention. Even more curious about them is the occasional strange vapours that seem to curl and lazily rise from these fissures. The vapours are a faint green in colour, almost sickly, and there’s plenty enough in you to make you feel like you should keep well away from these rising fogs. But there’s something about curiosity and cats, after all.

The vapours won’t kill you, no. They certainly won’t do you any physical harm, either. No instant burning of the strange, caustic fog that plagued Interlopers last year, nor the sickness that Glimmerfog brought.

But getting close enough to the vapours to examine them will cause a change in you. It’s more of an insidious thing: gradual and slow, changes in your behaviour over the course of a week. Feeling a little more anxious than normal; snapping at people you interact with; avoidance of others; the feeling of being watched and a growing paranoia. You feel like the animal that has known the feel of the snare, or seen the barrel of the gun. Hunted and small.

Soon enough, this slow chipping away at your mind is enough to cause you to snap: fight or flight.

Fighters are lost into states of pure rage. They are combative, blind to anger in a desperate bid to survive — seeking out their dangers to face them head on. They are volatile, difficult to reason with. They will cause damage to anything around them, or anyone. They will cause damage to buildings, objects — smashing their way through whatever stands in their way. They will fight with those around them — their fellow Interlopers — lost in perceived threats.

Flighters are lost into states of pure fear. They’ll break down in crying fits, hysteria and abandon all logic — avoiding their dangers. They will try to escape from wherever they may be — wanting to run out into the wilds, putting them in potentially more dangerous situations. They could end up getting lost in the wilds, or encountering dangerous wildlife like moose, wolves or bears. Or perhaps even onto thin ice on bodies of water. They will hide whenever they can: under beds, in caves, anywhere their minds might tell them are places of safety.

To those around them, it’s finding a way to try and bring the affected Interloper back to their senses. It’s a little stumbling in the dark: wrangling flighters back to the safety of town, like trying to calm a spooked horse and give them a sense of safety and care and connection might be enough to bring them back to their sense. Fighters can arguably be dealt with the same way, but some might need restraining or fighting back in order to knock some sense into them. Perhaps even literally. Drawing blood in a fight with Fighters will also… strangely calm the affected Interloper down.

Affected Interlopers will be a little shaky afterwards. But a stiff drink or a hot meal and some rest will end up soothing them. Hopefully they won’t go poking around those fissures again.

SUFFOCATION RISK

WHEN: The month of June.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural afflictions; themes of suffocation; themes of co-dependency/unhealthy codependency; potential character death/near-death experience; medical emergencies.

You think that maybe it’s the weather. The Northern Territories have been known for unsettled and sometimes ferocious climate — this is the world of endless winter, after all. But June marks a period of calm as the midsummer draws near. Occasional biting winds are the only disturbances to that calm. Other than that, it’s just damn freezing. Even with the midsummer upon the world and the still weather — the world is frigid.

The cold often bites at one’s lungs, and maybe that’s all you think it is at first. Each breath is like ice, hard to catch, and you feel like you’re suffocating sometimes. Overexertion seems to make it worse, whether you’re hiking up a particularly difficult piece of terrain or carrying a heavy load.

Interlopers will need to stop to rest often, and even then it feels like you still can’t quite get your breath back. This breathlessness will slowly get worse over time, until it’s almost unbearable.

Until it ends up nosediving into something more horrifying. One day, it’s the worst it’s ever been. It feels like you’re drowning. Your breaths are shallow and quick. Your vision blurs and warps, a shimmer of dull prismatic at the corners of your eyes. The world grows smaller around you, your hearing growing dim and distorted. You cough and splutter, gasping for air that you cannot seem to breathe in.

Panic sets in. You are suffocating, and if something isn’t done quickly enough, you will die.

But there’s a strange pull in you, too. A need. A person. You get a sensation of them, something about them. Their hair colour, their voice, their smile. Maybe it’s someone you know, maybe it’s a complete stranger, but something in you pulls you towards them.

As the world closes in on you, everything zeros in on that person. They can help. Hopefully you have enough time to reach them, hopefully you can find them. Maybe they’re searching for you too, in the exact same predicament — unable to breathe and trying to find that person to help.

Reaching that person and touching them will finally allow you to breathe. Like the air is clear, and breaths are painless again. It’s like an instant balm, and slowly the world grows back again — vision and hearing restored. You don’t know why, but this person, whoever they are — has given you your breath back.

You’re spared from the affliction, for a short time. Soon enough, it will return, and you’ll need to find that person again. Or just keep them close for a little while.

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.

WHAT LIES BENEATH

1. Characters can be affected multiple times by the vapours.

SUFFOCATION RISK

1. The length of time Interlopers are 'stuck' together to combat the Suffocation Risk affliction is player choice. It could be a couple of days or even weeks — with the affliction itself ending by the end of the month.

2. Both Interlopers can be suffering from Suffocation Risk, or just one.

3. Interlopers who do not reach the person in time will die. They could potentially be revived through CPR, however — provided they are found quick enough.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Spoils

[Her voice is harsh, scraped thin and tender as though each syllable scratches against sand. At least she has words here, even if unpleasantly so.]

Nothing. [The disappointment hangs over her. For a moment she sulks at her predicament before glancing back at the woman. Her question nears rhetorical wonder as she scans the room once more and those gathering for food and warmth.]

Where is this place?

[The painful rasp in the girl’s voice actually warms Randvi’s heart a little, as strange as it might sound. She has a friend at home whose voice is rough thanks to a mauling by wolves as a child, and the sound feels familiar.]

The village itself is called Milton - you likely saw the sign on the way in - and it is in a land called Canada. You are very far from anything you've ever known.

Le Spoils

[She holds one of her arms in thought, her mouth twists to the side. This isn't a canvas, these people are real, weird but real. A lot of this place has been same, same but different. So...]

I don't understand. Why don't people just leave, then?

[Paris is far, but not impossibly far, in theory. Why stay?]

We have not yet found a way to escape. The road you arrived on is blocked. We have managed to finally reach the coast, but the sea there is impassable as well.

But I think even if we are able to leave this island, we will have difficulty getting home. The place that I am from exists in a different time from this.

Spoils

An island... great.

[She says it as dryly as the snowdrifts outside.]

What do you mean by a different time?

Most people here are from far into my future. The people who lived here marked time in the manner that the Christians do, and most of the contemporary documents we have found are dated two thousand fourteen. Where I am from, using that system, the year is eight hundred seventy-four.

Spoiling

Two thousand...

[What wisp of a sound she could make fails her. Everything is just wrong now and it's visibly tearing at her.]

No, no. That can't be right.

[She takes a step back. Her voice is down to a rasped whisper, her eye darting between the odd people in the room.]

Is this real?

[Randvi’s expression softens in sympathy. She remembers how unfathomable that number had felt the first time she’d heard it.]

As strange as it all seems, it is real. But you would not be the first to doubt it. Some of the people here come from worlds with no magic at all.

Worlds?

[Lumiere was real. It felt real. The people were all real. It was all real, and yet...]

How do you know that this is real?

[She's no expert, granted. But it doesn't stop her from hoping that something is wrong.]

Some people arrive together in small groups, but most of us are from different places, both physically and in time and circumstances.

[She gestures to the scars on her own face.]

This happened here. I have never before felt pain in a dream.

[She shakes her head slowly, thoughtfully. She's not convinced. Not that it isn't a dream but that it isn't something else. Creations can get hurt, creations can die. But as she's already discovered, there's no chroma for her to manipulate.

Without looking at the woman she tries to flick her wrist subtly by her side. It's meant to call a rapier to her hand, but nothing comes. And unlike her previous gestures, she understands that one better than her own hand. She couldn't have done it wrong.

Her mouth leans to the side, stretching the grooves of her face.]

I guess this is real.

[She concedes, finally. A harsh breath escaping her.]

Sorry, [she says looking back to her again. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes, but she's trying.] It's just a lot to... [understand, take in, deal with.]

I know. I believe it is so for all of us, but particularly for those of us who did not come from a place with the level of technology this one once had.

There are dangers here that cannot be overstated, but you can live a good life.

[Live a good life... Where's she heard that before.]

Yeah. Right.

[Her voice is small to the concept, but she sounds much more interested, leaning almost, into the next question.]

What.. kind of dangers?

Our bodies and minds are often temporarily altered without our knowledge, and we are occasionally set upon by violent beasts. And then there is the Darkwalker.

[If she weren't herself the violent beasts wouldn't be an issue. But she knows how incapable this shell is. It's a miracle she can even speak in this place. Or maybe it's because of this place.]

What's the Darkwalker?

[It sounds like something Clea would make to teach her a lesson.]

Do you recall the voice when you arrived? You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design. That was the Darkwalker. It is some manner of death god attached to this place, and it is not happy that we are here.

It has killed six people directly, and many more through indirect means. Most of the things that happen to us here seem to be part of its plan to remove us.

I heard it I just didn't... [think it was more than another nightmare.]

Can I ask you something?

Of course.

[This place is frightening enough even when you know about what's going on.]

[She's very careful about asking, it's as soft as her sandpaper voice can manage without becoming a wisp of painful gasps. She wouldn't want people asking her about her scars and the hesitation is clear as she vaguely points to her own missing right eye.]

Did that happen here? Did the Darkwalker do that?

[Randvi nods, unoffended. This is far from the most forward way that someone has asked her that question.]

It did happen here, but the question of whether the Darkwalker is responsible is a bit murkier. When it attacks directly it leaves no mark, and thus far none of those victims have survived.

Last year, in the spring, a glimmering fog likely created by the Darkwalker passed through the village. It rendered many people unable to fall asleep. Disoriented from exhaustion, I became lost while hunting and wandered into a bear’s den. I'm lucky to have escaped with my life.

[She's a little relieved it's something reasonable like a bear. But it unsettles her that she still knows so little about this Darkwalker and what its capable of. No marks on the dead? How? Even in a canvas, it doesn't make sense.

She holds her arm to comfort herself a little. But another question leads to the next. Is this why Lune always had so many questions? She almost feels guilty for troubling this woman so much.]

And you always wear that patch?

In public, yes. I used to wear a bandage, but this is more comfortable.

[She gestures to the sleeping dog at her feet.]

Ulfrùn helps me to travel more freely, so I am spending more of my days outside.

[She only hums an answer. Before smiling warmly at the sleeping dog, crouching to say hello, she waits to see if he'll awaken if she stays close for a little bit.]

His name's Ulfrun? Has he always been with you here? [She asks, glancing up just long enough to the woman before her attention is taken again by the sleepy pooch.]

[It makes her smile a little. The young dog has always had this effect on people. The girl is lucky that she's sleeping so she can't attempt to scam treats from her.]

She has been with me for most of my time here. I am not certain whether you've met him, but Constable Fraser’s wolf Diefenbaker took an interest in a local man’s dog and Ulfrùn and her siblings were the result.

[She looks up with some surprise.]

A wolf?

[She smiles at the sleepy dog. Wolf-dog. She'll hold out a hand ready to pet him before she remembers herself.]

Can I..?

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Spoilers unending!

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