August 2023 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

AUGUST 2023 TDM

PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A group of newcomers 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.

PROMPT TWO — HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE: Once recovered from their journey, newcomers are free to explore the town of Milton for supplies and find any signs of the townsfolk.

PROMPT THREE — THE SIREN OF MILTON BASIN: A mysterious woman haunts the frozen lake of the Milton Basin, trying to lure newcomers to their deaths.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Day One.
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 days, maybe longer. The fire is cold, the dishes in the sink are a little mouldy. 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.

But it won’t be long until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire.

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. As you head into the outskirts and 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, are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up. Other than those heading in the same direction, towards the smoke, you won’t find any townsfolk coming to greet you, or even looking at you from behind curtains. … Where is everyone?

Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the smoke 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.

“It seems like a great deal of you have come.” he muses finally. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. Please, warm yourselves. Eat. Get your bearings. Mother Nature has not been kind to you.”

The room is dim, lit mostly by the weak 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, places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold or any injuries. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long, foldable tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen.

There are canisters with hot herbal teas and coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred moose, deer and rabbit meats, 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.

If you ask him where you are, he will simply respond: “This is Milton, of the Northern Territories.”

If you ask how you came to be here, he will shake his head: “Something has changed. The sky, it was… full of light. The Flare. I felt you coming, a great arrival. But I cannot say for certain how, or why you are here.”

He is regretful, genuinely so. He wishes he had more answers for you, but he does not. Instead he will simply insist you rest, get warm and eat. There is plenty to go around. Eventually, when you feel well enough, Methuselah will gesture to the door: “When you are ready and able, explore the town. Many left, others could not make it out. I have found no one but the dead. They will have no use of the place now, perhaps you might in the meantime.”

HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE

WHEN: First couple of weeks since arrival.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: frozen dead bodies, unexplained deaths, suicide, murder.

Other than Methuselah in the Hall, the town of Milton is void of life. While not a particularly large town, there’s a few stores and even a gas station. Life here is rustic. Function over form. Homes are simple but sturdy and warm, it’s a rugged place and one can easily deduce that the folk living here led simple, self-sufficient lives.

Commercial buildings and stores of note include a bank and post office, a hunting/fishing supply store, a grocery store, and a clothing store. There is even a church just on the outskirts of town. The buildings are ripe for picking, with most of them still with the doors unlocked, including the residential buildings. Others are locked, but can be broken into easily enough. A few are even trickier, with some of them boarded up or with entrances blocked. In terms of contents, a third of the residential buildings seem to be almost empty, as if the owners moved out long ago. There might still be things left behind of use: old, warm clothes good for the wintery weather, tools and cooking utensils — but little in terms of food. Even if the former residents move some time ago, they didn’t completely empty their homes.


Most of the homes in Milton seem to be left as if the owner stepped out only a short while ago, and with very little disturbance. Some houses, however, seem to be abandoned in a hurry, with a mess of items strewn about in some last-minute dash to grab essentials: keys, identification, treasured personal items, supplies for a quick exit. Cupboards are typically filled with an abundance of canned goods, and some chilled goods might have survived in the cold weather within the fridge-freezers, but it might be a gamble if one wants to try and eat them. Any and all electronics within homes: televisions, computers, mobile-phones — although dated, will all appear cracked and damaged, and will not function or turn out at all. The same will go for any vehicles around the town: there is no hope of starting any of them.

Diaries and journals kept by the former residents may remark on a change in the weather, with the cold and harsh climate becoming more hostile as of late. Others remark strange lights in the skies, dating several weeks or so ago, strange noises in the air, issues with power and electrical items. Some make mentions of changes to the wildlife, with wolves coming close to the town even when they had never done so before. One or two mention problems on the Mainland, with increasing difficulty of reaching out to loved ones who don’t live in the Northern Territories, or deliveries being unable to arrive. The growing trend is that something odd and terrible has been happening, although no one can truly explain what, and the problems have been growing increasingly worse and worse up to the final entries. You might note that the actual years and dates might not line up with your own: the current year given in these entries is 2014.

The newcomers are free to take over these homes, if they wish. No one appears to be stopping them, and even Methuselah seems to shrug about moving in. And as he’d mentioned, he has found no one but the dead: and plenty of them can be found.

Bodies of the town’s former residence can be found scattered over the town. In homes, in stores, out in the snow. They appear still relatively fresh, although it may be hard to tell if it’s from the cold or if it’s from very little time passing. Most appear to have died from cold exposure, some appear to have simply dropped dead on the spot. Others may be found with a gun in hand. Some, worryingly, appear to have perished by another’s hand. You won’t find the entirety of the town’s population, but there’ll be at least several dozen. Men, women, children.

Methuselah seems to have begun laying the dead to rest, but there’s too many for one man to do. Maybe you can work out what to do with them, try to bury them in their backyards, or try to take them to the churchyard.

THE SIREN OF MILTON BASIN

WHEN: Until the next Aurora.
WHERE: Milton Basin.
CONTENT WARNINGS: mental manipulation, malevolent mythical creatures, falling through ice, attempted drowning/possible successful drowning, potential character death.


Those who venture further south of the town will find themselves traversing the steep, winding paths down towards the Milton Basin. The way down is treacherous, but if enough care is taken you should be able to make it down in one piece. The water is just about completely frozen over down here, thick and sturdy enough to walk over for the most part. Within the Basin there’s more wildlife to be found: deer and rabbit are plenty. And there’s even plenty of foragables, too.

Out on the water are two small ice-fishing cabins, enough to fit one or two people inside comfortably, which hold a few forgotten supplies to try out some ice-fishing if you want to see if anything bites. Both even hold little log burners to keep warm. An old hunter’s shack can be found along the water’s edge, for those not quite brave enough to travel out onto the ice, to take shelter in for when the weather gets a little too difficult, with an old log burner still working within it.

But it’s calm down here, for the most part. Peaceful even. It’s an excellent place for fishing and hunting, and a little more sheltered from the freezing winds.

Until you hear the voice. Something soft and feminine, echoing across the ice. The Basin helps to amplify the sound, and for a long time you can’t quite be sure of where exactly it’s coming from. It’s singing, she is singing. Something old, in a language you can’t quite understand. Maybe it’s not even a language at all, but simply melodic vocalizations. It’s... beautiful, you’ve never heard anything like it before in your life.

And then you see her: a woman standing upon the frozen waters of the Basin. You realise she’s probably the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your life, even if you can’t quite even begin to describe her. She appears different to everyone who beholds her, some one might see her hair is long and dark, others might see her with neat red curls. Some swear her skin is dark and rich, that looks almost plum when the light hits it just so, others claim it to be cool-toned that glistens like sunlight on snow. Whatever someone might find aesthetically pleasing is how she’ll appear, and even then to describe her to others will bring you at a loss for words. And she’s singing… to you, for you.

You’re compelled to go to her, although you can’t explain why. You’re drawn to approach her, to hear her better, see her better. Your feet carry you onto the ice, out into the midst of the Basin. You ignore the calls of everyone and anyone around you, fixated on the woman before you. She smiles when you’re close enough, beckons you a little closer.

… Then everything changes. Without warning, the woman leaps for you, her face contorting into something hideous, mouth opening to scream to reveal rows upon rows of tiny, needle-like teeth. She collides with you, and the force (paired with the slippery ice below you) is enough to send you off your feet. As you fall back, the ice cracks beneath you with an almighty sound, plunging you into the frigid depths below.

The woman fights to put you beneath the water’s surface, those needle-like teeth bared like some ferocious beast. She can be fought off easily enough, but she might just drown you before you’re able to. If you’re lucky, someone might be able to help pull you out. Tools or weapons made of iron or silver are especially harmful to her.

Once you’re pulled from the water, getting somewhere warm will be the utmost priority — otherwise the cold will kill you quicker than the woman would. The woman, you’ll find, will have vanished, and the ice where you’d fallen will have restored itself, as if it had never been broken at all.

FAQs

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

1. 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.

2. 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.

3. 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.

4. If asked how he knew that the Newcomers were arriving, he concedes that although it is a strange thing to know, it is much like how one knows a storm is coming.

HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE

1. Characters are welcome to take up residency in any of the homes of Milton. Methuselah will strongly advise characters to leave a huge, dilapidated house — known as Milton House — well alone, due to extensive fire damage.

2. More information about Milton can be found here.

THE SIREN OF MILTON BASIN

1. Characters with hearing impairments will not be susceptible to the Siren's song, or may only be somewhat susceptible depending, but may be entranced to a degree by looking at the Siren. However, this will be far easier to snap out of.

2. The Siren cannot be killed, only fought off. She will disappear for a length of time to recover before she attempts to lure her next victim.

Comments

cw: finger trauma

[missionem]

[ Thomas is biddable enough under her touch. There's a purposefulness to her actions that seems to extend beyond mere compassion and into the steadiness of someone who knows what they're about, and he sees no reason to buck at it.

She's also quite direct, which he appreciates in these circumstances. He falls into clumsy step beside her as best he can, which isn't a very good showing at all.

Once out of the deep shadow of the tree, his body no longer angled to hide the worst of it, the dried blood on his side stands out. He hasn't cared to examine the injuries yet, or to look at his swaddled hand. If he keeps his index finger folded down he hopes it might seem as though all of his fingers are folded underneath the bandage, a ruse that will last until the first time anyone - let alone a trained eye - takes a second look. ]

Thomas. [ He won't think about it. Not his stab wounds, not his mangled, truncated hand. ] Funny. I don't know why I'm here either.

Do you know what's up ahead? The smoke?

[suturama]

[ She sticks close to him, for her benefit as much as his. They can catch each other if they stumble. Christine wants so badly to give him her blanket, but it won't do him any good. His wet clothes are, at best, a barrier. At worst, they'll soak the blanket through, and then they'll be out that too. Ragged and pitted with holes, it conserves very little body heat. As long as it's dry, however, it could serve as bandages, if either of them come to harm.

Christine casts about for shelter. ] Nope. Don't know how far we are from it either. But I woke up in a cabin, and if we see another one, we should take shelter. You need to warm up.

[ She ignores her feet and the snow crunching underneath them. His condition is her new fixation. The state of his fingers comes to her attention, concern and disapproval mix in her reaction. Shit. On the one hand, vasoconstriction will mitigate hemorrhaging. On the other, his remaining fingers are much more vulnerable to frostbite. ] Keep that elevated. [ She pulls at the blanket around her shoulders. Whatever heat it can conserve, he'll need it to keep that hand. ]

[missionem]

Don't.

[ Thomas shucks the tenuous vestiges of affability when he sees what she seems to be about to do, his eyes darkening at he looks at her directly. His gaze is muddy with pain and weariness, but there's a sharpness to it even those forces can't blunt. ]

I'm dying. [ She was direct with him; he'll be direct with her. ] You don't stop for me, and you keep that blanket.

[ He lifts his hand all the same, holding it awkwardly to his chest. Somewhere in the trees, the wolves take up their howling again, and his lips thin. He doesn't much care for the sound, or what it forebodes. ]

And when I fall, you leave me where I drop. Understand?

[suturama]

[ She doesn't stop. She keeps on, finding the edges of the blanket, pulling it taut and folding it by halves. He's arguing against himself, in her opinion. He's further gone than she is, therefor he needs the most care. ]

If you drop, I'll take it back. I'm not an idiot. [ If he was beyond saving, she wouldn't squander the resource. Triage taught her how to make those decisions. Christine's tone is frank and commanding. There's little urging and no desperation. Practiced. She's had these conversations before. And, yes, sometimes the patients she had them with didn't make it, but not once did that make her think they weren't worth having.

She halts, and attempts to halt him as well, hand on his shoulder. ] Now let me wrap it. Quickly, so we can get moving again. Understand? [ The last word, reflecting his, is imbued with a sliver of levity. She's not a total hardass. ]

cw: willingness to die

[missionem]

[ If Christine had answered him with sentiment, protested that she would never abandon a fellow human soul to their fate, Thomas would have kept arguing with her until he broke her down. He would have held no scruples about the unkindness and abuse he would have heaped upon her head until she would have been looking forward to being rid of him, if necessary.

This is something entirely different. Hard-edged, sensible, brooking no nonsense out of him. It reminds him fleetingly of Andrea, and despite himself, a flicker of a smile crosses his face. It's half-bemused, half-knowing, and when he tips his head to her and comes to a stop he does so with the air of someone conceding a match to an opponent. ]

I understand. [ He says, quietly, submitting to however she wishes to bend and rearrange him for her purposes. ] I'll hold you to that, when it comes to it.

[ He still doesn't like that she's surrendered her blanket, as tawdry a thing as it is, but if she starts succumbing to the cold he can always pitch himself sideways into the snow and refuse to get up again. ]

You've done this before.

[suturama]

[ She smiles, nods. He's got a good head on his shoulders, then. All the more reason to keep it there, and all his limbs attached too. She can tell, as she's wrapping his wound as if with a bandage, that the fingers are gone completely. He's holding together very impressively, considering. He doesn't seem like the type to be greatly bolstered by her remarking on it, though. She'll reserve that for hindsight, provided they both survive the night. ]

I'm a nurse. [ Head nurse on the Federation's flagship. She's good at her job, and she knows it. Tucking the blanket into a fold of itself around his forearm, the half-grin she gives him says as much, and she tips her head to him in return when she says, ] You hit the jackpot.

[ It may not be as plain to tell, but he's helped her, too. Christine doesn't feel so horribly lost, now she's got someone besides herself to keep alive. Someone to keep her spirits up for. This wasn't the most graceful display: she lost hold of the blanket once from a muscle spasm, and the overall strength of her grip lessens throughout the process. But it's an achievement that no future failure can diminish.

A nudge at his elbow with a crooked finger. Time to get going. ] How about you? What's your story?

[ It doesn't have to be his occupation. Anything he shares is fodder for the mind, and maintaining a back-and-forth will help them stay apprised of each other's breathing. ]

[missionem]

[ A nurse, and an apparently experienced one. Thomas might have guessed as much, if he had been in the mood for guessing. He smiles wanly back at Christine, which he imagines as nearly as gruesome a sight as his hand is. It doesn't seem to fit right on his face.

Meanwhile, the spasm of her hands and their growing weakness isn't lost on him. Given, as they've established, there's no point in worrying after himself, he manages to have enough spare concern to take note of it.

Thomas stirs back into motion at her prompting, holding his swaddled hand close. It's a kind gesture, and he finds he does feel some gratitude for that, however futile that kindness is. His head swims as he peers into the dark ahead, and he grasps at the line of conversation before he can sink into the fuzzy grey that threatens the edges of his vision. ]

Itinerant labourer. Very little story to that.

If you mean this... [ He won't threaten her hard work by waving it around, so he tilts his chin at his hand instead. ] ...an altercation with a meat grinder.