methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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singillppl2023-08-10 12:13 am
singmod) wrote in singillppl2023-08-10 12:13 am
Entry tags:
August 2023 Test Drive Meme
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
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.
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.
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.
no subject
(Granted, the mundies of Bigby's modern time, but-- that's the mundies he has the most experience with, alright, sue him.)
He does briefly wonder if this guy is from the Homelands. Maybe this is the Homelands, though Bigby knows he's boned in several other ways if that's the case. And how would he suddenly end up there? It makes no sense. ]
I don't. [ It might make his answer sound half-distracted, his thoughts running as quick as a speeding truck through his mind, detective experience kicking in. At least it is clear the other is just as clueless about this situation as Bigby himself is. ] Nor do I have any clue where this is. Seems like we're just going to have to walk around and find out.
[ There's a slight pause where Bigby instinctively reaches for his pockets, only to realise that.. of course he doesn't have cigarettes on him during a moment like this..
Go figure, right.
He lets out a sigh, shakes his head, and then adds: ]
What's your name? [ Usually he'd make it a little more demanding, but lately he's got Snow's voice scolding him like a conscience in the back of his mind every time he thinks of doing things the rough way.
But finding out this guy's name does feel important. If this guy is from the Homelands, maybe Bigby can recognize him by name. Honestly, that's more the purpose he's asking it for than for any real kind of socialisation.. ]
no subject
Where is he? This man does not know either.... how is any of this possible?
Gloved hands come together, fingerpads rubbing little circles against the knuckles of his opposite hand; he offers himself comfort this way, quietly. When the man asks his name, Edward's eyes flit back to him, and it's a small dose of relief, to be asked that question. Because it's one he can answer, even if part of him feels the man that his name belonged to has long faded away.
But no... no, he is still that man. He must be. He swallows, tips his head forwards a bit. ]
Lieutenant Edward Little, of the HMS Terror. [ He gives his title, holds onto it, as he looks this rugged strange over and then offers a polite nod. No matter what, he must not forget his manners, wound into him like instinct. ]
And yours, good sir?
no subject
Bigby briefly tries to consider why he would be here in the middle of nowhere with a sailor of all people, but he doesn't have a clue. Especially since this isn't even a Fable seaman. Just a random mundie. Bigby isn't even sure whether there's water around here in the first place - though as he tries to stain his hearing, he can't hear it as well as he usually would've been able to, which is.. weird, for sure.
He's just shoving it right onto the pile of 'questions without answers', though. Can't go around asking mundies why your wolf senses aren't working. ]
Bigby Wolf.
[ At least he does give out his full name in the face of the other's almost formal introduction, though he's leaving out titles. He doubts his sheriff title is going to do him much good here, anyway.
(Didn't even do him much good back home.) ]
.. look, I get you're worried about this. [ BIGBY.. Don't just call people out like this? Look at poor Edward, he's trying so hard to hide it..
But Bigby has had to observe people often enough to pick up on small signs, and he's way too practical of a man to not address it so quickly, mostly so he can follow up with the more productive-- ]
But we better go start looking around, or we'll be standing around here all day.
no subject
....But over time, they did fall away. Slowly, one by one, until he was among the last of them. And then even the captain....
Edward swallows as the man outright says he's worried — YOU'RE NOT WRONG, MR. WOLF..... — throat tight in its unease. But of course, the other is right, and the lieutenant's nodding quickly, head tipped forwards, heavy boots making movement. Having someone else to give him some direction helps, pulls him out of the melancholy of himself, gets him going. He must keep going, must maintain his professionalism, his resolve. ]
Well said, Mr. Wolf. You are right— we must keep on.
[ So he'll start walking, looking around, eyes roaming the quiet white around them. It's familiar but not, snow more than ice, trees and brush covered in frost. There were no trees out on the ice, or the beaches. There was— nothing.
But there are things here. Trees and... animals. It isn't long before in the distance, the howl of a wolf sounds, and Little freezes, eyes going wide. His gun.... he has nothing, and as his new companion so gruffly assured him before, neither does Bigby. Edward tilts his head as though in attempt to hear more clearly, visibly nervous. Compared to the beast that had stalked their ships, a wolf may not seem so harrowing, but without a weapon of defense.... ]
....Does that seem close, to you? Perhaps we ought to change our direction a bit.
no subject
Not that Bigby allows it to let him be left behind for long, quick to follow Edward, similarly keeping his eyes on the landscape they pass. Bigby might be missing some of his usual senses, and while he isn't sure why, he can still use what he does know about nature and his time in it to guide them along.
Like when they hear that sound. Bigby frowns, thinking about it. He can't decipher it as clearly as he'd usually be able to, basically able to tell what the wolf was trying to communicate word for word, but he can still get a general vibe from it. Even if the wolf inside of him feels dulled, he is still a wolf. He's one of them. He knows the way wolves work, the way wolves sound. Their intentions when they make specific sounds.
It's why the man confidently shakes his head. ]
That one's heading away from here.
[ Please don't ask how he can tell, Edward.. Clearly this is just a man with outdoors experience, alright.. It does help that Bigby has that kind of gruff exterior to him.
In fact, he seems so confident in his words that he just keeps walking right along the direction they were heading. ]
Though I wonder if there's any humans living out here at all in these conditions.
[ The frost, wolves out here.. That's never a single wolf either, there must be an entire pack out here. Not exactly the conditions mundies like to live in. ]
no subject
'That one's heading away from here.'
Ah— he can tell from that howl alone? Edward tilts his head slightly as though in attempt to hear some shift for himself, but... well, this man must certainly be used to the outdoors, yes, that is a fair conclusion to draw. He isn't so used to wild animals, certainly not to hunting. Though he'd leapt in to try and assist with the bear-thing that had stalked the ships, in truth, Little would have been ill-prepared to meet it head on. He's never killed anything in his life.
It's his turn to follow along after the other man after a moment's pause, quickly moving to catch up. ]
When I came to here, it was in a cabin.... though it had long-been abandoned. Someone was here, once. But no longer.
[ His voice deepens with some melancholy, and he gazes downwards as he walks, solemn and thoughtful. ]
I do not understand how my being here is even possible. This is not.... where I was, before. What is the last thing you remmeber?
no subject
So it might be better for Edward's nerves to not discuss Bigby's theories about everyone having just plain old died out here, and instead focus on something that's at least a little less ominous, especially in regards to their own possible future fates. ]
I was talking to someone.
[ .. and they're not here. Which is something that unnerves Bigby more than he allows to show on his face, or in his body language. Whatever or whoever took him here, he sure hopes they didn't get-- Nerissa, or Faith, or whoever she might have been. Hopefully she isn't also out here somewhere in the wilderness. ]
I sure wasn't anywhere out near a ship though, if that's what you're asking. [ It's that statement that makes him glance aside at his companion - figuring that there's a big chance Edward was out on a ship, somewhere between him thinking it's so impossible for him to be here, and the fact that a lot of stuff he's said so far sure has to do with ships.. ] I was just out on the streets of New York City.
no subject
[ His stun persists, baffled. How... can that be? How could someone from America have ended up here within moments? ]
You have no memory of... being on a ship? Perhaps you were kidnapped. Knocked unconscious— and taken here.
[ ....And perhaps he was, too. Edward tries to remember, though some part of him wants to refuse, doesn't want to recall what he'd last been doing. What horrors he'd seen. Done.
....But he must try to find reason. As he walks, the lieutenant's mind continues working, churning thoughts. Someone did this to them, and he turns his head to look at he other man again, brows furrowed. ]
Is there anyone who may have reason to target you? Have you any enemies...?
no subject
.. but then Edward just has to continue on with that last line. It's not even strange for the other man to ask, considering he clearly doesn't know Bigby, nor his reputation - but it still feels strangely ironic for Bigby of all people to be asked that.
It's why the man laughs. It's not a laugh with mirth or anything along those lines though. Instead it's just an acknowledgement of the irony, so thick that it's almost kind of funny. ]
No one likes me.
[ What.. a thing to say.. And yet Bigby says it so easily. It's basically just the truth, after all, and accepting it has always felt like the easiest route to avoid hurt. ]
So, yeah, I've got some enemies. But I doubt that any of them would have something against you as well.
no subject
The bluntness of it startles him, and perhaps once, it would have made him even chuckle a little. But not now. No, now.... well.
Now, it's damnably relatable for himself, as well. Edward falls quiet, sobered, staring down at the white ground as he trudges forwards for a few long moments. Certainly he has enemies. And.... what of those sick men? When they wake, and discover what he's done...?
He will be a hated man. Perhaps he already is. ]
We may not have the same enemies, but I have some of my own, as well. [ He remarks, quietly. ] Though if they had done this.... I feel it would be obvious. The leader of their little troupe is a man who enjoys an audience.
[ Hickey would want to see Little's face when he woke up. He'd have been waiting for him, to gloat. But... he's nowhere to be found. ]
Were you... alone? Before this? Or with others? Perhaps they are here, too...
i'm so sorry for how late this is, i must have lost the notif!
His thoughts turn away from that one, though, and over to another woman when the other speaks up, asking that question. ]
I don't think she's here.
[ She better not be, he thinks. It's one thing if she was still a Fable, but Bigby feels off, like everything that makes him one has been sucked right out of him, leaving him to actually feel the cold.
No matter how strong Nerissa - or if that was her, anyway - can be, she shouldn't have to be in a situation like this. ]
You said you were with your men, right? And yet we haven't come across even a single person here.