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.
violet sorrengail (the fourth wing)
[’You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.’
Of course, Violet can hear her own voice inside her head, ringing loud through the muted darkness. Tell me something everyone around me doesn't already know.
Those are her last thoughts before the chill consumes her and forces her awake. She's fortunate enough to be somewhere that seems safe. It's dark in here, the smell of mold overwhelming. As she sits up and gathers the threadbare blanket on the bed around her, memories of Xaden and her final few moments in battle fill her mind. She leaps out of bed with a gasp, fresh feelings of betrayal and pain filling her senses. When she barges out of the heavy wooden door to the structure she's found herself in, she's shocked to step into deep and heavy snow. This...can't be. It was still spring. There's no way there can be snow on the ground here, not even in these far reaches of Navarre. It wouldn't even be like this in The Barrens. But that must be where she is now.
She's struck with a sudden pang as she reaches out to Tairn and Adarna, and finds herself unable to hear or feel either. She hasn't been with them long now, but enough that their constant presence within her is calming. Being cut from them is like losing a part of her soul itself, and she feels the urge to curl in on herself and scream and sob. She knows that's what the enemy would want, that if she's fallen into their territory she has to remain strong. Having her dragons on her side would benefit her greatly, but she is not weak and she will not fall here.
She will keep going.
The flimsy blanket is wrapped around her shoulders as she carefully makes her way through the slippery terrain. It reminds her of crossing the parapet, and given the fact she's still wearing Mira's boots she's able to use the treads combined with muscle memory to make it through the elements safely enough. She walks for hours before she finally sees the shadow of another person. She's on guard, grateful for the fact her daggers still seem to be on her person. Whoever has brought her and trapped her here hasn't completely stripped her of dignity or opportunity. Regardless of what else happens, she at least still can defend herself.]
You seem lost.
[She calls out to the other person, trying to act as if she belongs here and knows exactly where she is. The key to seeming powerful is acting as if you hold all the information. Surely she can do that here.]
Have you been walking for long?
-OR-
[The elderly man, Methuselah, he's kind. But like any aged mind, the information he provides seems broken into pieces that have to be deciphered for true meaning. Violet would be frustrated, but she thinks this man could be like her father, if he had gotten a chance to live. That's enough to get her to bite her tongue and stay quiet. In these circumstances, her silence is kindness.
But her hunger to seek out knowledge has her seeking out one of the others to try and form an alliance with. If she could make friends at Basgiath, she can do it here too.]
If he cannot tell us more about The Flare, we need to seek out anyone else here that might be able to. Will you come with me?
HOPE NOBODY NEEDS THIS ANYMORE:
[Violet has spent the first week in this new land of Milton exploring. It's not right to break into these homes that once belonged to others, but like everyone else she needs warmer clothes and supplies. She finds a small structure to settle in with a guilty uneasiness, and reads through the dairy she finds there. A young woman lived here, barely older than she was. It feels like a violation of privacy to read through her entries, but she tells herself it's what she would have done if she had become a scribe instead of a dragon rider. It's what Brennan wanted her to do with his journal he had Mira gift to her, it's what her father would tell her to do.
Knowledge is power, but all she can decipher from the entries is the year these entries were written was 2014, which means nothing to Violet. But mention of the sounds and lights in the sky interest her, and she writes her own notes in the margins of the journal, filled with questions she has no hope of finding answers to just yet.
When her quest for information turns into nothing, she takes to assisting Methuselah as best as she can with the bodies. Death is no stranger to anyone in Navarre, and she's seen her fair share of corpses over the past year. Like she had done with friends who had fallen, she thinks these people deserve to be laid to rest honorably. They can't be left out in the elements like this.
She's managed to find a broken down wheelbarrow in one of the boarded up stables in town. It's currently being pushed through the snow with a surprising amount of ease for someone that's as short and scrawny as she is.]
I saw a churchyard not far from here. We should help him bury the dead. These are his people, and it would be cruel to ask him to take care of all of them alone.
THE SIREN OF MILTON BASIN:
[The journey down to the Milton Basin was dangerous, but Violet and a few others were able to make it safely enough. They've taken up residence in the fishing shacks overnight, until they have the benefit of daylight to help guide them back to the settlement they had come from. She sleeps sitting up, perched on the edge of one of the cots. She dreams of home, of dragons and danger and flashes of her brother's face. She dreams of her sister, singing her a song she used to sing as a lullaby when she was just a little girl.
Mira's song turning into a wailing scream tears her from her sleep and she bolts awake with a sharp gasp. Violet takes prompt notice that one of their numbers is missing, and leaps to her feet. Outside, she can hear screaming and the distinct sound of ice cracking. Someone falling in is heard next, and Violet curses beneath her breath as she runs out to see what's going on.
Seeing a ghastly, monstrous woman she hadn't ever noticed before puts chills up and down her spine. As the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, she withdraws two of her daggers from their places near her chest and takes aim before throwing. They make contact and the woman screams like a banshee, but tears the daggers out and throws them to the ice in rage. As Violet produces two more, the strange woman turns her attention toward her and Violet wonders if she's venin. That gets her to slide to a stop across the ice, cautious as she takes on a defensive stance.
The wailing ghost of a woman screams, Violet throws another dagger. This one right toward her throat. It connects, but is quickly pulled out as the creature runs away. Whether she's injured or not doesn't matter to Violet. She takes off at a run to retrieve her daggers, but finds one is missing. There's another deep pang of loss, but she knows she has to focus on whoever's fallen into the water.
As she dives in and swims down to retrieve them, she realizes two things. The first is that as soon as she grabs them and tries to tug them upward along with her, her shoulder pops out of socket and she opens her mouth in a scream. Which of course causes icy water to fill her lungs, and she has to use all of her flailing strength to get them both to the surface. As they crest the water and topple out onto the ice, the second harsh reality enters her mind.
The fishing shack provides little to no warmth from the elements, and with her shoulder dislocated and in need of a wrap she definitely is unable to drag their ass all the way back on her own.]
Get on your feet, do you hear me? [She coughs out water, and demonstrates climbing up on her own feel so they'll follow suit.] We have to make it back to where we were, so we can get you warm. Otherwise, you're as good as dead.
Arrival
hope nobody needs this anymore
And so, when he's approached by a woman with a wheelbarrow and a suggestion, he smiles with a watery smile, and nods. ]
Good. I think - they deserve that, at least.
It'll be hard to break through the ground with the ice, but I'll do that if you - if you bring them over.
the siren
What was that? [The words come out through chattering teeth, and he dissolves into another set of frightened whimpers a moment later.]