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
Very, very close shave there.]
Anne I met in 1716, when she started work as a barmaid at the Old Avery. Rackham I met the next year when he and Charles Vane came to Nassau. He liked Anne from the start, but she took some time to warm up to him.
[And honestly Edward never did find out what she saw in Jack to inspire any kind of romantic affection at all. But he speaks of him with a sad fondness, like he misses him, and all the rest. And he does. Jack had made him laugh, though he was a poor sailor and a poorer friend.]
I suppose it's different for you, then?
no subject
Carefully, she lays it on the floor next to him, and climbs up. One eye still on Kenway, she reaches for her bowl again, and resumes eating, standing up. ]
Very.
[ She met Jack a decade prior, for one, when she was just a girl. They went to Nassau together, and met Charles there. None of this is shared, because as far as she’s concerned, it’s none of his business, but she reacts to something, at least. ]
Barmaid? Fuck off.
no subject
She's a familiar name, if not quite a familiar face, and he needs to be around one right now.
He chuckles at her reaction, and nods.]
She was! And she was one of the best barmaids that tavern ever had. [Granted, it didn't have a lot of them.] Do you at least know Vane, then? I remember Rackham used to be his quartermaster till he led a mutiny against him. Is that still the case for your Jack?
no subject
[ As far back as is important, anyway. They’re talking about another woman now, that much is clear, but she’s got to be clear, herself. Whatever captain-quartermaster relationship he may or may not be hoping for doesn’t exist here. She’s on the verge of just telling him not to give her any more details, as she receives another one that makes her face turn sour and nearly spit out the bit of meat in her mouth. Deer, she thinks. ]
He wouldn’t do that.
[ Anne would betray Vane. Anne has. But Jack loved him. Not the same way he loves Anne, but in their own way, a sacred thing that’s always run deeper than either let on. ]
Jack would’ve died for him. Nearly did, couple of times. I never got why.
no subject
Her response startles him, because Vane wasn't exactly the type of person to inspire any kind of loyalty at all in anyone. Jack wasn't the type of person to be so loyal, and certainly not for Charles Vane, either. He shakes his head.]
I don't get why, either. The Vane that I knew, he wasn't the sort that anyone would die for. Especially not Jack Rackham. [Scratching at his chin, and letting out a breath.] It's queer. We know some of the same people but we hold such different memories of them.
[A beat.]
Tell me at least that you remember Woodes Rogers used to be the governor of Nassau. [He's trying to figure out the common points between them, now: Nassau's a given, and Rackham and Vane, although they're talking about very different people. Rogers is a figure that Edward has no love for—where he speaks of the pirates with a sad nostalgia, the governor has none of it, simply a matter-of-fact question.]
no subject
Maybe. She hasn't decided yet. But the tense set of her shoulders might have just loosened up if he hadn't mentioned Woodes Rogers. ]
I know him.
[ Confirmed with no small amount of venom. ]
Last thing I remember, before I woke up here, is getting the news he had Vane hanged.
[ And there, just a little bit, Anne shows the first emotion that isn't anger she's shown all day. It's deflating, sad to think about. They may not have always agreed, and she never craved his esteem the same way Jack did, but Vane was her captain for a long time, and she would never deny he was good at it. She's not so weak as to cry about it. Her partner won't be able to say the same. He needs her, and she's... who the fuck knows how far away. ]
You see that cunt, you bring him straight to me. Your version or mine, I'll slit his throat just the same.
no subject
But Anne speaks of Jack Rackham as loyal, intensely so, to Vane. Her Rackham isn’t the same man as the drunken fool Edward once knew, it stands to reason perhaps her Vane’s a different man. So he offers this up:]
I’m sorry. I hope he’s found some peace at last, down among the dead.
[He means it, both for his own vane and Anne’s. As for Rogers?]
Bonny, [a small concession to her unfamiliarity with him,] if bloody fuckin’ Rogers shows up, I’ll tie him up like a pig, and you can do whatever you wish to him. [A little upward twitch of his mouth.] Just don’t make my mistake. I stabbed him only once, left him to bleed out, and somehow he managed not to die. Stab him twice to make sure.
no subject
So to that, she shrugs. Jack's the one who was prone to fanciful notions of afterlives and peoples' stories coming to a close in a way that makes sense, but to her, what happens, happens. Can only look forward. ]
You think I'm an amateur? [ The picture of it that he paints puts a smirk on her face, the only thing other than rage, snarling or simmering, he's gotten out of her yet. Maybe Kenway's alright. Even if he is confused. ] No, I'll make damn sure.
no subject
[Which is a blow to his pride, and one he winces at as he says it, but he can roll with that. Rogers died long ago, before Edward’s own death, but if he is somehow here then it stands that Rogers, or any of the other men he’s killed over the years, could come here as well. A sobering thought, that.
Would Rogers even stay dead if Bonny killed him here? Would anyone? In all likelihood, yes—the bodies lying around stand as mute testament to that much.]
Tell me about Nassau, your Nassau, and I’ll tell you about mine. I’m curious to see how similar our stories are. [And he missed Anne. Bonny is a different woman, but he’ll take it nonetheless and be grateful, because of everyone here, she might be one of the few to understand the world he once knew.]
no subject
Anne shrugs and takes her seat back. All this talking, with so many different people. How the hell does Jack do this all day? It boggles the mind. ]
It stinks, like shit, piss, rum, and brine.
[ Folding her arms in front of her on the table, leaning in like she’s talking shop, proper. She doesn’t know what good it’ll do, talking about it as if she can conjure it back and get the hell out of here, but it’s clear, this man considers the Anne Bonny he knew to be kin. She can use that, when the time comes she needs someone at her back around here, and there’s no doubt in her mind that that time will come. ]
But I can make my own money, and don’t have to be no man’s wife. It’s as free as you can be, without fucking off to the woods somewhere. It was, at least, until the English came back.