methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
singmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillppl2023-12-06 12:21 am
singmod) wrote in singillppl2023-12-06 12:21 am
Entry tags:
December 2023 Test Drive Meme
DECEMBER 2023 TDM
PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A new group of arrivals find themselves lost in the frozen wilds and vulnerable to the dangers of nature. With luck, they make it to the town of Milton, and to a friendly face offering food, warmth and shelter — not to mention the fact they are not the first to come here.
PROMPT TWO — MISTY FALLS CAVE: The Interlopers go out in search of a hidden cave in the mountains found by Methuselah, which may still contain the hidden stash of a doomsday prepper. However, they get a little more than they bargained for when they venture inside.
PROMPT THREE — SERPENT'S BREATH: Interlopers investigate the mysterious cause of whatever is killing and poisoning the wildlife and vegetation of the area — and discover a supernatural creature is behind it.
ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST
WHEN: Mid-Decmber.
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 a long time. The fire is cold, the dishes in the sink are pretty 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.
It’s possible you may come across someone here. Another fellow Interloper, out hunting or gathering. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilisation…?
Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights: a small mining town tucked up in the valley. Battered, rusted road signs will direct to “MILTON, POP. 947”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People. In The town!
As you head into the outskirts and further into town, you’ll find it’s a little easier to walk but the cold has gripped you hard. You’ll find the buildings, both shops and homes, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people.
Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a school-house of sorts, or some kind of community hall. Perhaps both. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.
The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face. He smiles warmly, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.
“Ah, even more, still. Just as I thought.” he muses. “I wonder if this is perhaps the new status quo. I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. You are not the only one, the lights are changing things. They bring more of you every so often. Come. Mother Nature has not been kind to you, but there are plenty here to help.”
The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful…. and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.
There are canisters with hot herbal teas and coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus grilled fish. There's also things like instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast, although newcomers will note from others who have been here some time that this particular feast is less bountiful this time.
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.
He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the time and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.
However, he will speak of something important, and will gladly share with others: “I have been looking for something for you all. There was once a townsfolk I knew of: Matthew. A suspicious, paranoid old miner who was interested in Prepping. He often spoke of the world coming to an end and strived to survive it. He often spoke of a cache hidden in the mountains, where he collected things of value. I have found the place, a hidden cave, but I am unable to get through, myself.”
… Well, he is an old man, after all.
“There are signs outside, so it is promising it is still intact. Perhaps the cache is still there. It might provide something useful for your growing numbers.”
MISTY FALLS CAVE
WHEN: Mid-month, onwards.
WHERE: Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: booby traps; claustrophobic situations; potential injury/maiming; potential hyperthermic situations; exploration horror;
Methuselah gives directions to those willing to check out the lead for the old prepper cache. Following the river up from Milton Basin will lead to rugged, difficult pathways up towards Misty Falls — a waterfall, the river source itself. Most of the river is completely frozen with the freezing temperatures, but it is not completely so the closer to the source you go. Misty Falls is certainly idyllic, or it would be perhaps on a fine summer’s day — good for a nice hike. But the place looks desolate in the eternal winter cursing the Northern Territories.
The half-frozen waterfall is a din of sound, but the water itself is incredibly fresh and cooling for those hot and tired from the hike up. Those paying attention might notice a small space between the water and rock, big enough to squeeze through to get behind the waterfall itself. In the small space, the entrance to a small cave can be found. There are faded handmade signs, all in the same hand, reading ‘DANGER KEEP OUT’ and it isn’t too far of a stretch to wonder if perhaps this might be the secret stash of the old miner that Methuselah spoke of.
Venturing into the cave will not be an easy task. It seems the old miner was keen to keep any trespassers out, and most of this comes down to the cave itself. The walls of the cave quickly narrow, with only enough space to walk in single file. Jutting stone will easily make those stumble and trip. Occasionally the cave’s passage becomes narrower, meaning one might have to stoop or even crawl to carry on through. Here and there, the uneven floor dips, and your feet will find themselves in shin-deep frigid water. It’s slow-going, even if the actual passage itself isn’t incredibly long.
But perhaps the worst of all is the pressing darkness. A darkness so black even with lanterns switched off, one’s eyes cannot adjust to it. It is smothering, pressing. The air is stale and damp, you feel small — and the cave itself still presses in on you. The miner also kept a few tricks up his sleeve in order to keep out intruders. There are dead-ends, making it easy to get lost. Trip wires are hidden in the darkness, causing small man-made cave-ins to fall upon unsuspecting heads.
It might be safer, saner to give up and turn back. But persevering will see the cave opening up once more, this time widening into a room. The place is fashioned into some crude shelter. There is furniture, lanterns to be lit.
With more light, the miner’s stash is revealed: the painstaking, time-costing work of a paranoid old recluse. Crates of non-perishable foods, MREs, and bottled water. Medicines and basic medical supplies, flares and tools.
A perfect supply of survival goods, ripe for the taking.
SERPENT'S BREATH
WHEN: Throughout the month.
WHERE: The entirety of the Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of dead animals; malevolent creature; snakes/serpents; poison/airborne toxins; potential poisonings; potential burn injuries; potential (temporary) blinding.
It’s noticed in different ways: perhaps a trail of dead animals stands before you, each one with no particular injury other than what appears to be burned hides and flesh — it is as if the wildlife simply dropped dead, for the most part. Perhaps you notice huge, tunnel-like grooves in the deepest parts of the snow, a few feet in width — as if something long and thick had made its way through to clear a path. More worryingly for some, they might notice trails of rot: destroyed trees, decaying plant life, as if the very earth itself has been scorched in the wake of something passing through, leaving nothing but destruction and devastation.
Something is destroying the flora and fauna of the world. There seems to be no pattern, simply the random trails all over the place. There appears to be no other tracks, other than the long, smooth tunnel-like pathways. Whatever it is, it must be stopped. Resources are so precious in this world, if the beast is allowed to continue then all who live here will soon starve due to lack of animals to hunt and plants to gather.
Following the tunnels is a sure-way to hunt the beast down, although these paths will lead far from town. It is best to go prepared. But soon enough, you may come across the slumbering beast, curled up on the snow or coiled underneath some jutting space of stone along the mountains. You’ll hear and smell it before you see it: the long grumbling snores as it sleeps, and the putrid stench of rot. Everything in you tells you to flee, much like when an animal senses something toxic, or poisoning.
You press on, finally stumbling across the beast: a long, serpent-like dragon, with tremendous horns and fangs, coloured with muted grey scales and huge, glowing, flamed eyes.
The element of surprise will work in your favour to try and kill the beast, but it will give up a good fight. It will take several rounds of fights with it before it will finally be taken down permanently. It moves quickly, with scales like steel. Its eyes and mouth are its weakest spots, as is the soft underbelly of its body — fire will work well on harming this beast, especially with a well aimed shot into its mouth.
Its open mouth is where it holds its most powerful weapon. Not the fangs, no. The very reason why the air smells of rot, why the wildlife lay dead, why the earth decays at your feet: its breath. The beast’s breath is highly toxic, it will burn the skin of those it comes into contact with. Breathing in the fumes will poison those who breathe it in, and will cause a weakening, sickly illness. The breath may even temporarily blind.
These injuries are not fatal, and will heal with time and the basic medical attention available in the world. Victims will require rest for at least a week, depending on how severe the blast of the serpent’s breath. But killing the best will ensure its havoc is brought to an end.
FAQs
1. Arrival threads can be treated as game canon.
2. Items characters have brought from home can be found either strewn around them when they awaken, or in the community hall — as if someone left them out for them to collect. Methuselah will not know how they got there, and will be quite bemused by the happenings.
3. Reminder that all characters are now depowered upon arrival. They can choose not to notice it at first, or can immediately sense something is different about them.
4. If asked any personal questions, Methuselah will smile and say "Oh, you don't want to know about an old man like me. But I have lived all over in these parts for all my life." He will be more concerned with trying to help Newcomers, and is genuinely concerned for them and their well-being. Other Interlopers will say much of the same — there's little to know about him.
5. More information about Milton can be found here.
1. Tools found would be basic survival/camping tools one might expect: knives, hand axes, rope, handsaws, torches, batteries, etc.
1. The Stoor Worm, or Mester Stoor Worm, was a gigantic evil sea serpent of Orcadian folklore, capable of contaminating plants and destroying animals and humans with its putrid breath. Assipattle, the youngest son of a local farmer, defeated the creature by flinging still-burning peat into its mouth. As it died its teeth fell out to become the islands of Orkney, Shetland and the Faroes, and its body became Iceland.
2. It is possible the harvest the beast once it is killed, particularly for its fangs and skin. The skin/scales will provide ample protection to try to use it for armouring themselves. The fangs would provide useful for crafting knives or weapons.
3. It is... technically possible to eat the meat of the beast. Care should be taken in butchering, however. And it is not advised to eat the head.
In the Community Hall
The vampire's movements were smooth, even if the large blue jacket he found himself wearing was not doing his body much justice, and his steps were silent as he approached. No malice in that, though, as he announced his presence before being at arm distance with the other man.]
Looks like I'm not the only one not trusting this food in this... oh so happy place. Good thing to know someone else still has his head on his shoulders.
no subject
In his experience, it's always the worse option, isn't it? He grins viciously in response, showing off canines that a discerning eye might notice are just a little bit longer and sharper than human teeth usually are. ]
Seem to have lost my appetite.
[ At least his stomach has the courtesy not to growl right then and there. The food does smell amazing, and it's been long enough since his last meal that he's pretty sure he could put away two bowlsful of that stew without ever needing to come up for air. But he's been hungry before, and the wait won't kill him. ]
Who're you?
no subject
The grin is taken in and the vampire nods, taking note of the long fangs but paying no attention to it. Either his nose is also much weaker that it used to be, or he cannot smell the blood of one of his kin in the other man. Whatever Wolfwood is, the message seems clear. "you're dealing with a predator". He could return the favor, sure, but he's doing nothing to attract attention to his own sharp fangs.]
Ah, same. This is so different from the elegant banquets I'm used to. Where is the rich and velvety vine? Where the fine young couples dancing around? You can't tell me people organize a party and there isn't even a single bard around.
[The man sighs, vaguely gesturing around them. His posture is a bit stiff, but he's doing his best to look the part of a fish completely out of water. Who is he if not an inoffensive nobleman who was taken to this plane of existence?]
Astarion. A magistrate in the city I live in. And you are...?
no subject
The chatterbox babbles on about fine wine and dancing, and whatever the hell a bard is, but Wolfwood’s only half listening. There’s more people showing up, most of them looking just as frozen and lost as he feels, and the magistrate here is feeling more and more like a distraction all the time. The guy reminds him of a musician he once knew, Wolfwood thinks, another asshole with a love of fine things who also played his cards close to his chest.
After all, what kind of fancy bastard would decide to sit down next to a filthy, blood-stained lunatic to chat about wine? ]
Wolfwood. I was a priest.
[ It’s not the truth, but it’s not exactly a lie, either. ]
What the hell’s a magistrate?
no subject
And yes, he keeps his chatterbox going. Keeping a low profile and looking like a hopeless rich man was his current goal. Now, the man was a... priest?]
Oh, my... you have to be a bit more specific, there are over one hundred deities out there. And was? Did you retire?
[A blink follows. Usually people at least know what he's talking about when he says he's a magistrate, even if it's a lie nowdays. He can't completely complain, the more distant Baldur's Gate is, the more chances he has to evade his enemies. At least for now.]
AH- excuse me? How far do you come from the Sword Coast not to know what- no, it's okay, I can tell there are some... exotic people around here. Well, I am a juridical figure, specialized in criminal law, and I make sure that the city's laws are well respected and the streets are safe.
no subject
So what’s that make you as far’s the rest of us are concerned, I wonder. A judge? Lawyer? [ He lets his accent slur the words together just a bit more, playing up that exotic charm. Just a country boy from the boonies, don’t mind him one bit. ] You the one who brings ‘em in, or the one who locks ‘em up?
no subject
I am a judge. Criminal Law, as I already said. I picked big criminals and made sure the system landed them behind bars or in the execution rows, according to the crime.
[He was a Propety Law magister, plagued by people asking them to decide who got the grandma's cooking book between seven halfling siblings and other stuff like that. Not exactly as glorious sounding as some other options out there.]
no subject
Wolfwood can't help but wonder which of them has killed more people, the assassin or the magister. He can't help but wonder what the magister would say if he asked. ]
Fancy. They name a street after you yet? Give you one of those big statues, with a fence around it so nobody can touch it?
no subject
Also, Astarion would proudly declare he only brought to the Death Row few criminals, but that they deserved it. Far from the truth, since he knows he lured thousands of more or less innocent souls to his former master's palace.]
Oh, please. That's what they do after you die and I still want to believe I have a few centuries ahead of me. Not to mention I'm more of a noble portrait type. [He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, not quite indulging in his usual theatrics only because his body is still trying to warm up properly. Being an undead creature comes with its little fair share of problems, building and retaining body heat is one of them, no matter if they're by the fireplace.] I should get one done when we find a way back to our home, probably. I will have it called... the beautiful man who survived the Long Winter or something like that.
no subject
[ When we find a way back home, he says, like it'll be that easy. And for all Wolfwood knows, it will be -- for some, anyway. If this guy is planning to live a few centuries more, then he's as far from human as you can get... and Wolfwood knows only too well that the rules for folks like that aren't the same as the rules for mere mortals like himself.
Wolfwood stretches out his legs towards the fire, wishing that he dared to take his shoes off. His socks are still soaked and he can barely feel his feet, but at least with his shoes on he can run if he needs to. The fire will thaw his toes and dry his socks -- eventually -- but he's going to be miserable until then. ]
no subject
Certainly better than... those little quaint landscapes.
[Astarion waved one hand, vaguely gesturely toward one of the little framed pictures. He never saw paint so smooth and so strangely realistic in his entire long life, but at the same time he had enough experience with weird stuff not to get surprised by much. And going home... despite his words, the vampire had no idea where to even begin with that, nor if it was the best idea. Ah, one worry at the time.
He scooted closer, finding his spot by the fire and still keeping a whole arm worth of distance from the other man. The man stretched his hands forward while kneeling down and making himself comfortable as his body absorbed a little bit of extra heat. Just a man who wasn't used to low temperatures, nothing to see there.]
Whoever brought us here should have at least bothered to give us some cold resistance trinket... don't you agree with me? I was taken from the little comfort of my warm mansion, my attire was not appropriate... to face this.
no subject
He fishes one out, though, that's crushed but dry, and the first warming drag of tobacco into his lungs does wonders for his mood. The asshole's right about one thing -- it's too damn cold here. ]
If you ask me, whoever brought us here wanted us cold and suffering. [ He's only got six, maybe seven cigarettes left in that pack, and then? Then the suffering really begins. ] Even if this isn't really Hell, it's sure close enough.
no subject
Didn't matter, he was silent as the priest got his cigarette, then took off his boots and tried to get his feet to warm up a bit as well.]
This can't be hell, I've been there and it was lovingly warm. This is also too dry and too full of life to be any of the two frozen ones. No, we're somewhere real, we're alive and we just have to show whoever brought us here that it was a mistake crossing our path.
no subject
Wolfwood's already got his opinions about which of those applies.
He drags contemplatively on his cigarette as Astarion talks like he's got any idea what's going on. It'll be interesting at some point, he thinks, to see whether there's anything behind all that arrogance, or if he's nothing but talk. Not today, though. Today's Wolfwood's still getting his bearings. ]
Maybe we're dead, and you just think you're alive. You ever been dead before?
no subject
The question actually gets him to let out the smallest of chuckles and for a moment there's a shift in his posture, the man turns to look at the cleric of whatever god and offers a small, cold smile.]
I have. [Those words come out lacking both charm and the flirty inflection he seems to add to every other sentence. It's just the flat truth. It doesn't last long, though, as he shrugs and chuckles.] Then I got better! Bless revivify scrolls, truly. You always have to make sure whoever is traveling with you has a couple in their bag!
no subject
Revivify... scrolls? [ Nope, he doesn't have the faintest idea what a scroll is, but that doesn't really matter right now. ] How do those work?
no subject
You know, you get the scroll, cast the spell... as long as someone has been dead for less than a minute, it just brings you back to life. Ta ta and you're back.
A bit unpleasant, perhaps, since you will end up feeling nauseated for a day or two, but it's not as bad as dying per se.
no subject
A scroll, whatever that is, that brings the dead back to life if used immediately. That sounds very much like a potion he's familiar with... a potion that he's run out of. A potion that could come in very handy in a place like this. ]
I don't suppose you know how to make these scrolls?
no subject
Something just doesn't add up. Still, the vampire doesn't show that, merely shrugging and adjusting his boors so they'd at least dry a bit.]
If you have the required diamonds, the blank scroll and the needed gold, I could try. But why would a priest require a magistrate's help in what's clearly his field instead?
no subject
I'm not that kind of priest.
[ Diamonds and gold. Is he kidding? That wouldn't do anything! Is this guy talking out of his ass entirely, or does he really think that magic's real? He can't help but think that it's probably the first one. ]
My speciality's funerals.
no subject
[A small huff as he brings his knees to his chest, hoping to gain some illusion of color. If there is a chance he's speaking with a member of the church of Kelemvor, Astarion doesn't want to take chances: he knows how they feel about the undead.]
It still doesn't explain why, with material components at hand, you couldn't cast the spell by yourself. Lost your God's favor? You wouldn't be the first fallen cleric I meet.
no subject
There isn't any God, pal. No such thing as magic either. Just men and monsters, killing each other.
no subject
While I can agree on the fact they have the habit of being awfully silent when people really need them, Gods are quite real. Just selfish, bastard creatures. And are you telling me you never saw a single wizard in your life?
Not disagreeing on men and monsters killing each other all the time, but the first part is wrong.
no subject
[ About so many things. ]
The beings people worship as gods, or angels... I've met 'em. Fought 'em, fought with 'em, and I'm telling you you're wrong.
[ There's dozens of churches, maybe more, spread all across the continent, devoted to worshipping the twins. And those folks died when the world dried up, same as everyone else. There wasn't any salvation to be found there. ]
Some of 'em are men, and some are monsters, just like the rest of us.
no subject
[he turned around just slightly to face the priest with the entirety of his body. Was he in such a remote part of the world Gods didn't even bother to show their nose? Even less than usual?]
That's people claiming to be gods. Or people trying to become gods, which is possibly even funnier.
[He has a wizard in his very camp that seems to entertain that notion. And that's not considering the fact he claims he slept with the goddess of magic herself.]
And gods do exist. Sometimes I wish they didn't.
(no subject)
(no subject)