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singillppl2023-12-06 12:21 am
singmod) wrote in singillppl2023-12-06 12:21 am
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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.
no subject
Yes, me![In all his magnificent glory, blah blah, he would certainly lose himself into theatrics if he wasn't freezing to death and if he didn't know Wyll knew him decently enough by now.] Big surprise. How did you find enough time to get dressed in the middle of that mess?
[From the rogue's point of view, they were surprised in their camp and barely had time to rush for their lives. It takes him a moment to figure out what the other is doing with his clothes before realizing he has yet another reason to thank the Gods his group is mostly made of sweet, naive souls who are far to kind for their own good. He welcomes the Jerkin with open arms and even lets out a small, appreciative sigh when his bones feel anything more than the unforgiving bite of cold.
Even with that protection, the spawn's body is still shivering so hard his teeth can occasionally be heard chattering, no matter how desperately he attempts to stay in control of his own reflexes. His words even lack his usual flair and color when he decides the Blade spent enough time staring in the distance and it's time to move.]
I bet. And I feel like everyone in our little camp will choose to sleep right next to her tonight. Just know that if there will be a pile of bodies to keep warm, at least for tonight, I have all intentions of sleeping at the very bottom of it, under everyone else.
[He eyes the other man's arm just for a second before latching to it, anything to preserve whatever little to no body heat his undead body managed to keep so far. He doesn't say much more before starting to walk toward the little trail of smoke.]
no subject
As they begin trudging back into the storm though Wyll falls silent, struggling with the wind steals the breath from his lungs and even he has difficulty speaking clearly over the wind. More questions can wait until they find shelter. Questions like where in the Hells they are or how they got there. Never mind figuring out how it is that his ties to Mizora are so unsettlingly quiet. He may hate her but he cannot help being suspicious of anything that cuts him off from her so completely.
By the time they're moving up the hill toward the large building he has small icicles dangling from his horns, the front edge of them crusted with ice and the thin skin at the base beginning to discolor. Something that is liable to draw even more attention than they usually do. Especially when he realizes... so far as he can tell all the other people heading inside are human. Not a single dwarf or tiefling or gnome. Perhaps some are half elven or even full elves but it's impossible to tell when everyone is bundled up so tightly.
He can't help worrying, his steps slowing for a moment as he draws his arm away from Astarion.]
You should go on. You can fit in well enough but they may not take kindly to having a devil in their midst. If that is the case then it would do you little good to be associated with me.
no subject
The devil may have decided to step away from him, but the vampire is quick to push himself against him again. He will not stay there completely in the cold if they have to talk before entering in the only populated building of the village.]
Well, maybe. But at the same time people are afraid of devils, they respect them most of the time, they're much less afraid of a shivering elf. If we walk in saying you saved me from the storm or something like that, we can already start to build some trust points.
Some people want to believe in the good of others, let's use that in our favor. I'm sure I can string a lie or two for you.
[He's really good at running his mouth, yes, but he's also studying the area. The bubildings have an unfamiliar kind of architecture, there are countless weird details he has never seen around and by the gods what are those awful colors in the walls? He can barely see them, but the lights of the community hall is enought to-] Oh... [Just that. A whisper as he blinks. Now that the sun is fully below the horizon and that they have enough cover from the weather he can fully tell his darkvision is... gone? Maybe it's just a momentary side effect of whatever happened with the portal.]
Listen, most of them seem to be here in weird and not very appropriate clothes, they may have been brought here like us as well and may be more inclined to momentary alliances even with devils. Throw in some pity points, shed a tear or two, let me do the talking if needed, but let's go inside. My trousers aren't made for this weather.
no subject
[It's so immediate and earnest that he absolutely expects Astarion to roll his eyes. It doesn't make it any less true, though. Regardless of what his jaded companion might think. Part of him also notes that weaving a tale of rescue is hardly needed. The elf is wearing his coat, after all.
That little whispered realization has Wyll looking around as well though, worried that Astarion might have observed some problem that they should deal with. But the vampire carries on as though it never happened, leaving Wyll to wonder. Still, he's too cold himself to consider pushing the subject.
So, without further argument, he links arms with Astarion again and bustles inside, bracing for the worst.
Which..... doesn't come. The old man who seems to be in charge of things takes the infernal marks upon him in stride, there are plenty of odd looks from others but people largely seem more confused than scared which is another oddity, to be sure. Regardless, after a few pleasantries, Wyll is quick to pull Astarion closer to the warmth of the fire.]
No lies necessary. Now. Come, sit. You need this far more than I. [Which is categorically untrue. Astarion may not produce any heat on his own but the vampire is also not in danger of losing his extremities to the cold due to a lack of blood flow. Not that it will stop Wyll from fussing. At least a little bit. Far easier to focus on Astarion's discomfort than his own.]
no subject
[He did roll his eyes, but he's also eager to get inside. His body isn't quite generating heat, with him being undead and not really having a normal metabolism due to that little insignificant problem. Part of him blesses the fact he found the Blade while looking for shelter, his body warmth helped more than the vampire would like to admit.
Stepping inside is like suddenly allowing his body to thaw, even if his sensible nose is almost overwhelmed by the smell of food and people. This is a fest, that's true, but he can tell some of the presents didn't wash for quite some time and that smell doesn't agree much with the aroma of cooked meat. The vampire never quite leaves Wyll's side, wary of all those strangers, and Astarion spends most of the time scanning the presents trying to evaluate any possible immediate threat... or eventual victims.]
Mh? [He turns in the Blade's direction, shaking his head and taking off his jerkin, at least the fireplace is enough to warm up the building and his body for now.] I see they're giving out warm clothes, I want to grab some before they run of of things my size. I just wish... they weren't so colorful and poorly decorated. [Colorful winter jackets, any fashionable vampire's worse nightmare. It's only after putting his hands. Perhaps it's just an excuse to look around a bit more and spot potential escape routes, perhaps he really needs to feel a bit warmer, but Astarion comes back only when he got his hands on jackets for both of them. He is not a generous person, no, but Wyll is his only ally right now... and the idea of the Blade himself wearing a bright green coat with lovely pink polka dots- he had to grab it for him.
His movements were graceful as usual as he took a seat right next to the devil, his body now wrapped in a bright blue winter coat. There was a moment of silence, consideration, then he let out a dramatic sigh, pointing his hands forward and turning to look at his momentary companion.]
What. The hell. Happened?
[A valid question, considering the events that led him to that frozen wasteland.]
no subject
You should get dry before you go layering more on top of what you have, Astarion. [Which is why Wyll isn't layer the coat offered to him on right away as well. Especially with the ice crusted over his horns beginning to melt and drip down his neck and onto his shoulders. And as he thaws he's also rubbing his fingers curiously over the coat's material. It's a strange slick something reminiscent of silk but different somehow. Odd.
Ah, but there's the question of the hour, isn't it? Wyll frowns, brow furrowed as he leans forward.]
At first I thought Mizora had cast me back to the Hells. You'd be surprised how much these mountains remind me of Stygia. [A huff of sound, self-deprecating and a touch more bitter than the Blade usually allows others to hear from him. These are, however, uniquely dire circumstances.] She has no power to command your soul, though. I can no longer feel my connection to her, either. None of my magic seems to be working... so what happened indeed?
no subject
[He was not going to expose his back to a bunch of strangers, especially now that he knew what was written on it. If Wyll was worried about being a devil in a human burrow, Astarion was also uneasy at the idea of letting random people know he had a 'If lost return to Cazador to complete the ritual' carved on his back. Who even knew if someone could read infernal in that hellish place?
That and his meeting with Araj filled him with newfound modesty. He wasn't going to put on a show for everyone unless he had to. His body worked differently anyway, he already died and a bit of water wasn't going to make things worse than that.]
Oh, but you can undress, Wyll. I'm sure some of the presents would fully enjoy such a show.
[His tone betrayed amusement, but it was warm and flirty. Conscious decisions because despite everything he still had a reputation to keep and, even if he could barely feel his fingers, Astarion wasn't going to show much weakness or discomfort. At least until he had to loudly complain about things.]
Mizora? Having anything to do with my soul? [He almost sounded offended by the suggestion] Oh, of course she doesn't. I'm done taking deals with her kind, Raphael was enough. I even broke one of my nails fighting an Orthon! [He let out a small, indignant huff.]
Not to mention, I can't quite see her as a Githyanki associate. Those... bastards.
[Not a single comment, for now, about how he could also feel his connections being severed. That... was a conversation for later. For a more private spot.]
no subject
I daresay everyone is far more concerned with their own well-being. [As much as he tries to give the other man a disapproving look there's a heat to his cheeks and just enough of a shift in his heartrate that Astarion will certainly be able to tell he is flustered. Something he's thankfully able to shove down and ignore when Astarion carries on. Wyll frowns, head tilted quizzically.]
Githyanki? What makes you think gith had anything to do with this?
no subject
Who knows, some of the other souls around here seem to be rather... well adapted already. Our hosts don't seem to worry much about survival and I am almost certain I saw Methuselah take a good glance in your direction.
[It was the only name he really learnt so far. Worth throwing it in. That being said, if he expected to throw in a crass joke or two, Wyll's answer stopped in on his tracks. The vampire's jaw dropped just a bit as he blinked in the devil's direction.]
Excuse me? [He put both hands in front of himself] Are you telling me you didn't see the Gith squad attacking us at camp? What were you even seeing there? I'm sure I saw you running as well so it's not like you slept through it.
no subject
Enough so that he doesn't immediately see the reaction. It's only when he blinks back over at him, that he realizes the extent of Astarion's bewilderment. Which.... only makes him more bewildered.]
Gith? Attacking- We haven't even managed to get back to camp in ages. There's certainly no Gith inside the Colony.... Unless, of course, I suppose some of the mindflayers in that room where they had Zevlor trapped could have been?
no subject
What? [He studied the Blade like he almost expected Wyll to turn into something else, say 'surprise, not the person you thought I was!' and attack- because that wasn't too far from how lucky his last week had been.] We haven't been in that dreadful place in days! I would know, took me a week just to get the stench of that hole out of my armor! Hells, my shirt still has some stains I can't get rid of! [A dramatic pause there to let the true tragedy of a trip inside a Mind Flayer colony sink. The hestation was genuine, though, how was is possible that the other man just... missed an entire piece of their adventure from his head? Was that some kind of poorly timed and pathetic joke? If allowed, the vampire would reach for the other's hand, grab it and bring it to his nose, trying to see if he can smell foul blood or anything amiss in his companion.]
We left behind the colony, Wyll. We were at Baldur's Gate's doors when I was... taken here. If you haven't been with us since the colony, then who the hell is the man who was traveling with us?
no subject
We've already enough things in our heads vying for space... [Much as he wants to curse Mizora first and foremost in the years he's been bound to her such overt displays of control have never been something she would do or enjoy. She liked being able to prove that she could tie someone up in enough red tape to force them into doing what she wanted rather than something as ham-handed as literally puppetting him.
But then... it would be just like her to agree to release him -in six months- and then just to prove she still has him on a short leash do something like that.] I suspect our little passenger- [His free hand comes up to tap at his own temple.] -seized an opportunity. Or Mizora is flexing her power.
It would be difficult to replicate me, especially now that I'm..... this. [He practically spits the word, anger making him even more unforgiving of his own faults.] Far more likely I don't remember it because I wasn't present for it, not mentally anyway.
no subject
There's just... nothing. Wyll's skin smells just vaguely like a person, he wouldn't even know how to describe it, and all the accents he usually associated with the devil are simply missing. No delicate sulfur notes that made the vampire not too certain on biting the devil, no hints of other people and monsters' blood lingering on his skin and blade... Wyll could at least see the muscles of Astarion's jaw tightening as he tried to push it all in the back of his head, at leat for now. The vampire wasn't going to admit to any weakness, especially not while surrounding by strangers.]
I suppose so... [His voice was flat, lacking all the usual weird inflections. He didn't even fight the grip, aware that they were apparently both trying not to panic in public. It took him a good moment before finding his words again, tone now sounding more annoyed than worried.] But Mizora? She was pissed you basically broke your contract, shouldn't her power be limited now?
Our... host seems more plausible. [A pause as he pulled back, bringing both hands on his lap. When he spoke again, his words were barely anything more than a whisper.] In case you missed it, we're against the Chosen of the Dead Three, we killed the myrkulite, and an Elder Brain. Not exactly what I planned to do if I ever got away from Baldur's Gate.
But if that explains you, what does it say about me?
[Did he also fall prey of the Elder Brain? Was this frozen land merely a mental prison to keep those it controlled in check and too busy to fight back? Considering how he barely escaped something screaming inside his head, at least from his point of view, he wouldn't have been that surprised.]
no subject
Except that Astarion keeps talking and it gets more and more insane as he does. Not just a man driven mad by grief and turned to Myrkul but Myrkul's chosen. All the Dead Three's chosen?!]
An elder br-uh? [It's unusual to drive the Blade to speechlessness but that is certainly enough to do it. An Elder Brain. One that's in league with the Dead Three's Chosen. Well it certainly explained some things but it was also so far-fetched it was hard to believe. He holds up a hand for a moment, head bowing and the other coming up to rub at his brow. Gods below. He needs a moment to process all of this.
Which is far easier if he can focus on what he does know rather than what he doesn't.]
I think that may explain why I don't recall the last.... week? [Right? It was a week? Ish?] As for how or why we've come to be here I've no idea.
no subject
[If Cazador went on with his ritual, Astarion and his siblings' soul were going to be given to Mephistopheles himself. The vampire was still processing that entire thing, if the group wasn't his best bet for survival he would probably be as far as possible from Baldur's Gate, no matter if escaping his master was probably impossible in the long run, tadpole or not. He follows Wyll's hand with his gaze, even sniffs his own to see if there's anything lingering on it, but no... from his point of view, going from someone who could perceive so much, his nose is almost useless for now. He... may have to address it later when the two are alone, assuming the devil doesn't choose to head his own way.]
Mhm. Let me say that after entering the colony, our entire life became like a grotesque play where every five minutes the actors turn toward the public and yell but wait, there's MORE. And not a single step of this dance was in our favor.
[It's just a whisper, strangers don't need to know about all their problems. At least he's stopping to give his companion time to process, he knows he would need it himself if he just heard of what happened instead of living through it. And even there he wasn't completely sure he didn't hallucinate the entire thing.]
A week, more or less, yes. We've been rushing toward Baldur's Gate because this all went from a mind flayer kidnapping case to a world ending scenario very fast and I do enjoy being alive. [A pause, there. There are options, like the fact that maybe Astarion failed to escape himself and this was an elaborate prison from the Elder Brain himself or something. Maybe there was an Astarion puppet out there as well.. that being said.] I have no idea. This feels to real and vivid to be some kind of elaborate illusion.