methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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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.
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“Rabbit farm! Oh my, we’re living large, aren't we?” They’ll circle back around to the library later. If it's any good that might be more her scene.
“Is that what the meat is? Rabbits?” She's not as concerned about fatalities right now as she is about consuming something she might regret in a more philosophical sense later, but the endorsement’s not bad. “Well, I'll keep it in mind. Tea’s decent, all things considered.”
Chloe’s never been to the US, but Nate and Elena are based out of New Orleans now and the few salvage crew guys she's overheard on the phone sound kind of like this guy. Though they seemed more likely to be named something like Jimbo Johnson than like Mr Fancy Pants here.
“Louis. Chloe Frazer. Just got here but I'm assuming that's obvious.” She extends her free hand.
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"Pleasure, Miss Chloe." He shakes her hand. The hold of his well-shaped fingers isn't too tight. His nails are unusually sharp and shiny, like a strange manicure.
"Good folks here make do, but we are in the middle of nowhere." He'll hear no slander against Tim or his bunnies, unless it's himself making fun of them. "Meat is anythin' people can get. Rabbit, deer, coon, fish..."
He decides not to mention the rats. That's mostly his thing anyway, and just the blood. They're there, they're pests, easier to catch in the comfort of his own home.
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“Just Chloe is fine, no need to be formal about it. I'm not fussy about game meat, I've just seen this movie before, yeah? You get to a desolate farm in an empty world and a weird old man serves you mystery meat until one day you wake up in the barn with your legs missing.”
She's not sure whether there are barns here or not, but he gets the idea.
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Louis wonders if he will get used to people telling him he's formal by their standards. In contrast, some of the Victorian folks he's met make him feel like he's sitting down to dinner with his mother and her friends.
"Lot of buildings abandoned in town. You have your pick of whatever you can fix up. All the previous residents died of mysterious causes, right around when the weather got weird."
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“Weird how? The snow?” Isn’t this Canada? It's supposed to snow there.
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"More snow than usual, auroras makin' all the electronics and animals go haywire... Unnatural things out in the wilderness." His shoulders stiffen, and he crosses his arms as if cold. He thinks of the confessions kidnapper, and what Levi said about the ghostly projections.
"I wasn't here myself for it, so you'll have to ask someone else for details."
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“Oh, is that why my phone’s dead?” Maybe she’ll have to revise how long she thought she’d been out for. “Animals go haywire how?”
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"There's no telephone system in place, no. The Aurora destroyed electricity, though it does like to play with it on some nights. In my country, wolves don't usually attack humans; too much trouble. But they do here."
His fingers make an odd movement where they rest on the crook of his elbow, the ghost of a cigarette he'd like to have just for something to do with his hands. He's doing well, every day is a normal day, and nothing at all is wrong.
"Infrastructure's gone. Everyone was dead, they said. No word from outside."
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“I guess in this weather no one can go anywhere to check. Saw cars on the way up and they didn't look great.”
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"At least you know what cars are. There are people here who predate them. Yeah, those cars don't look serviceable, probably full of coons... and strange lookin', too." Less boxy, more sleek. "I've checked around town. Papers suggest I'm decades out of date."
He found proof while scavenging. He fitfully runs his nail along the edge of the glorified bookmark, little more than a faded receipt stuck between the pages.
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She’ll give this guy the benefit of the doubt.
“You found documents around? What did they say?”
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Instead of relaying a subject he knows little about (The Flare, The Disaster, what-have-you), he allows for one resident to speak for themselves. He slips the wrinkled receipt out of his book, smooths it unnecessarily, and hands it to her.
On the front is a long grocery receipt of supplies a prepper would be proud of. It's dated 2014. On the back, in neat if agitated handwriting, a note to oneself reads:
Aurora strange again. Take no chances. Weird lights in sky.
Nails
Extra snowshoes
Radio on the fritz, find extra or buy new one.
Salt
Pickling jars
Flour
Wolves coming closer to town, buy more signal flares next time.
First-Aid (again)
Lived here my whole life, can no longer predict the weather.
Climbing rope (same)
Carabiners
Coffee
no subject
Not the most significant part of this, though. She scans the handwritten note on the back of the receipt. It looks like things might have gone to hell gradually, though she's not sure what that means.
“Think that's from the miner? The one whose cache the old guy’s got everyone hunting?” Sure, a town can have more than one weird prepper, but this town wasn't very big.
She holds out the receipt. Couldn't let this guy go without his bookmark. He might have to dogear a page and die on the spot.
“I think you look fine, by the way. Maybe not really dressed for the situation, but not an alien or anything.”
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He takes the receipt back and slips it with some care back in place.
"Well thank you, miss," he says with a quick flash of a sharp smile. "I'll continue to do my best not to look like a little green alien from Mars. What year are you from?"
She seems like the photos of contemporary people here, but Louis supposes he hasn't got the eye for similar decades far beyond his time.
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To the question of year, Chloe just smiles. “Not decades out like you. Some of this stuff must be pretty wild for you to see.”
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"Some things are the same. Only so many things that can work in a remote location like this. But others... the cars and radios are strange. Televisions are strange. During auroras, the radios get... weird. They've been extra weird this month, in the second half."
His hands trace the cover of his book, and his eyes drift--
"At first I thought it was a call for help, but now I think someone's playin' tricks. Imitatin' voices we know, sayin' our names..."
He narrows his eyes bitterly, like he's got a particular beef.
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She would be bitter too, if that had happened to her. Emotional vulnerability is bad enough when your enemies aren't exploiting it.
“Even in 2014, radios didn't do that.”
no subject
If he doesn't talk about it, no one else will get involved with the Great French Disaster Blond of 1760, otherwise known as Lestat de Lioncourt, right?
He tilts his head in a half nod. "Thank you for reassurin' me that the radio isn't readin' my mind. Was afraid it would start in on me missin' cigarettes."
He doesn't miss them that much. Everything tastes like ash to him anyway. But their effect still remains.
no subject
“You guys going through the stuff from town that fast?” Someone must have smoked here.
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"Not a lot of supplies or people in this town, miss. Cigarette supplies that can't renew--tobacco don't grow this far north--radio prank suspects... They're few. When times are tough, people run to what vices they may. And sometimes they get weird doin' it."
He chews the inside of his lip a little. "Anythin' you goin' miss pretty soon?"
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She shrugs at the question. What is she willing to tell a stranger, here? “Coffee, probably. Pizza - I was eating a slice when I got zapped over here or whatever and it was so good.”
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Currently, Louis is in the unenviable position of being in conflict with a person whose identity he hesitates to touch on. He doesn't even let on to Lestat's gender half the time when he mentions him. It's a small town, small enough to be swallowed by the fanged toxicity of two vampires who are simultaneously married, divorced, single, widowed, and It's Complicated.
"Mm, coffee's a pretty big contender," he agrees. "What's pizza?"
If only he lived in New York, he might have heard of the tomato and cheese pies.
no subject
“Tomato sauce, meat and cheese on dough, baked in a big oven.” Chloe smiles. “It's terrible for you but it's too delicious for that to matter.”
She’d been eating it because she’d bribed a child with it earlier.
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"All the good things are a little terrible for you."
He looks a little sad, one corner of his mouth quirked wistfully. Every time there was a new food fad or restaurant grand opening... Louis couldn't enjoy that anymore.
"Anyway, I can do without cigarettes. It was just nice to have them around."
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It's a good thing Sam’s not here, actually. He wouldn't last a day without his cigarettes. “I heard once you can smoke cloves or something.”
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