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.
no subject
That said, he's still going to be civil. No need to cause a fuss; it certainly isn't the first time that Konstantin's had to play it cool in a new and frightening situation where he has found himself trapped. At least he isn't back at the facility, being kept as a lab rat. (Although surely they're searching for him now...) The thought keeps him on edge, though he hides it well enough, and even offers a smile up to the stranger. It's fainter than his usual bright smiles, but no less kind, and he lets his eyes warm with the gesture. It's an expression he's no stranger to wearing, not him, Commander Veshnyakov, the Hero of the people. ]
It was sitting out on a table. As though waiting for me. [ ....Someone put it there. Who? How? The man looks back down to the little doll, studying its painted features. ]
Truthfully, I never thought I would see it again.
[ He looks back up, dark eyes lingering on the instrument strapped to the stranger's back. ]
How long have you played?
no subject
He trusts those eyes, he decides.
How the doll got there is just as intriguing and he wants to know more about its story. But the man asks about his instrument - a bard's eternal weakness - and Renny cannot help himself. He retrieves it to proudly display it. It's made of solid wood, polished, well taken care of. Loved.]
More than two decades now. If you ever have the hankering for music, you need only call my name. I'm certain I have something in my repertoire to lift your mood, saer...?
no subject
It's beautiful, [ he says, honestly. Music can be a comfort, and has been. Even up in space, there were songs. Sung, hummed, by himself and his co-pilot.
It would be nice, he thinks, to hear music again now. It feels like a lifetime ago that he heard any sort of instrument at all. Konstantin smiles again and lifts a hand in gesture, as though relinquishing the floor, so to speak, to his new companion. ]
Please, I would enjoy that. Anything you like.
no subject
[He speaks from the heart, because what else is a bard for, if not to entertain? Renny tunes the instrument, his fingers moving deftly over the pegs with practiced familiarity. The strings shiver, coming to life. He knows them as if they were an extension of himself, and sings softly:]
So as you shiver in the cold and the dark,
Look into the fire and seen in its spark—
My eye, watching over you.
[A Northman's song, whose original verses were swallowed by time, passed from fireside to fireside, a bit of warmth shared between strangers and kin in the unforgiving, frozen wastes.]
As you walk in the wind's whistling claws,
Listen past the howling wolf's jaws.
My song, comes to you.
And when you're lost in trackless snow,
Look up high where the eagles go.
My star, shines for you...
[A song of holding fast when the winter is dark, of awaiting a promised spring. When he finishes, it's with a bow, though his fingers linger upon the strings still. It's always difficult to pull away at the end.]
no subject
Almost immediately, the words elicit a tightening of his heart, an odd steal of breath. The words are of hope, a concept that is difficult to think up now, but one that has been so meaningful to the structure of his life up until this point, to everything that comprises who he is, what he is. (Of course, a spaceman is about embodying hope, isn't he? The hope of exploration, advancement, glory. The hope of safe returns and warm welcomes. There are songs written about it, anthems, one in particular that has been carved into his memory.)
'I believe, my friends, caravans of rockets will head us forward from star to star....'
He is a man who has been well-trained for a certain mental and emotional stability, and he is not one to lose himself to his emotions. But already raw from everything that has happened.... Konstantin finds his eyes a little glossy. Ordinarily he would be embarrassed for it, but in this moment he only dips his head a little, gazing at the tabletop, listening to the song play out until the end.
It's only then that he's lifting his head again, running a hand up over his mouth. As it lowers, he's offering a small smile to the stranger against the lump in his throat, both parts wounded and grateful. ]
That was lovely.... Truly. Thank you. [ Even in this isolated place, there is such connection to be found. He knows he can't trust anyone, but his heart can't help feeling a certain relief to be in the company of this man with his soft song. ]
If only I could give you something in return for such a beautiful gift. But I could offer you a seat, if you'd like some company for awhile longer.
no subject
But Renny found people, in the end. Those who've been pulled unwillingly, as he'd been, who are able to listen to music and allow tears to rise. And so long as the heart can be moved, a bard can continue. When he sees the man bow his head, hears the emotion in his voice, Renny's expression softens.]
That's payment enough, my friend.
[Anyone who appreciates music is good in his books. He fixes his lyre upon his back and sits beside him - it takes a little hop, but he manages.]
A bard is only as good as his audience. The listener must meet the performer halfway for tales and songs to have meaning. Perhaps you can tell me a little about yourself.
no subject
These days... it's a strange thought. A disconnection, a discomfort: so much grief, loss, and horror. Who is he anymore...? Surely no longer a Hero. He's a monster. He deserves to die. (He tried, and failed even at that much.)
The other man has revealed his occupation, his purpose, so perhaps an equal exchange of his own, no matter how distant it feels from him now. ]
I'm a cosmonaut. A spaceman. [ He gives a soft laugh; once, he would say such a thing with pride. Now, he says it almost as though he knows it sounds strange. It feels strange. He doesn't feel like anything, anymore. ]
Do they have them where you're from, my friend? People who explore the stars? Your song made me think of it.
no subject
We'd call you a sailor of planes.
[That's the closest thing he can think of. Spelljammers - magnificent vessels capable of traversing the gap between planes - weren't frequent sights in the Gate, but he often heard tales of a Waterhadvian portal, leading to a port in the skies. Remembering these stories brings a twinkle to Renny's eyes.]
How do you manage to explore the stars? Magic? Machinery?
no subject
His eyes widen slightly, startled to hear such a word voiced aloud. Ordinarily, he might think he's being toyed with, but this stranger has been nothing but earnest towards him. And.... there have been more than one seemingly impossible thing in his life, as of late. So his own answer is just as earnest, swallowing his confusion in favour of curiosity. ]
Machinery — We don't have magic, apart from tricks. [ Though he was seventeen years old when Yuri Gagarin made history as the first man to reach the stars, and he remembers thinking how magical it felt, then. He smiles, faintly. ]
Do you mean to say.... that there is magic where you're from?
no subject
At Konstantin's question, Renny lights up.]
It's as common as the birds, the trees, the very air we breathe.
[He says it with great fondness, because it was magic that coaxed him from his room as a child when nothing else could. He still thinks of his adoptive mother, Ahmira, her lute in hand, sitting crisscross in his doorway, plucking chords to spark motes of light by his bedside, her voice sweet as she sang: And when the night does fall, sleep safe beneath the Companion's light...
He flexes his fingers, one after the other, and sincerely hopes there's some manner of magic to be found in this world.]
To think your homeland has no magic...! How do your machines work, then?