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
his throat burns as he tries to speak again, but the attempt is interrupted by v catching his attention, successfully this time. as he's helped to his feet, finally he pulls his attention away from his brother. there's too much to focus on, to think about, and he can't allow himself to linger on what it all means as vash takes wolfwood back towards the kitchens. his hand curls tightly into v's jacket, eyes shifting as he tries to gather himself while they walk away. the world around them is a blur, unimportant figures that knives can't even begin to consider how much of that incident was witnessed. a problem for later, one of many he has now all of a sudden.]
I was looking- [voice shot, thin and hardly above a whisper, he brushes his free hand over the bruising necklace slowly deepening around his throat in the shape of wolfwood's fingers.] - for you.
no subject
Yeah, right, [ despite the tone, the way that vash shifts the other this way and that is gentle - slow, deliberate motions that knives would be able to follow even in his state right now - making sure that there isn't any further injuries, reaching around to carefully tuck his hands under the elbows, to keep them out of the freezing cold - before he is hauling knives into his arms, tucking the bend of his knees over his mechanical arm, the other reaching to pull up the hood of his jacket over knives' head, tucking it close against his shoulder. ]
Maybe you should have just looked for me and not got into any fights.
[ his tone broaches no arguments, as is the grip around the other should he struggle to get out of his grip, and vash starts for the doorway, after shooting another quick glance at where the other two have disappeared through the way into the kitchen. ]
no subject
V--
[he wants to argue back, he didn't start that fight, but his voice comes out with a wince. there is a familiar temptation to dig his nails into the affected area, as if scratching at the ugly bruising would remove their lingering effect on him. right now, he's at a loss. wolfwood, wolfwood - that lying bastard and yet the only one who had managed to carry out his sanctioned duties to the very end, was here now through whatever unknown powers that also brought him here as well. while his brother's response to seeing that dog again had been riddled with tears and choked back sobs, knives could feel that strange, confused relief falling off of vash in waves throughout the confusion. maybe in some twisted sense this was fate trying to reward vash in some manner, some half-baked kindness for all of the misery he'd been put through during his life.
it's too much to think about right now, not when there were other more pressing matters to focus on. like how he was being carried off by v, all the while radiating frustration in knives' direction.]
... V.
[another attempt at speaking, voice pitched just above a whisper.]
no subject
[ it isn't a shut up. it isn't an uncomfortable, awkward silence. it's not quite frustration, then, that vash is feeling - though it does come close to something similar. maybe it's exasperation - all the more with the way knives continues to try to speak through his bruised throat. maybe it's something more like annoyance, but instead of sharp spikes that would sting anyone getting too close, it is instead directed internally - like needle pricks all along his veins.
he knows how that feels, you know. wanting to press the edge of his nails to the bruises, to tear open the wounds that much wider, as if it is some kind of race to the sort of penance that they deserve. it really isn't. that's why he'd been careful to tuck knives' hands away - out of the cold, trapped between his body and vash's.
despite the snow that piles past his ankles, vash crunches through it industriously - his grip around the other not faltering; he just needs to focus on this one thing for now, right? nothing else really matters. shouldn't matter. ]
no subject
yet v, vash, was still uniquely his own individual. their connection made through something as unknowable and cosmic as the powers behind their gates, their sisters. knives wanted to understand, if only because despite it all they are still family. in another life, he owed v some terribly great debt, too.
eventually his eyes slide away from v's face, falling distant as he is marched through the snow back to their little home carved out of the church. later, wolfwood would show up and the tensions will rise once again, knives' throat burning as hot as he hopes the priest's wrist must be right now. but right now the journey between the community hall and the church is long and the winds biting at his cheeks are distracting enough that those thoughts are set aside for now.
hopelessly, he wonders what the chances are that vash wouldn't bring that dog back to the church with him. it's a nice thought, but unfortunately a complete fantasy.]
no subject
How are you feeling? [ even to his own ears, vash sounds unsure of his footing - grasping at straws to break the silence, apologetic even though he was the one to impose it on the other. ]
Wait- don't talk. It must hurt, right?
[ half his mind running over what supplies they have found and stashed away, vash tries to not jostle the other too much; only scrunching his nose when a snowflake lands on the bridge of his nose, melting in the heat and running down to tickle his skin. ]
I don't know what's going on, but ... You need to take care of yourself, alright?
You are important to Vash.
[ that much, he understands. the way that they are one halves of a whole. the way they automatically look to each other like magnet snapping to point north. the way he himself sways, directionless and confused, needle swinging here and there. ]
no subject
v treats him so gently, despite the ire present in his tone, that knives allows it all. if it made his brother feel better, hands grasping at what little control they had over their situation here...]
You are important, too.
[speaking does hurt, his voice just above a cracked whisper. in his current state he could only imagine how long it would take for this kind of damage to heal and yet again he's left cursing that damn stand-in priest for giving his brothers something more to worry over. knives closes his eyes for a moment as he exhales slowly, swallowing around the bruises.]
It won't happen again.
[he'd been caught off guard, but he wouldn't make that mistake twice.]
no subject
vash swallows around the feeling in his throat - it's like trying to swallow hot coals, trying, maybe, to breathe around a hand tucked against his windpipe - and tries to make a sound that's the closest approximation of a laugh. it doesn't quite work. he should have known better than to try - maybe he's too honest to a fault, but vash knows that it has always been that way around his brother (or what now counts as the closest thing, perhaps). an immature, imperfect thing. too stubborn to let go but too stupid to stop trying. he wishes he could believe knives. ]
Is that "it won't happen again", or it won't happen again like this?
[ with every word, a puff of white breath escapes, dissipating into the space in front of him. vash squints his eyes, feeling more than hearing the labourious breaths coming from the other. ]
Actually, that's a stupid question - don't answer that.
no subject
a brother and a brother, bearing the brunt of the world and its cruelties across their bodies like something born from religious texts lost to time and space and crumbling memory. knives had grown up learning how to bite back against the hand that beat him; such instincts didn't simply disappear over night.
he wouldn't seek to kill wolfwood, that bastard priest, for a good many reasons. the most important being that vash wanted him alive. vash cared about him, so it was enough.
knives sighs through his nose, the steam billowing for a precious few moments. cold wind nipped at their cheeks and crept long fingers beneath the layers he wore, the chill always finding a way. it was worse breathing it in, cold air painfully sharp against the darkening bruises. painful, but not entirely unbearable.]
no subject
he shifts his grip around the other - moving a hand up to pull the cloth muffed around his neck, pulling it free before draping it around the lower half of knives' face, carefully tucking it around to avoid touching the bruised skin of his throat. with the scarf as a barrier, it would hopefully feel slightly less painful. ]
It won't take long. [ they're close enough now, at least, for vash to see the top of the roof of the church. ]
Just relax, okay? I've got you.