December 2023 Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

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

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

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.

MISTY FALLS CAVE

1. Tools found would be basic survival/camping tools one might expect: knives, hand axes, rope, handsaws, torches, batteries, etc.

SERPENT'S BREATH

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.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

[amo]

[ Knives shakes his head and Vash already knows the protest that will follow, bracing himself for it. It doesn't quite prepare him for the broken noise and the too-raspy quality of Knives' voice though, the sound of it only causing his grimace to grow all the more pronounced. His brother sounds awful. It must hurt. Getting back to his feet is put on hold for a moment as Vash bows his head instead, forehead coming to rest against his brother's knee and hiding his face from view. He's too exhausted to get into an argument about this and the last thing he wants is to make Knives talk more. As he tries to reach for whatever vestiges of patience he can still find within himself, he takes a deep steadying breath, fingers clenching around the damp cloth in his hand before relaxing again.

It's only once his lungs are full with bracing air that he lifts his head again to regard his brother with a red-rimmed weary gaze, for once not even trying to feign any cheer or stubborn front. ]

Just one, please? For me?

[ A simple plea. Perhaps he's being selfish here when medicine is in short supply and the injury might not necessarily require it, but part of him does feel guilty about neglecting his brother back at the community hall and leaving him to Vee to take care of. Of course he couldn't have tended to both Wolfwood and Knives at the same time and he made the best decision he could in the moment, but still. It might be more about assuaging that guilt, yet there's nothing else he can do to help ease the pain for his twin save for the little round pills tucked away in his satchel.

This is all he can offer and it already doesn't feel like enough to make up for it. ]

[brutalact]

[it hadn't been so long ago he would have relished the sight of vash like this, twisted in the throes of agony born from his own bleeding heart. to suffer in the ways knives had, that ever infinite instinct to share everything between them both good and bad, twins in both heart and soul. knives had agonized and in turn, in his fury, needed his brother to feel the same. it had been the path to destruction, the fantastical paradise he had envisioned for so long nothing more than a smoke and illusions. it had never been anything but from the very beginning, the cold face of reality visible to him now.

he can feel the exhaustion rolling off of his brother in heavy waves and when the broad palm of his hand finds itself in the messy nest of dark hair resting by his knee, it isn't for his comfort but for vash's. he knows he's lost the argument already, because while he knows he's in the right, it isn't the right answer. no...

the right answer looks up at him with bottle blue eyes that pierce through him with deadly aim. the right answer would be taking one of those pills to see the his brother breathe a little easier, one less thing to worry over. knives breathes out through his nose a sigh and the fingers carding through vash's hair tug at a few locks wrapped around slender digits. see?, he conveys with an air of exasperated surrender, I'm fine.

the hand pulls away only to lightly flick vash across the nose before knives leans back, propping an elbow against the arm of the chair. he holds that same hand out, palm up, patiently expectant. one pill, for vash.]

[amo]

[ The hand in his hair is soothing, tempting Vash to close his eyes and just rest here for a while under his brother's gentle carding fingers. It would be so easy to let himself be lulled to sleep by the repetitive touch and the sound of Wolfwood's voice in the other room, assured in the knowledge that this universe saw fit to return to him those he lost. But it's not meant to be, he can't rest yet. He receives the message behind the tug on his hair loud and clear yet it does nothing to sway his own resolve to see to it that Knives will be eased of at least a little bit of the pain that's been inflicted upon him.

Much harder to ignore is the flick to his nose, it makes his expression scrunch up briefly on impact and then transform into a pout at the injustice of getting bullied this way. It doesn't last long though. The hand held out in clear expectation is enough to melt the moue away again. In a slight burst of playfulness, Vash leans forward and rests his chin on Knives' palm to flash his brother a grateful smile before he's pulling back to rummage through his satchel, still visibly pleased at the easy cooperation. It's been easier than ever to get Knives to cave to his will in some instances and he's glad this happens to be one of them.

He takes out one of the painkillers along with the water bottle he keeps in the bag by default — perhaps less necessary here than back on No Man's Land, but an old habit he sticks to nonetheless. The little white pill is set down on Knives' waiting palm and the bottle held out to him. ]

Sure you don't want me to try and dissolve it?

[ It's not a big pill by any means, but still... his eyes drift down to the ring of bruises around Knives' throat helplessly. ]

[brutalact]

[vash's cute little act only earns him a ticked brow and a frown from knives, half tempted to squeeze his cheeks before vash pulls away from his palm. while the days of needlessly torturing his brother were in the past now, vash certainly tested his resolve at times. the ways his face pinched up, cheeks dusted pink with frustration at knives' stubbornness (as if vash wasn't equally, horribly stubborn). it stirred in him an urge to reach out and instigate just a little, breaking the honeyed facade vash liked to wear around others.

now with the priest's presence here, moments like this felt even more precious. whatever he felt now, the muscle of his heart tightening as he butted against the bottomless well of emotions he's kept buried for so long, would continue to go unnamed and ignored. whatever he felt deep down in the ugly crevices of his soul didn't matter against what was important now. these moments were all he'd have now, probably.

knives snorts, hand already closing around the little pill despite vash's offer. at least he could be thankful they had water aplenty here because the idea of dry swallowing something like this would have been extremely irritating. ignoring the way vash's gaze linger around his throat, knives pops the pill into his mouth before taking a swig from the water bottle. the swallow feels like razors, gritting his teeth to finish the motion. a dribble of water spills down his chin and for such a small pill he can acutely feel it slip down his throat that bastard...]

[amo]

[ Vash watches, more avidly than is necessary, as Knives downs the pill without further ado. It's as much of a struggle as he was expecting it to be and his hand gently pats Knives' knee in both encouragement and continued gratitude for the relatively easy compliance to his request. Selfishly, it lessens Vash' guilt a tiny smidge. Hopefully it will help Knives, be it to heal faster or at least ease his suffering for a while. With that out of the way, he has no more excuse to linger on the floor like he's tempted to and so he pushes himself to stand, in the same movement reaching out and thumbing away the trickle of water on Knives' chin. ]

I'm going to make some tea for everyone.

[ He announces as he picks up his satchel and spurs himself into motion again, leaving his water bottle with Knives should his brother want to sip more for his aching throat. In a flurry of movement, Vash does what he does best: keep occupied, keep moving. He drops the wet cloth in the bucket of snow by the backdoor to soak up the cold, takes off his coat, takes out the thermoses of soup and stew to set aside for later, and puts on the kettle after filling it. It's only after he's lit the stove that he retrieves the cloth, wrings it out, and returns to Knives' side with it. His fingers tingle and bloom red with the cold, but Vash pays it no more mind than he does the exhaustion clinging to him with a tenacious grip.

As he carefully wraps the icy fabric around his twin's throat — hiding those ugly bruises out of view again — there's an obvious hesitation before he quietly asks: ]

... Will you join us?

[brutalact]

[vash's unwavering attention as he swallows burns into him, as scalding as hot irons leaving permanent impressions upon his nearly unblemished body. this is how it always was between them, encircling one another with intentions that shifted and strayed but never so far from the very ideals they held themselves to. knives could burn himself under his brother's attentive gaze, would do so if vash so wished it. there were a great number of things he would do if vash asked it of him, but his brother's kind, cowardly heart would never.

at least wolfwood could follow through where his brother could not. he couldn't fault the man for taking the shot when he had the chance, when knives would have done the exact same if in a similar situation.

vash wipes his chin and knives rewards him by wrinkling his nose at the gesture and frowning. thankfully there was little guilt in drinking his fill of water here, watching his brother in turn flutter around as he fussed with preparations as he nurses slowly from the water bottle left behind for him. his tongue darts out to wipe away a few errant beads of water gathered on his lips, eyes tracking vash as he returns to his side with the towel freshly cold and damp. carefully, he tilts his head in offering, eyes hooded and gaze unwavering.

vash asks and he knows what he wants the answer to be and he knows what knives wants to say. the silence is heavy here, until knives sighs through his nose and allows his gaze to slide away. the chill of the towel making his skin prickle and rise with goosebumps. it's for vash that he gives a small nod in reluctant affirmation.]

[amo]

[ It's a tense moment of heavy silence as dense as the thick blankets of snow covering the ground outside in which Vash is well-aware of the answer Knives wants to give. It's not like he could blame his brother for not wanting to go out there to be in close proximity of the man who tried to strangle him and put him in this state of forced silence to begin with. But those are the consequences of Knives' own actions and that he'll have to face some of them is inevitable. At least with Vash there, things won't end in violence (hopefully) and death (most assuredly). Vash is prepared to receive the reply Knives wants to give and to have to argue his case.

Fortunately, he doesn't have to. The sigh and the falling of his gaze are capitulation enough before the nod cements the decision.

Like a mere moment before, Vash marvels at how sometimes Knives caves to his will more easily than he ever could have hoped for, yet other times he remains his infuriatingly obstinate self. It's a flip of the coin each time. Today many seem to land in his favor and he's glad for it. The corresponding sigh that leaves him is soft and relieved, his gentle fingers finishing their careful wrapping. ]

Thank you.

[ He breathes out with another brief flash of a genuine smile. Maybe he'll come to regret asking this of Knives in a moment, but he likes to think better of both Wolfwood and his twin. He's about to stand to go get the mugs when he remembers something that stops him before he even starts the motion. His hands fall away from Knives' neck, one moving to fiddle with the pouch strapped to his thigh and retrieve the skinning blade Knives dropped back at the community hall. Vash holds it out, handle first, meaningfully. ]

Here, you dropped this.

[ For all that his tone sounds casual, it belies the significance of the gesture — both a warning that he knows how close Knives was to doing something that Vash would not be able to forgive and also a show of trust that he won't do it again. His attention doesn't waver, remaining firmly and pointedly on Knives, even when the kettle starts whistling in the background. ]