singmod: (Default)
methuselah ([personal profile] singmod) wrote in [community profile] 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

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.
lanfeared: (pic#16801536)

lanfear | the wheel of time

[personal profile] lanfeared 2023-12-06 01:40 am (UTC)(link)
methuselah's feast
[ After being sealed away for thousands of years, Lanfear has her purpose, her mission, and little, if anything, proves strong enough to deter her from that — or so she believed.

Waking up on the floor of a house that she at once knows is far from the walls of the Foregate is the first indication that something has changed. But then she attempts to reach for the One Power, an act that should feel as natural and instinctive as an afterthought, and instead of the sensation of saidar opening, unfurling like the petals of a flower there's a stark absence, a distinct lack. It's as if she's been shielded — or worse, stilled — but she won't allow herself to even entertain either possibility. Whatever's preventing her from embracing the One Power, she'll discover it for herself in short order.

Leaving the cabin and choosing a path at random seems the best course of action to take, though if she happens to meet someone on the road beforehand, she'll greet them with a feigned smile of hesitation, grateful for the blue Cairhienien dress she's already wearing that makes her look every ounce like Selene the innkeeper rather than her true identity. ]
Perhaps you can tell me if I'm headed in the right direction?

[ Once Lanfear reaches the small town — Milton, as the sign so clearly indicates — she makes her way to the largest building, the one whose smoke she'd spotted on approach. Although the temptation to instantly demand answers from Methuselah is strong, she tempers that instinct, instead settling herself at one of the hall's closest tables and helping herself to some of the stew provided in an effort to warm up. Both hands cup around the bowl for the moment, even if she hasn't begun to eat yet; her gaze rises as someone assumes a seat across from her, trying to determine whether they're as new an arrival as she is or someone she could press for information without their knowledge. ] They seem almost... prepared for us, don't they?

misty falls cave
[ Participating in this quest — for that is what it clearly is — instantly strikes Lanfear as a somewhat futile effort, or at least an effort that stands to yield very little personal reward. But she's bundled herself against the harsher weather, for the moment, and once she's ventured into the cave itself she's already struggling not to gnash her teeth over how simple this would all be rendered if she could access the One Power.

A particularly narrow section of cliff proves harder to navigate in the darkness when she can't see easily, and she stumbles backward into the person walking behind her, covering up her annoyance about being rendered so incapable with a low, husky chuckle in the darkness before she glances back and tries to make out the details of their face. ]
I suppose I have you to thank for saving me from a perilous fate.

[ Later on, however, the darkness is harder to press through — cloying, suffocating. It brings her back to all those years sealed away, when she could feel every moment of the passing of time but couldn't escape, and when she thinks she might be alone, she fumbles along the cave wall, fighting to breathe, struggling for purchase. If she finds someone else to clutch onto, her grip is fierce like talons as she gulps for air, trying to regain some control. ]

wildcard
[ if you want a more specific prompt or to run into lanfear elsewhere, feel free to hmu on plurk at [plurk.com profile] favoritings or DW PM with alternate plotting ideas! her current canon point is some nebulous time in early season 2, when she's still pretending to be selene. will match player-preferred format in terms of prose or brackets! ]
lastdecember: (14nov015)

Nicholas D Wolfwood | Trigun Maximum

[personal profile] lastdecember 2023-12-06 01:50 am (UTC)(link)
Arrival: the walk to town.

[ After a lifetime of suffering through the desert's heat it only makes sense, Wolfwood thinks miserably, that Hell would be frozen. It's a whole different kind of torment, and one that he wasn't at all ready for. Hell is supposed to be hot! Isn't it?

He didn't expect there to be a Hell at all, not really. He'd thought that after death, that was it – there was the great darkness that rose up beneath you and pulled you under and bam. Nothingness, forever. But here he is, clearly dead – his tattered suit shows every bullet that he took, every tear from Chapel's great stabbing weapon, the old blood crusted and stiff in the black fabric. He's dead. He remembers dying.

But his heart is beating, he's breathing, and he's cold, colder than he's ever been in his life. So this must be Hell. What other explanation is there?

And okay, he's been cold before, of course he has – nights in the desert, especially in the high places, get down cold enough to freeze the water in a man's canteen solid as a rock – but the dim light in the sky that passes for sunlight says that it's day, which means that this is as warm as it's going to get. And there's ice on the ground. There's ice crusting in his cuffs, melting in freezing rivulets into his shoes, there's ice still in his hair from when he dug himself out of the frozen ground. There's ice down the back of his suit jacket. His jaw aches from clenching it, but if he doesn't clench, his teeth clatter together until he was worried they'd crack. The dirty bedsheet that he's got pulled tight around his head and shoulders isn't doing a damn bit of good against the cold, but he doesn't dare throw it aside – it feels warmer, having it wrapped around him, even if the thin material is wet with snow and lets every gust of wind right through to his bones.

When he takes a proper step, his feet slip on the ice and tangle themselves in the lumpy ground. He's never seen trees before, not outside of a rich man's park, and has no idea what roots are – all he knows is that the road beneath the ice isn't even, and that there are things underneath that snag at his feet, twisting his ankles and sending him to the ground over and over.

Hell really sucks, is what he's learning.

Step by shuffling step, the man in the black suit works his way towards town, following the path and the faint scent of smoke.
]





In the Community Hall

[ He's added a blanket over top his sheet cloak, and found himself a place near the fire, but he doesn't trust the food. Not yet. It smells delicious, rich and warm, but this is Hell, and he's not desperate enough yet to find out what secret poisons there are, or... or curses, or whatever Hell puts in their food! This supernatural stuff is all new to him, okay? So he sits quietly on his bench, hands out to the fire, watching everyone else in the place milling about, cataloging threats and assessing weaknesses, just in case.



Wildcard

[ Want to meet up with this dead priest somewhere else? Let's do it! Hit me up on plurk ([plurk.com profile] notJoe) or PM this journal and let's plot a thing! ]
lastdecember: (smile06)

methuselah's feast

[personal profile] lastdecember 2023-12-06 02:14 am (UTC)(link)
[ The man who drops heavily into the seat across from her still has snow clinging to his black suit, the dirty cloak around his shoulders -- or is that a bedsheet? -- not nearly warm enough for the weather outside.

He turns to her slowly, moving somewhat jerkily, his joints stiff with cold. His laugh at her question is quiet, but more than a little unhinged. He's not having a good day, sorry.
]

Makes you wonder what they want, doesn't it?
terribibble: (who hates evil i sure do)

Fiddleford McGucket | Gravity Falls | Will match format!

[personal profile] terribibble 2023-12-06 03:10 am (UTC)(link)
[General content warning: Fiddleford, especially at the canon point I'm taking him from, comes with pretty heavy themes of unreality, memory issues/lost time, paranoia and cult activity.]

A. Arrival; in the Wilderness

Something is wrong. That is, a lot of things have been wrong lately, but something is more wrong than he was strictly expecting it to be. This is not the first time he's suddenly come back to consciousness flat on his back with no recollection of how he ended up there, but generally he finds himself looking up at the ceiling of his messy study or the stone ceiling of the Society's halls. Above him right now there's only branches and cold sky. He blinks several times and the branches don't resolve into a more familiar view, which must mean they're real, which is a little alarming.

He sits up and takes in the rest of his surroundings: snow, trees. Cold. Last he remembers it was barely starting to feel like Fall. How much time did he lose? The snow crunches as he stands, sticks to the fabric of the deep red robes he's wearing. They're not really thick enough to be much protection from the cold but at least they've kept the damp of the snow from sinking all the way through to his suit jacket and shirt. He can't have been out long, then. His hand instinctively goes to his side where the Memory Gun is tucked into his jacket, feeling for the familiar weight of it, and he's pleased to find it's still there. Okay. That's something. The smart thing would be to retrace his steps, but there don't seem to be any footprints in the snow leading up to the indentation where he just was.

Hm. That's... unusual. He shakes his head, pulls his hood down a little more firmly, points his feet away from the depression in the snow, and starts walking on the theory that if he just goes far enough in any direction he'll find something. Eventually he's rewarded with a road, and that's bolstering. A road's got to go somewhere. He's not hard to spot out here: bright red stands out pretty stark against white snow and gray trees. If he sees another person his approach will be cautious but not threatening: an uncertain wave, a questioning hello?. In one hand he holds a broken branch, the only thing that was really available to arm himself with. It's better than nothing. Don't sneak up on him or you're liable to get a sharp smack with it as a greeting; this guy is jumpy.

B. Methuselah's Feast

He doesn't get less jumpy after arriving in town. If anything he gets more jumpy, because this very clearly is not Gravity Falls, Oregon, and he's never heard of a Milton in the general geographical vicinity. He's never lost so much that he genuinely doesn't know at least kind of where he is after. And yet nobody here seems to think it's unusual-- or, rather, it's not something unusual that is unique to him. This happens a lot. They have cots set up.

It's when he finds his own belongings set out as though waiting for him that the other shoe finally drops, and the fact that the old man can't tell him how they got there does nothing for his nerves.

"What do you mean you don't know?" There is a scratchy note of panic to his voice and one of his feet is tapping rapidly against the floor. The more he speaks the more his voice raises in volume and pitch. "You have a picture of my wife and son and you don't know how you got it? Have you been watching us? What is this?"

Of course he won't get answers. So eventually, defeated, he retires to one of the cots, now wrapped in a blanket and numbly clutching a cup of coffee. On the cot beside him is the photo, a somewhat-battered looking banjo and a cube puzzle that looks very much like but is Disney approved legally distinct from a Rubik's cube. It's unsolved. He's focused on other things right now. He's lost... what... potentially months of time? What could have happened that was so bad he had to get rid of so much? He remembers bright light, and then darkness, and he doesn't know why but it's grabbed hold of his brainstem and is twisting with a familiarity he really doesn't like.

"At least they have coffee," he says, halfway to himself and halfway to whoever might be within earshot. Find a silver lining. Find something good to hold onto or you'll tear yourself to pieces. It'll work for at least a little bit.

C. Wildcard

[Hit me up at [plurk.com profile] mister_inkwell for plotting! Very excited for Fiddleford McGucket's No Good Very Bad Extended Winter Vacation.]
storied_blade: sarii_draws @ tumblr (Default)

Wyll Ravengard | Baldur's Gate 3

[personal profile] storied_blade 2023-12-06 03:14 am (UTC)(link)
1.Cold as Hell
[When first he wakes it's to the howling of the wind past the cavemouth he's in. Cold, far too cold even for the unnatural blight of the shadowlands. That it is *wind* making those sounds and not the yowling screams of the cursed peoples of the land is just as surprising as the cold.

Even more surprising is the hollowness within him. The everpresent background hum of others, of the tadpole, of his link to Mizora... all silenced in the face of the storm. His eyes close, brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to reach out with his magic, to draw on his infernal power to use the stone in reverse for once. All he receives in return is silence. As though he were within the draining aura of one of those damnable flowers.]


Mizora... What have you done now?

[Looking out into the frozen wasteland he is swiftly reminded of the moments he spent dragged through Stygia, hardly the worst of the Hells but so biting a cold after the scalding heat of Phlegethos had robbed him of his breath then. It does so again, now.

Only when he ventures forth into the frigid mountains does he finally begin to see trees and wildlife, slowly forced to accept that this is not one of the Hells but an actual place. He's never traveled further North than Waterdeep and this is the sort of cold he'd expect from Luskan, perhaps even further North. Regardless of where he might be his armor is not ideal for these conditions and before too long he needs to find shelter again, to take a moment out of the wind and scrape some of the caked on snow off his horns before his head becomes too heavy.

It's as he's carrying on, looking for a safe enough place to pause that he finds a strange metal box. It is only the fairly recognizable form of wheels that informs him that it may, at some point, have been a manner of transportation? Though the wheels are no material he's ever seen. Nor is there any place for horses to be hitched which is perhaps even more odd. Regardless, a carriage is a carriage and it will, at least, be dry.]


2. A Feast Fit for a Duke
[Getting close to town is more of a relief than it's ever been before. Usually he is fine on his own in the wilderness for a time. The Blade of Frontiers can't very well be >afraid of the frontier can he? But his pack -most of his things, really,- is back at Last Light. His rapier is best for defense against goblins and gnolls but not so much for hunting and certainly nothing to clean an animal with.

He's immensely grateful for the promise of shelter up ahead though he braces himself for the possibility that, alone, the people may well see his infernal eye, the horns, the diabolic ridges on his skin, and turn him away. It's something he has not had to deal with yet but few would truly welcome a lone man reeking of the Hells. Being part of a larger party of well armed adventurers made people think twice. At least long enough to hear him out.

It seems, however, that he will not be alone. He does his best to be quick, to not hold up the others bustling inside, even as he has to duck slightly to ensure he has enough clearance for his horns. It feels strange not to have Astarion or Shadowheart teasing him not to forget before he even has a chance to get inside. But he's swiftly distracted by Methuselah, smiling and assuring the old man that he needn't impose too severely upon his generosity. He's plenty capable of tending to his own wounds, as soon as he's warm enough to do so.

It's as he's collecting a cup of hot tea that he ventures a cautious question to whoever else might be near.]


I'm sorry but... do you know whereabouts this town is on the Sword Coast? Surely we are not so far as to be in the Spine?


((Hi, Hello, feel free to run into Wyll at any point along his journey into town. Any questions cause I haven't actually done much with his journal yet hit me up at [plurk.com profile] draconicseraphim or on disco @ mimicuy))
Edited 2023-12-06 04:53 (UTC)
castitas: (032)

b — methuselah's feast

[personal profile] castitas 2023-12-06 03:23 am (UTC)(link)
With the newest round of Interlopers slowly filling into the Community Hall as they make their way in from the wilds, it's kinda... all stations go, really. This is the third time this has happened, including when she first got here, and much like the second time — Kate's busy with helping Methuselah tend to the newcomers.

Bewilderment is common, the uneasy quiet that comes with trying to warm up, eat something and realign to the new set of circumstances is too. What isn't is the building shriek that comes in the direction of Methuselah and an Interloper she doesn't recognise. She's very fond of the old man, and it's enough to make her gently hurry over.

You have a picture of my wife and son and you don't know how you got it? Have you been watching us? What is this?

"Excuse me, sir?" her tone is mild, hands raised slightly in a disarming gesture. "Please. Mr Methuselah's telling the truth, he doesn't know. Some of our things just turn up with us. He really doesn't know."
sputnik: — 𝑺𝑷𝑼𝑻𝑵𝑰𝑲 (ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʀʀᴇɴ ᴛʀᴇᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ғɪᴇʟᴅs ᴏғ sɴᴏᴡ)

Konstantin Veshnyakov | Sputnik

[personal profile] sputnik 2023-12-06 05:27 am (UTC)(link)
OVERARCHING CONTENT WARNING that this is a horror character coming into game hosting a parasitic alien (albeit with some aspects to it adjusted / nerfed)! I definitely won't throw the gnarlier parts of this out without checking first, but just to be safe: those themes are a frequent part of him / his introspection and behaviour.


ARRIVAL
cw: introspection about parasitic alien / introspection about suicide (via gun) / internal and external bleeding / emeto associations / throwing up blood
[ Commanding Officer Konstantin Veshnyakov wakes with a sharp gasp, eyes wide — stunned, disbelieving, but the environment in which he's suddenly been thrust gives him no luxury to stay that way. The details become immediately, painfully clear, because everything is cold, colder than where he'd been before. The cold is everywhere. Stark white, glistening beneath the sun; it demands he understand its presence. He is already shivering from it, body giving spasms from the chill.

The man struggles to pull himself up from the snow, groaning out loud as he fails and slumps back down again. What... is this? (He doesn't want to know, to remember anything, but memory comes seeping inwards like poison, and the last thing he knew was the piercing shot of a gun pressed to his own abdomen. A single moment, and then nothing.

He should be dead. He made sure that he would die.)

Something that feels like panic makes his heart beat faster suddenly, and the cosmonaut is leaning forwards as he gives quick, pained breaths. He tries to keep himself controlled, to remember his training, but horror grips him like a vice. He didn't die? Where is Tatiana? Is the creature still—

Konstantin gasps again and looks down at his own body, one hand moving to his middle, tentatively observing himself. Blood stains the front of his t-shirt — white and form-fitting; over this he wears a thin green athletic jacket and matching track pants. His shoes are simple white trainers. Nothing to suit this cold, and his shuddering is becoming violent now. But his concern is fixed on other things, and he's carefully pressing a palm to his stomach, eyes wide. He can't... feel its presence in his mind, the way he was able to towards the end. Is it still inside of him? Is the alien thing dead in there, rotting? Or is it still alive, perhaps wounded but regaining strength even as he slouches here? Can he even die, anymore? Has he become more monster than human?

Something is very wrong. With every ounce of his strength, Konstantin forces himself to stand, wobbling as he leans over, one arm wrapped around his middle. He tastes blood; his mouth is coated in dark red, and it's stained down his chin. He's nauseated, dizzy, muttering to himself as he stumbles forwards in the snow, step by step. He has to keep going. Keep moving. One foot and then another, trudging forwards; the process is slow. But if he closes his eyes against this stark white world, he thinks perhaps he is in outer space again, where everything is weightless instead, and liquid black.

He thinks he hears something and his eyes flutter open, vision confused, glossy. A person....? Konstantin lifts his hand weakly to them just as a convulsive spasm forces him to double over, gagging for a moment before blood pours from his mouth onto the white snow below, and then he's losing all of his strength, tipping forwards.
]

METHUSELAH'S FEAST
cw: introspection about parasitic alien / themes of ""cannibalism"" (feeding on people's blood) / emeto associations
[ The cosmonaut is led to a building, one with warmth, food, people. He's dazed by it all as he slowly walks around, quick to find a blanket and wrap it tightly around broad shoulders, winding it across his body almost protectively, concealing his own blood-stained clothing. But daze is quickly turning to paranoia, and he's keeping drawn tightly to himself, staying close to the walls. This isn't the facility he'd escaped from, but surely it's close by. There will be people searching for him.

At some point, he finds something and he isn't sure if this is reality or a dream, but of course, his punishment follows him here. Konstantin sits at a table alone, an item placed in front of him. It's a small doll, its rounded, swiveling body unmoving for the moment. He stares mutely down at it, and slowly lifts his hands to cup the doll, thumb brushing gently over its side. A little boy's name lives within his mind. His eyes are dark and wet, and he cannot take them off of the item. He'll only look back up when he catches the movement of a person, and he quickly adjusts his expression, but cannot conceal the lump in his throat when he speaks, voice tight for a moment, hoarse.
]

Have you found anything? From your home.

[ A little later, he realises that his mouth waters. The smell of cooking food affects his body whether he'd want it to or not, and it has been a long time since Konstantin ate. It makes him deeply uneasy, but he hasn't felt anything of the creature's bond to him since arriving here. Perhaps it.... is no longer with him? Or dead? Regardless, he is beginning to feel dizzy from not eating.

Cautiously, he approaches someone who is helping hand out food to finally accept a bowl of soup — offering a friendly smile, allowing his eyes to warm the way he's used to. For a brief moment, he is Commander Veshnyakov again: a hero of the people with his bright charm and kind smiles. Thank you, he says to the helper, and he is about to say something more when he feels a flutter of movement within the depths of himself, where things are warm and wet. Perhaps it's the presence of a human so close by that stirs the creature — it's here, he thinks, and it's hungry too, and he remembers how the human blood it prefers to feed on feels and tastes.

Konstantin pales, excuses himself, and sets the bowl down on the nearest surface, before clapping a hand to his mouth and turning and leaving, quickly — finding the closest door that he can. Unfortunately for him, it's the nearby kitchen, lingering with food-smells from the efforts of those who'd been working in here.

His hands come up to the sides of his head, and he groans quietly to himself, leaned over, lips trembling with silent movement as though he means to coax himself through some horror. (Is he imagining things? Was it really the creature, coiling and uncoiling within him, restless? Perhaps he's only paranoid.) He's standing there like that, and maybe you're the helper from before, following him in — or maybe you're someone else happening upon this scene, but he'll freeze as soon as you enter, wide-eyed.
]

What're you doing in here?

[ He sounds angry, tone bordering abrasive, snapping as his severe brows furrow. The hero is gone, slips through Konstantin's fingers no matter how much he tries to hang onto him. ]

WILDCARD / ETC

Feel free to hit me up at [plurk.com profile] horreur or pm! I'm also just fine with prose if that's your preference ♥

Edited 2023-12-06 05:57 (UTC)
m1895: (and you were beautiful and vulnerable)

arrival.... as discussed.... the fateful meeting

[personal profile] m1895 2023-12-06 06:04 am (UTC)(link)
[ He's walking toward the community center from the cabin he occupies, cutting through a stand of snow-dusted trees when he first sees the man—tall, taller than him, and something's clearly wrong. He lifts a hand as though to reach out to him—coughs up blood, doubles over, retches. Collapses.

Vasiliy picks up a jog when the man drops and is crouching at his side a moment later, scanning the scene as he pieces together what's happening—there's blood on his shirt; maybe it's an internal injury. Maybe it's a ruptured ulcer and the bloodstain came from within. In either case, there's not much of anything he can do here, though he doesn't allow the adrenaline, a familiar companion in these sorts of situations, to make him anything but more focused.

He's clutching something in his hand. Vasiliy rests his own on the man's arched back for the sake of reassurance and places the other over the hand clutching whatever the piece of paper is—hopefully some form of identification—, gently working it out of his weakening grasp as his latest patient continues to retch bright red blood in the snow. ]


You're okay. [ He speaks softly, firmly, with confidence. ] My name is Vasiliy. I'm a EMT. You're okay. I'm going to help you.

[ It's a photograph. He unfolds it and—stares, disbelieving. The man in the picture, who looks like a slightly less harrowed version of the one before him, is dressed in the uniform of his own country's cosmonaut corps, a Hero of the Soviet Union pinned to his chest. A cosmonaut. A Hero of the Soviet Union. He's resting his hand on the warm, human back of a man who's been to the cosmos.

It doesn't feel real, nor does the physical perfection of the man in the photograph, as though a propaganda illustration was brought to life, materializing in flesh and blood. He's exactly like one would imagine a cosmonaut or a Hero of the Soviet Union looking like, at least in the photograph—less so, doubled over and vomiting blood, but his bone structure isn't negated by his current state.

That's as much as Vasiliy allows himself to think about it—it's unprofessional, allowing his awe to take over, especially if it's at his patient's risk. It does, however, provide the needed encouragement for him to finally use his own mother tongue for the first time in more than a year—although this man would be able to understand his awkward English, he's done enough for his country to deserve the comfort of hearing his own language. He'll find a way to address the sound of his own voice, the inflection, later, to explain it away somehow - if his patient even remembers it.

If he even pulls through. If nothing else, at least he can keep him company here, and maybe help him feel a modicum of peace before he passes. At least someone who has done so much won't die alone. ]


Can you tell me what happened?
Edited 2023-12-06 06:18 (UTC)
eighteenhalflives: (Default)

Cold as Hell (now with company!)

[personal profile] eighteenhalflives 2023-12-06 09:20 am (UTC)(link)
[ The car is the first almost-recognizable thing Tobi's seen. Something's off about it - even at a distance he can tell; the shape is wrong, there aren't enough curves and the angles are too square. There's no familiar branding. No sign it was even built with a reactor. He's paying less mind to his surroundings as he approaches it, forcing himself not to think about the cold but unable to ignore the shiver that wracks through him like a compulsion.

Two steps later, Dogmeat leaves his side.

Maybe Wyll doesn't see him coming, won't catch a glimpse of the silhouette in the mirror too long before there's a heavy clack on the door beside him - an unfamiliar dog with mismatched eyes and a bloody muzzle that peers at him through the clouded window before barking excitedly and turning back toward its master.

Tobi is...all too aware he's unarmed, realizing there's someone in there. He feels more vulnerable than he'd like, even with the light armor of his bodysuit and Butch's jacket hanging on his shoulders; his pip-boy malfunctioning has him even more on edge than the impossible number of trees and the strange behavior of the animals. ]


Hey, [ he calls out, careful to keep his tone somewhere neutral, inoffensive and loud enough to be heard but not carry further down the road. ] are you alright in there?

[ One hand falls to catch Dogmeat with a pat between the ears when he returns to him, but the other remains lifted, palm out, nonthreatening. A universal gesture: Hey man, I don't have a gun. Please don't shoot me if you do. ]
eighteenhalflives: (Default)

Methuselah's Feast (home sure is where the heart aches, huh?)

[personal profile] eighteenhalflives 2023-12-06 09:55 am (UTC)(link)
[ It might not be the movement of the person he sees first, but the dog. Some kind of cattle dog mutt with a dark coat and mismatched eyes slinking between the tables before it winds around the legs of the young man who's stood aside watching him.

Tobi at least has the good grace to look sheepish at being caught; his dark sunglasses hide his eyes but it reads plainly in his face and in the sudden awkward tension in his shoulders. He chews on his lower lip for a second before answering. ]


No. [ He's only got a few things he was already wearing, and his dog. ] I hope I don't, honestly.

[ It wouldn't be a good sign, he thinks, if whatever brought him here brought something - or someone - familiar to him. It'd make whatever he has to do that much harder. ]
pale_elf: (005)

[personal profile] pale_elf 2023-12-06 10:24 am (UTC)(link)
[From the warmth of Baldur's Gate's outskirt to the Frozen wastelands of Frostell or whatever horrible place Astarion got himself into. When the vampire jumped in the portal, following his companions, he had no idea where he was going to land... but it certainly wasn't in the middle of nowhere and alone. The voice in his head was gone, at least, so the immediate danger of being captured by the Gythyanki was no longer there... now he just had to figure what the hell was going on and how not to freeze to death while traveling across a snow covered land wearing nothing more than his night chemise and light trousers.

At least the presence of trees and tracks of animals told him that he wasn't lost in the middle of the elemental plane of ice, nor that he was distant from any form of life, but the vampire still had no clue of where he landed.

And, with patience, not only he spotted signs of life in the distance, but also a very familiar face, horns and all.

Of all people in his group, he never thought he'd feel elated to see Wyll, no, but at least this was the confirmation he needed that he was... wherever the group was supposed to be. Now they just had to find the others and figure out how to proceed from there, right?
]

There you are. Gods, I could almost hug you, at least to get a bit warmer. Do you have any clue of what happened? Ah, we will talk later, I see smoke in the distance and hopefully the others are there.

[Needless to say, he was more eager to find a warm fire- he had his bow with himself, the only thing the man managed to grab during their rushed escape, but that wasn't going to help with their current situation.]

[ooc: I am so thrilled to see a Wyll, considering I plan to bring Astarion in.]
pale_elf: (Default)

Astarion | Baldur's gate 3

[personal profile] pale_elf 2023-12-06 02:35 pm (UTC)(link)
>Arrival

[While Astarion spent a large portion of his life in cold and dark dungeons, he couldn't say he was a big fan of freezing to death, nor that it was in his list of things to do during his little joyous journey toward freedom. When the Githyanki attacked he was quick to run grab his weapon and rush toward the portal to get rid of a certain, awful voice that was overwhelming him... but no matter what, wherever he was expecting himself to land- it certainly wasn't a frozen forest. A 'What the hell' echoed in the middle of nowhere after he fully processed what happened and he was quick on his feet to search for a cave or anything where to hide.

All he managed to carry with himself were his magical rings, the ones that never left his fingers, and his bow... and neither was going to shield him from the cold, nor he was going to get any warmth from his light white chemise. Perfect for the comfort of a bedroll in the warm weather of Baldur's Gate, definitely inadequate for a winter wonderland. He found himself cussing and cursing while following tracks of wildlife and signs of life, a trail of smoke in the distance the only indication that there could be some camp nearby and snow... snow as far as he could see. Which wasn't much considering the sun was already setting behind the mountains.

If Astarion thought he had a chance to stop and relax after the attack, that was clearly not the case. The vampire wandered toward the only direction that offered him a vague promise of a shelter, constanatly rubbing his hands against his poor arms and cursing the snow that kept getting in his barely warrm boots.

He can be either found in the forest, approaching the city (and studying some of those weird constructs that lied without life in the streets. They seemed to have seats inside their metallic bodies but they made no sense per se. Carriages made of metal without horses? What?) or stealing something warm to wear around the place. Goodness, bless the weird local fashion for warming his poor, poor bones.
]

> Methuselah's Feast

[Wonderful. Plenty of food all around him and he couldn't eat any of that for a reason or another. All the things prepared by the local residents were as appetizing as cardboard to him, nothing more than a waste of perfectly edible blood when the animals had been bled dry to prepare them for cooking. As for the still walking meals... he knew better than risking his neck by turning a village against him just because he felt peckish, especially because he still had no idea of where he was or why.

He wrapped himself better under the warm and absolutely pathetic jacket he recovered, an affront to fashion with the bright blue and the delicate duck themed decoration on the bottom, and moved toward the... locals? Fellow prisoners, perhaps? Hard to tell. On one side he knew his tadpole had never been as silent in his brain, on the other one... how far was he from the home not to feel anything that would have usually been there to pull him around? It didn't matter as he approached a random person at that lovely reunion of unfortunate souls and tried to offer them a most charming smile while trying to strike some conversation.
]

Isn't this... lovely? Kidnapped [Again, he could say.] and trying to survive together in a frozen, abandoned wasteland. Isn't this the kind of tales bards usually sing about?

Not that I hear anyone playing music in this depressing excuse for an inn but, hey, we could be famous someday! And if our names are going to be out there someday, allow me to introduce myself first- I'm Astarion, magistrate in a city that's probably far, far away from here.

> Misty Fall Cave.

[No matter how he lacked his vampiric powers, nor how he could no longer see clearly in the dark, even if Astarion's body changed one thing managed to stay true: he was incredibly athletic. And he was also opportunistic in nature. As he brought to the residents 'food and supplies' on the regular, animals that had been captured and turned in with their throats well sliced and open he had to cover the puncture marks and he knew he could work the locals' favor a bit more if he joined the little expedition and offered his services.

If he was very lucky, perhaps he could even end up in a death or life situation with one of them, alone, and take advantage of the situation. Astarion was hungry, no need to deny that, and with so many risks and dangers around the place... well, accidents could happen, right? He licked his lips and adjusted his hair, careful not to pass in front of any mirror while approaching the first person who decided to show up in the place where they agreed to gather in.]

Well, well, look who's here early! Good day, darling, your gymnast is here. Difficult terrains? That's my job. Small places where to crawl? Where do I begin? Traps? That's my jam. I cannot wait to get started.

> Serpent's breath

[Astarion was initially thrilled when he started to find non completely frozen and already dead creatures around the place. His diet was fully back on animal blood, knowing that dining on a small little community would have been a mistake, and running into a free meal sounded like a dream- too bad his nose managed to perceive the rot before he even fully approached the beasts. He instinctively gagged as the sweet smell of blood mixed with something he could only call eau de ghoul armpit and stopped a few steps away, frowning and crossing his arms.]

What a waste of wonderful, possible meals! And you can't even say "Let's just cut off the bad parts" with those...

[Mostly in his case, because he could tell the blood was contaminated. Who cared about the meat, that didn't fill him in the slightest and even if others could get a morsel or two it wasn't from him.]

I swear, they're mocking me. The gods of this place, whoever they are. I'm here, starving, and they place a perfect little meal right in front of me- and it's already gone. I swear this place will drive me insane.

> Wild Card

ooc: I'm open to pick pretty much any moment in the middle of the events and run with it. Fair warning for those unfamiliar with the canon, Astarion can be pretty intense and he's not exactly the most kind of all people, so to speak.
Edited 2023-12-06 15:50 (UTC)
alexaandme: (01)

misty falls cave

[personal profile] alexaandme 2023-12-06 03:18 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Dom believes firmly that, in this desolate place, the buddy system will be the difference between life and death whenever anyone ventures beyond the village limits. The more buddies, the better.

Today, she is Selene's buddy, and she's pretty glad for that. For one, Selene carries herself with confidence and looks like she can handle rough situations. For another (and Dom feels a little bit bad about this, but what can you do), Selene is hot.

Anyway. Dom's all business on this excursion. The darkness seems almost alive, like it breathes in their very existence. Dom isn't claustrophobic, but she's not enjoying this, either; Selene, however-- ]


Hey. [ Dom calls out just as Lanfear reaches for her, and once the other woman's hand grips her, Dom shifts gears. Her fellow adventurer needs help. ]

Hey. Breathe slowly. I'll count for you. Four in, hold, four out.

[ She counts, her voice steady. ]
Edited 2023-12-06 19:45 (UTC)
pale_elf: (007)

In the Community Hall

[personal profile] pale_elf 2023-12-06 04:10 pm (UTC)(link)
[A lonesone man avoiding both food and company? Oh, that definitely piqued Astarion's interest. If some people were keen on isolating themselves, he wanted to keep an eye on them as potential future meals. Who even knew what wildlife was around the place anyway? No, no, he had to at least approach those who could potentially be resources for him. Or eventual bleeding hearts who'd agree on feeding him after learning of his nature.

The vampire's movements were smooth, even if the large blue jacket he found himself wearing was not doing his body much justice, and his steps were silent as he approached. No malice in that, though, as he announced his presence before being at arm distance with the other man.
]

Looks like I'm not the only one not trusting this food in this... oh so happy place. Good thing to know someone else still has his head on his shoulders.
lastdecember: (smile06)

[personal profile] lastdecember 2023-12-06 04:35 pm (UTC)(link)
[ It would be hard to sneak up on anybody in a jacket that brightly colored! Wolfwood turns his head towards the stranger as he approaches, chattering about the food like they're old friends. Is the stranger just another friendly idiot, or is he trying to ingratiate himself in Wolfwood's good graces?

In his experience, it's always the worse option, isn't it? He grins viciously in response, showing off canines that a discerning eye might notice are just a little bit longer and sharper than human teeth usually are.
]

Seem to have lost my appetite.

[ At least his stomach has the courtesy not to growl right then and there. The food does smell amazing, and it's been long enough since his last meal that he's pretty sure he could put away two bowlsful of that stew without ever needing to come up for air. But he's been hungry before, and the wait won't kill him. ]

Who're you?
pale_elf: (Default)

[personal profile] pale_elf 2023-12-06 05:01 pm (UTC)(link)
[It's either the bright jacket and the poofy pants or basically walking around in his resting attire, something that's too thin to even pretend it can insulate him from the cold. Astarion may be familiar with low temperatures, as someone who mostly moves in the dark and had to bring preys to his master no matter the time of the year, but... he would rather not lose his toes or even worse. Poor attire aside, Astarion is definitely trying to pass for a friendly idiot, a charming chatterbox who cannot really harm anyone.

The grin is taken in and the vampire nods, taking note of the long fangs but paying no attention to it. Either his nose is also much weaker that it used to be, or he cannot smell the blood of one of his kin in the other man. Whatever Wolfwood is, the message seems clear. "you're dealing with a predator". He could return the favor, sure, but he's doing nothing to attract attention to his own sharp fangs.
]

Ah, same. This is so different from the elegant banquets I'm used to. Where is the rich and velvety vine? Where the fine young couples dancing around? You can't tell me people organize a party and there isn't even a single bard around.

[The man sighs, vaguely gesturing around them. His posture is a bit stiff, but he's doing his best to look the part of a fish completely out of water. Who is he if not an inoffensive nobleman who was taken to this plane of existence?]

Astarion. A magistrate in the city I live in. And you are...?
guidemyway: (3999546 (48))

Arrival

[personal profile] guidemyway 2023-12-06 06:08 pm (UTC)(link)
[Ruby's seen some pretty battered and battle torn people in her life, but Wolfwood's attire certainly beat out most of the people she had seen take a beating and walk away from it.

She's bundled up in her winter gear pretty snuggly, if anything it looked like she was on her way back from hunting. But seeing Wolfwood like that gave her brief pause and she quickly approached with a hint of worry in her eyes.]


Hey.

Uh- I'm really hoping your excuse for being dressed like that is that you just got here? And not that you're getting chased by a bunch of thugs with guns.
guidemyway: (3999546 (30))

A

[personal profile] guidemyway 2023-12-06 06:14 pm (UTC)(link)
Ruby was used to being one of the only people running around in bright red, but with this new addition it looked like there was going to be four of them now? Jeez. Someone was going to have to change at this rate.

As such she's not making it much of a secret that she's approaching but she does manage to raise her hands up sheepishly in more of a placating way than surrender.

"Woah there, buddy. No one needs to get clubbed with a stick around here. Stickbugged maybe, but it's hard to share memes when there's no internet." See? She's friendly enough.
20likes: (01)

Heartman | Death Stranding

[personal profile] 20likes 2023-12-06 06:47 pm (UTC)(link)
i. ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST;
There's a strange sort of feeling that's happening inside of him that he's unused to, a singular thought rattling through his brain that's circumventing everything else: time. He has time here and it's stretching beyond thought, infinite like the countless Beaches he's combed in his sisyphean search. His connection to that other plane and his life's work has been severed. He's stuck here. But he has time.

Heartman focuses on the facts: he has something other than a 21 minute window for things now. It's a feeling that's so new and foreign after so many years that he's completely unsure how to process it. He hardly knows where he is and hardly knows what's happening, having shown up in the cold with no knowledge of how he'd gotten there, having pulled himself towards the light and presumed warmth of what he now understands is the Community Hall. Trying to logic and puzzle what's happening here without any concrete facts is enough to drive a scientist mad if he thinks about it for too long, but hypothesizing and studying is all the brunet knows.

So Heartman gets to work himself almost immediately: the physical muscle memory of movement and the mentality of stay busy that kicks in almost instinctual. It's freezing here, colder than his laboratory and far more rudimentary in design, but there's enough around to warrant proper distractions for him as he takes stock of the situation. There's also people. Not chiralgrams, fake and projected, but actual, real people. A lot of them. A rarity. That's another thing he's finding unnerving, if only because he's completely unused to it.

His busyness mainly comes in the form of observing. He hovers over the supplies, leans in a little too close to the conversations nearby him, always quick with a small flash of an apologetic smile if he gets in the way of someone. It's also easy to catch Heartman watching everyone by the fire, arms crossed over a rather bulky looking yellow AED. Connection and companionship. Admirable qualities to exhibit, and ones that are needed in dire situations, if his experience is anything to go by. In an attempt to feel useful, he'll also be moving around the room and pouring coffee or warm drinks for anyone that looks like they need one.


ii. MISTY FALLS CAVE;
"Perhaps it would be in our best interest if we turned back?"

Heartman's not meant for exploring. His heart may have been 'fixed,' but it's still weak. He's pushed himself quite a bit without a single complaint and he's made it to the waterfall's entrance with his traveling companion, but the unfortunate result is that he's completely winded and already exhausted.

This was probably a mistake. Now more than ever he wishes there were Porters to rely on. Heartman, nonetheless, still wants to try despite his hesitancy: he raises a hand to point at a faded sign urging them of an unknown danger.

"The advice appears to be rather sincere."


iii. WILDCARD;
[ Heartman can be seen mainly in the Community Hall, as well as the Hot Springs where he very much enjoys a nice, relaxing soak. There's also the possibility he'll need help dragging a frozen corpse into one of the cabins, and will have no qualms waving someone down to assist him. If you'd like a personalized starter feel free to DM me! ]
lastdecember: (react - You ruined my noodles)

[personal profile] lastdecember 2023-12-06 07:02 pm (UTC)(link)
[ No, Wolfwood doesn’t smell like a vampire. He reeks of blood – it’s crusted all over that suit he’s wearing, beneath the blanket and bedsheet he’d got wrapped around himself – but it’s human blood. Old blood, dried and dead. It’s his blood, in fact, if Astarion’s nose is good enough to detect that kind of nuance, but both the blood on his clothes and the blood in his veins is human. Mostly.

The chatterbox babbles on about fine wine and dancing, and whatever the hell a bard is, but Wolfwood’s only half listening. There’s more people showing up, most of them looking just as frozen and lost as he feels, and the magistrate here is feeling more and more like a distraction all the time. The guy reminds him of a musician he once knew, Wolfwood thinks, another asshole with a love of fine things who also played his cards close to his chest.

After all, what kind of fancy bastard would decide to sit down next to a filthy, blood-stained lunatic to chat about wine?
]

Wolfwood. I was a priest.

[ It’s not the truth, but it’s not exactly a lie, either. ]

What the hell’s a magistrate?
lastdecember: (HE'S on the move again. Knives.)

[personal profile] lastdecember 2023-12-06 07:03 pm (UTC)(link)

[ He hears her coming from a ways away -- one benefit of all this ice, he's learning, is how loud it is to walk through! -- but he's too cold to even care about responding. His gun stays in its holster under his arm, his hands stay clenched in that thin sheet that he's pretending so hard is a blanket, and when he opens his mouth to reply, his teeth clatter together so loudly it's a wonder she can hear him. ]

Just got here.

[ Who is she? If this is really Hell, then is she a demon, or is she dead like he is? His foot slips again on the ice -- his shoes are for sliding over sand, not picking his way across frozen ground -- and he only barely manages to stop himself from falling again. He's so cold his limbs aren't responding right -- his legs feel heavy, stiff, and he's not sure he could unknot his hands from that sheet if his life depended on it. ]

Where...?
alexaandme: (10)

in the community hall

[personal profile] alexaandme 2023-12-06 07:09 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Dom knows someone sizing up the room when she sees them, so there she goes to join him by the fire, mug of coffee in hand. ]

You come here often?

[ Bad pickup lines and a wry grin-- shorthand for "this is weird but hey let's not be total strangers". ]
20likes: (11)

maintiensledroit;

[personal profile] 20likes 2023-12-06 07:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Heartman jolts awake--jolts to life, he assumes--on the soft padding of a couch and is immediately hit by the overwhelming smell of what he can only describe as mustiness. He sits up immediately, eyes wide as they try to focus, body moving automatically like it always does.

A flick of the wrist to access his cuff links. Expedition number...

Heartman's face pulls into a frown the moment he realizes his cufflinks don't work. He twists his wrist again, his frown deepening as his device remains unresponsive, lacking even the soft glow of any light. It's only then he truly looks at his surroundings, and feels his stomach drop with fear as cold as the temperature he's experiencing. He's not in his lab.

Another twist of his wrist, and when that doesn't work to start it up Heartman opts for the tried an true method of smacking it as hard as he can with his other hand. That doesn't work either. He exhales, trying to remain calm, and slowly rises from his spot. He's in a cabin. An unfamiliar cabin, with that overwhelming smell of stale air that causes his nose to wrinkle. He rises fully and stands, steady on his feet, chancing a peek out the window only to be met with snow and wind.

His next steps are to the door despite the cold already sinking into his bones, his breath leaving trails of condensation as he struggles to open the half-frozen slab of wood. With a lot more effort than he should be exerting, he manages to get the heavy door ajar just in time to hear something distant. A bark.

A dog? Heartman tries to open the door even further, and though it's mostly futile he can stick enough of himself out to yell.

"Hello?"

There had been a voice, hadn't there? Loud and ringing. It had said something that seems fuzzy to Heartman in his panic. Interlopers? Was that this? Or was the bark not a dog, but a wolf...
alexaandme: (06)

methuselah's feast

[personal profile] alexaandme 2023-12-06 07:21 pm (UTC)(link)
Dom has claimed a cot for herself by now and is on her second mug of coffee. A simple sandwich of cheese and bread sits half eaten beside her on a cloth napkin that's seen better days. Her belongings-- a gun, a pair of handcuffs, and a single lollipop-- are tucked away in her coat, not to be revealed unless absolutely necessary.

She's aware that someone sits nearby her, but not any details about them. Not until he speaks up and she glances at him.

"Take what we can get, right?" She looks and sounds tired. She is, but mostly she's soul-weary. Everything is happening a ton, she hates it, thanks. "I hope they have board games too."