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singillppl2024-04-06 07:44 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2024-04-06 07:44 pm
Entry tags:
April 2024 Test Drive Meme
APRIL 2024 TDM
PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: Yet another 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 — FROM FROTH-CORRUPTED LUNGS: The heavy fog plaguing the Northern Territories takes a far more deadly and sinister turn.
PROMPT THREE — SHARP CLAWS, YAWNING MAWS: Interlopers come face to face with another native animal to the Northern Territories stalking the rockier areas — and unfortunately, these feline beasts have also been warped by the Aurora.
ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST
WHEN: Mid-month.
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 several weeks, maybe longer. The fire is stone cold, the dishes in the sink are mouldy — it's possible the place has been ransacked, as if they've gone through the drawers and cupboards looking for something. 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. Interlopers who arrive during the month of April will find themselves waking up in a world filled with freezing cold fog, cold enough that it will feel as if your skin is burning. A kind of cold that will not shake easily. It will be easy to get lost in the fog. Best hope there's someone out here that might come across you to help you find your way.
Soon enough, you'll be able to find a path to town. A little more worse for wear, but alive. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused — battered from the journey. 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.
Or it’s possible you may come across someone else here. Someone who looks far better prepared to deal with the freezing cold and frozen landscape, 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 smell it through the fog: the scent of smoke that seems to cling in the still air. Fire. Not just one, but several perhaps. Civilization...?
Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the foggy mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights, even if it may appear a little eerie in the half-light gloom: 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 then 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. Several dozen at most, but no more. Some of them will direct you to the Community Hall, tell you to head there — you've been expected.
Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building where many people seem to gather: a community hall, by the looks of it. 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. Everyone looks as though they could faint from the cold at any second, damp and shivering.
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, but looks sad. He smiles warmly despite the sadness in him, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.
“Another batch of poor souls from the wilds, this fog has made it so difficult.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. The lights are changing things, bringing more of you here. Come, we must get you warm and fed. Mother Nature has not been kind.”
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, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's 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 laden 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 perhaps a rare canister of coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish, instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast. The old man has been busy. And 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 very troubled, thoughtful. Much has been happening. The others from town will eventually trail in too, to eat and warm themselves, and search among the new faces.
He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, his mood is... low, mournful. But perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.
FROM FROTH-CORRUPTED LUNGS
WHEN: The month of April.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural/extreme weather; poisonous fog; potential respiratory/lung-related illness/injury; potential burn injuries; themes of peril
A thick fog has descended onto the Northern Territories as April comes, often difficult to navigate in and a kind of cloying damp that often brings a certain kind of wicked chill to Interlopers out travelling in it. The kind that sinks in one’s bones and takes too long to be chased away with heat and dry clothes. Sometimes, it feels almost suffocating, like it’s exhausting to be out in it — as if one might feel more like they’re underwater than on dry land, struggling to breathe if they’re out in it for too long.
It’s certainly a miserable affair for those in this world, the cold was bad enough without this.
And certainly, it can get even worse.
Maybe it’s a trick of the light, the strange thickness of the fog in the pale Spring light, but you notice in certain patches there’s… an almost green tint to the fog. You don’t have time to look at it for long. It descends upon you with a fluid steadiness, silent in its approach.
To touch the fog with bare skin, a hand, even the exposed face — you will be met with a sudden burning pain, far different to the biting cold pain of the rest of the fog. As soon as the green fog comes into contact with you, it slowly begins to burn at you — searing away at any flesh, a slow and terrible experience.
To breathe it in will be an even worse experience: it will feel as if one is slowly inhaling tiny fragments of glass, and each breath will be painful and suffocating. Coughing up blood is likely, and being out in it for too long will bring a slow, agonising death of suffocation.
Heading indoors is the best bet to ensure survival, with plugging up any doors and windows or drafty spaces to ensure the fog doesn’t seep inside. After that, it seems like the only thing you can do is wait it out. Hopefully you're stuck inside with a friendly face, and somewhere with a fire. Otherwise, it's going to be a bad time trapped inside waiting it out. The fog will eventually dissipate, and all that Interlopers will be able to see is the usual cold fog — but that could take hours of waiting.
Burns to the skin can be treated with typical medical care, and bathing the wounds will cleanse them of any lingering poison, but Interlopers should take care of signs of infection in the days afterwards. For those who suffer from inhalation of this green fog, Methuselah will direct them to Reishi mushrooms — known for their antibiotic healing properties and can be found in abundance in the world. Interlopers will find that breathing in the steam from boiling and steeping these mushrooms in water will soothe their lungs and help in the healing process.
SHARP CLAWS, YAWNING MAWS
WHEN: April, onwards.
WHERE: Milton wilds; Milton Mines (Lakeside Entrance) area; The Ravine area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: animal attacks, altered wildlife, gore, possible character injury/death, possible animal injury/death.
Certain kinds of wildcats are native to Canada and thus the Northern Territories. They are elusive animals, often keeping to themselves and have largely gone unseen by the Interlopers during their time here in this world. But the world is changing, and it has long been understood that wildlife has been altered due to the Aurora’s influence — particularly with wolves. Unfortunately, these solitary and evasive felines will not remain this way for long.
The wildcats tend to stick to the more mountainous areas of the Northern Territories: Milton’s outskirts being a primary example of this, but also the sheltered and rocky passage Interlopers must take if they are to travel through the mines and down the train tracks that lead into Lakeside. It is here in particular that they make their appearance with the recent footfall between the areas.
For newer Interlopers, it is a frightening sight. For some Interlopers who have been in this world for some time, it is an all too familiar sight to behold but no less terrifying. These beasts are warped by the Aurora and are far bigger and faster than any usual wildcat, with huge, hulking bodies, elongated fangs and unlike wolves: they can climb. Green, glowing smoke curls from their bodies and eyes, a kind of electrical current rippling over their coats with a strange shimmer. They lurk from above and wait for the opportune moment to strike — a far more silent and deadly attack than the wolf packs of last year. But if you’re paying attention, you might be able to spot them before they make their move.
These altered beasts will come no more than three at a time, but will usually attack alone. They will work with a frenzied determination to bring you down and make you their next meal. Cats, after all, are obligate carnivores. They will enjoy giving chase, and running will be the worst thing to do in dealing with them. It is best to stand your ground and try to fight back this way.
They are frightened of flames, and loud noises from gunfire or flares will keep them at a distance — but it’ll take a decent amount of ammunition to take them down, much like their canine counterparts Interlopers already encountered. Taking one down will be no small feat, but there will likely be the reward of a thick, warm pelt for those interested.
FAQs
1. Arrival threads can be treated as game canon.
2. Items characters have brought from home can be found either strewn around them when they awaken, or in the community hall — as if someone left them out for them to collect. Methuselah will not know how they got there, and will be quite bemused by the happenings.
3. Reminder that all characters are now depowered upon arrival. They can choose not to notice it at first, or can immediately sense something is different about them.
4. If asked any personal questions, Methuselah will smile and say "Oh, you don't want to know about an old man like me. But I have lived all over in these parts for all my life." He will be more concerned with trying to help Newcomers, and is genuinely concerned for them and their well-being. Other Interlopers will say much of the same — there's little to know about him.
5. More information about Milton can be found here.
1. Skin open to the elements is at the most risk of being burned, so it's best to wrap up/cover any bare skin. Covered skin would eventually burn if Interlopers spent enough time in the fog to have their clothes saturated by the damp.
2. Breathing in the fog is the most pressing issue for everyone as a whole. The green fog can affect Interlopers who don't breathe.
1. Bobcat, Canada Lynx, and Cougar are the three kinds of wildcat native to Canada. Due to the Aurora's influence, these wildcats are bigger, faster and stronger than typical wildcats — with Cougars being the largest of the three.
2. Killing them is difficult, but not impossible. Scaring them will be far easier to accomplish than killing them.
3. Wildcat activity will continue onwards from April, but will reduce with the Interlopers' efforts to fight them back.
4. Wildcat is technically edible. But not advised due to parasites. Characters are still welcome to harvest the wildcats they kill, however.
claws.
But his pencil pauses as Diefenbaker perks up, ears high and nose lifted to scent the air – not toward the prints, but away from them. "What is it?" Fraser asks, but even if the wolf could answer, illumination comes from a new and different source: a woman's voice floating hesitantly through the air.
It takes him a moment of tromping through the snow to find her, Diefenbaker trotting ahead with his tail up like a flag, but find her he does: hardly more than a girl, dressed in a long gown, with what looks like a chained wolf at her side. Fraser lifts his hands: I won't harm you. "This isn't my land," he tells her. "But it isn't safe here."
Diefenbaker, meanwhile, approaches the other, younger wolf, sniffing curiously. "Dief," Fraser cautions him. "Don't crowd them."
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He's dressed unfamiliarly, though Sansa can't place the fashion of it. The coat is both too short and too long, and the hat is not a shape she's seen before. She doesn't see any weapons, but knives could be hidden. This constant vigilance is making her head spin. She's had it for years, stretching on and on and coiling into a hard weight inside her after her marriage to Ramsay. She'd like to be done with it, even for just a day.
But she can't, not until she's far from the Boltons' reach.
She tries to be presentable, wiping at her face and smoothing her hair a little. Be harmless; be nothing else but pretty. "I do not have coin either. Please, I only have gratitude to give. I don't know where I am."
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Finally the wolf glances his way, and Fraser raises his eyebrows at it in exasperation. "Guard," he says, enunciating clearly. Diefenbaker turns a last look on the younger wolf, then bounds through the snow to watch their perimeter.
Fraser, meanwhile, sighs. "Sometimes I think he's pretending to be mostly deaf," he tells the girl, before he sinks into a crouch, making himself smaller, less threatening – and offering him a chance to look over the snow for wildcat prints. He's careful to keep his distance; she's frightened enough already. "You don't need to offer me anything," he promises, gentle. "I just want to help. My name is Benton Fraser." He nods towards the patrolling wolf. "That's Diefenbaker."
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She doesn't hold the bit of chain on Lady's collar. She wants the collar gone, but she doesn't have anything to pry it apart, and she knows her strength; she would just injure them both, to try with her own hands. Still, behaved and meek as ever, Lady stays behind Sansa as she walks.
"My brothers," she starts, "had trouble with theirs, too. Their wolves."
"Her name is Lady," Sansa offers as she stops at a polite distance from the man— Fraser, he said his name was. "And mine is Lyanna. I was travelling with companions when we got separated."
"You're looking for tracks, aren't you?" She doesn't have the skill, but she's seen Robb and Jon do it enough when they take the wolves hunting in the woods near the castle. "You and your wolf are hunting?"
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It's not the sight of wildcat prints in the snow which is currently concerning him; it's the lack of them. Fraser glances up, scanning the trees overhead, the stark rock cliffs nearby, looking for lounging, lurking bodies. He sees none, but that isn't enough to convince him they aren't there. "If you'll let me escort you to the town, we can get you some food and shelter."
He considers the young female wolf, thoughtful, taking in the iron collar and chain. Lacking the proper tools, it would take him too long to try and remove it now. Much as he dislikes the poor thing being forced to wear that heavy, cold iron any longer than necessary, there's really nothing for it. "And I'll be able to get those chains off your Lady, there. It doesn't seem as though she needs them, does she?"
On the contrary, she seems even better behaved than Diefenbaker... not that that's an especially high bar to pass.
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How many times had she begged? For Lady, for home, for Robb and Father and Mother and Arya and everyone she's ever loved; a long prayer of begging since she got to King's Landing. All she got in return were bodies she couldn't bury, dead that she couldn't honor. "But she's here with me now. That's all that matters."
It used to be so easy to trust other people. She peels off her gloves, folds them and offers them to Fraser. They're a good make, silk lining and soft leather, made special for the cold Northern weather. They can be traded; she takes good care of her things. "My thanks, for when you break her iron collar. You could trade them, or use them if they fit. Please," she presses on. "She's more important to me than a pair of gloves, and if there something hunting in these woods—"
She can change things for Lady, this time. Fraser clearly cares for his own, his Diefenbaker. He might understand. "I'll do my best not to slow you down. Either of you."
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A license and collar is one thing – he knows they're largely necessary in Chicago, for the animals there, but a chain– the young wolf is as meek as any trained dog he's ever seen. He can't imagine what possessed someone to clap iron around her neck. "But there is something hunting in these woods, so please, this way."
He holds a hand out to guide her, careful not to touch her as he coaxes her and Lady toward his own prints in the snow, back the way he came. "There's a town – small, but with people, shelter, hot food." Belatedly he realizes he hasn't answered the question she hadn't quite asked before, and continues, as Diefenbaker comes to trot on a parallel course to them, sniffing at the air. "You're in the Dominion of Canada, in the Northern Territories. I understand this may come as something of as shock."
Judging by her manners and dress, she's certainly not from a time or location anywhere near his own. "I'm afraid we're currently having a small problem with some wildcats, which is why I'd like to get you to a safer location as quickly as possible."
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She takes a breath, chest rising and holding, and takes his outstretched hand. Her grip is light at first, then firmer, though if he needs to he could very easily pull away from her hold. Lady bounds a few steps, a short burst of seeming surprise, but settles back into a sedate pace next to Sansa—and now, between her and Fraser.
"Fraser," Sansa tests the name as they're led forward. "May I call you Ser Fraser?"
Diefenbaker is trained to a purpose; not just hunting, Sansa surmises, given that Fraser had given instructions that had little to do with chasing game. A patrolman, then? A watchman? His dress gives him great freedom to move, though she wonders how he could be warm with the shortened garments.
"How do you kill the wildcats?" It's a reasonable question in her mind. "You say they're hunting. That we should hurry. I assume that means they're hard to kill? You sent your wolf ahead of us to scout, should I do the same?"
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She asks excellent, pertinent questions; despite the severity of the situation, her poise remains intact. It's a curious thing, the way she speaks and holds herself, how she'd been prepared to bargain for help, and he mulls it over at the back of his mind even as he answers her questions. "Any other time, I'd say you kill them with one or two good shots," he tells her, tugging at the strap of the rifle that lays against his back. "But these seem to be sturdier than most. Yes, hard to kill."
The pace he sets is quick, but he's careful not to rush her. They'll be safe enough if he can scare off any would-be attackers. At her last question, he shakes his head. "Keep your Lady with you," he advises. "Diefenbaker will sound the alarm if he scents any of the cats. If they do attack, try to keep Lady from running. They'll chase whatever moves, it's in their nature."
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"Constable Fraser," she amends, testing the word. Jon might like him, were he here; the constable has an earnestness to him that they share. Constable Fraser pulls at the strap of the— staff? surely it's not a bow, the bowstring would be much too wide and loose— and she wonders.
"And Diefenbaker? Should he stay still, as well?" One wolf at risk while another stays out of harm's way— no. "How does your weapon work?"
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He certainly hopes so, anyway. "But our main goal would be to scare a cat away, rather than kill it. With a little bit of luck, we'd be able to make it think we're too much work for a meal. That's where this comes in."
Ah— of course. Dressed as she is, with the way she'd tried to call him 'sir' and attempted to barter her gloves, she may be another like Randvi, come here from a time long before his own. "It's called a rifle, and it can shoot metal projectiles — bullets — a very long way, at great speeds. Very useful for hunting, but more to the point, they make quite a loud sound when they discharge. Hopefully that would be enough to convince a wildcat to stay away."
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