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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.
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"We could use something like it, back home," she diverts her frustration to something else instead. "It would save on tallow for the candles. Firewood, too."
And something else. Far in the future. "Do you mean to say you're from here, Lady Randvi? But from another time? This is a mirror of your world."
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Randvi knows that she will never see her sister Thora’s face again. This is something that she’d had to make peace with when she’d supported her husband’s flight to England (though he likely would not have called it fleeing), a plan which if she can govern herself appropriately should end up with Eivor on the throne of the Raven Clan. If she had one of these stones, she would call Thora every day.
The other part is something that she likes to think she's made peace with as well. “At home, in the method that the Saxons mark the years, it has been eight hundred seventy-four years since the death of their god. There are documents in Milton dated two thousand fourteen using the same system.”
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Sansa admits to it with some trepidation; her lack of knowledge had been used against her enough times, and she dislikes that she's in a situation where it could happen again. "By my knowledge, it's the year 301 after Aegon Targaryen's conquest of the seven kingdoms."
She expects to be met with confusion, or a blank stare. No matter; it would be better for her in the long run if no one truly knows. With her coloring alone, she gives herself away; there is only ever one girl who wears the distinct looks of a Tully that comes from the North.
"For what it's worth, my lady. It seems we come from similar places."
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“By our own count, it is the second year of the reign of Sigurd Styrbjornson. It seems that in the coming years, the descendants of these Saxons will conquer most of the world.” Seeing the Englishmen from their naval fleet here has made that seem the most likely explanation.
“There are people here from realms that neither of us could imagine. Vast empires above the sky, worlds where the people are living metal constructs, places with floating cities and terrible magic beasts. They're all drawn here by the magic that drew you.”
It seems improper somehow to say it aloud, but it is heartening in some ways to meet a fellow so-called interloper who is from a world like hers. Randvi likes a lot of the people here, but sometimes being so separate from most of them is lonely.
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But she is still a girl, barely eighteen. She still wears her hair in braids like her mother had taught her, and she still cares for her appearance for the pleasure of doing so. Most of all, she still hopes to find a way out - anywhere, somewhere so far from the horrors she's had to endure, if she can never find her way back to her true home. Bran and Rickon may still be alive; Jon is Lord Commander. Maybe they could triumph in her absence.
It's a cautious hope. They don't have the numbers, not while the Boltons presume to hold the North and the Lannisters rule the realm in all but name. But it's something to hold onto.
"We used to have dragons," Sansa murmurs. She says it like she's sharing a secret, and maybe she is. "I've never seen one, they say all the dragons are gone now, but I heard they have the bones of them tucked away beneath the king's castle. If you were lucky, you could pay to see them yourself. Bones as large as a small house, can you imagine?"
"Maybe this place could bring them back, too." A pause, and a nervous laugh. "Or not. Dragons might be harder to train than a wolf."
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Despite his absolute resemblance to a dwarf he had sworn that he was not one, though his mother had been. For now she's not questioning it.
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"I've never even seen a sea serpent before." Sea snakes, sand snakes, Sansa's only ever read stories about them. "Did you win? Was it killed, did you keep the skins of it?"
She'd like to see it, see that it's real. If it's a common creature here— "Can you make something out of it?"
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“We did win. My companion got his blade through its jaw and I fired a burning arrow into its mouth. It gouted smoke like a chimney, and thrashed about so much it nearly crushed poor Renny, but in the end it fell. I kept a few of the scales, but it had noxious breath so I was wary of the blood.”
They had been so afraid then that the serpent might destroy the plants and animals that they need for food.
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Sansa imagines it: a great serpent arcing over the water, the seawater churning beneath it as it thrashed and attacked. Were they on boats? Some snakes could live on both land and sea, she remembers; was it like so? A burning arrow nocked and loosed into a screeching maw, serpent spit spraying the air. A sharp knife plunged through its tongue, thick and darkened blood escaping from the cut in frantic spurts. And smoke exiting its mouth, like fire in a pit suffocated under a stone cover, ice water thrown in after the embers.
It would make a good song, she thinks. If someone could be compelled to write it.
"I'd like to see them someday, Lady Randvi. If you'll permit it."
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“Of course. You're welcome to visit any time once you're settled. I live on a road called Bear’s Bend.”
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"Then I will, and with Lady." Dusk is fast approaching, too; the aether lights burning brighter against the sky. Now that she can see the buildings and houses of the town, she realizes that they're not too different from what she's seen in the capital - though she supposes there's not much that can be done about the shape of a building. Either circles, triangles, or squares, stretched or narrowed or wrapped around an incline.
Then—
"Is that wall made entirely of clear glass?" It's a storefront, boarded up from the inside, with the display glass still intact but frosted over somewhat but not enough to hide the remnants of a display behind it.
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It's still dangerous for her to talk about her sister-in-law so openly but sometimes Randvi can't help it.
Something catches Lyanna’s eye as they walk and Randvi is reminded again of the wonder she had first experienced in such a strange place. “It is. Many panes are broken now, but the majority of buildings here had glass windows at one time. You should see the Christian god’s house nearby.” The place has a bit of a pall about it now that four people have died there and corpses have been cut open and examined in its basement, but the windows are still a bit of a marvel. “Most of these ones with the largest panes are shops or public buildings. I would imagine that this much glass is expensive.”
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The Starks did not want for income; among the great noble houses they were equal to the Baratheons and Martells just from the taxes owed by the commonfolk, and the North had valuable trade as the most stable source of timber, wool, and silver. They control the roads to the Night's Watch too, for which the other kingdoms pay taxes to maintain, crucial as the Night's Watch was to the kingdom's enforcement of its laws.
But Lord Eddard Stark was a prudent man in all things, and Lady Catelyn diplomatic regarding the sensitivities of the North. Sansa understands now why something as simple as glass was almost too much, too frivolous.
Here, it's almost nothing. Broken and left to languish in shards. What a strange world this is.
"Does the god have a name?" She focuses on that instead; faith is always power, especially for an impoverished or wanting people. This town looks like it might have been so much more than waste and broken things, before. "Are we expected to convert?"
She might do it, eventually. At the very least she wants to know what the faith demands, how they might compare to the Seven or the Old Gods. "Perhaps one day your friend might her way to you, as well, if the god of this place permits it. Her and— you mentioned a companion recently lost to you? Were they one like us?"
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If this god has a name, they do not share it with outsiders. There was a priest here when I arrived, but he was struck down inside his god’s own house by the Darkwalker. In this place, I do not think that faith will save us.”
It's still difficult to talk about the things that happen here. Sometimes it feels as if there is an unspoken agreement to avoid some topics altogether. Randvi opts for something more general for now.
“This is not an easy place to live. I suppose you would know, in your land of long winters. Some people disappear on aurora nights, some die - this place can nip at your heels like a wolf - and some choose to leave. Five have been killed by this creature, frightened to death, I've never seen the like.”
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Everyone can be turned. She has yet to see proof otherwise, and it's a lesson she learned almost too late.
The Lady Randvi points the conversation in a different direction, and Sansa gladly accepts it for what it is. Some topics aren't ideal for a stiff walk through town, with the cold biting at their ears and cheeks like a poor lover. "My biggest concern is keeping a hearth going. Does the town have a supply of firewood, coal? How often do you hunt? Salt might be hard to come by, but if there are stores of it, it would help with keeping the meat from spoiling even in the cold."
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Perhaps it's for the best that they speak of more practical matters. “Not much coal remains - the mine is no longer functional - but stores of firewood are good. We aim to keep a fire burning in the community centre at all hours, and a few of us serve communal meals there. One of us has set up a trading post in town as well, I believe he sells dried meats.”
They're almost there now. Randvi still shivers walking over the place where La’an had died, even though it looks like any other stretch of road now.
“I try and hunt any day the weather allows it, but large game is scarce and predator animals are inedible. We serve a great deal of rabbit.”
sorry for the delay i had a medical thing 😭
And an ongoing fire in a communal space; Sansa presumes that's where most of the stores would be, or at least near it. Guards might be present, too. If there aren't, they should have them posted, because you never know when someone might steal what they need instead of asking.
"I've never hunted," Sansa remarks, though she looks on to Lady and wonders what it might be like. "My brothers have, and they were good at it. Small game, and big ones, too, when they found a need.
"The skins and furs I would use to trim or line my brothers' cloaks." Especially Rickon's, she remembers - he would run around and tear things so often, Lady Catelyn thought Sansa could practice her mending and sewing for him. "Do you have a Maester or a steward? Who manages the stores?"
no worries!
She reaches for the handle of the hall’s large glass door.
“We have discussed such things, but we have all arrived from such disparate circumstances that no formal leadership structure has emerged. There is a man named Edward Little who has taken it upon himself to manage stores here. I believe he served a similar function on a large ship at home.”
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