JANUARY TDM/EVENT

[monstertruckers]

code

The storm drives the Convoy to the very summit of the mountains, before hitting a blinding pitch. The wind howls and drives snow in a way that promises to freeze everything… And there’s also a twist of smoke in the air, to further blind everything.

There’s one thing visible through the storm: a massive fortress clinging to the side of the mountain. The Convoy pulls up into the shelter. It seems this will be the best place to wait out the weather, even if the storm lasts for weeks.

It’s a cold welcome for new arrivals. The garage offers scant protection from the elements, and a winter storm rages outside. Snow, lighting, and thunder all blend together and do their best to break the windows and doors of the structure.

The storm itself shows no signs of abating, at least until several days have passed. So it’s up to the new arrivals to figure out how to survive the storm, find better shelter… And weather the strange changes foisted onto them.

01: SUMMONING CIRCLE

New Drifters arrive to a cold and half frozen garage, almost swallowed up by snow drifts. The Convoy is just visible through sheets of snow falling from the skies, and it is parked in the shelter of a nearby fortress. Getting out of the garage and reaching the fortress will take some work, though.

Starting with digging out through the snow. At least there’s a shovel or two inside the garage and the gas station. But digging through the snow is still cold work, and it’s imperative to duck back in the garage and find ways to warm up.

There’s still a small fire burning in the corner of the garage, near the summoning circle. It curiously doesn’t seem to need fuel to keep burning… Though throwing more on it will certainly increase the heat of the flames. Be advised that the fire will also burn clothing and flesh if a Drifter gets too close to it.

02: FORTRESS

The abandoned fortress offers some reprieve from the elements… But the prior battles have found a way to seep into the stones. Ice and Fire both have an effect on the surroundings.
+FIRE Condition: Arcane lava is flowing through the foundations and seeping up through the stones of the building. This is especially clear in the kitchen and dining hall. It may be toasty to the touch, but it also threatens to set things aflame; objects and people alike. Drifters weak to fire will suffer from the increased temperatures.
+ICE Condition: The extremes of the fortress are freezing over in enchanted ice, leaving only the main hall and kitchen with any heat. Drifters who lack ice affinity risk frost bite and hypothermia while exploring the other areas of Bastion. Direct contact with the ice also carries a risk of encasing the limb or the entire Drifter in ice. Might need some help getting chipped out.

In the midst of all this, there are still rooms and beds available for those who want a change of pace from the convoy, or bedrolls for those who want to camp out in the main hall.

03: START UP

After digging out, one can see that there are various cars surrounding the garage. Some of them parked directly outside and sheltered from the worst of the storm. But a few are further out, and will also need to be dug out of the snow.

There’s also a certain connection between different newcomers and cars. Something that suggests a particular vehicle is theirs, backed up by possessing the key to that vehicle. The key to the vehicle may already be in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on their person, ever since they woke up in that garage. Either way, Drifters have the keys to the vehicle now.

…But there’s a few rough edges on these vehicles. Flat tires, cracked windows and mirrors, maybe some stuck doors and locks; all of them the sort of thing that requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.

04: WILD ELEMENTS

Even when taking shelter in the fortress, the storms from outside have a way of seeping through the bricks. And trying to take root inside any Drifters. Cold mists and winds seep into the castle, along with fire traveling across the floors and lightning crashing against the roof.

Drifters exposed to extreme elements will find those same elements seeping into their blood.

Teeth also grow along portions of the walls in long fangs, ready to snag at any newcomers. Drawing blood on those teeth can result in changes in the new arrivals… As well as pulling a monster out of the hallway to try and draw more blood.

These monsters frequently manifest as:
+Gyuki, a spider and bull demon fusion.
+YinYang, a Frankenstein abomination
+And Malzeno, a strange eldritch dragon.

05: FUEL PUMPS

The fortress also holds a network of pipes leading through the halls and connecting to the gas station. Text from the Convoy asks for at least a few Drifters to follow the pipes to their source, and activate them. Following those pipes leads to a chamber in the base of the fortress, with basins full of liquid.

Glowing and quicksilver liquid, at that. Liquid that looks like it could have been poured straight out of the moon. An inscription on the tanks reads “Moonshard fuel refinement” while a stack of papers details the various attempts to distill moonshards into an energy usable by humans without mutating them. It seems they’ve mostly succeeded with this attempt: once the valves are turned on, the fuel can be pumped into the Convoy and top off almost depleted fuel tanks.

But there is still a risk. Coming into contact with the fuel can instill a sudden, ravenous hunger and push new changes to the front. Prolonged exposure activates all traits at once, and will only revert the person when another monster has been hunted down, and their energy absorbed.

06: IF THESE WALLS COULD TALK

The walls of Bastion reach an impressive 20 feet up and stretch for long distances… And have Husks merged into them, often in the hallways and occasionally in the rooms. The Husks clearly belong to either the Silver Tear or the Steel Wardens, given the insignias on them. Many of them are locked together, frozen in a fight. And their last words and thoughts are written on the walls in gold and silver script.

Most of the words are frantic, about defending the moon shards from heretics or freeing the moon shards from confinement. But if any of the words are read aloud, the Husks react by merging together and spawning a berserk heavy tank/tankceratops. Or a large Burner type monster. OR a dragon dinosaur with exploding, punching fists. Drifters may also get caught up in the monster changes, and fuse their own monster forms together!

07: MONSTER FUSE

An element saturation isn’t the only strange thing in the fortress. Anyone who makes contact with the fortress stones will find themselves building a resonance with a fellow Drifter. This grows stronger the more time they spend in the fortress.

Until finally the bond solidifies on the next change the Drifters go through and hits a fever pitch. The next threat they encounter WILL force a transformation. When that happens, their next change fuses their two monster forms together into something new.

Their fusion form is a combination of two Drifter’s traits. It is also twice the size it would normally be, and is well suited to taking on any giant sized monsters. It can even give Drifters a brief insight into the memories of their partner, as the fusion takes place.

When this happens, both Drifters can switch control over their merged form. Those with greater synchronism will have more control, while those who squabble and fight will find that their monster form becomes more feral and savage. This fusion lasts until the threat abates: when that happens, the fusion breaks apart, and Drifters return to their prior state.

08: STORM CALL

There’s something outside that isn’t just the storm; it calls out in a howl that can make the blood run cold, and also pulls at one’s feet. Until it hits a point where the Bastion doesn’t feel like a restful place. Drifters who hear the storm call need to step outside and find the source; the storm itself isn’t particular on if they search on their own feet, or behind some wheels.

Drifters who travel on their own feet will swiftly be overwhelmed by the storm, and a moon warp hiding in the snow, and forced to transform. It doesn’t help that there’s wild saber-tooth Barioth wyverns prowling the wilds and ready to pounce.

Being inside a vehicle helps to shield them from the worst of the storm and the changes, and also gives Drifters more traversal options:
Tough cars are capable of wading through even the deepest snow without getting bogged down, as well as towing any stricken or stuck vehicles out of the drifts.
Fast vehicles can follow rivers of fire and lava that move through the wilds, without burning up due to prolonged exposure.

Eventually Drifters will find their way towards the summit of the mountain, and the discovery waiting beyond.

09: MONSTER CHANGES

Between the weird fuel, the teeth in the fortress, and hostile elements trying to force changes, new arrivals can quickly find their humanity getting worn away and new monster transformations taking place.
With the cold weather and regal structures, the environment calls out to Undead. As long as the elements rage, all Undead traits are available and also:
+Warm Blood: Undead can easily track living bodies through the wilds and the fortress, sensing the warmth of their blood in contrast to the storm.
+Rivalry: Tends to form rivalry with other Undead monsters, becoming territorial and protective of potential food sources.
+Ice Affinity: Undead find themselves better preserved by the cold and thriving in it, energized and strengthened by the snow, and even taking on glowing blue veins and eyes.
+Fire Fear: The presence of fire inspires aversion, and even terror and need to flee from it. Smaller flames like candles provoke unease, larger flames like a bonfire result in more panic.
+Holy Symbols: Presence of Steel Warden symbols (a sword piercing moon) can cause unease in Undead, and even repel them a location.
+Snow Shift: Exposure to snow forces the Undead into a more bestial form. This could resemble a bat, wolf, or deer/horse/bull.

10: FROZEN HEART

At the summit of the mountains is a collection of freakishly tall and twisted trees. In their branches is a collection of frozen hearts growing like strange fruit. And further up is a massive object that looks like a deer skull with branching antlers. The ice storm flows from its eyes and mouth… And it shows no signs of ceasing without destroying the skull.

The frozen hearts are giving off a cold aura that freezes anything that doesn’t resist ice. Drifters will need to neutralize the hearts to dispel the cold aura. The hearts can be melted by fire, shot down with ranged weapons, magic, etc. When burned, the hearts give off a smoke that causes a terrible hunger and need to hunt in anyone who inhales it. Shattered heart shards also rain down and embed themselves in Drifters, and cause a berserk fury in those they cut.

But with each felled heart the barrier of the skull weakens, as does the storm. When the last of the frozen hearts falls, the storm skull fractures and breaks apart like brittle ice. Drifters can deliver the finishing blows, ending the storm in the process. After that, the way down the mountain becomes clear, and the Convoy may continue down without worry.

MICRO ENCOUNTERS:

PLEASE NOTE! These are small bits of set dressing for players to include in threads if they wish, rather than full fledged prompts or events. You may handwave your exploration of these areas, or thread them out.

Fortress Library: Books and screens seem to have fused together. Assorted data about monsters is on display here; everything from hunting strategy to contradicting praise of their strength. (Read: all lore information from the monster pages is available IC.)

Dining Hall: This time around the gas station and garage are empty of supplies… But there’s plenty of preserved foods in the castle kitchen and dining hall. Though the hot dishes are almost painfully spicy, and the cold served foods can almost freeze a mouth shut.

Snow Fields: Surrounding the fortress are fields of snow, ready to bog down anyone who wanders too far into them. It would be next to impossible for anyone to make it far on two feet without the aid of a vehicle… Or the aid of a monstrous transformation.

Fire Snow: The storm can wildly swing between temperatures, from freezing to burning with how the snowflakes fluctuate. They can suck warmth out of a Drifter’s body on contact, or risk burning any exposed skin.

Armory: The Steel Wardens kept an armory and arena close by for sparring. Various weapons and armor are stored here; some antiquated, some modern and augmented with technology. And everything but the older models are badly damaged by the elements; frozen over and metal crackled, or half melted from fire. They won’t have much use as weapons, but could be used as metal materials.

View from the Peaks: When the storm clears, one can look out from the peaks and see what’s next. A strange, twisted landscape stretches out below the peaks. And beyond that is something on the horizon; a massive city reaching upwards, and the buildings intact and gleaming. Going back to the Convoy reveals a new update in the database: Nirvana is near. And will be reached in an estimated 60 days from now.


NAVIGATION || RESERVES || APPLICATIONS

Comments

[lonedanger]

[ The creature stumbles as shards of ice shoot off the floor and into its leg, roaring in what Len could only describe as pure anger, and he knows that this - whatever it was - was not his doing. But it also was his doing, because whatever Arcade has is powerful enough to conjure weird shit like that, and who is he to question it?

Their hand is warmed with the presence of a weapon Len knows well, a weapon he's seen Arcade wield before with surgical precision. Their fingers tighten around it and Len smiles - he thinks he smiles - at the familiar weight, taking off like a shot as the creature claws the stone beneath it, preparing to charge.

It almost reaches them with the first swing once they're close enough, a single talon tearing across a shoulder as Len rolls them, ducking to slash at the tendons of its other leg. They snap with a fiery pop and it screeches again, flailing for them. ]

[taediosum]

[ Skin splits, searing across their shoulder, but the brutal snap of those tendons is fiercely satisfying enough to make up for it. The creature's other leg collapses beneath its weight, sending it tumbling forward, arms flailing as it grasps for them.

Arcade grabs one by the wrist, the flesh against their scaled palm hot as an oven, stopping those claws just short of snagging them even deeper. The grip's a struggle to maintain, the monster's strength just as fearsome as the heat baking off it, but he doesn't intend to hold on long - just long enough to bring the ripper up and saw into the joint of its arm with gruesome, surgical precision. Stony flesh rends with a smoke-belching screech, liquid fire spilling from the wound. ]

[lonedanger]

[ The temperature boiling off of it is hotter than a bad day in the Mojave, heat waves rippling through the air between the steam and their extra limbs. The saw tears hardened flesh apart, a spray of fire pouring out on the ground beneath them. Len holds another wrist steady as its grasping talons claw for purchase, turning it sharply in his hand and snapping stone-hardened skin. It screeches again, bellowing in their face.

The ripper twitches like a monitor glitch and his familiar, friendly knife shifts back into view, a blade of ice he thrusts into its gut. Their own animal nails dig into its hide, dragging it closer, an intimacy in the way Len jerks it up and twists it, more fire spilling out between them. It thrashes wildly and digs a monstrous grip into their side, but Len doesn't relent in the carving. ]

[taediosum]

[ The heat baking their skin is a warm summer breeze compared to the fiery thrill of Len's incisive, violent competence. Not something Arcade would ever compliment out loud (it seems hypocritical to praise, even when directed at a mindless beast - perhaps because the last time he saw Len pin something like this, it wasn't). But efficient and admirable in a way he's not going to define, either way.

The creature can only muster a coughing croak as it bleeds out, the flames where its eyes should be dying to embers, then coals. Arcade shoves its weight off of them, skirting back away from the lava-like blood pooling on pockmarked stone beneath it. His only thought is a tangible sigh of relief, a second before the world takes another of those dizzying, blurry steps sideways, again. ]

[lonedanger]

[ It happens again, just as quickly as last time. Len barely has a moment to relish in the thick, gruesome slide of that fiery beast to the ground, heat sputtering into nothing as the chill around them is permitted to seep back in. It feels like parts of him are slipping apart, each second an agony for the loss and a re-situation into his own person, once more.

He's left standing crookedly, slightly damp, in a puddle in front of dead Revanspawn.

Len exhales and rolls his right shoulder, hissing as the sting of the creature's claw reminds him that they both just got slashed. Hot, thick blood slithers down his bicep and his feet are feet again, no reptilian tail to speak of. Considerably fewer arms.

What remains is the imparted knowledge of having shared a mind. Being one fluid entity with no hesitation in decision-making, no pause given to thoughts had. Like instinct. Second nature. ]

Fuck me.

[taediosum]

[ Without the initial confusion, the dread of the shift feels worse, somehow, doubled. Or maybe that's just the horror of being cleft in twain again, mentally and physically, pulled apart. Reassembled as just himself again, with no right to feel a sort of loss for the removal of pieces that were never his, to begin with. (But feeling it anyway, as he breathes heavily of sulfurous, foul air, alone in his own mind again.)

The sound of Len's voice should be a relief because it's no longer coming from inside his own head, but it startles him, instead. He doesn't feel the thought forming before the sounds do, low and guttural.

Arcade is sitting on the ground, a few feet away, grabbing his own shoulder when that flinch makes him wince, sucking in a pained breath. He hadn't even noticed the wound (credit, maybe, to Len's much higher tolerance for far greater pain). ]

You're bleeding.

[ They both are, but Arcade has more hands free that aren't keeping pressure on his own injury, now reaching for the bag slung over the other shoulder. He still feels halfway out of himself, only acting on instinct, acting out the part that he knows comes next. Assessing the damage and trying to control it is better than thinking about anything that preceded it, though. ]

[lonedanger]

[ Len's head turns sharply at that noticeable groan, looking Arcade over quickly and realizing that their shared wound is impacting his companion more. Makes him feel some kind of way, to see him hurt. Makes him close the distance to prevent the man from getting to his feet too quickly.

Crouching next to him, Len feels himself reach out to gently grasp one of Arcade's wrists. ]

It ain't bad.

[ The seeping is already growing sluggish, something he would certainly be a lot more cavalier about if he didn't have a formal doctor present. Len nods toward Arcade's shoulder, gripped tightly. ]

You're bleedin' too.

[taediosum]

No, it's not bad until it gets infected, or...

[ Whatever lecture he might've been launching into, it's dead in the water as soon as the nerves in that wrist connect to his brain and he looks up from Len's bloodied shoulder and torn shirt to meet his gaze. He looks concerned, worried in a way Arcade finds abruptly that he cannot so casually dismiss as he would, usually.

He can feel the warmth in his skin as his face turns an unflattering shade of red, and he tries not to think of anything else he might've gleaned in their brief connection. ]

...It's not bad.

[ Arcade repeats dumbly, lips pressing together in a thin smile. ]

[lonedanger]

It's not bad.

[ Len echoes softly in agreement, solidifying the statement. Arcade does him the service of looking at him, but he also manages to spectacularly fail at maintaining any kind of pokerface. The man's cheeks are reddening fast like a bad sunburn, and neither of them are so stupid as to think that what remains between is just dead air.

Between the panic of the thing they had to tear to pieces he knows what he saw. Like wandering through an old house full of somebody else's memories, photos in frames and books on shelves. Flickering images of his own smile, lingering attention on his hands as they smooth over a rolled cigarette, punching holes into and stitching through salvaged leather. His hair and the amorphous but obvious desire to run fingers through it, slightly-too-long and furtive glances at the way he pulls his jeans on and fastens his belt.

A generous view of himself in every respect, a version of him that even Len doesn't see, while he works or recreates. He should have noticed sooner. But why would he? ]

...I like you, you know. [ That part is easy to get out. What follows takes another moment, thumb curling against Arcade's pulse. ] More than a friend should.

[taediosum]

You still have to let me clean and bandage it.

[ There's no edge in that demand, though, more like a quiet exhalation than a mandate. And it only gets worse, from there.

Arcade has spent most of his life beholden to certain anxieties, with a laundry list of reasons to feel self-conscious on the side. Seeing himself the way that Len sees him won't fix all that - nothing could, it's just who he is. But some part of him feels— More whole, less scattered and uncertain and somehow quintessentially broken, for it. No longer guilty for going on long, dithering tangents no one but him finds interesting (at least not with Len, who likes the sound of his voice, even if the topic isn't thrilling). Not so worried about all the wrinkles around his eyes (because Len finds them charming when he smiles). Unburdened of so many small things at once, when that gentle touch and gentler confession force those snippets of shared memory back to the surface, past adrenaline and pain and exhaustion.

The foreign (but not) imprint of Len's affection left on his mind even extends to the terribly persistent flush clinging to his skin. (And his scales, which have darkened to a soft blend of red and pink and orange, the smooth, bright color of a sunset.) ]

Yeah. I got that impression.

[ A shock of chagrin crimps through his expression, and he drops his gaze again, briefly. ]

I suppose that means, uh... [ That Len saw just as much, of course, and Arcade isn't sure whether that's a relief or something else to feel guilty about. He settles for curling one of his free hands into Len's collar, and trying not to run down the long, long list of private thoughts he sincerely hopes Len missed, in there. ]

The feeling is mutual.

[lonedanger]

[ Len has seen Arcade turned red in the face, but never to this extent: it seems to ripple down his chest and across his arms, an undeniably satisfying tell regarding his current mental state that Len might be more smug about if not for the fact that Arcade got to rummage around in his own thoughts. Pretty obvious, now, to both of them. Two morons tip-toeing around the subject to save each other's feelings. It's something of a relief to not even have to speak on it overmuch, or he might have to admit that the number of times he went off for a morning walk was for very non-platonic reasons.

Not that Arcade probably didn't already see that, too.

Warm fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, holding him in place, reluctant to let him go. There's something painfully vulnerable and desperate in the gesture, like Arcade is waiting for some confirmation that will take him off his tenterhooks. Like he already hasn't seen and heard some of the worst of who Len is and was, and hasn't found him wanting. ]

I think that's a safe assumption to make.

[ Comes the amused reply. They made real contact once, because of some potentially toxic plant, and Len has considered the sober alternative ever since. The hand on Arcade's wrist gently loosens and the backs of his knuckles skim a line up Arcade's throat, lifting his chin as Len leans in to kiss him. ]

[taediosum]

[ They're two for two on that count, at least - but spending his mornings in the brief, grateful reprieve when Len steps out for his "walks" is the furthest thing from Arcade's mind, now. All he can focus on in the present is the warmth of Len's hand on his wrist and against the backs of his knuckles, and the soft way Len is considering him. The look that says he's already made his choices, he's just waiting for Arcade to catch up.

Or maybe not.

In that patch of flowers, it was easy to pretend the moment held no more weight than another familiar dream. They were both a little altered, not quite themselves. It didn't count, not really. But even if he were trying to make the comparison, there'd be none. When Len kisses him solely because he wants to, it's a completely different experience.

Arcade gravitates into his touch, another hand reaching up to grab at his hip as their mouths meet. The kiss is only hesitant in that brief instant, the shock of connection, before Arcade's other hand is moving from Len's shirt collar to the back of his neck, pulling him down into it.

It's only when he feels the tacky dampness of drying blood against his arm, and a twinge of deeper pain in his own shoulder as he shifts, that he comes up for air, sucking in a hissing breath. He looks up at Len with an apologetic smile, but there's no room for argument in his response. ]

...One thing at a time. Let's get cleaned up and get out of here.

[ And then they can resume airing months' worth of self-denial on one another. Ideally. ]

[lonedanger]

[ It feels electric, the way Arcade reaches for and connects with him, the hand sliding from his collar to the back of his neck. Warm and alive in spite of the cold water around them, seeping into Len's jeans where his knee rests on the ground. His fingers spread over the expanse of Arcade's neck and under his jaw, morning shadow scratching his skin and Len feels the sudden, powerful urge to start peeling layers off for the contact.

Perhaps fortunately for both of them, Arcade doesn't suffer from the same urges - or if he does, he has significantly more control over them. At least one of them has to maintain control, though it's obvious in the space between them - from the way Len's gaze rakes hotly over Arcade's face, his throat, and his chest - that he would much prefer the alternative. ]

In that order?

[ He asks rhetorically, hand slowly dropping to meet one of Arcade's, taking it in a firm grasp. When he stands, he pulls Arcade with him. ]

You're the boss.

[taediosum]

I'm not picky.

[ Arcade bites down on another tired, pained sound as he lets Len pull him to his feet. As... enlightening as all of that was, he's really, really not eager to do it all over again. Getting out of here first would be the better option, of course. But he's learned never to fully trust Len when it comes to how serious an injury might be. And his own may not necessarily reflect Len's perfectly (it does, but that's just another thing he isn't willing to take for granted).

Besides. ]

You know, the sooner we're squared away, the sooner we can get back to - more pressing matters.

[ The air doesn't just taste like soot and ash and musty water, anymore. Especially not when Len stops to look at him like he's planning on learning how to start fires with his mind, and the first trick he's going to master is searing Arcade's clothes off. He's fairly certain that level of intent can survive some necessary triage. ...And getting the hell out of here. ]

[lonedanger]

All right, all right.

[ It falls to Len to make the decision, then, since Arcade intends to pussyfoot around: triage or truck?

Triage first, and they have to spend more time in this damp, crumbling room that now smells like burnt flesh and smoldering charcoal. All the while having Arcade touch his skin to stitch him back together, suture by suture, as the steam around them cools on their faces and the backs of their necks. Knowing him, he'll refuse Len's offer to return the favor - he's got two perfectly capable other arms to act as nurse in the courier's stead.

He also considers the convenience of being able to transition smoothly from some minor first aid into the meat of whatever they both apparently can't talk about right now, simply by keeping a little pressure on the wound until they're safe. ]

Truck first. [ Len feels over his own chest for a moment before pulling a worn bandanna from his vest pocket, flicking it out to unfold it and pressing it against his own shoulder. ] Ain't gonna bleed out between now and then. Lead on.

[taediosum]

( relocating jic 👀👀👀 )