FEBRUARY EVENT LOG

[monstertruckers]

code

The Convoy begins a slow path through the forest, and a long road winding between the trees. The vegetation hangs thick overhead, with a perpetual state of dim light hanging over the surroundings. Sunlight and moonlight both have a hard time piercing the gloom. And alongside that is a sense of danger looming in the shadows.

01: DEPARTURE/MINGLE

Dawn arrives after a long and demanding night. As wane sunlight leaks through the forest, the forcefield flickers out. In its place, the Convoy hums to life. Engines thrum, breakfast appears in the dining car, and the speakers crackle with a pre-recorded, automated voice.

“The Convoy will depart in three hours. Please ready yourself for the trip. Secure your belongings, prepare your vehicle, remain as human as possible. End destination… Nirvana. Repeat, the Convoy will depart in three hours.”

The recording drones on a loop, before fading out in a crackle of static. Before departure there’s a few matters to attend to, some more pressing than others:
+Breakfast consists of bland porridge. Some might want better food, and with a decently stocked kitchen, one can make better.
+The showers have lost any hot water. Surely there’s some way to fix the heater or provide some hot water? Or otherwise grumble through a cold shower.
+There’s plant growth where the Husks have been felled. Flowering vines grow over the Convoy, and need to be pruned for departure. The foliage has an odd effect if directly touched, instilling wanderlust and curiosity. The affected feel compelled to wander… Or be curious about others!

02: HAUNTED GROVE

The trees grow into a tangle just a few paces off the road. They almost envelop the buildings, absorbing the structures until only the roofs are visible. The branches become more twisted, and almost arm-like when reaching out to you.

Vines hang like nooses from the trees. And a closer look shows moss ridden Husks draped in the branches. Still, those who ignore those ominous signs can find supplies growing and hanging from the branches; repair materials, and unnerving types of food like canned ham and frozen pizza.

And then… There’s the effect from staying in the shade of the trees for too long. There’s a lethargy that clings to you, even as it eases the changes wracking your body. Resting underneath the grove can heal a Drifter of one change, and leave them feeling soothed… But all of this is by design. The grove WANTS you to stay there and become a part of it, so that it can ensnare you with vines or absorb you into trees. It can restore Drifters, but if they stay there for too long they’re going to need some rescuing.

03: WRECK

There’s a collection of abandoned cars in the forest clearings. Some cars are better preserved than others, some even containing cargo, weapons, and ammo, with a possibility to scavenge equipment off them…

…If not for the traps, set around the wreckage in the form of steel jaw bear traps and snares. All of them are coated in something that leaves the vision blurry and sets hearts into overdrive. If exposed to too much of it, there’s suddenly a reason for that near panic; hallucinations of fears can easily flare up.

There’s also things prowling the wreckage on four metallic canine legs, with gleaming chrome teeth and red headlights for eyes. The guidance computers on nearby vehicles flash an alert as they draw close; identifying them as chromehounds, though these have seen better days. Dented, damaged, but still fierce enough. And still ready to pounce on anyone caught in the traps or drugged with fear toxin.

While the chromehounds can be dispatched, the fear toxin will have to run its course. Closer examination of the hounds and traps shows an insignia of a sword piercing the moon.

03-A: MONSTER NEST

Hostile beasts lurk in the woods. Many are cautious, nocturnal creatures that prefer to emerge at night, and hunt any Drifter who has strayed outside the reach of the Convoy forcefield.

A massive monster nest dwells in a crumbling, abandoned overpass in the middle of the forest. The Convoy does its best to give the area a wide berth, but it’s entirely possible Drifters might still stumble across it: particularly if some of the more annoying creatures like Great Jagras steal food and take it back to the den.

Many of the beasts make their dens in abandoned vehicles littering the overpass: Jagras and Slicemargl take up the better spots, while noxicaps and scavengers linger on the fringes. But the most territorial are the mutant bears, occupying the darker parts of the underpass.

04: SHRINE

The moon glows balefully overhead some nights. An eerie light glows across the sky, like a burning aurora that exacerbates any symptoms the Drifters have picked up this month. Sometimes the trees help to muffle this maddening light. But not always.

There is however a remedy that blocks out the light; dotted near the road or just off the forest paths are shrines carved from stone and wood. The aurora dims near these shrines, and offers breathing room. Small offerings dot the alters, and some are even medicines that can alleviate hallucinations, wanderlust, and the like.

But there’s a price for taking these offerings; the various candles dotting the shrines ignite, flames reaching for the intruder, and burn either a monster change, or a message into their skin. It’s equal odds which one a Drifter receives. The message fades in the span of the month, but offers cryptic words regarding the world, and can be logged in the Convoy database.

05: STASIS WARNING

Pockets of something… Wrong lurk on the road, or just off the path. Many of them are lined with Husks twisted into horrified expressions. Others are little more than a faint distortion and ripple in the air. But once a Drifter wanders into the pockets, the effects become all too clear.

The pockets are alarmingly still when stepped inside. This stillness tries to seep into anyone in the pocket, making them stiffen, their thoughts go sluggish and almost halt… But the Sigils on their skin dispel this before it can completely overtake a Drifter. Sigils disperse the field with explosive results; bursts of fire or electricity, surges of plant grown, rock explosions all burst as the field is dispelled.

The one warning for these pockets are strange symbols and the words ‘STASIS’ inscribed on rocks, trees, and signs around these pockets, warning about them. A couple crisscross the roads needed to take out of the forest. It seems that a Tough vehicle could easily wade in and survive the explosions of magic, while a Fast vehicle would be capable of outracing any trouble… While those on foot will need to hope for the best, or for fast healing.

06: RADIO HOUR

After several days of travel, and around nightfall the Convoy approaches a resting point ringed in Husks. It resembles a log cabin, with some unnerving traits; first, the trees near the cabin become more rigid and geometric, almost like pylons. Second is the large radio tower growing out of the cabin itself. Once the Convoy is in range, the radios, phones, and screens all crackle to life. Screens display a broadcasting logo, followed by an emergency signal drone. Astute Drifters can check the dates that pop up, and realize that this is an old recording.

“Attention, this is an emergency broadcast. Seek shelter immediately. A moon warp is imminent. Repeat, a Moon Warp is imminent. Impact: falling moon shards will cause destruction and distortions. Prepare by seeking cover inside shields. Those caught outside will be twisted. Seek shelter immediately.”

Outside the Husks pulse, and the broken moon shimmers. Several bright spots in the sky grow brighter… And larger, as shards of moon fall. The Convoy comes to a wrenching halt. A warning siren echoes, before the Convoy deploys its shield. Those inside are safe from the worst of the Warp, able to hide out in the Convoy. Nothing like a good time to bond with whoever you’ve been shut in with, right?

07: MONSTER HOUR

Those outside the Convoy will be in for a rougher time. The glow from the falling moon shards has a way of piercing into the brain and forcing a full transformation for as long as the Moon Warp lasts.

During the Warp, there’s plenty of trouble for Drifters. The Husks glow before bursting into a pack of violent, wolf-esque gryphons called Nargacuga, and a host of other beasts. These monsters favor scaling trees for dive attacks, or hauling Drifters up into the branches. But with their focus on the Drifters, the Nargacuga are easy prey for the chromehounds nearby, which pounce in a tangle and clash.

By dawn, the Warp has worn off. The Nargacuga are dead, while the chromehounds have been smashed. Transformed Drifters have two options in the aftermath; either they've burned off so much energy fighting they revert into an exhausted state. They will likely be suffering from disorientation and require rest, healing, and anchoring from others. Alternately, Drifters run wild ahead of the Convoy as something draws them north; they will have a chance to revert next month, in the Messages prompt!

07-A: MONSTER BRAWL

One particularly large and ferocious Nargacuga leads the pack of monsters… And seems to have a particular hatred for technology. He attacks the radio tower, doing his best to knock it down, and then strikes at the Convoy only to be deflected by the shields. Once he’s deflected, he vents his rage on the Chromehounds.

The radio picks up something from the lead Nargacuga each time he bleeds, and a patchy broadcast happens, with different fragments heard by different people:
1. “Serenith has ordered. I obey. Obliterate every trace of Wardens, cull their human flock. Justice for the packs they murdered.”
2. “Keep bleeding them until the moon Breaks, just like she ordered.”
3. “They gave me a place and a pack, where I could hunt.”
4. “Be ruthless. The Steel Wardens aren’t different, with the children they cull.”
5. “Hate… Loss… Blood. Always more blood.”

In its death throes the Nargacuga obliterates any remaining Husks, littering the area with quicksilver pools. Drifters must be careful around these pools, as contact with them will cause all pre-assigned monster traits next month to linger without special treatment.

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.

Radio Trees: A strange line of geometric trees leading towards the radio tower cabin. The closer a Drifter gets, the more they can hear faint music and old broadcasts regarding moon phases.

Hunting Grounds: An area of burnt out husks that have already burst open. There’s a few monster carcasses scattering the area, along with broken weapons and bullet casings. A symbol has been carved into the monsters, or a moon pierced by a sword.

Forest Flowers: A clearing that lacks the grasping trees from before, and instead is taken up by crystalline flowers. They give off a pleasant fragrance, and help to relax characters. Can be crushed into a medicine to help cure long lasting fear toxin effects.

Falling Trees: Drifters are advised to be careful of falling trees obstructing the road, and which may need to be hacked through. Granted, what’s knocking over the trees is another question entirely!

Lakeside: streams and rivers thread the forest, occasionally creating marshy areas. These rivers eventually feed into a massive lake that borders the radio tower cabin. The water is cloudy, and the bottom of the lake covered with the remains of destroyed chrome hounds: they’ve clearly been torn apart by the nargacuga prowling the area.

NAVIGATION

Comments

[wereperrito]

The wolf does bite. Even after being flung to the ground, he's quickly trying to get back to his feet to attack again. He isn't as flexible in the neck as a full wolf would be, but he does still twist and turn and dig teeth into tentacles, tearing one away while another reaches to grab, flailing and snarling deep in his chest as one tentacle then another finally wrap around his limbs until he can't move anymore, only growl.

Nothing has beaten the wolf in a long time. He remembers something smelling of tree bark and algae and burning all in one, not quite as big as this strange-smelling threat, but equally as strong. The wolf hadn't hated that smell. The wolf doesn't know if he hates this smell, but he does know he hates being bound. He knows that feeling, as well, chains and metal and dank underground chambers.

He never gave in then, and he won't give in now. He keeps growling and twitching against the tentacles' hold, and if one lets up for even a second, John will bleed more ichor.

cw: gore

[thetatters]

It just keeps struggling. The idiot beast just won't stay down, but John could put it down thoroughly, with his talons through the hollows of its eyes—

No. No, fuck, no, what is he doing? Jack, that's Jack. Jack who smiled at him that very first night, Jack whose hands are very warm. John can't just... He can't kill him like this. Not like they're prisoners in a filthy pit.

"Enough," pants John, voice ragged, streaming ichor. Ugly strips of flesh drag in the grass when he twists his tentacles, and it hurts with a livid pain that cannot map onto Arthur's human body. Arthur is not here now, not even in the smallest way, and that is almost enough to drown him. But Jack might still be here, under the wolf. He might not be broken beyond repair.

John isn't. He can't be. He has already reached his lowest depths, and this is the escape he was given. He will wring every drop of freedom from it.

"Jack," he says, more to center himself than the wolf. "Listen to me. You are under a curse." His tentacles wind tighter, choking collar and muzzle both. It mats the fur with ugly ichor as the beast struggles anew. "The moon is above us, spread across the sky in impossible fragments... They fell in a glory of terrible light. Even now the fields and forest are lit with its unearthly hue."

The rhythm of his voice is steadying, familiar. It settles his attention upon the grove: those snaring vines, those dark and sleeping boughs. That place of slowing and binding. Oh.

"We shouldn't stay out in this light. I... I'm bringing us to the shade." John begins to drag them both, inch by bloody inch, to the welcoming darkness of those trees.

Re: cw: gore

[wereperrito]

That is a wonderful speech. It really is a pity the wolf doesn't understand any of it. He just attempts to wriggle against the restraining tentacles, getting one set of claws out to dig into the ground, trying to slow the inexorable drag to wherever this threat is taking him. Being dragged never means anything good. It means freedom curtailed and probably more pain. There's a whine in his growl at the idea of more pain.

But John is bigger and stronger than he is, and he's got him now in a position where he can't even sink his teeth into anything, so he's going whether he likes it or not.

[thetatters]

It is a slow and miserable struggle to the treeline, but the difference feels like a plunge into cool water. Immediately the ringing glare of moonlight is eclipsed by the canopy. Soft darkness swallows them both, and John breathes easier, a tremble running through all his coiling limbs.

The trap is easy as ever to spring. Vines snap up around them like tripped snares, and John lets it take the wolf with his tentacles still tangled in tight. As the woody vines begin to ratchet tighter, he tries to extricate his limbs in a hurry.

"There," he pants, voice reverberating strange and metallic through the grove. "Be still. I... I won't let it claim us. I'll stay awake."

[wereperrito]

Jack had taken one whiff of this grove and bolted from it, earlier today. He knew the smell of a predator when he caught it. Here and now, the wolf is just as wary. He doesn't feel fear, precisely, but he can feel apprehension, and when tentacles exchange for vines, he attempts to tug free, snapping his teeth at anything in range. He doesn't want to be prey! That isn't what he's meant for!

If John is slow to pull his tentacles away, he might get bit again, but it'll give the vines enough time to hold him fast, especially with the grove sapping his supernatural strength.

[thetatters]

He snarls at the bite, and lashes the tentacle away like a cracked whip— but the teeth cannot follow, which is some grim satisfaction. John slinks away to sit in the shade across from the trapped wolf, careful not to disturb the vines himself. There he slumps against the bark to catch his breath and coils his wounded tentacles in close.

"You know, Jack, you could stand to be more grateful." Even breathless, John's relief is clear as he steadies his voice to chiding. "This is not so bad a place to sleep. These woods..."

He trails off, and is silent for a long while, lulled by the darkness of the grove. Then John seems to stir slightly awake, and his voice comes sleepy and low:

"It reminds me of a poem." He leans forward to set his arms upon curled tentacles, like a man resting his elbows upon his knees. It brings a little clarity back to his voice. "I think you would like it. Perhaps you won't recall these words, but I... I'll tell you anyway. As Arthur told it to me." He clears his throat, tips his mask of a face up towards the last glimmers of moonlight through the canopy, and recites.

"Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; he will not see me stopping here, to watch his woods fill up with snow..."

[wereperrito]

Maybe it's the wounds, maybe it's the vines, maybe it's John's voice reciting poetry rather than curses, but the wolf does finally stop struggling and sags in his binding, defeated. It doesn't smell like chains, but it feels like chains, and he knows chains. He can't get free from chains.

John coming closer will result in a growl and a half-hearted snap, but he'll be too slow and clumsy, drained by the trees trying and failing to reverse the non-native curse, to do more than that.

cw: gore

[thetatters]

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep," murmurs John. "But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep." Slowly, tentacles trailing ichor in the grass, he drags himself back upright. "Miles to go before I sleep."

He does approach, and gently pries loose the bindings where they'd begun to fuse back into the bark of the tree. The cords of vine pull free like muscle fibers from bone. John exhales a slow sigh and eases himself away again, but does not sit. He would not get up again.

"Wait here." When he slouches from their deadly little sanctuary, the renewed glare of the moon hits him like a thrill of lightning. "I will return."

He does not hunt, exactly. He does not have to. Danger comes to find him, and in the pettiest parts of himself, he welcomes the carnage. John slays a minor monster, and his sigil glows gold; he returns to their grove with his hands bathed red and his tentacles no longer trailing ichor.

"I will tell it to you again," he says, as he tugs loose the renewed melding of the vines.

Through the night, John surfaces back into the moonlight at odd intervals. He is approached by another pointless creature: he reduces it to a smear of gore. The snap and break of the body feels good. Cookie crumbs between his teeth, the blood a wash of sweetness. He has no better comparison.

He returns with golden scabs fading on his skin, and murmurs the words again like a prayer. "Miles to go," he says, one palm to the wolf's warm flank, "before we sleep."

Come daybreak, he has crumpled back to human form upon the bloodstained grass, half-conscious and still mumbling in the cadence of a poem.

[wereperrito]

The wolf is mostly unconscious by the time dawn rises, which is common enough. He usually finds somewhere in the early hours to curl up and sleep off whatever he hunted and ate, when free, or gives up the fight out of sheer boredom when chained or locked up, when he's not free.

Then dawn rises, and he's no longer even a little bit unconscious. There's a pained howl as Jack thrashes against the vines when the transformation back to human hits him. It doesn't hurt as much as changing into the werewolf-- he's getting smaller and losing hair rather than growing bulkier and sprouting-- but it still hurts. His skin burns as fur shrinks back to normal human hair, ears shrink from their points, brow returns to a normal human thickness, and teeth return to a more typical size.

But his spine is burning now, too. He has no idea why and that wakes him up even more than the change. That's new. That's weird and worrisome.

A suddenly much smaller Jack tumbles out of the grip of the equally confused vines and lands on his hands and knees, feeling something-- moving-- behind him. He doesn't look yet, busy catching his breath.

cw: nudity for the rest of the thread

[thetatters]

John is startled back to consciousness by the sound of the wolf in pain. He tries to surge upright on his tentacles, and instead finds Arthur's skinny human legs giving way beneath him. John tumbles into the tree with a groggy shout of surprise, gets a hand snagged in a vine-noose, and has to set himself to working it free.

He looks a wreck. Blood and ichor smeared everywhere, grass and soil everywhere else. His shirt is ripped or punctured in a dozen places; his belt and trousers did not survive the arrival of six new limbs, and it's left him naked from the waist down. His body is a map of scars, scabs, and bruises, but nothing seems particularly fresh. Only his yellow cowl has survived relatively intact.

John frees his wrist and looks up, blinking against the daylight. His expression breaks into open joy.

"Oh— oh, Jack!" He throws himself forward just to clasp the man on the arm or shoulders, wherever his hands may fall. "It worked!"

[wereperrito]

Jack's own clothes are rather worse for wear-- between the fight, the transformation, and whatever happened when he changed back to his (mostly) human form, his formerly fairly expensive shirt is in tatters and his trousers definitely feel like they're likely to slide off his hips if he stands up.

He lets John catch his shoulder, looking up with a dazed confusion, until he recognizes the person in front of him-- and the state he's in--

"Oh no. Oh John. I'm sorry, I'm-- are you all right? You look--" Not actually like he got in a fight with a werewolf. Nothing seems to be... actively bleeding? But he looks like he's had a hard night, even so. If he's in the same vicinity as a werewolf, there might have been violence, and it's his fault. He didn't warn him.

[thetatters]

"I'm fine!" He doesn't hesitate to say it, all enthusiasm— but, oh. For Arthur's sake, he ought to check. John falters and releases Jack so he can take stock, turning his hands and arms over to survey what look like days-old scabs. The wounds are a mundanely human shade of maroon. John leans back in the grass, utterly heedless of his nudity, to frown down at the mottling of bruises and scabs across his legs. Indeed, nothing is actively bleeding.

His gaze rises to Jack, and he blinks. There's still... fur? Ah.

"Jack..." His tone rises towards concern. He is looking at the tails.

[wereperrito]

Jack is still too discombobulated to really care about the lack of pants. He pushes himself up to his own knees, hands on his thighs, looking worriedly over John while John does his own inspection.

"Er?" He twists to try and follow John's gaze, assuming there's a monster behind him and he'll have to move quick, but-- no.

No, he doesn't even have to twist very far, because the soft gray fox tails are spread out behind him and curling and flopping restlessly, without his conscious thought controlling them. He can, he realizes quickly, when he flicks one around onto his knees so he can grab it and feel it-- he can feel the touch, too, like it's touching his arm or his knee.

"That's. That's new," he says, sounding a little strangled.

[thetatters]

"Yes." John looks more wary than alarmed. Gingerly he levers himself up onto his knees, then to standing, and only stumbles a little against the nearest tree. This time he's quick to yank his hand away from a slow-reaching vine. Perhaps they oughtn't stay here much longer.

"You didn't have those last night." He sounds perplexed. It doesn't occur to him to offer Jack any help up: he just stands and watches.

[wereperrito]

"No. Um." Jack slowly starts to pick himself up, grabbing for his trousers when they do indeed threaten to slide off since the tails prevent them from hitting his waist. "Last night was... not a this-world-monster thing. I was like that where I come from, too. I just hoped it would not happen here because the moon is broken and can't be truly full. I am so sorry that I was wrong and didn't warn you."

This is not a very helpful explanation, and he knows it, but he's still reeling a little from the six tails. He'll fill things in, in a minute.

[thetatters]

"So you did know it would happen." John's tone is grimly displeased. He thinks he is entitled to that much: it's been a long fucking night. His mind does not require sleep as a human's might, but all beings need rest. After the transformation, he feels exhausted in a way he has never learned to name.

But Jack has already apologized. Twice now, in fact. It is evident that he ran because he didn't wish to harm John in the throes of transformation, even if that meant charging out into a monster-ridden landscape without a human mind to navigate it. That seems... rather noble.

"You intended to hide your curse," John concludes, dropping back to weariness. "And to restrain yourself alone?"

[wereperrito]

"I was hoping it would not happen here," Jack reiterates unhappily. "Between the moon being broken, and the shield, I hoped I would be safe." He sighs a little. "Obviously I was wrong. And I am sorry for that, I am. I do not like hurting people." Hey look, another apology! He does feel bad.

But also he was not entirely without backup: "Serph knows what I am, I told him because he changes like me, only with actual control. And a much cooler other form."

[thetatters]

"Serph changes?" With actual control. That may be important information, in case such a thing should arise again. He files it away to dwell on later. For now, they have other priorities: limping a little on aches he can barely quantify, with a steadying hand to the bark, John begins to lead the way out of the trees.

"Well," he says. John weighs his words for one brief, hesitating beat, before he settles on: "You killed a beast that attacked the convoy, but it did not come from within our ranks, so I see no reason to count it."

Before Jack can linger too long over that hesitation, he halts abruptly at the edge of the treeline. The convoy should be in the clearing just beyond, but—

"God damn it! My pants."

[wereperrito]

Jack pauses, blinks at John, then starts to laugh a little. Not at him, never at him, but at this whole situation. There might be a little bit of weary hysteria in there, expunging some of the stress of the night he wasn't really present for. "Oh dear. Okay. Okay. Hold on."

He pulls off his suit jacket. It's torn and dirty, the seams popped in a few places, and he gives it a kind of sad look. It's possibly salvageable with some hard work and decent thread, but it might be best to just give up on looking fashionable in this place.

He offers it to John instead. "Wrap this around your waist. Use the arms to tie it in the back, like an apron. It will cover the important bits long enough to get you inside to get new clothes."

[thetatters]

John rounds on him in clear offense, but then he huffs as the tension drops from his shoulders. It... it is rather absurd.

And it's alright. It's all alright. Arthur's body is still Arthur's body— John has not made him a monster. He has stolen nothing he can't give back. He exhales a warm breath, light with relief, and reaches out to accept the suit jacket.

"Alright." He ties it with the slightly puzzled clumsiness of someone who has never gone through these motions. As they start from the trees, John adjusts his new barely-garment and mutters the important bits? in tones of puzzled disdain.

The sun rises over the convoy.