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

Late morning post moon-warp

[wereperrito]

After having a long shower in the convoy trailers (and figuring out how to dry six fluffy tails), devouring two servings of porridge, and delivering breakfast to Serph to make sure he was okay too, Jack follows Serph's directions to find John's room in the convoy. He hasn't been sleeping on the convoy, but in his van, so he hasn't actually been in any of the bedrooms.

He knocks tentatively on the door he thinks is John's. It smells like John, anyway.

[thetatters]

There is a long delay from the other side of the door. A brief shifting of blankets, footsteps, then stillness. John is just on the other side of the door, hesitating.

When the door opens, John stands there looking sleep-rumpled and bleary, wearing nothing but his boxers. Out in the grove, at least he'd had the tatters of a shirt to cover the worst of his scarring: now a patchwork of marks are on display. An impossible gunshot scar over his heart, two more in his belly, gut-stabs and slices and a toothy bitemark in an unnatural perfect circle.

John himself is clean, lightly bandaged, and holding a rusty pair of pruning shears. This was evidently the best weapon he could find on short notice.

"Oh! Jack." He turns to place the pruning shears back on the narrow bedside table and steps aside. Behind him, occupying nearly the entire room, is a rumpled double bed. "You should sleep. Come in."

[wereperrito]

Jack blinks owlishly at the shears first, then up at John's chest and those scars, and then finally up at John's face. "Er. I was just coming to make sure you're really all right, but--"

But going back to the van means being alone, and he doesn't really want to be alone right now. If John wants him to come in, he'll come in. He slips inside, tails tucked close around his legs. "Were you expecting to be attacked in here...?"

[thetatters]

"Well," says John, awkward and a touch defensive. He shuts the door. "I thought perhaps there was trouble."

He says this like it should be obvious; he cannot think of another reason someone would've come looking for him. And he poses no physical threat without a weapon. Even in the low light, John is terribly skinny, his ribs standing out beneath the scars.

"But it seems the danger has passed. For now." Absently, he rubs at a bandage on his bicep. Mottled bruising shows at its edges, but nothing particularly dire. "As you can see, I'm fine. I was sleeping."

It's only half a lie. This body was sleeping, even if John cannot.

[wereperrito]

Not dire, maybe, but Jack is still pretty sure it's his fault. Even if some of it looks too old to be from a few hours ago. He's a little baffled by that. Maybe John is one of those people who heal really fast? He is fairly sure John transformed as well, during the night. He remembers being bound by something much stronger than he was. So maybe he has rapid healing. It's not impossible.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," he says, ducking his head a little. "Everything is pretty quiet outside now, at least."

[thetatters]

"Then we should use the time while we can," he agrees, and self-consciously covers that bruise with his palm. There are many more on his arms, his legs, in dull scratches across his chest— but none fresh and livid as wounds should be after a werewolf attack. John locks the door and turns to regard Jack with a critical eye. "The bed is large enough for two."

There is nothing suggestive in his tone. Jack is smaller than Serph, particularly without the clumsy bulk of the wings, and John had managed to soothe Arthur's body to sleep even beneath those. The tails seem less a nuisance by comparison, and he rather likes their constant swaying.

It was... nice, sharing with Serph. Strangely pleasant. And they have already spent the night together: there is a certain satisfaction to finishing it in comfort.

[wereperrito]

Jack had a thought that he'd be invited to stay when John said he should sleep and then said he should come in. And the door being locked with Jack on the inside basically confirmed it. So he's not surprised by the suggestion, exactly. He does give John a considering look of his own, because no, he's not seeing any signs that this is an attempt at seduction, even an inept and slightly threatening one. Jack has been on either side of a fair number of seduction attempts in his time. He knows what they look like.

So this is... a friendly bed offering. Which Jack is also not unfamiliar with.

"You are okay with that?" is what he asks first, expression sober. "After we... fought last night? I am pretty sure we fought last night."

[thetatters]

In truth, if John weren't able to keep constant vigil over Arthur's body, he would not take such a risk. But he does not sleep. He will be able to watch over Arthur and Jack both, as he watched over Jack through the night. This is a far nicer place to finish the task.

In any case, should Jack change again, it stands to reason that John would too. He has a better grasp on that shape now that he has spent a long night learning its capacity for violence. It seems that Arthur's body will take no permanent change, no unusual harm. He can handle it. That is its own unexpectedly sweet relief: they may not be safe, but he is not powerless.

"You said yourself that you don't keep control in the change." John looks at him with a quiet, passionate certainty. He speaks soft and deliberate. "Jack, I do not blame you for anything you may have done last night. I... I would rather hold you not to the monster you may have been, but to the person you are trying to become."

[wereperrito]

Jack looks away, down, almost a flinch but not quite, and then his eyes come back up. He looks relieved. He is relieved. Part of him didn't think John was going to hold anything against him, but you never know. It's deeply ingrained to keep the secret, that it's dangerous to share what he is, that he's a monster and always has been.

They're all a little bit monsterous here, though, aren't they? And John has such a different, sideways outlook to a lot of things. It's not too surprising that he's forgiving him for what he couldn't help doing.

"There are people on my world who hunt people like me," he says, gesturing vaguely behind him, as his past, at the distant version of Earth he knows. "Even those of us who try to be careful, who lock ourselves up so we don't hurt anyone. So I never knew who was going to be-- who is going to be safe, you know?" He smiles over at John, now. "I am glad you are someone who is safe."

[thetatters]

Even in the half-darkness of the room, John's expression opens with soft and breathless surprise. He has never, in all his long existence, been called safe.

It feels nice.

"Oh." Now he is flustered. John again frets at his right hand with his left, uncertain of what to say. "I am... glad. To be someone you can trust in that way."

He flees to the bed they will share, which he apparently sees as less loaded than lingering over that admission. Perhaps the closest he's heard came from Arthur, eons ago: I've come to trust you, John. That was perhaps an hour before John tried to subsume his soul.

"You should get some rest," he says gruffly to the blankets, as he straightens them. John has learned to make a bed only by watching the work of Arthur's nurses, and he is accordingly precise. "We both had a long night."

[wereperrito]

Being safe when it comes to who and what he is, at least, is one of Jack's most important requirements in a friend. It's a good quality, forgiving the monster nature.

"We did," Jack has to agree there. He usually sleeps most of the day after the full moon. He drifts over. "I do feel like I should warn you if we are both in the bed I will probably wind up trying to lean on you or lay on top of you or something, once I am asleep." He shrugs a little bit, slightly sheepish, but only slightly. More like rueful, because he knows it's never going to change. "I am used to touching people if I share the bed with them."

[thetatters]

"Alright," says John, slow and dubious. He can almost puzzle out the significance of such a thing, some borrowed instinct towards embarrassment. It mostly sounds inconvenient. Certainly the sort of thing Arthur would be flustered to get caught at, but John need not worry about the same: their body now sleeps as silently as it had during the coma. John doesn't care for that groggy weight to their limbs, but he has always enjoyed the floaty, tingly threshold between sleep and waking.

"It will not bother me," he decides, because he is being willfully kind. As Jack has been to him. He climbs into bed still shirtless, and trying to recall the space Serph occupied, shuffles over to make room for Jack.

[wereperrito]

Jack steps out of his shoes, but politely keeps his shirt on. The trousers also stay on, because dealing with the belt and the tails just seems like way more work than he wants to deal with right now. Now that there's a bed and another body to help keep it warm, he wants nothing more than to lay down and close his eyes.

Besides, they're already kind of rumpled from being in a drawer for possibly years before he scrounged them up to replace his ruined suit. Sleeping in them won't make them much worse. He's going to have to track down an iron eventually, somewhere in this convoy, if he wants to look halfway decent... well, that's a thought for another day.

He flops into bed more than slides into it. He can't do a usual turn or two around when he's sharing with someone, not without looking very strange, so it's the heavy drop instead, and then he lets out a relieved sigh before curling himself up more comfortably. "Thank you, John," he says, tucking his knees up, on his side facing John, mostly so the tails won't bother either of them if they twitch in his sleep.

[thetatters]

This is different than when Serph climbed in beside him. All of this is new to John: the weight of another body on the mattress, the way Jack looks at him in the low light. He is more aware of the space between them after a night spent with Serph's wings curled warm over his shoulder and hip.

He doesn't really know what to do with himself. But the relief in Jack's voice is nice to hear, and it sounds nothing at all like the sounds made by the wolf. John lets his eyes fall shut for a little while. He can lie still and listen to their breathing.

"Good night, Jack."

[wereperrito]

Don't worry, John. You won't feel that space for very long. Jack passes out pretty quickly, more quickly than he would have in his van for sure, werewolf night not withstanding. And he's still and quiet for maybe half an hour, before he starts shifting around in his sleep. First it's a little snuffling noise and a move of his head, then it's rearranging his arms up against his chest and under his head. Then it's a little shuffle closer to the source of warmth.

Then butting his head up against John's side, which results in stillness for a little while at least, before another shift rolls him right over and puts his head right on John's stomach, like it's a pillow, tails stretching out over John's feet.

Sorry, John.

[thetatters]

John's body— Arthur's body, their body— subsides to sleep, breathing gone gentle and slow. John himself has come to find these times soothing, meditative. He has spent hundreds of hours this way. With Arthur lying still and the world around them gone quiet, he has time to dwell on all that has happened during the day and what it might mean.

He does not know what this closeness means. He is not the man Jack thinks he is; he is closer to the thing of yellow light and tentacles that had wanted to dominate the wolf. Jack's monstrousness may be a sort of lapse in personhood, a span of time outside his memory and control, but John has no clean separation from his worst self. He has nothing more than a single friend and a chosen name.

When Jack snuffles and butts up against him, John exhales a sharp little ah of surprise, then quiets. He does not want to wake the man. Distantly, through the tingling weight of sleep, he can feel every warm puff of Jack's breath against the bare skin of his waist. Their waist. Arthur's waist?

The next shift puts Jack's stubbled cheek against his belly, and John chokes back a stammered protest. His— his?— heartbeat kicks up, and he does not know what that means, either. But when he nudges his hand closer, those fingers still feel like his own. He can set his fingertips to the soft, shower-damp mess of Jack's hair. Something in his chest curls sweet and warm.

He and Jack are not the same sort of monster, but perhaps Jack will understand, someday. Perhaps he has more than one friend.