but a strange light in the sky was shining right into my eyes

[singmod]

JANUARY 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE AURORA: NASCENCE: Following the strange dream at new year, a three-day Aurora takes place. During which, Interlopers discover a possible ally in the mysterious woman heard in the static and heard in the dream — potentially earning new abilities.

PROMPT TWO — ADUST: The Interlopers find out what happened to the owners of long-destroyed Milton House in the form of hauntings.

PROMPT THREE — THE VISITOR: Interlopers find themselves with an unwelcome visitor — a shadow doppelganger here to make everything absolutely worse.

THE AURORA: NASCENCE

WHEN: January 13th - 15th.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potentially disturbing dreams; dreams of being burned alive; some minor supernatural horror; some minor ‘ghost’ horror/hauntings; death of npcs in various ways including suicide, murder or exposure to elements.


In the middle of the month, it happens. A herald. The noise starts: faint at first, but then growing louder. An ethereal, high-pitched chorus of sounds difficult to place. There’s a kind of electrical buzzing with it all, a low, endless hum punctuated with cracks and pops. The sky is alive with sound, and with it comes the swirling streaking of colour against the inky black of night: The Aurora has come.

Much of what happened previously happens again: Streetlights, illuminating the town’s roads; lights in stores and homes will come alive, buzzing and flickering at times. Previously abandoned cars will turn on, their headlights blaring. Electronics that had previously seemed broken flick on — and whilst there are no broadcasts available on televisions, and the radio waves only drone on in static, both only occasionally blaring standard emergency broadcasts. Any computers and phones will turn on, but will have no internet or reception. Instead, Interlopers may find texts and emails — many of them unsent. The everyday lives of their users stored within, now readable.

There are still some instances of the ‘ghosts’ from the previous Auroras, but they are now only faint outlines, and far fewer in number. However, whilst the Aurora would usually only last until the next morning on sporadic nights over the month — this time it will last for a full three days. The world is plunged into darkness, a seemingly endless night with only the Aurora to light the skies.

On the second night of lights and noise, a voice calls out to you: static-like, and distant — as if someone speaks over a radio. A woman’s voice. It is the same one you’ve been hearing for a few weeks now, but finally it is far stronger than the scant whispers of name and the word ‘help’. She is far clearer now.

“You.” she says. She may whisper your name, too. “I see you.” You’re unable to speak back, the communication is only one way. She sounds upset, but there’s something more… a kind of wonder, perhaps.

”It’s not just a regular aurora borealis, but then you probably worked that out already, haven’t you? It’s so much more than that. Everything is… changing.”

”I don’t know how you can go back. But— but I can help. Maybe. Maybe I can make this place easier, somehow. I need help, but I’m stuck—” There’s frustration in her voice for a moment. ”It took from you. Took you away. It doesn’t always have to take. We can take, too. Sleep. I will help you take back. You will survive this. You will not go into the Dark. This is not the end.”

You have no idea what that means, for the most part. But you might just end up taking the chance and doing as the woman asked, even if it’s difficult with the noise and light with the Aurora. Sleep, and a dream may come to you.

FREE RUNNER: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream you are a magnificent stag, galloping through the snowy woods with ease. You seem to go on and on, never tiring, never slowing. You feel like the wind, or perhaps the very wind itself carries you. Not once do you stumble or fall, even when the snow is thick and deep, or the ground is shaky and uneven beneath you. You feel free.

When you awaken, you feel the most refreshed you’ve ever felt since you first came here. For the final day of the Aurora, you are bursting with energy and even when the lights in the sky fade — that revitalised feeling within you remains. There’s something within you that understands: you are the Free Runner. The ground will yield beneath you, your energy will not desert you, the wind will carry you.

LIGHT BRINGER: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of sitting by a lonely campfire in the mouth of a cave at night, warming your hands. As you sit, a strange feeling comes over you, a desire to reach out to the flames. And so you do, reaching with both hands into the fire — gripping at the white-hot embers. It burns you, and for a moment there is blinding hot pain as the fire suddenly explodes around you, consuming you whole. But the pain soon stops. The fire doesn’t burn you. No, you have become the blaze — your body warmed. You burn bright enough that the darkness around you turns into day.

When you awaken the next morning, you feel warmed and comfortable. As if even the coldest of winters couldn’t reach your bones. The warmth remains even when the Aurora ends, and you are left with the innate understanding:you are the Light Bringer. The power of flame is at your very fingertips. You master the light, life, warmth.

AURORA CALL: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream you are standing in the very sky itself, at the Aurora’s height. Colour and sound twirls around you, within you — and you feel it curl into your body. Your head fills with noise, a chorus of voices calling out, snippets of conversation echoing within you. A woman’s voice calls to you, it is the same voice that spoke to you before you slept: “Don’t you understand it now? We are all connected. The Aurora connects us.”

And you do, you do understand it.

When you awaken, you feel connected to the world around you. To the very people who live amongst you. You feel less lonely, a kind of kinship with others. You have heard the Aurora’s Call and you have answered it, unlocked a connection with your fellow Interlopers. You will be heard.

NOTHING: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape, but only for a moment. The edges of your vision begin the blur with black, slowly closing in until everything goes dark and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. You awaken, and although you feel rested, as if the dreamless darkness has helped you feel a little more ready to take on the day — nothing else about you has changed.

ADUST

WHEN: From mid-month to month end.
WHERE: Milton House.
CONTENT WARNINGS: fire; house fire; death of a child/children; hauntings; ghosts; mental manipulation; illusions of burning/being burned; potential injuries via falling/unstable building collapsing.

There is a reason why it is advised to avoid Milton House other than the simple fact that it’s a miracle the house is still standing. Once one of the largest buildings in the town of Milton, it is now a former shell of what was once a fine and grand house. It has lain in ruin for many years, dilapidated and host to a great deal of fire damage.

While he is in town, Methuselah will not speak of the place, but he often looks sad when it has been brought up in conversation. “A great tragedy.” he will say before falling into a pensive silence. “A blackened mark on the town’s memory.” He does not wish to say much more of what happened: sometimes there are things that are just too painful. He will continue to advise the ruin is left alone, out of respect, and the fact that the place is a danger.

Of course, advice will not stop anyone from attempting to get into the ruins and exploring the house, even if it is in fact highly dangerous.

The sounds of voices and whispers may be enough to pique anyone’s interest. You're sure you heard something, maybe you should go to check it out?

It is true in the fact that the house itself is incredibly dangerous structurally: floors and stairs may give way and you’ll find your foot (and half of you) falling right through the floorboards. Damp and rot that have long since set in, and it will be dangerous to breathe in. But you’ll find that the house itself is pretty ordinary: this was once a family home. Just about the entirety of the house and its contents aren't salvageable, but you’ll be able to find out a little about who once lived here.

There are faded, half-destroyed photos that show a family of five: a father, mother, and three young children all under the age of ten. The father with warm, beaming smiles, the mother has kind eyes, the two oldest boys with toothy grins much like their father, the younger girl looks shy, wanting to hide against her mother. They look happy. Just a typical family. In a world where so many strange things are happening, it feels so strange to look upon these family photos and around this home to realise that they simply lost their home in a house fire.

But as you hold a family picture, or some half-destroyed trinket: a toy, a shoe, a book, a vase, you’ll find the item will suddenly catch alight, bursting into flames in your very hands. The flames do not burn you, and as you discard the item, it will fall to the floor as if nothing had happened.

Then, it comes to you. Here and there. Different sensations that stop and start suddenly: the house groans and creaks around you; the smell of smoke enters your nose; the sound of fire cracking and popping with a roar fills your ears; the sensation of heat against your skin; the clawing and suffocating feeling in your lungs that makes you cough and choke; the sounds of terrified shrieks of children echoing above you. Feelings flood you: fear, panic. When you next turn around, the entire house is aflame around you, and you can’t tell if this is real or if you’re reliving some terrifying memory.

You need to leave, get out of here. For some, it will be what comes naturally. You’ll have to fight through the flames and escape the house before it burns down completely around you. You’ll have to fight your way out, find an exit not already consumed by flames — through a window, perhaps. Crashing out of the house and into the snow, you’ll look back and see Milton House just as you entered it: nothing more than a half-burned ruin.

But for others, there will be another pull. You are drawn upstairs, to the screams of children. You need to get to them, to help them, save them. You will battle through the flames, heading towards the ruins of what was a child’s bedroom, or towards the bathroom. Inside either, you will find a figure cowering, engulfed wholly in flames: one in the bathtub or one in the closet. You recognise them as the two sons from the family pictures.

Mom. They will call you. Or Dad. They weep, terrified of the flames. I’m scared, I’m scared. I want the fire to go away. Help me. Stay here.

The tragedy of Milton House is before you. More than just a fire. What is more tragic than the death of a child? What silences voices? Breaks spirits? Leaves one helpless to act in the wake of such a passing?

There is something to be done here. You are not so powerless. Calm the child. Offer gentle assurances. They will get out. They are safe. You are there for them. You will stay. Embracing them will set you alight. Too hot. Too bright. It will hurt, but you won’t burn. But don’t let go; holding them will eventually calm them down enough for the flames to grow dim, to slowly ease their spirits to rest.

Soon enough, the flames will go out and the child will disappear, leaving you alone in a decaying, dilapidated room.

In the churchyard of Milton, there is a family grave by the name of Barker. Three lie within it: Thomas it reads, and his beloved sons, Patrick and Christopher.

THE VISITOR

WHEN: The month of January.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: erything absolutely worse.
THE VISITOR — CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural beings; dream-related horror/disturbing dreams; doppelgangers; themes of depression; themes of self-harm; themes of isolation; potential themes of suicide.


It seems the dream of the New Year and the Aurora dreams are not the only odd sleep-related instances occurring this month. You first notice that something is off when a strange dream pulls you from sleep. The dream may feel like any particular dream you have, whether it be a usual nightmare or strange concoction your brain has conjured up for you this night. Maybe it’s a dream you’ve had before, maybe it’s a new dream entirely. But no matter the dream, there is one thing that is odd about it. In tiny moments within the dream, you notice that there is something different, something that feels out of place. Something is there that shouldn’t be.

A figure, tall and silent, entirely made of shadow stands lurking in the background. It looks human, but there is not much more that you can really describe further. It is a sad, unsettling presence.

When you awaken, eyes bleary from sleep, and you look about the room, to the bottom of your bed, for a half-moment you see that figure standing there silently. That unsettling sadness permeates the room, and after a few seconds of blinking and sitting up — the figure disappears. Perhaps it was just some trick of the mind, some half-awake illusion.

But the next time you sleep, it appears again. The same figure, the same emotions surrounding it. And when you awaken, it stands at the bottom of your bed once more. Only this time, it lingers, and you find yourself staring down the figure before it disappears once more.

Over the next several days, the presence continues to linger more and more. It stands silently in the corner of the room of your home; it hovers by the window, staring out into the snow; it stands in the middle of the road as you go about your business. More and more, it is there. Always standing, always watching — silent and sad.

No one else seems to notice it, only you. And over time, the shape of it seems to change — the vague, undefined shape of it slowly shifts into something you recognise. The same hair, the same height, the same way it holds itself: it is exactly like you. A perfect doppelganger, a second shadow. And with it, it exudes an oppressive sadness, a particular kind of loneliness. It is suffocating, bleeding into you.

It makes you withdraw from the world around you, from the people around you. Perhaps you stop spending time with others, retreating into solitude. You hide from others, keep to yourself. You find yourself not sleeping at all or perhaps sleeping too much. Perhaps what little you already eat becomes nothing. The shadowy doppelganger draws ever closer to you, close enough to touch you - ever hovering at your shoulder. Its presence bores down on you, making you feel small and more and more alone even with its ‘company’. No one else can seem to see it but you, mentioning it to others will earn odd looks, or even concern. It seems you and your double are alone together.

Hopefully, those around you will notice the change in you. How you stopped reaching out, how you’ve stopped taking care of yourself. Hopefully they will see something isn’t right and reach out. You are doomed to the doppelganger's company otherwise.

However, those around you can push the shadowy double away, and can break its influence and hold over you. Genuine care and concern for you will have it shrinking back. Perhaps it is a kind word, perhaps it is the gentle but insisting coaxing to eat. Perhaps it is an attentive ear to listen to your thoughts, to how the presence has made you feel. Maybe it is even the simplest of touches, an embrace or the holding of a hand, the grip of a shoulder. Continued connection with you will slowly have the visitor’s power diminish.

And hopefully it is done before it is too late, or it may be all too easy to fade into the Long Dark.

FAQs

THE AURORA: NASCENCE

1. Aurora Feats are now unlocked! Please see the following page for more information. Aurora Feats are completely optional.

2. Interlopers will only receive ONE Aurora Event. The only time this is available is this month. After January, players will have to wait for the next Feat round for another chance at an Aurora Feat.

3. This Aurora will last a full three days. It will be a period of only night.

4. For more information on the ghostly loops seen during the Aurora, see this previous event, under 'The Aurora: Aftershocks' prompt.

5. For new players who would like a little extra context regarding the woman can look at December's Tales From The Northern Territories, under the 'New Happenings in December' section.

ADUST

1. Characters will not be physically burned in the fire, but only feel as if they have been. The effects of this illusion will last a short time after they're out the house before they will fade.

2. The only real injuries characters can sustain will be from fall damage, or if the floor gives way and their feet go through, etc. whilst in the house.

3. The children cannot leave the house. They will be too scared to leave. In addition, they are tethered to the house, given that this is where they died. Simply being calmed/comforted is the best way to help them and they will disappear after that.

THE VISITOR

1. An Interloper's Visitor can't be seen by anyone but the Interloper themselves.

2. The Visitor can be spoken to, but it will not speak back. It cannot be interacted with and is intangible.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

[castitas]

She's been here before. She's been here before and she know what happens. And she hopes when she realises what he's doing, where he's going — that maybe she can get him out again before the absolute chaos erupts. It's wishful thinking, and by the time she's made it in the house and scrambles into the living room — flames rip into existence, hot and frightening and terrible.

She raises her arms to shield her eyes, staring at him over the inferno that rages on around him. She's scared, frozen for a moment — heart hammering relentlessly in her chest, too quick and too hard. What is she doing here?! The shouts and cries of children already sounding above them. It's happening again, like some tormented loop — pulling them all in, dragging them. It's not fair, it's not fair on them, on any of them.

The dead should know peace.

"Wait—! Tim, stop—!" she calls after him.

But Tim's already moving, and Kate realises where he's going. She scrambles after him, darting in terror out of the way of debris and fire — it'll hurt, she knows. It won't burn, but it'll hurt.

She's behind him, trying to keep up with him — fear makes her lag behind. But she follows, and maybe if she catches him she can drag him back out again.

Her mind is a flurry of panicked cries. She doesn't mean to share them, she doesn't know how to stop them yet: 'don't go, please don't go, please just leave with me, please Tim, the fire'

[ployboy]

Standard operating procedure is actually quite simple: nobody dies if he can help it. He had snarled at Ruby because of the lack of conviction in the process already, back then with the Anubis, and his eyes track Kate just long enough to parse that she's not about to trip over her own two feet.

And here's where assumption wins over all else, where prediction reigns. The light of the blaze is blinding (he couldn't see where it'd started-- a stupid mistake already) and the smoke burns at Tim's eyes and throat as it swirls through the space like a tidal wave. He has to slow his ascent and can't risk doing two things poorly; orienting by cries alone, he's going to need to be at two places at once, once they reach the second story. There are different pitches and crests to the wails. Two. Two children. Young. Very young. They're scared, and burning, and Tim waits for Kate as the old wood groans and the air funnels into wooshes and cinders stab at his hands. Anticipation torments him the way it torments a race horse before the gates open to the track.

But he can't get away with doing two things because then one will be done poorly, and to survive then everything has to be done just right.

(There's been no report of children in Milton, excluding Damian Wayne. This house, actually, was ghostly silent as Tim had stepped in and around it, and he'd been lulled into comparing it to Home: dusty, abandoned, quiet for too long for anyone to live here. Magic in Milton isn't unknown or, really, unexpected--)

What's unexpected is for Tim to hear her words (Kate's words) reach his ears through the crackle and whipping of the fire. The last he remembered she'd been muffled by her arm raised to cover herself--

And now she's here, practically at his heels, and Tim can't remember if she had ever moved her mouth or not and it doesn't matter because then he's grabbing her (a hard, solid, sudden movement of him stepping down past the landing and bodily taking hold) and bringing her up three, four steps upwards with him. The fire eats merrily at the steps below, and swallows the landing, and Tim snarls, "Keep your head down!"

He doesn't mean to snarl, but there's fire licking at them both and he'll be damned if

(Magic shouldn't be unexpected; Tim's fingers aren't red-purpled and blistered--)

Up.

The smoke is denser.

But the flames are distracted, mindless monsters that they are. And the kids are... up. Up here.

Once on solid (hah) ground, he wars with and wills back a coughing fit; he needs--

Nobody dies on his watch, not here, and Tim has the storm behind his eyes thinly veiled. This might be magic and nothing... but a cheap, tasteless trick and... his mouth is grim, his everything is, but he doesn't smell the rancid burn of hair and through a shudder he manages to detail to Kate (has she ever hurt this way, has she ever heard how raw it sounds when--)

"I can get you out, Kate."

(Has she ever heard how raw it sounds when a kid learns there's no way out?)

"But I have to try. I have to try."

Ever an optimist, he thinks:

maybe he can help.

[castitas]

The fire moves too fast, faster than she feels like it should. And what would she really know about fire, truly? She's only ever seen them on TV, when someone's house catches fire — but even then the flames have already long since taken hold. The heat is too much, smothering — and it scorches her lungs with every breath she takes. It's hard to keep up, to keep chasing after him.

They can't stay here, they need to leave.

But then she's moving, pulled up the last few steps just as the ones previously below her feet crumple away from her — it's easy to forget this isn't... real. There's a moment of stun, gripping onto him for a long moment, realising what he's just done — and a beat later it's gone, her head ducking — it's hard to breathe.

The screams are louder, and she looks down the fiery hallway: 'bathtub', she thinks. One child in the bathtub.

(She knows how raw it feels — when there's no way out. Well, no way out but one. That's the only option she had until she ended up in this frozen place.)

"It's not a regular fire, it's—" she doesn't know what it is. Doesn't know what words to put to it after going through it once with Mr de Pointe du Lac. There's nothing in her that knows how to describe what any of this is. "It's too late for them. This is, it's just—"

It's hard to think, in the chaos of it all.

"Please."

You can't save the dead.

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ I'm sure there's a cw in here... i can't brain it

[ployboy]

"You made your peace with leaving but you've never been the one left behind, Stephanie!"

To quote, it's hard to think in the chaos of it all. That's not Tim's job at the moment, though he does grace Kate with the wide and hurt eyes of a revelation the moment his mouth stops running on its own accord, words vicious and wounded and very comfortably at home in the fire like they've been spoken through flames before.

The air in his lungs burns with the smoke and his blood is boiling in him.

...except it isn't.

Revelation makes way for recognition; Tim strips his jacket, has it over Kate's head and shoulders before he can hear a protest from her. Natural fibers will offer limited protection and knowing that she may not know it, he explains, "It's wool. Hold the sleeves over your mouth and nose. Keep covered, it won't-"

Kate had glanced to a room, a very specific one that Tim had failed to notice as relevant and he knows she doesn't deserve this. She's just a girl. She believes in community and being helpful and being seen as hopeful. Then there's him: mind in Spain with the ambassador's daughter, and spirit, he thinks, eagle-eyed but learning hopelessness on a Gotham City fire escape.

He can't control other people.

But he can lessen the liabilities, can strong arm a favorable result if only he control the factors of--

Kate has done this drill before.

Tim takes her arm, not daring to touch her hand but needing to be linked. Even at the cost of slowing down. He repeats, "It's not a regular fire."

The torment of the ash in the air is the same but... it's a matter of... mind over matter and...

"You're not going to get hurt. I'm not going to let you get hurt. Kate, I'm going to get you out of here but I..."

How to put to words that everything wretched in him began here.

There.

"I can't leave them," he reasons. (A laughably loose use of the word.) And if she won't leave him, won't fight for herself, then the least he can do is make-- use of the fact.

The air in his lungs burns with the smoke and his blood is boiling in him.

"Do you know where the other kid is? Kate?"

Re: ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ I'm sure there's a cw in here... i can't brain it

[castitas]

It's not a regular fire, no. Even if it feels like one. Even if the heat and smoke seem real. Even if the burns don't melt and scorch their skin, the heat prickles and burns it like it actually does. She remembers reaching for a door handle last time, pulling away with a yelp of pain — sure her skin hand melted away, only to find the skin whole, untouched. The pain was there, lingered for a while afterwards. Then nothing.

She doesn't know if it's magic or just all in their heads or what— there's too much of this place she doesn't understand. Too much of it she would only find in books or movies or—

They're living it now. It's not fiction, it's real. All of this is so real. And her brain can't quite override the fear: she does as she's told without any argument.

He won't leave and there's a look. Pleading to reconsider for a moment, then acquiescence.

"Bedroom," she moves the fabric away from her mouth to speak, points to which door, "That one."

The same one Mr du Lac had gone in to get the other boy.

"They won't leave here. We tried." she doesn't know why they won't leave. "We can't get them out. But— we can still help them."