methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
singmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2024-01-09 11:38 pm
singmod) wrote in singillatim2024-01-09 11:38 pm
Entry tags:
- *event,
- alluri rama raju: xil,
- benton fraser: lorna,
- chloe frazer: tess,
- cornelius hickey: kates,
- eddie munson: hannah,
- edward little: jhey,
- francis crozier: gels,
- harry goodsir: karin,
- jack kline: jean,
- kate marsh: cheryl,
- kieren walker: cheryl,
- konstantin veshnyakov: jhey,
- lestat de lioncourt: beth,
- levi jordan: cirape,
- louis de pointe du lac: tea,
- max mayfield: jean,
- randvi: tess,
- renny oldoak (tav): jay,
- river song: ashley,
- rorschach: shade,
- vasiliy ardakin: yasmine,
- wynonna earp: lorna
but a strange light in the sky was shining right into my eyes
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
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.
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.
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.
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[ The suggestion is light, but this time not teasing. That might only be another form of teasing in and of itself, but the look he gives her with it is almost serious, a departure from the typical air of playfulness that's dominated their exchanges so far. ]
I know it seems outlandish, but this - [ he waves with his spoon ] - it suggests the outlandish. And I would hate to see that beautiful face adorning a toad.
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And how it takes.
[ He spins about with a renewed smile, presenting the plate with a flourish. A rich red sauce drizzled over a fan of rabbit. Wood handled knife and fork set off the arrangement, clinking gently as he sets it down in front of her. ]
I miss the radio programs back where I come from...far more agreeable than all this doom and gloom. Except for some of the dramatic serials, of course - I think this might make for a compelling one, in time. Mysterious lights in the sky, strange voices on the radio...do you think she's beautiful? She must be, for it to be a good story. The damsel in distress should always be lovely - and an heiress, if it can be managed.
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Don't tell me you're a wizard, too - [But then the food is placed in front of her and all the thoughts flee her head.] Wow, this looks amazing. I can't believe I'm still so hungry.
[It’s not polite, but she’s tearing into the meat almost immediately, listening vaguely to the whole 'do you think the radio lady is hot' thing.]
She doesn't have to be beautiful if she's rich, does she? That's how it works.
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He smiles modestly and bows his head in acknowledgement of the compliment, taking his seat on the other side of the table and taking up his wine glass again. ]
If she's rich, all the more reason for her to be beautiful. Whatever nature failed to provide, good taste should be employed to substitute.
[ He looks pleased at his own cleverness, crossing his legs as he leans back in his chair with studied grace. He managed to be beautiful before he was rich, which is comforting when he has to do without the latter advantage. ]
What if I were a wizard? [ He asks, idly, sipping his wine. ] The Great and Powerful Oz himself?
[ Rather infamously revealed as a con artist, but who's to say she'll even know about such an old film? ]
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The people here are unusually beautiful as a whole, don't you think?
[There are a few outliers, and who knows what lies under the librarian’s mask, but overall they're an above-average bunch.]
Her, though, I dunno. She says this place takes from us and won't show her face. Maybe she's a werewolf or something.
If you were a wizard, I’d have brought you a request, wouldn't I? Didn't they go there to get their wishes granted?
[Of course it hadn't worked out that way, a pat 'the things you wished for were inside you all along' moral for children, but she's neither moral nor a child.]
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We suffer our exile in gorgeous company.
[ The two of them most obviously included at the higher end of the scale, of course. Not to mention that they are both cinephiles, which shows they have fine taste as well as impeccable cheekbones. ]
If she is a werewolf, she may only be hideous transformed - although, [ he pulls a face ] the hair-coated palms -
[ Some things are hardly worth bearing to think of. Lestat prefers fur over hair any day of the week, including Sundays. He takes another sip to help speed the thought on its way, and pivots lightly to the next subject. ]
I'd like to think I've granted you one wish already. [ He nods at the rabbit in front of her. ] But I'm certainly not one to discourage further wishing. I might even surprise you yet.
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All right, I'll give you that one, but I doubt you'll surprise me after everything that's happened.
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What if I were to tell you I'd discovered the secret of immortality?
[ Spoken as another of his jokes, lilting and easy. ]
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Neither of which could be true, of course. ]
And did you pluck that forbidden fruit? Taste the knowledge and power God so jealously coveted?
[ He tosses the mane of his hair, gleaming in the candlelight. ]
Are we both sinners, damned for our transgressions?
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[ Lestat isn't certain what about her demeanour convinces him, but from uncertain origins springs certainty regardless, electric and bright. He leans forward in fascination, his uncanny blue eyes luminous in the dark in a way that must be a trick of flickering light. ]
What effects might these have been?
[ He smiles winsomely, but the intensity of his gaze remains - not predatory, but avid. ]
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Black teeth, eugh. And what you might call impaired cognitive function.
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Who would want to live eternally like that?
[ The question is as sincere as the disgust. Ugliness and imbecility for an eternity can barely be called living at all. ]
What a shame. You must have been hideously disappointed.
[ He sets his wine glass aside and swivels sideways to rise to his feet, cocking his head. ]
Would you indulge me stepping out for a moment? I did promise you a surprise.
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She watches him as he stands, intrigued. Is this actually something good or is he just going to come back naked or something?]
Of course.
that does seem like something he would do to be honest
And there is not one here - my sincerest apologies.
[ He slips into French for the latter part, knowing that the shift in language will be lost on her. If he did have a large sapphire, he thinks he would give it to her on the spot, just for the sake of it. He enjoys acts of absurd generosity.
It's in this spirit that he slips out the back door, pausing only to tug his coat back on first. He's unconcerned with leaving a near-stranger in his home, for once, empty as it is of anything too untoward. Not that he thinks she would necessarily snoop - but if she did, he would forgive her, so bolstered are his spirits. He even hums to himself as he collects his bounty, circling from backyard to front to re-enter through that door. Chloe will be able to hear him moving through the house, rifling through drawers and making other, less clear sounds.
When he returns, it's with a canvas bag laden with frozen meat in one hand, and a smaller bag with softer contents in the other. He sets both down on the table and shows flat teeth when he grins, eyes twinkling and cheeks oddly unflushed by cold. ]
To tide you over as you learn. [ He pats the bag of meat. ] And to keep you comfortable in the dark.
[ Inside the smaller bag is a collection of thick woollen shawls in sensible autumnal browns. Hardly fashionable, but the sort of thing that goes well around the shoulders or under the knees. ]
And, of course, [ he says, with the delighted air of a fond uncle, as he reaches into a pocket and produces a crinkling and vividly pink bag ] your dessert.
[ It's a bag of strawberry candies. The kind that come individually wrapped, and imprinted with the pattern of the fruit they imitate. There was a bowl of them on the table when he first took over this house, and he found a stockpile of them in a drawer underneath an end table in the sitting room. They're no good to him, except now, offering them to Chloe with a knowing look that suggests he's perfectly aware of how ridiculous it is to present a grown woman with a child's treat. ]
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Chloe can't hide the hungry light in her eyes, but she tries to keep her expression neutral. This is a lot all at once, and despite Lestat’s perfect gentlemanly behaviour so far she needs to be careful.]
You know, whatever you want from me, I probably would have given it to you for just the rabbit.
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She's been an excellent companion for the evening. Diverting, full of life. He's hungry for the tender delicacy of her throat, but he's found himself just as hungry for this - a conversation, a shared meal, a flicker of civility in the wilds. ]
You value yourself too slightly, Chloe.
[ He turns his wrist very slightly, the bag crinkling in his hand, the offer standing while somehow managing to retain its grace. ]
Would you believe me if I told you that you have given me far more than I would have asked?
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I'm not sure I’d believe you, but it's nice to hear. I haven't passed a lovely evening like this in a long time.
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[ He could be joking about her doubt, cultivating more of the atmosphere of teasing that's sprung up between them. The gleam in his eyes could be read that way - or perhaps the joke is that she is correct. There are many things he could conceive of asking for. ]
Neither have I. It's been too long since I entertained like this.
[ Their household had become shut up and strange in the waning years, neither of his domestic fellows fit for company, Louis too morose, Claudia too willful. As primitive as their surroundings are, there has been a nostalgic charm to not having to concern himself with the troubling whims of anyone but himself. ]
It would be my pleasure to have you for dinner on another occasion. After your first successful hunt, perhaps?
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Sounds fun. I'll feel a bit better if I contribute the main course.
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I have perfect faith it would surpass this meagre affair.
[ He lacks the genuine humility to think he might, possibly, be less than a talented chef, no matter that it was never a skill he cultivated in life, let alone in death. But it is polite to say.
(And her, as the main course - well, it would at that. Perhaps she will find the joke of it entertaining once she discovers the truth, or so he may hope.) ]
But I should see you on your way before the hour grows too much later - I fear expending all my charms too quickly, and losing your interest before that happy occasion.
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[Almost worse than the hunger itself is the fear of going hungry, of being abandoned for needing too much. Offering her this has really put him in a good position with her.]
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[ He leaves her prizes for her to arrange, heading over to retrieve her coat and present it for her to don with a flourish more suited to an elegant parlour than this shabby kitchen. ]
I would tell you to take care, but I would fear more for whatever might trouble you in the dark.
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