singillatim | no man is an island

no man is an island

MAY 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS: Young Bill asks the Interlopers for help in dealing with a group of protestors that have been harassing him for months — by stealing their hidden caches and starving/forcing them out of the Lakeside area.

PROMPT TWO — SACRIFICIAL OFFERINGS: It turns out that sometimes folktales are true after all, and a mysterious creature lives within the Lake of Lakeside — and it demands payment for use of its Lake.

PROMPT THREE — GLIMMERFOG: A strange new weather phenomenon causes a new illness in Interlopers.

THE ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS

WHEN: Mid-May — onwards.
WHERE: Lakeside area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival; themes of morality; themes of scavenging; instances of animal mutilation; instances of corpse mutilation/desecration; themes of folk horror;

Methuselah, having visited Lakeside, passes on the message in mid-May that Young Bill is looking for assistance from the Interlopers and asks for anyone who would be kind enough to donate their time to visit him. Some may already know how to Young Bill’s cabin, but Methuselah will draw a quick map for those unfamiliar to find the way.

After traversing through the Milton Mine — which was cleared by Interlopers back in March — and using the hand-operated crank to use the lift to reach the Lakeside entrance, Interlopers will simply need to follow the train track down through the mountains for a few hours before crossing the railway bridge over the ravine and into Lakeside. Coming off the tracks and following a trail northwards will eventually lead to a small cabin and outbuilding within a clearing: this is the home of Young Bill.

… and it seems the man himself is no less wary when he steps out onto his porch, his rifle in hands raised towards the newcomers that make their way into their clearing. Mentioning that Methuselah sent you will quickly earn that rifle being lowered though, and he will nod his head indoors.

“C’mon, I’ll get some coffee on. You look like you could do with the warm up.”

Young Bill will do just that, encouraging Interlopers to sit and warm themselves by the log burner within his home — offering mugs of coffee. He’s not alone in the cabin, either. There’s also Scout, an Alaskan Malamute, who… appears to be nesting, sleeping on piles of blankets and pillows. Once everyone’s a little warmer, he will take a seat. Onto business, then.

“Alright, straight up— what I’m suggesting here isn’t gonna be all that pleasant when you look at the big picture. If you want out, that’s fine. I’m not gonna judge.”

He means that. He understands that this going to be less than savoury, and folks are gonna have their principles and their morals. People are free to walk away from his proposal, but regardless of their participation: this is happening.

“Some of you already know about this, but I’ll start from the beginning for those who don’t. There’s this group of folks who call themselves the ‘Forest Talkers’. Rocked up here a couple of years back to protest against some of the big productions going on here in Lakeside, like the resort expansion.” he shrugs. “Few of them are locals, but most of them are from the Mainland. They weren’t so bad, but they were a pain in the ass for the companies working here. Messing with machinery, protests, vandalism. That sort of thing. I’d see them around but— they never used to bother me at all. We kept out of another’s way until everything started going south several months back.

But now? Those eco-fucks have done nothing but cause trouble for months. They break my traps, they’ve stolen from me. They tried to trash my home. They’ve even tried to attack me while I’ve been out. Pretty sure they’re the ones behind some of the burnt-out and trashed lodges. …I heard some of you guys got shot at, too.”

There’s a short pause, and Young Bill’s face grows dark, a little disturbed. Those who have been in the Northern Territories longer will note that something has been bothering Young Bill for the last couple of months or so. He’s been reluctant to mention it, but the man looks exhausted.

“They’ve done… odd shit, too. Like something out of an old horror movie. It’s like they’ve gone nuts, or something.”

If pressed, he will share the more… grisly details. Killed and mutilated wildlife, often arranged in frightening manners. He’s even found the… bodies of people: Forest Talkers themselves from what he can gather, some natives to the Northern Territories, some workers from the resort and hydrodam. The bodies are just as mutilated, skin torn from limbs, eyes removed. At some point, he has to stop. He doesn’t want to go on.

“I’ve tried reasoning with them, I’ve tried threatening them. They don’t wanna listen. I’m tired of being watched and hounded in my own home.” he explains. He seems exhausted by the whole thing. “So I guess the only thing I can think to do is to try and starve them out. I’m not here to attack anyone, but I guess maybe if they don’t have much left then they’ll finally give up and just leave. I bet if they didn’t have the foothold they have in this place, they wouldn’t be half as brave as they are.”

Ah, yes. The less-than-savoury part of all of this. Stealing from others, starving them out. Perhaps it’s not the worst thing to do to another here, but cutting off lifelines might be… morally questionable.

“They have caches, all over Lakeside. Food, supplies, stuff like that. I’ve found notes.”

He gets up to walk towards his desk and pulls out a few pieces of paper. Each of them is marked with either a stamp or some hand-drawn symbol: a circle with a simple line of pine trees inside of it, topped with the shadow of a face. They’re handwritten notes, detailing cryptic clues about where caches are hidden all over the area. Young Bill will hand them out to Interlopers to have a look.

“I have a rough idea of where they are, but I need help in finding them. It’s hard enough with the fog, and now Scout’s expecting.” There’s an unamused grumble at that last part, but he continues. “You can keep what’s in them, I just want them gone.”

Some may choose to back out of this, and Young Bill is true to his word. He isn’t here to shame or judge anyone for not choosing to get in on this. But for those who do, the journey begins. Interlopers can go out into Lakeside and begin the grim scavenger hunt. Young Bill will even supply Interlopers with maps of the Lakeside area with vague ideas of where he believes the notes may be talking about in terms of these caches. For those who disbelieve Young Bill’s claims, they too will soon find their own evidence: the very same things the man had spoken of scattered around the area.

It’s disturbing. Something is… very wrong with these people. But there seems to be no trace of the actual people themselves. Interlopers may get the sense of being watched, perhaps a sound from the woods, or something of the like — but nothing more than that. Heading to the Old Hunting Lodge and getting too close will bring on gunfire from the Forest Talkers.

Caches, when found, may be rock cairns hidden against rockier areas in Lakeside. Some might be metal containers half-hidden or even buried in the snow. They will mostly contain goods such as dried food or even MRE’s. Others will contain things like basic medical supplies such as bandages, disinfectants, painkillers, or antibiotics. Others may contain flares or ammunition. Interlopers are free to claim the items as their own — just as Young Bill said.

Surely this will get rid of them, and force them to leave the area. Right?

SACRIFICIAL OFFERINGS

WHEN: The month of May, onwards.
WHERE: Lakeside.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural creatures; serpentine creature; themes of sacrifice; potential character death/maiming; potential drownings.

While the lake of Lakeside appears to have been well known for being used all year, with fishing and watersports available during the summer, the harsh weather that has plagued the Northern Territories now means that the lake has now (possibly) become permanently frozen solid. In some respects, this is good news: allowing Interlopers to cross the terrain more easily to reach the cabins and not resorting to the long way around through the woods. It also means that there is ample opportunity for ice fishing, and it’s possible to build structures on the ice to stay warm.

But something else lurks beneath the thick ice, and it has noticed you upon its frozen waters.

In the Camp Office, a small display hangs on the wall about a monster from folklore native to the lake. It is said that the beast was the guardian of the lake and would demand sacrifice from those who wished to use its waters or otherwise drag them down to a watery grave. The whole thing seems like just some “fun” interest-grabber to visitors and those vacationing on the lake, even with cartoon drawings of a gigantic snake-like monster smiling goofily.

Or is it?

To the unsuspecting Interloper who ventures out onto the lake, whether to fish upon it or simply cross it, it appears, bursting through the ice: a huge serpentine creature with dark-green skin dotted with ridges along its back and dragon-like head — thick-bodied and incredibly fast as it rears up and opens its mouth — roaring at you with a wide, fanged mouth.

And then, it waits. And suddenly you wonder if maybe that cheesy display in the Camp Office might have had a point after all.

The creature demands a sacrifice for the use of its lake. Perhaps you have food or some freshly caught game to offer it. Or some small token you own that you can give to it: a tool, a cherished item. Maybe even the shirt off your own back, or the very blood running through your veins. You must give something.

Lay it upon the ice before it, and the beast will take it, gently collecting it between its teeth and returning to the depths below. Refuse to give anything, and the beast will roar and launch into an attack — pulling itself fully out of the lake.

It moves with speed, and will try to devour you, or wrap its body around you to squeeze the life out of you, or simply pull you down under the water. There will be no winning against this creature, no way of harming it and no way of fighting back. You may have a chance of running away, getting off the lake, but it will remember you, and will try to come for you once more if you ever step foot on the ice again.

The choice is yours, Interloper. What will you sacrifice?

GLIMMERFOG

WHEN: The month of May, onwards into early June.
WHERE: Milton area; Lakeside area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural weather; themes of illness; insomnia and sleep deprivation symptoms; altered-mental states; hallucinations; nosebleeds/blood; possible character death.

Interlopers have come to understand that strange meteorological occurrences are not uncommon within the Northern Territories, especially given the Aurora. Auroras can often last for days, as one long and seemingly endless kind of terrible, noisy bright night which affects both electronics and nature alike. Or there's the toxic fog; times where the sky goes green and the moon and stars disappear; monster blizzards… strange is the new norm.

The fog that began in April doesn’t seem to be letting up any time soon. Endless days where the fog is too thick to travel in. Fortunately, there are no further bouts of the green, toxic fog that plagued the Northern Territories — the fog that remains is just the usual freezing cold and clinging damp that's been exhausting Interlopers.

Until there’s something else that starts to happen with the fog.

At first, it appears to be no different than the usual fog rolling in: cold, wet, and biting. It clings to those who are caught out in it, and it’s utterly miserable. However, those paying attention will note that the clouds of fog will occasionally... glimmer.

It’s as if there’s a current of electricity running through it, if one watches carefully. Mini lightning bolts shooting through and upwards in curious patterns. Flicks and pops that make the tiny hairs on one’s arms and neck stand up — almost like static. It won’t shock those caught within it, but it might be a little difficult to look at at times — as if someone were staring at a light that’s far too bright.

It’s oddly pretty, and seems particularly harmless, but there’s something far more sinister about this new, strange phenomena — or... Glimmerfog, as Interlopers will come to call it.

The first sign that something is amiss is the insomnia. In truth, sleep is often hard to come by in the Northern Territories, so it might be something that is easily brushed off as quite usual in terms of day to day life. However, Interlopers will realise they won’t be able to sleep at all, and will find themselves lying awake for the entirety of the night. Soon enough, more things creep up with the insomnia, the usual signs of sleep deprivation: dizzy spells, unsteadiness on one’s feet, poor hand-eye coordination, difficulty in concentration or poor short-term memory, even mood swings or changes to behaviour are likely.

Eventually, the symptoms begin to grow more sinister: nosebleeds are common, aches and pains... and then the fever sets in. Interlopers will become weak, lethargic, and even then they still cannot sleep through their illness. With it, comes hallucinations: sounds or sights, and then quickly developing into a full on delirium. Dreams and reality blend into one. An Interloper’s dreams and nightmares bleed into the waking world. They will find themselves experiencing their dreams despite being wide awake.

It seems like there is very little to be done in trying to fight the illness. Trying to tackle the fever and getting the afflicted Interloper some kind of sleep is the main concern, both of which may eventually kill the Interloper if enough is not done in time. Natural sleep-aids like herbal teas, or medications still available in the world may be able to get the Interloper to sleep for short amounts of time. Keeping the Interloper inside and away from the Glimmerfog will also help immensely, as will spending time in complete darkness or even underground or within caves/mining systems.

Breaking the fever will signal the peak and decline of the illness, and with enough care the Interloper will slowly begin to recover.

FAQs

THE ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS

1. Players are free to come up with their own ideas of cache locations within Lakeside. It might be particular points of interest, a particular kind of tree, within isolated cabins in the woods.

2. Please be reasonable of finds in the caches. These supply amounts won't be a huge amount — think small but many caches.

3. It is possible to come across the grisly finds in Lakeside without meeting up with Young Bill first.

4. Caches would tend to stick to similar themes, ie. food cache, medicine cache, etc.

SACRIFICIAL OFFERINGS

1. It is not possible to communicate with the beast, but it does seem to understand Interlopers. It will have no desire to communicate of befriend any one, though.

2. The beast will be a permanent fixture of the Lake.

3. Interlopers who initially refuse to give the beast anything can try again at a later date. They will have to offer their offering quickly, showing outward remorse for their initial disrespect towards the beast.

4. Locals refer to the Lakeside Beast as 'Nor'pogo.'

GLIMMERFOG

1. "Glimmerfog Disease" will run it's full course in roughly ten to fourteen days, with symptoms peaking typically around day seven to nine. Once the fever breaks, Interlopers will require a few days to fully recover.

2. Characters are welcome to kill of NPCs with this prompt, as Interlopers who don't make it through the illness — or to be used to study the sickness. Please let the mods know if you plan to kill an NPC for record keeping purposes!

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

“Bill is a hot-head,” replies Crozier, scowling deeply. “He worries for himself and his; he doesn’t concern himself with the wellbeing of us newcomers. And why would he? We take as many resources as the Forest Talkers, if not more.”

And likely cause him just as much as a headache as the Forest Talkers, just with less outright violence.

“If he has us fight his battles then he rids himself of two problems.”

“Perhaps he rids himself of all problems at once, if it's true that it is our presence keeping this world alive.”

Randvi scowls. Being sent places against her will and then greeted with hostility on arrival really is getting old.

“I do see his point of view, but I don't like it. I would rather isolate from them completely until they've fought it out on their own.”

“It is likely they’ll devour themselves from the inside out,” he agrees. That kind of violence within a group is unsustainable. They’re clearly irrational and fighting internally - their involvement could give the group something to rally against.

He crosses his arms over his chest and exhales.

“I suppose it’s out of our hands for the moment. We can offer whatever opinion we want, but it seems we’re to vote on the course of action.”

“I suppose so,” Randvi sighs. “I know the caches are tempting, but I hope that most people will see reason.”

“Taking the ammunition is fine, but I draw the line at starvation.”

Speaking as a man who’s experienced hunger pangs firsthand. Crozier looks not just frustrated by the idea, but somewhat troubled in a way that seems personal. He pauses for a moment, then clears his throat with a quiet cough.

“Randvi, yes? That’s your name?”

"I'm not completely opposed, if it comes to that, but these half measures help no one." People who can still go out and hunt won't starve, but they'll likely be vowing revenge on the people who've tampered with their caches. "Taking the ammunition may at least wear them down by attrition."

If they're constantly shooting at people, eventually they will run out if they can't restock, and such things do not seem to be easy to replace.

Something in this man's nature - a type of grief, perhaps - reminds Randvi a bit of Styrbjorn. It makes her feel a bit more comfortable speaking with him, despite her disappointment in her father-in-law.

"Randvi, yes. Of the Raven Clan. I'm afraid that you have me at a disadvantage."

Her dress and manner of speech has always seemed a little more out of place, even for a Victorian man such as himself. When she introduces herself by clan he thinks he finally understands why that might be the case.

“Francis,” he says, “Of the Crozier clan, from Banbridge.”

His intentions aren’t to poke fun or tease, but to address himself in such a way that she’d understand.

…but okay, mentioning Banbridge is just a little cheeky.

"Francis," Randvi repeats carefully. What an odd name, all that sibilance. She gives him a wry smile. "Banbridge is not a place I know, but I suspect you knew that."

She does know Ireland, perhaps better than he might expect, but the bridge for which his hometown is named will not be built until long after her death.

“I’d guessed,” he smiles, “yes. Perhaps Ireland, if your people have made out that far west.”

It might not be too much of a stretch to imagine she’s seen the rocky coasts of Éire.

"Oh, yes." Randvi's expression brightens. It's always a bit exciting when she has knowledge in common with someone else in this place. "I've not been, but a trader from Ireland recently visited our village. King Bárid of Dublin is my sister-in-law's cousin."

The world of royalty has always been very small.

Despite the general ostracizing behavior that occurred with lower-born Irish men in the Admiralty, the Irish in him pulverized and put-down by the English, Crozier knows his Irish stories. He loved reading them in what little formal schooling he had, and he had a knack for memorizing the names and deeds of the old Kings and warlords.

So he knows Bárid, or the name is familiar enough that his mouth hangs open slightly in awe.

“Ah,” he manages, and smiles brightly. Perhaps more bright than he has in a long while. “What a wild, strange world this is. Is your sister-in-law Irish?”

"She is not. Bárid's father was Norse, and his sister Rosta married Varin of the Bear Clan, who was the blood father of my sister-in-law." Eivor had since been adopted into an honour family, which is why Randvi herself is not related to Bárid.

"It pleases me to know that some of these names will be remembered in the future."

It's not a fact he was able to recall just upon hearing the name, but that does seem about right. The Norse and the Irish have been intertwined for centuries.

"There is something wonderful about not being forgotten by posterity. Stories are told about your family. I grew up with them."

“Sigurd thinks that I will be the first queen of England.” It's said with a sort of sad nostalgia, not for Sigurd himself - Randvi doesn't know her husband well enough to miss him - but wistful for what could have been if things between them had been different.

“I think if that were so, the reaction to my name here would be different.”

He smiles a little ruefully. Lord knows what will become of them, if there’s a life to return to through the Aurora or if this is all there is for them now.

“I’m sure you would have been a magnificent queen.” Far better than the ones they’ve had, he’s sure of it. Victoria and her hapless husband can jump off a cliff.

“Who is Sigurd? If you don’t mind me asking.”

That's something that she's been trying to avoid thinking about once that ghost of hers had ceased reminding her of it. What's to happen to the rest of the Raven Clan if Randvi never returns? Will Dag use her disappearance to grasp at power?

"Sigurd is my husband. The Jarl of the Raven Clan." He'd won her in war five years ago. "We followed the Ragnarssons to England once King Harald Fairhair began consolidating power in Norway."

Harald Fairhair - he knows about King Harald, he’d been ‘rediscovered’ a few decades prior and turned into a sort of folk hero. It’s fascinating to hear about him from a contemporary.

“So I’ve been in the presence of a chieftain’s wife and never even knew,” he says with a someone cheeky smile.

Edited 2024-05-21 14:45 (UTC)

“I’m afraid it means even less here than it does there.” As one who had commanded men, he probably understands. Randvi smiles. “Here, my hands work as hard as anyone else’s.”

“Ah, I didn’t take you as part of the idle ruling class.”

There’s nothing about her that screams ‘over-indulgent’ or ‘lazy’ in any way. Although…

“Are you a warrior? Or am I making a broad guess based on very old stories?”

Randvi had never been lazy, but in her youth she hadn’t worked very hard either, occupying most of her time exploring the mountains near her village as well as sailing, raiding and wooing young ladies.

“I was, once. My role now is more of an advisory one.” She sighs. “Politics.”

He laughs, charmed by the long-suffering sigh. “Ah, you sound as though you love it,” he says, lightly teasing her. He’s always hated politics himself - give him the sea, throw away the rest.

"I haven't left my village in two winters." Until this, of course, but it hardly counts. "It can be stifling."

Sometimes Randvi feels as if being chained to her table would be more honest than acting as if she's free to do as she pleases when she isn't.

“I’d lose my mind,” he admits quietly. “Any time away from sea I grew restless.”

It’d been a strange feeling then, knowing he’d never sail like used to. Even stranger now to realize he’d never see the ocean ever again.

“I felt the same, once.” Randvi loves sailing, so hearing that this man does too gives her an immediate affinity for him. “It's amazing what a person can adapt to when they don't have a choice.”

She'd felt the same once? His expression grows a little softer, more fond. A woman sailor - it shouldn't be so revolutionary a concept, he knows his history, but it remains a pleasant surprise. "It's amazing what a person will miss," he laughs. "The way the salt dries out your skin or the way it ruins the way you walk for weeks after you come back to dry land, for instance."

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