seven devils all around you, seven devils in your house

[singmod]

JUNE 2024 EVENT

PART ONE — A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME: The Darkwalker claims another victim, and that is only the beginning of troubles for the Interlopers as they face a month of endless night and green gloom.

PART TWO — POLAR SUN: As June continues, Interlopers are faced with food insecurity as wildlife flees; tensions grow as they face hunger and the Darkwalker's continued influence. On the day of the Summer Solstice, the tension finally breaks and violent chaos descends upon Interlopers.

PART THREE — REPRIEVE: The end is in sight, and an ally comes to the Interloper’s aid.

A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME

WHEN: June 1st, then onwards.
WHERE: Milton area; Lakeside area (Carter Hydrodam).
CONTENT WARNINGS: death of playable character; supernatural death; mention of dead body; themes of death; supernatural beings; themes of terror; themes of peril.

The evening is quiet and still. May draws to a close and while the sun does not completely set, it dips low enough for the sky to grow a little darkdim with twilight. The midnight sun is almost upon the Northern Territories, the air is warmer than it has ever felt — even if it remains chilly. If this is summer, it is but a gentle brush of reprieve against the unyielding winter. The Interlopers wind down for the night, many turn to their beds to sleep, others sit awake and ponder their existence in this world. They think of home, of loved ones, of their predicament here in this place. The Forest Talkers, the strange beasts and monsters they’ve encountered.

The moon wanes in the skies, nestled amongst the stars. For those still awake to notice, they can see it: slowly, one by one, the stars begin to go out. Then the moon's light is swallowed whole, and a blanket of green gloom descends upon the Northern Territories.

The sky is dark and green and terrible. Many of those will recognise it, what this means and what will come. Others will not understand it, not know what it is that awaits them all.

They will soon find out: the Darkwalker comes.

Under a green sky, a cold fear washes over you — squeezing the breath from your lungs. Interlopers will find themselves overcome with that fear, and everything in their bodies and minds tells them to run. To flee. And so you run, heading for cover. Curtains will be drawn, some may hide under beds, within closets or wardrobes. Some desperately attempt to conceal themselves, make themselves small, unseen. Some Interlopers, in that fear, may rush to friends or loved ones to hide with them, others may simply cower alone — crawling and whimpering away from the night. The fear is irrational, unable to be overcome — even by the bravest or most stoic of Interlopers.

For those within Milton, it is further away but is by no means less potent: Interlopers will find themselves frozen with the constant loom of the Darkwalker’s arrival — even if it does not come to Milton. Those within Lakeside, however, will feel the true force of this presence: more like a knife edge — painfully gripping your heart as it draws close.

The Darkwalker howls: indescribable, unnatural, demonic. Low moans and groans. It comes from the east, the faint booms of footsteps in the distance growing ever nearer. It is coming, once more. It's coming for one of you. And still, you are powerless, unable to do anything. And it is an agony, awaiting its arrival. You cry, you whimper, you cower. Curling up for some shred of comfort, and finding none.

For those in Lakeside, through the fear, they may be able to note the path: a straight line from the east towards Carter Hydrodam. It seems to go on forever, building into a crescendo. Your heart beats so hard you fear it may burst from your chest, as if you might die of fright.

There is an almighty sound; the Darkwalker devours and even with the distance you can hear it. The sound of gnashing teeth, and… laughter. There is no scream, no bright light in the sky — Enola is silent this time. There is only that laughter, echoing off into the night.

The skies do not return to normal. The green gloom hangs in the air. It is done, but it is not yet over. While the overwhelming fear dissolves away, but a kind of… dread remains on the air — almost palpable.


The Darkwalker has devoured another. Braver souls who go out to investigate into Lakeside will find just who has been devoured once they reach the Hydrodam — although it may be a day or two before they will find the body in the medical bay.

At least it is cold enough that the rot does not fully set in — but death will certainly be here.

And this is but the beginning of the Interloper’s troubles.

POLAR SUN

WHEN: The month of June, up to Midsummer’s Eve + Summer Solstice.
WHERE: Milton area; Lakeside area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival; food scarcity/food insecurity; supernatural weather; altered mental states; mental manipulation; themes of violence; potential character injury; potential character death; potential NPC death.

In the coming weeks and days, and weeks, the green gloom lingers. From the Darkwalker’s attack, there is no sun. No day, no night. No stars or moon or sun. No Auroras. Just the gloom and biting cold. Life becomes increasingly hard on Interlopers: higher expenditure on fuel — fires and lanterns are imperative to keep the darkness and the cold at bay.

With the green gloom in the air, the wildlife becomes more scarce — as if it has been frightened away into the deeper parts of the wilds. It will be harder to bring in fresh meat in both Milton and Lakeside, and Interlopers will find that they will have to rely on whatever stores they have — and perhaps even rationing for a while.

And it’s not the only thing frightened. Even with the debilitating fear that comes with the Darkwalker’s attack gone, there is still a kind of fear that lingers on the air that slowly eats away at the Interloper’s resolve over time.

Interlopers will find themselves anxious, on edge. Some will be prone to anger in their fear, others prone to fits of melancholy: tearfulness and sorrow. Between the cold, the lack of fresh game and the fear on the air — it’s no wonder spirits are low. Bickering and minor upsets between Interlopers are likely.

They call it the midnight sun, the polar day. It's opposite is the polar night. This is neither and both. On the day of midsummer's eve, that fear on the air is even more palpable. The air feels a little stifling at times, as if the pressure is all off — often quite oppressive, a strange kind of tension. There is something brewing, a low burning thing that begins from the moment Interlopers wake — heavy and sharp in their chest.

’So, Interloper. What will you do now?’ A voice sneers in your ear. The very same voice that has haunted Interlopers since the very beginning. The Darkwalker finally speaks after all these weeks of gloom since its most recent attack. ’When all is gone, when even the sun does not rise? What will you do then?’

A nervousness sits within you as you remember the Darkwalker’s words. What will you do if the sun does not rise? If the darkness is all that is left? If the food runs out? Your wonderings will continue to gnaw away within you. The darkness is hollowing.

’Will you lean on others, like you have always tried to do?’ the voice continues. ’What bonds you hold with them, the ones with those around you. But how strong are they, truly? Can you trust them? Will it matter when your belly is empty and your heart is low? Perhaps it is time to see.

’Never forget, Interloper. I am the Rot. And I will rot within you.’

As the day progresses into the Solstice, that tension lingers in the air, and the wonderings within you continue to wear at you. You find yourself becoming more and more agitated as time goes on. Those feelings that have been brewing for some time now have started to grow close to boiling. You may snap at others, grow restless, become enraged at the tiniest of things — the upsets wildly out of proportion for the smallest slights or issues.

You find your thoughts wandering, too. Perhaps it is to someone you know in this place, or perhaps it is to someone previously unknown to you. Maybe you have an issue with this person, or perhaps the voice’s influence extends further — not only adding to your agitations but creating them, too. A slight, a grudge, a bias.

You feel a bitter gnawing within you. The nightmarish green gloom above you persists and everything bubbles up from within. From the dark, the anger within you become too much. The tension finally snaps.

For some, it might come out as a vicious argument where you air your grievances, or finally let slip the things you’ve been holding close to your chest. A verbal beat down, incredibly hurtful in nature. For others, things may be drawn to getting physical. A literal beat down where your fists grow bruised and bloody, or perhaps even worse. Whatever it is, you want to do damage to someone else — there is darkness here, and so many things come out in the dark, don’t they?

Like a ripple, all around you: all hell breaks loose. Chaos erupts, and the air is filled with violence.

Let’s hope you might stop, or someone else stops you, before someone gets killed.

REPRIEVE

WHEN: Circa three days after the Summer Solstice.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: blood.

All things must come to an end, even the most violent of deadly storms. In the midst of the seemingly endless violence of the night, you find yourself outside. Maybe you're fleeing from another Interloper, maybe you're desperately trying to reach someone you care for, maybe you're simply trying to find somewhere new to hide. Interlopers are hunting one another, blood lies on the snow, bodies too — some breathing, some not.

Perhaps it is a trick of the light. Perhaps it's the Darkwalker’s influence still warping your already frayed mind. Or it's the blood in your eyes, your battered and bruised body struggling to get through it all.

In the gloom, you see it. See her.

A woman, dressed in furs, stones and shells glimmering on her chest like armour, stands in the snow before you. Thin and pale, eyes sunken. Her chest heaves with each breath as she looks around with wide eyes. Her hands are bare and bloody. It drips slowly from her fingers. Is it her blood? Or someone else's? You cannot tell, but you cannot mistake how thick it coats her skin.

Her head turns to look at you. You are stunned, but not frightened. Even through the gloom, after a moment or two, her eyes widen in recognition: she knows you.

Slowly and silent, other than her noisy breathing, she draws close to you. Maybe in turn you draw close to her, closing the distance between you. Up close, her eyes are blue, and sad. You cannot mistake the sorrow in them. She is tired, weary. Her hair is dark, worn loose and long. For some, you feel as if you've seen her before, but you can't quite place her face.

Softly, she says your name.

For some, there may be no recognition. This woman is a stranger, who knows your name somehow. She has been silent the past couple of months, after all.

For others, hearing her speak brings a sudden, jarring realisation: this is Enola.

She’s here. Enola. All this time, she’s whispered to you in dreams, in static, in the very air itself.

She raises one hand, dark and dripping in the green light. Lightly, her fingers brush against your chest. You don’t feel the pressure of them, don’t feel the odd heat of blood — only the weight of her stare as she holds your gaze. It’s a long moment of peace in amongst the chaos.

You feel her exhaustion, a tiredness that sinks into your very bones. Apologies, too. You have never known anything like it. But there’s something else too, something that takes a moment or two to put your finger on. Defiance. A renewal. Something shifts in the air, a growing tension, different from the kind that’s been held on the air throughout the month. It’s the coming of a storm, the rolling clouds, the growing rumble of thunder before the first lightning strike.

Enola nods, her expression grave. She pulls away and turns from you — her head lifting towards the skies as she walks. Her arms raise, bloodied hands twisting and tensing before her. They curl, almost into fists, and she makes a gesture: the slow tearing of something huge and invisible before her — a shriek spilling from her lips. A battle-cry, a last stand, a wail of agony. It echoes.

The sky cracks and splits open before you, dazzling light and colours blinding your vision into pure white. The world tilts too hard below your feet, and you don’t remember passing out.

When you awaken, Enola is gone. The skies are clear and blue, the sun is high in the sky. As you pick yourself up from the snow, in the harsh light of the polar day, blood has never looked so red. The horrors of the night laid bare. Interlopers are dead, but the Darkwalker’s influence is gone. For now.

In the wake of Midsummer, all Interlopers can do is try reconcile. Bury the dead, rebuild, lick wounds. But that feeling in the air still remains — that different, new kind of tension that has come with Enola’s appearance. The first of the lightning bolts has struck, but more are coming.

FAQs

A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME

1. Alexander Hilbert has been devoured by the Darkwalker. His remains can be found in the Hydrodam. The following note has been left by Kates concerning his death: ‘Sveta gets possession of his research notes + blood samples + creepy lab journal because it's all in Russian, lmao.’

2. Information on the Darkwalker’s attack can be found here.

3. Usually, after the Darkwalker attacks, the sky would return to normal. This won’t happen. Instead, the usual atmospheric changes that occur during Darkwalker attacks will remain in place as June continues..


POLAR SUN

1. For an idea how the setting appears for June, it's like what you see in the game during the Escape The Darkwalker Challenge. Inside, there'll be a degree of green shades to rooms etc via what comes through windows but with it being lit up via fires and light sources, the gloom will be chased back.


2. Characters are free to use this event to kill NPC Interlopers. Methuselah and Young Bill are off the table, as are two marked NPC Interlopers. Please let Mods know if you intend on doing this for record keeping!

3. These acts of violence can be physical or verbal altercations, players are encouraged to work with the prompt however they'd like! However, anything potentially world-altering (ie. building destruction) must be first discussed with mods.

4. Interlopers under the Darkwalker's influence can be stopped in a number of ways. Showing genuine care and compassion in the face of violence is one way. Knocking an Interloper out is another way. Sometimes killing an Interloper may be needed, or simply restraining them and keeping them locked up somewhere so they can't hurt anyone else until the night is over would also work.

5. Talismans made by Heartman back in March with a Ward Sigil against the Darkwalker will come into effect during this prompt. It's been an ongoing process, with new Interlopers being offered them from their arrival. Players are free to choose what kind of talisman they received, or if they chose to get one at all. Their effectiveness is dependent on the type of blood used on the talisman.

— Animal Blood: Interlopers carrying talismans using blood from animals found in the world, such as deer, rabbits or wolves will find themselves more susceptible to the Darkwalker’s influence and disposition towards violence. They will be much harder to break out of the hold over them, and become almost frenzied state.
— Monster Blood: Interlopers carrying talismans using blood from any creatures or monsters that Interlopers have encountered in their time in the Northern Territories, such as the Serpent from December’s TDM will find there are no negative nor positive effects. The talisman is essentially useless. and Interlopers will fall under the Darkwalker's influence.
— Interloper Blood: Interlopers carrying talismans using blood for Interlopers will be offered protection/resistance from the Darkwalker’s influence and disposition towards violence. They may be slightly affected but will have their wits about them more compared to others. If the blood came from an Interloper with an Aurora Feat — this protection/resistance will be largely increased, an the Interloper may even feel braver, less affected by the fear in the atmosphere.
— No Talisman: Similar to the Monster Blood Talisman, Interlopers will be affected typically by the Darkwalker's influence in due course.

There are no additional affects with an Interloper using their own blood, just if they have an Aurora Feat or not.

6. Animals owned by Interlopers will be more frightened and will want to hide away in the build up — they will be disturbed by the world. Mostly lying down and whining/restlessness. They may display some signs of aggression on occasion, but not to the same degree of humans.

7. Forest Talkers are hidden away and will not be able to be reached during the Solstice.

REPRIEVE

1. Enola can only be met alone, but she will appear to all Interlopers in Milton.

2. Enola will be nowhere to be found afterwards, there are no tracks to be followed. She has simply vanished.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

[m1895]

[ Even in his current state of fatigue, the corners of Vasiliy's eyes crinkle at that, his cheeks barely rising behind the silicone seal of the mask. ]

I'll grind soot into the couch. You'll never get the smell out.

[ Kostya helping him wash. That would be... something, and if he didn't feel so horrendously ill right now, the offer would qualify as the stuff of fantasies. But right now, he's just trying to refrain from vomiting in an oxygen mask.

Does the offer still stand when I'm feeling a little better?

The kind of thing he would have said outright, in the late 30s, at least when there was a chance of it being well-received by the intended audience. Now he keeps it to himself—but one way or another, the thought still crosses his mind, even with the worst headache of his life clouding his mind. A testament to how handsome he is. ]

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin laughs, finally, before he can stop himself — a genuine reaction, even if more subdued than his usual boisterous things. ]

I don't mind a little soot. Not even a lot of it.

[ He doesn't mind anything, not for Vasiliy. ]

Unless you don't want to move around. In which case, we can stay here at the table. I'll keep you company.

[ The thought of leaving him alone is unthinkable. ]

[m1895]

[ He considers, which is hard, given how clouded his thought processes are. Lurching like that... probably won't feel too good. He can remember sinus headaches from colds in which moving caused the hammering pressure at his face to get so much worse, and this feels similar enough to how they did before that moment that he doesn't care to risk it. Not yet, at least. ]

Probably best to stay here for a little while longer. [ Behind the mask, he coughs a few times and clears his throat, a little tension seeping into his face at the spike of soreness and discomfort that brings. His throat's never been this irritated, has never gotten this achy this fast. ] Can't imagine what I'll feel like tomorrow.

[ But that last bit is said a little wryly, self-effacingly. It's nothing he can't get through--just a hangover from his act of heroism, as it were, one he isn't looking forward to. ]

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin nods, already moving to lower himself into a seat opposite Vasiliy, leaning across the tabletop, body language attentive. He coughs again, and Konstantin frowns as he sees that knit of brow, the tension or even pain that flicks across his features behind the mask. ]

You'll need to take it easy tomorrow. Bed rest, all day.

[ A pause, and then, with the slightest edge of a tired smile, playful even if quiet— ] I'll pin you down to it if I have to.

[ He doesn't expect Vasiliy to stay down easily. But he needs to rest. ]

[m1895]

[ He wouldn't dream of anything else but bedrest, but he doesn't get a chance to say that before Kostya hits him with something straight out of a wet dream, and he's really, really glad that he's too exhausted and sore and poisoned for getting a hard-on to be a concern right now.

(He'll think about it later, though, when Kostya's out of the house. How could he not?) ]

You won't have to. I've never been so tired in my life. If it weren't for the mask I'd already be bathed and in bed.

[ And really, he wishes that he could just skip to the in bed part, but he knows that he needs to get clean, unpleasant though the prospect may be. Just thinking about it feels like standing at the foot of a mountain one must climb and staring up at the peak, and he's not quite sure how he'll get there. He doesn't have the muscular strength to go through all of the steps required to get clean. He wants to rest. He also feels bad about the prospect of getting the bed filthy, knowing that Kostya will have to take care of it eventually. ]

Could you... Bring me a wet washcloth? Maybe I can just wipe off here.

[sputnik]

[ He smiles, but more empathetically than anything that's truly amused — to see Vasiliy down and out for the count is rare. Or maybe it's more rare that he'd voice such a thing aloud, but Konstantin's glad he does. Glad he lets him help.

He nods again, quick and attentive, and hurries over to the sink, the cabinets, finding a large washcloth that he wets thoroughly before wringing out so it isn't sopping.

When he returns to the other man, he holds it out for him — then pauses, brow furrowing again. He doesn't want to insult Vasiliy's strength, or pride, and it's not the type of thing that even good friends might do (something hitches in his chest, an odd tightness of breath) but... ]

Can I do it for you? I promise I'm not trying to treat you like an infant. [ He chuckles, soft and deep in his throat. ] But to help you save your energy. I know, I know, this old man is fretting too hard. It's probably embarrassing.

[m1895]

'Old.' Still on that. You're only 6 years older than me.

[ But, in regards to the request, dangerous territory though it may be, he nods—only barely, not wanting to move his head too much—and rolls up his sleeve to mid-forearm, holding out his arm for the other to wipe down. ]

Thank you. You're a good caretaker.

[sputnik]

I've heard someone say that you're only as old as you feel. I suppose the fact is that I feel very, very old now. [ Konstantin laughs, though quietly, and the sound begins sobering as Vasiliy rolls his sleeve up a bit to expose his arm to him.

Gently, Konstantin reaches to grasp it in one hand while the other moves the washcloth along it, barely applying pressure to begin with. ]

You've certainly taken care of me countless times. It's my turn to do the same for you.

[ It's somehow so easy to be earnest with him. It isn't too typical to say things like this to someone — and especially not another man — but... it's easy with Vasiliy. In ways. In others... well. He isn't sure how to think about that, so he swallows the thought back and continues his task, looking down as he smooths the cloth along his skin, and then down to his fingers. Konstantin gently cleans them — familiar hands, slender and yet strong, and he's felt them before, but never like this.

They're nice hands. Pretty, in the way he might have thought he'd associate with a woman's hands, but... not that. Clearly a man's hands, a man's fingers, just...pretty.

After a moment, he slowly lets go, and moves to stand again so he can move back to the sink. ] Water to rinse, [ he says, and on the surface he thinks he seems calm enough, but something in him is buzzing and warm and he isn't sure whether he wants to grasp that sensation more tightly or chase it away. ]

[m1895]

[ His heartbeat picks up yet again as he stares down at Kostya's hands working over his with the washcloth, wiping finger-by-finger, and it's a lot; he feels like his capacity for sensation and feeling is being pushed to its maximum by this entire encounter starting from the moment when he first saw the flames billowing up into the sky from across town and came running.

Now he's tired, physically, and beat up, but excited anew even through his own fatigue: being touched like this, cared for so tenderly, by Kostya, it's... exhilarating. They've never been this close, this intimate, except for... except for when there was that bang on the door, and he was so out of his mind then that he only remembers fragments of that ordeal, not a continuous narrative.

Kostya finally lets go and stands; he finds himself a little disappointed. ]

I'll be here, [ He says through the mask, corner of his mouth twitching upwards, dark eyes warm with good humor. His chest aches; his throat burns with inflammation he knows will only feel so much worse tomorrow morning, but it's so much easier to deal with, so much less miserable, with another person here. In the company of a friend. ]

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin doesn't delay, won't let anything keep him from this task, but he does take that minute or two at the sink to adjust himself. Rinsing out the washcloth, he stares down, watching soot slip from the thing, and he's strangely nervous to return to Vasiliy's side.

It's stupid. Whatever that.... emotion, or sensation is, his odd anxiety about it is... silly. He's simply grown very attached to this man, the way he would have to one of his fellow military-men, or another cosmonaut. A comrade. There's no reason why standing beside Vasiliy should make him nervous. He can't remember ever being nervous like this, in his life. Maybe when he was much younger, much more uncertain.

Wringing out the cloth again, he returns to Vasya and gently holds his arm up so he can rinse off the soapy residue there, a smile returning to his face. He'll continue this process with the other one, slow and gentle. ]

The soot's coming off, slowly but surely. I'll be able to properly see you again in no time.

[m1895]

Leave a little bit on. [ His voice is hoarse, and muffled by the mask, but there's humor in it, maybe a little bit of a desire to diffuse some of the onesided sexual tension holding him so firmly in its thrall. ] Women go for firefighters. They always told us all about it at the station.

[ Vasiliy coughs, clears his throat, immediately winces at the stab of pain in his soft palate and the back of his throat. That was a mistake. ]

There are no "sexy EMT" calendars. [ It only occurs to him after a few moments that Kostya probably doesn't have the frame of reference to understand the quip, being that he's never lived in the States, and such things weren't exactly common in the Soviet Union. ] In America, there are these... pinup calendars, with photographs of muscular firemen with no shirts on for the women to admire.

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin lifts his brows at that in confusion — 'leave a little bit on' — gaze sweeping from Vasiliy's arm to meet his eyes as he listens. At first, not understanding, but something in the confused bemusement immediately shifts when the other man coughs and winces in pain.

Konstantin's hand leaves his arm for a moment, pulls the cloth back a few inches, alarmed all over again, but Vasiliy's able to keep speaking, and he tries to still the frenzied pulse of his own heart. (He can't get too upset, he knows this, can't risk causing the creature to stir; the last thing they need is an interruption when Vasiliy's already dealing with this—)

So he forces himself to stay with the moment, to focus on Vasya's words, and they make the corners of his mouth quirk a little, though the mental image is... something that gives him an odd pause. 'Muscular men with no shirts on' is not a concept that he's spent too much time considering, but here and now he's thinking about how strong the EMT in question is, and that's not only a mental fortitude but certainly a physical one, as well. As evidenced by his recent act... and all of the times Konstantin's watched him doing tasks outdoors; Vasiliy's lean but strong, muscles hard beneath all the softness of his exterior, the big soft eyes and pretty mouth. ]

Unfortunately, the women here will just have to go without the sexy fireman look, [ he laughs, and leans to rinse the last remnants of soot from an arm. Vasiliy's undeniably handsome, and charming, and if it weren't for all of the stress that consistently plagues this hellish little town, he'd certainly be prone to an abundance of female attention — a thought that doesn't sit too happily within his gut, for some reason.

It isn't jealousy, of course. There's not a single thing to be jealous of. ]

It's difficult to believe there are no EMTs in these calendars, though. I would think the women would go wild for your uniform.

cw fatphobia

[m1895]

[ Vasiliy smiles under the mask, dark eyes twinkling with amusement as a soft, coughing laugh leaves him. ]

I'm short, my friend. America is a tall country. [ And fat, because the same abundance of food that allows them such height is taken to excess. He'd never seen so many fat people in his life, and it had been a motivator to get his strength up, once he was one of the parties responsible for transferring members of this tall, heavy populace to gurneys. ] You, however... you would do numbers. Tall, handsome, a decorated cosmonaut.

[ Even if their shared accent would likely put him at a disadvantage in the dating pool, too. ]