extinction is the rule

[singmod]

SEPTEMBER 2023 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE AURORA: AFTERSHOCKS: The Aurora comes, bringing chaos to the town of Milton. Electronics go haywire, and the Interlopers learn of the original citizens of Milton.

PROMPT TWO — THE HOUR OF THE WOLF: Tainted by the Aurora and attracted to the noise of people inhabiting the town, several packs of wolves descend upon Milton.

PROMPT THREE — IT SPEAKS: A voice comes to the Interlopers, one that knows them and their darkest fears and deepest insecurities, persuading them to fade into the Long Dark by any means necessary.

THE AURORA: AFTERSHOCKS

WHEN: Sporadic nights over the next month.
WHERE: Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural horror; ‘ghost’ horror; hauntings; death of npcs in various ways including suicide, murder or exposure to elements.

After the feast, and making sure the newcomers to Milton are seen to, Methuselah packs up. He will explain to others that while he will return to check in, he is no resident of Milton and will not stay. He is a nomad, something he has been all his life. He lives in nature. That is where he belongs. But he does assure that people are welcome to remain sheltered in the Hall if they wish to. And sure enough, the old man leaves, wishing the newcomers well. He can still be found out in the wilderness, and will shelter and feed those out exploring should they come across him.

And so the days and nights of this world roll on. The initial time of those who have come to be stranded in this world is unsettled. The weather is always changing, even if it remains bitterly cold. On some nights throughout the next month, however, the snow clouds clear and Interlopers are given a rare, clear night. At first, it’s beautiful: without the light pollution, all the stars can be seen, the moon casts an eerie glow upon the snow in the dead silence of the night. One might even say there is a kind of peace that comes with it all. And for some of these evenings, they pass by: uneventful and silent — the long darkness of an endless winter’s night.

But on others, it isn’t so uneventful. The noise starts: faint at first, but then growing louder. Something in the heavens above. 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 that echo. The sky is alive with sound, louder than anyone could ever expect it to. With it comes the swirling streaking of colour against the inky black of night, growing brighter and brighter as the night goes on: The Aurora has come.

And it isn’t the sky that comes to life too: the whole town does too. Streetlights, illuminating the town’s roads; lights in stores and homes will come alive, buzzing and flickering often. Previously abandoned cars will turn on, their headlights blaring but faltering. 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.

But there’s something else too. The Aurora doesn’t just awaken the electronics of the town. Dotted around, in the streets, in homes, in stores, the lights of the Aurora begin to take shape: spectral-like forms of people, their faces hard to make out, details difficult to define. They move in glitching patterns, they speak with voices distorted by static. Eagle-eyed Interlopers may recognise the forms of some, a body or an action:

These are the residents of Milton, in their last moments on this earth.

The forms act out short scenes on repeat: a desperate fight between two men over a vehicle, a murder in a store during a riot, a suicide alone in one of the many houses. An argument over the communication lines going down. A sobbing teen curled up on his bed. A child stares up at the skies, their hands over their ears, crying in fright. A woman begs for her father to leave his home and head to the coast with her, to try to make it to the mainland, but he refuses to leave. A man succumbs to the cold walking alone in the outskirts of town without proper clothing for the elements. Several of these ‘ghosts’ are people fleeing before they stop and simply gasp, staring off into the distance for a few seconds before they drop dead on the spot.

There is nothing that can be done to stop these endless loops. Nothing to help these poor souls. Each of these moments are captured by the Aurora: final, desperate and tragic moments in some unknown, chaotic time. Some of these ‘ghosts’ maybe stop after so many loops — flickering out into nothing, others will last all night. But all will be gone by the morning and the Aurora comes to an end. There are answers, and there are none.

THE HOUR OF THE WOLF

WHEN: Sporadic nights over the next month.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: (wild) animal attacks, altered wildlife, possible character injury/death, possible (wild) animal injury/death.


The growing presence of people within the town of Milton has meant more light, more warmth, more noise. The Aurora has created great change, but people are not the only thing the ethereal lights in the sky has brought down upon this old mining town.

When the sun slips below the horizon, and the clear skies of burnt embers and inky blues alight with stars, they come.

A lone howl, long and haunting. It is the first signal, which carries on the air. You can’t seem to place from which direction it comes from, it feels like it encompasses you. Then another voice joins it, and another, and another. A chorus of them. As the sound echoes off, another fills its place: a strange feral chittering, snarling and snapping — the drumming of feet upon the snow, heading right for you.

Wolves.

Unnatural, glowing green eyes in the dark — tendrils of light seeping from them as they rush in and encircle those they come across outside. They come in packs of three or more, and they are clever. They’re quicker than any wolf you’ve ever known, bigger and hardier too. They will try to strike fast by zipping in when you’re distracted, snapping and nipping at legs or trying to take quick bites out of arms before drawing back. They work together to bring their prey down, a solid unit of noise and teeth. They will hunt down those who hide inside, try to claw their way inside of homes and buildings — dead set on finding you and tearing you apart. There is no hiding from them. They will find you.

But breaking the pack can send them back. If they’re broken, their morale is depleted. Fire is your biggest friend: torches, campfires and flames will keep them mostly at bay and only the bravest of these packs may attack. Striking them with flares or flames will actually send them into brief retreats. Bullets and arrows are effective with both noise and injuring the wolves, and although hitting one will be difficult due their speed, it’s possible. Killing one of these wolves will dissolve the pack’s morale entirely, and the rest will flee off into the night.

Until next time. Maybe it’s best you don’t stick around. They do hold a relentless determination.

IT SPEAKS

WHEN: Over the next month, possibly longer.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: psychological horror; mental manipulation; themes of suicide; themes of depression; potential self-harm; potential feelings of isolation; potential attempted suicide.

There are whispers. Small, at first. Distracting. Perhaps it is only the wind you hear. Milton is so quiet, even with the new hustle and bustle of the new people to this place. Wood creaks and the trees rustle, there are plenty of sounds you could mistake it for.

‘Interloper.’ It is an old voice. Something deep and dark and ancient. Something impossible, older than the earth itself. It floats into your ears and nestles there, sending an ice-cold shiver down your spine. Even to the most stoic and unshakeable souls, it is a unnerving voice. It feels wrong. It feels like an ending. To hear the voice is deeply unsettling... and yet... you recognise it.

It comes to you, in the dead of night when sleep is far. In the long stretches of day as you go about your business, as you travel across the frigid landscape or gather firewood or try to pass the time within whatever home you’ve made for yourself. For some the voice will be clear as day, for others it may be some distant whisper — something gently murmuring in your ear. But the voice will be heard, no matter the person.

‘Interloper. Do you know what it means?’ It asks. ‘It means one that involves itself in a place it does not belong. You do not belong.’

That it isn’t the only thing it tells you. For everyone, it’s different. It knows you. It picks up on any weakness, any insecurity. It makes you feel small, insignificant. It tells you all the quiet, terrible things you hide down within yourself. For days, weeks, the voice is there. Speaking to you. It will wear you down, insist you are not wanted, that you do not belong here.

... And wouldn’t it be better if you weren’t here at all?

The voice seeks to break you. It will push you to your limit. Sleep will become hard to find, your spirits low and hollow. In time you might seem to believe it. Maybe it’s better if you weren’t here. You don’t belong in this place, why should you stay?

‘Disappear, Interloper. Go into the Long Dark.’

Perhaps you next find yourself atop the steep cliffs, looking down into the Milton Basin below. Perhaps you find yourself with a gun in your hand, or a rope. Perhaps you find your feet carrying you out into the snow. You’re going to disappear. You’re going to go into the Dark.

Or maybe the voice isn’t so loud. You can push it down, ignore it. Perhaps Faith is what keeps you steady, perhaps knowing who you are despite your faults stops the voice from taking over. Maybe you can help those who can’t block out the voice. Words of encouragement, affirmation, kindness, determination, even spite. The voice wants you dead, but you will not let it. You will not fall. You will not let anyone else fall, either.

FAQs

THE AURORA: AFTERSHOCKS

1. While examples are given, players are encouraged to come up with their own ghostly loops of similar loops. The key thing to remember is that the people of Milton have descended into public disorder. Fights, arguments and murders have occurred, as have suicides or other unexplained deaths. People are frightened. They want to leave the town.

2. Ghostly loops cannot be interacted with, only witnessed.

3. There is no way of putting these 'ghosts' to rest. These loops are more like residual memories, as if the energy of the townsfolk remained, and have been reconstructed by the Aurora.

4. The wolf attacks and Auroras occur on sporadic nights over the course of the next month, with the Aurora being the first thing, then the wolves. It's unlikely you'll get both on the same night. While the wolves are attracted to the Interlopers' activity, the Aurora's light and noise will keep them away from the town during Aurora Nights.

5. Sharp-eyed Interlopers may notice that the 'ghosts' of those who are staring off into the distance before gasping and dropping dead are looking skyward, towards the east.

THE HOUR OF THE WOLF

1. Due to the Aurora's influence, these wolves are harder, better, faster, stronger, than typical wild wolves. They do not die as easily, and are much more difficult to wound and kill. But not impossible. Scaring the wolves will be far easier to accomplish.

2. Wolves will return, sometimes more than once on the same night, or on other nights during the month. The only sure-fire way to have them stop coming back is to kill the pack.

3. Wolf meat is technically edible. But not advised due to parasites. Characters are still welcome to harvest the wolves they kill, however. Who would say no to a cool ass wolf cape.

4. The wolf attacks and Auroras occur on sporadic nights over the course of the next month, with the Aurora being the first thing, then the wolves. It's unlikely you'll get both on the same night. While the wolves are attracted to the Interlopers' activity, the Aurora's light and noise will keep them away from the town during Aurora Nights.

IT SPEAKS

1. Characters can be talked down and broken from the voice's influence by others. Genuine connection and empathy will work massively, but even encouragement and affirmations to keep surviving will be powerful enough to break the voice's hold.

2. Players are welcome to play with the length of time the voice can be heard with characters. Some may want to have it over a short space of time, others can have this progress over a longer time period.

3. The voice can come at any time over the next month.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

nikolai lantsov — grishaverse

[ravkas]

( closed starters below )

— closed to BARBIE.

[ravkas]

This isn’t how I normally invite people home.

[ tracking blood through the snow, being chased by feral wolves — such things like that. on second thought, this is fairly normal for his life, which is a disheartening thought. best not to tell barbie that the king of ravka can’t be trusted to show a woman a pleasant night.

he keeps his voice at an even kilter, his composure steady, which seems paramount since barbie looks as though she’s going to start screaming, or perhaps simply stop moving. neither of those options are ideal. he needs her. he might have allowed her to believe that if they made it into his house — the house he commandeered as his own, anyway — they would be safe, but that wasn’t entirely the truth. the wolves are coming despite closed doors. the nasty little creatures are relentless. they are very likely fjerdan.

and beneath his coat, the right sleeve of his shirt is soaked in blood, teeth-shaped gouges in his flesh bleeding profusely from a wolf bite. his arm has gone numb, and his fingers are on their way there. he was the one doing the shooting, and now — well. his aim with his left is good, but not when he’s dizzy with pain and weakened from blood loss.

ergo, he needs barbie. ]

Check the windows, would you? [ nikolai heaves a bookcase in front of the door with his shoulder, wincing. ] Make sure they’re locked and all the blinds are drawn. Bonus points if you put something heavy in front of them.

[ keeping busy means less time to dwell on very recent horrors.

in the yard, he’s left a bonfire burning. he knows the wolves will stay away from it, but it will only keep them safe for so long. they’ll circle the house soon enough, and they’ll be trapped inside. he can’t believe he’s being forced into a stalemate with an animal.

luckily, he has an idea. ]

Have you ever fired a gun before?

[birkenstock]

[ This night has been ... too much.

Seriously.

Between the nightmarish visions in the sky and the haunting voices that seem to have stilled — at least for now — Barbie hasn't experienced literally anything like this in all of her forever-years. It's too much! It's also nothing like the glimpses of a human life that Ruth had shown her before she chose to stop being a doll and letting the Powers that Be make her human. Century City was supposed to be the worst of it, and yet here she is.

She's grateful for this stranger coming to rescue her when she'd all but given up, her entire body going rigid as though to physically make itself available to the wolves. And at that first sign of hope, of a chance to keep going, she took that hand and got to her feet and she hasn't stopped running since.

Not until they'd made it back to the stranger's home, a shield (of sorts) from the snapping sharp teeth of the feral creatures outside. ]

A gun? [ Barbie snaps out of her reverie now, turning to meet eyes with her saviour. She's started to move towards the nearest window, but she's afraid to see whatever might be on the other side of the glass. ] Oh, goodness no. I've never even seen one in person before.

[ Nothing like that exists in Barbieland and she has, so far, managed to avoid getting anywhere near the ones some people seem to have acquired in Milton. ]

[ravkas]

[ never seen one before. well, that might be for the best. the less negative interactions with weaponry, the better — nikolai certainly wishes there was no need for them in ravka. ]

Let's go upstairs, shall we?

[ she's done a good enough job of covering the windows, and they don't have much time to waste if he aims on giving her a lesson on how to safely fire a revolver. considering the circumstances, he might have to save safety for another time and focus on the simple firing part.

he douses the lights and waits for barbie to reach his side, ascending the stairs together. the house is spacious, with far too many bedrooms upstairs to be sensible for one person to stay here alone, but only one bed is rumpled from use, the rest untouched despite his rummaging for supplies. he'd chosen the place based on location and all the interesting things in the spacious shed — gasoline, an array of useful tools, and even a small supply of ammunition for the pistol he'd found in a lock box. mostly, he likes the spacious yard. it's perfect for tinkering.

it's also at the edge of the town, keeping him a respectable distance away from his neighbors, which might seem odd for someone as talkative as he is. but he has his reasons.

he takes her to an empty bedroom that faces the yard, drawing the blinds to view the bonfire burning below. when nikolai peers closer into the dark woods, he swears he sees the faraway flash of movement. ]

All right. [ he turns around, a chipper smile on his face. ] Here's the bad news. I don't really have any food here, so when the wolves surround this place, we'll definitely starve to death if we don't kill them. The good news —

[ he produces a bottle of whiskey from nowhere, as if performing a magic trick, and takes a generous swig before offering her the bottle. ] I have this. And I'm going to teach you how to shoot, so we're not going to starve to death. Have you ever had whiskey? It'll make you feel marvelous, I promise.

[ he can't hide the blood from his wolf bite anymore, red soaking into the cuff of his glove and dripping onto the carpet. he'll have to clean that up later. not that he intends on having guests. ]

I'd wager I have about a minute to give you a shooting lesson. [ he pulls out his revolver, pearl-handled and somehow still shiny despite their circumstances, and holds it up for her to look at. ] Really, you're just going to point and shoot at whatever you want to kill. The important thing to remember is that if you don't want to kill it, don't shoot it.

[birkenstock]

[ Without hesitation, she follows him up the stairs. It figures that being on a higher elevation will put them at some kind of advantage; she remembers how she could see everything from her bedroom on the top floor of her Dreamhouse in Barbieland — and better yet, she could see everything towards the horizon too from her roof.

Of course, this place is nothing at all like Barbieland, and she has to douse the little flame of nostalgia that threatens to catch fire and fill her with homesickness. She'd already left that place even when she chose to become a human in the Real World, and now she's twice removed.

Once they've entered the spare bedroom and her saviour pulls the blinds to peek out towards the situation brewing below them, Barbie can only anticipate that he's got some kind of genius plan up his sleeve, because right now she's fresh out.

Except it doesn't sound like the most amazing plan. A little scary instead, in fact. ]

I ... no. [ She swallows, her big blue eyes going to the bottle in his hand and watching him take a rather large swig from it. ] I haven't. That's not like a brewski beer, is it?

[ Guess who's never had alcohol before? This gal!

But she can learn to shoot, she's completely all right with that and maybe trying some of that whiskey after all, and really she's not about to poo-poo any idea he might have, and she is about to say as much before she notices the blood slowly dripping onto the carpet and staining it a too-dark red. ]

Oh! Oh my goodness! Are you okay? How long have you — oh, we need to do something about that first!

[ravkas]

A brewski beer. Maybe? Probably not. [ it's good whiskey, nice and strong and bracing. a wonderful addition to their circumstances, he would say. ] But I find that it helps when I need a bit of courage.

[ is that healthy? hard to say, and he certainly doesn't have time to examine his longstanding habits at the moment. he's keen to continue their lesson when she notices his rather obvious wound, which is his own fault, really. he should have thought to hide it better, now that he doesn't have immediate chaos to distract from it. ]

I'm all right. [ which is more or less the truth. he's still standing, though he's not sure for how long. if he doesn't take care of the bleeding soon, he's fairly certain he won't be standing in an hour. still, an hour is a long window of time, although it's a generous guess. ] Unfortunately for my arm, we need to prioritize. And you shooting down some of these wolves is more important than whatever I have going on. Which usually wouldn't be the case. I'm normally the most important person in the room.

[ as he says this, he steers her toward the window, keeping one eye on the gathering of wolves down below. not good. also not good is the sudden vertigo that tips him right into her and nearly knocks his head into a windowpane. ]

I'm fine. [ maybe he doesn't have an hour. he sets the whiskey on the sill and hands her the gun. ] Hold this.

[ cold air hits them both as he unsticks the window and slides it wide open. everything he touches ends up smeared with blood, and it's almost as if the wolves can smell it, because they start growling down below, circling the flames of the bonfire but wary not to get too close. ]

You're going to aim and press the trigger. [ he places both hands over hers, gently adjusting her grip, his chin resting over her shoulder as he stands behind her. he flicks the safety off. ] That's really all there is to it. Try it. I've got you.

[birkenstock]

[ Ohmygod — this is the singlemost stressful situation she's ever been in, and that includes the time that Disco Barbie™️'s equipment totally decided to stop working and the whole party just froze in silence in the middle of a particularly complicated choreographed dance number. It had been so intense; no one knew what to do.

And now there's so much blood, and the man who saved her from the wolves could die at any moment because he's getting all of his insides everywhere on the outside, and it's scary the way he seems to weaken right in front of her; suddenly she's worried about whether he might die in front of her. And the wolves haven't left and they look angry and hungry, circling the house from below, and she's supposed to shoot a gun now?

She tilts her head to meet his eyes, their faces so impossibly close. She can smell the strange metallic scent of blood on him, and it's so strong she feels like her stomach might lurch from it. She readjusts the grip of the gun in one hand, and then breathes out, turning back to peer past the open window at the furry beasts below.

With the other hand, she snatches the bottle of whiskey. ]

Okay. [ She schools her voice into one with resolve. ] I'm going to need some of this first.

[ She tips it to her lips and takes a generous swig, the way she'd watched him do it.

And it. is. awful.

It's like liquid fire burning her insides, and she coughs which has one of the wolves below howling. But you know what, a moment later and she feels the heat in her chest, which she assumes must be what he means, because it does make her feel stronger in a way that she hadn't been just moments before. Maybe this stuff really does work. ]

Aim and press the trigger. [ She repeats his instructions. ] Okay, that's easy enough.

[ The barrel is pointed towards the growling beast below, and she does as she'd been told, keeping her aim true and then squeezing the trigger. ]

[ravkas]

[ his shooting lesson could be better, to be sure. but there isn't time for anything else but to dive right in. a bit of practical experience on the job, if the job is survival. it's the ravkan way.

his revolver kicks in her hand when she fires, something nikolai is expecting but she likely is not, so he holds her grip steady, breathing in the scent of blood and whiskey as a pained howl comes from below, one of the wolves crumpling to the snow. red blooms from the wound in its flank, a surprisingly clean but not fatal wound.

this is the part he would have liked to shield her from. he would have liked to shield her from all of this, really. he already has blood on his hands, more of it that he could ever wash clean, so to dirty hers feels... well, it isn't the way he wished for things to go. ]

I've never seen wolves like these before. [ as if they've been infected or possessed by something darker, something spurring them to rage and violence. it's achingly familiar, a painful squeeze in his chest. ] We can't know if they're acting on their own will or not. If it was me, I would want someone to put me down.

[ he shakes his head, pulling a steely smile out of nowhere. ] Good shot. While it's down, try for the head. Or close to the heart. There's no reason to let it suffer.

[ has she ever killed anything before? she doesn't exactly look like the murdering type, but he's been wrong before. on rare occasion. ]

i'm so sorry this is ridiculously late!!

[birkenstock]

[ After the shock of the first shot (it's so loud, and the kick-back isn't expected, and the whole process is pretty awful, actually), Barbie very nearly lets go of the weapon in her hand. Let this man deal with it, he's certainly far more capable than she could ever be, and she'll — she'll what, exactly?

She's trapped here, the same as he is, and he's hurt and she won't leave him as a result of that. But she really hates it when he asks her what to do next because she can't even look out towards the location of the yowling creature she'd hurt. It stirs something awful in her chest, something heavy and nauseating. ]

Do I have to? [ slips out past her lips before she can stop herself, and she shakes her head immediately after, knowing that between the two of them, it'll have to be her. That should very clearly answer his question.

The only thing she's ever killed is fashion in a pair of amazing heels. ] Okay. I'm afraid I won't have perfect aim.

— closed to YENNEFER. cw suicide, animal death

[ravkas]

[ in the darkness, the blood looks like tar streaked across the snow. wolves lay fallen, their soft corpses soon to be claimed by the cold, matted fur mixing with ice. necessary deaths, though there’s never any pride in the loss of life. nikolai and yennefer hardly look much better, but they’re alive. that’s more than can be said for anything else in the barren stretch of steep wood they’ve turned into a battlefield.

it’s not unfamiliar, the feeling of picking himself out of the narrowed sense of time that only comes from fighting for your life. reality tends to be cruelest in the aftermath, standing amongst the damage wrought from his own hands. there’s a ringing in his ears, a pain in his left shoulder. but worse is the cold wrapped serpentine around his spine, the whispers that feel like the cracking of bone. the iron weight of his guilt threatens to splinter him. soldier, prince, privateer, monster. his pieces nearly scatter, uncovering the rabid thing beneath. maybe that thing is the king of ravka. maybe it’s the demon itself, nikolai’s soul ripe for the infection of darkness. his kills are innumerable, his lies and pretenses entrenched so deeply into his character that there’s no unraveling the truth. no amount of good deeds can fix such a crooked man.

movement catches his eye. yennefer, picking herself out of the snow, her dark hair like tumbles of vines cast from the ocean. they made a good team, just now, leading two packs away from the town and picking them off and somehow staying alive in the process. nikolai had promised her that they would be successful. that they would make it back and he would pay her with fresh apples from a place yet to be determined. he wants to keep his promise, but —

the smell of blood all around them overpowers his senses, his gloved hands frigid as they reach for a furred corpse, fingers digging into still-warm flesh. he touches bone and draws back, the recoil of desire and disgust a sharply sour taste in his mouth. he hides the panic that wants to steal the very last bit of his fortitude. it’s the cold making him shiver, not the bleak desperation tearing through him like a well-timed firing squad.

his hand closes around cold metal, familiar. in an instant, he sweeps up his revolver, the whispers a thick chorus that reach a crescendo he’s been fighting not to hear for weeks. he can’t fight it all. the animal instinct, the bloodlust, the pull of the dark, the low and intimate voice in his head. he’s just one man.

the barrel presses to his temple, a snow-cold, soothing weight against his fevered skin. ]

continued cw for.......... a lot........

[importance]

[ death clings to the air like the sweet rot of fruit. every inhale tugs it into her chest anew, fills it with a cold that penetrates down into her organs and wrenches her insides into a frigid ache. it should be a welcome reminder of the life still in her blood, and yet — the fatigue that works her muscles as she limply tosses aside a crimson-soaked knife serves as a cruel testimony to the chaos beyond her fingertips. a missing pulse at the heart of her.

a distracting enough prospect, that she misses the flash of nikolai's intent when it comes. her eyes find the silver of the barrel, first; the dripping red of his fingers, next; the twist in his expression last. it hardly makes sense, to struggle for his life and end it here amidst the wreckage ]

Nikolai.

[ the steel caution in her voice bends, brittle from breathlessness. this isn't you, she could say, some greater appeal to his nature — but they are, when their circumstances are stripped away, little more than strangers brought together by unfortunate circumstance. the only decisive action to take, then, is to remove part of the equation. talking him down from the ledge won't do.

her hand claps out, knocks the gun to the ground in a cold clatter, before he can find purchase on the trigger. there's only a split-second of delay before she's scrambling for it, lest he thinks to recover it, where it's gone skidding across layers of icy ground. ]

[ravkas]

[ it's instinct that takes over, animal-like, as if he's sprouted talons and long teeth. but he hasn't. somehow it's worse that he doesn't look like the monster. that he's just a man that feels like one.

he lunges after yennefer, his bloodied fingers disappearing in the thick curtain of her hair to close around the nape of her neck, shoving her down into the snow. his thumb lands upon her pulse, hard and rapid, and while he means to let go, he can't, transfixed in a way he only remembers snatches of through the monster's eyes. his knee grinds into her spine as he parts her hair, frosted breath swirling from his mouth as he leans down, burying his nose in dark strands, his lips making contact with warm skin.

blood rushes in his ears. his or hers, he can't tell. the smell makes him want to gag as much as it sends a throb of hunger rocketing through him, his teeth aching to sink past the soft skin they scrape against and into flesh. his original purpose has been all but forgotten, the gun no longer of interest to him when something even darker than the twisted voice in his head has him chained, heavy as an anchor sunk deep into the sea. ]

[importance]

[ it happens too quickly, a lightning-flash moment, for her to brace against the impact. snow melts into the spaces of her teeth, the crack of her chin against a harsh bank radiating through her jaw with a pulsing flare of pain. a hiss seethes out between her teeth in response, more irate with the circumstances than purely panicked — like an animal lashing out upon finding itself cornered, struggling against the reality of being caged. she's come too far for this to be her end — lost and forgotten in some shithole of a village without ciri, without geralt, without tissaia.

tissaia, who would urge her to strike back, were she here to witness yennefer's weakness — if she weren't ashamed of her for losing the spark of her chaos a miserable second time. whether nikolai is or is not afflicted by madness hardly matters, in the end; there's only her, and him, and the animal impulse to survive — to return to the family that must be awaiting her return. it's with a crack that her elbow jerks back against his skull, aiming to disorient him like a wolf gone rabid, but it's — an awkward trajectory, a clumsy angle, and clips him in the side of the temple instead. ]

Get off — [ she grits out, copper and snow mingling in her tongue, and thrashes again. nothing could ever make her so acutely aware she is at a disadvantage than the weight of him pressed to her back, a physical strength to overwhelm the mere shade of her own; nothing could ever make her so acutely aware she painfully wants to live, either, as the burn of fiery panic seizing her lungs. ] — you shit.

[ not her finest insult, as it turns out. and if nikolai is so keen to loom over her to sniff at her arteries as only predators do, the effect of words will be lost upon him. even so — her head jerks back with sudden force, aiming to smash into his own. ]

[ravkas]

[ something in the monster enjoys the way she struggles, the shadow toying with its prey. it bleeds into nikolai and hits the wall of his own morality, a slow poisoning with no antidote to be found in this icy wilderness. worse is the realization that he is no match for his monster. that all it took was one moment of weakness for its claws to sink in and drag him back under.

pain cracks through the center of his face as her skull makes contact, jarring every thought from his head. with startling swiftness, blood drips onto the exposed nape of her neck, fat, warm droplets gushing from his surely broken nose. he's overwhelmed with the desire to wrench her back by the hair, to pay her back in kind only against the jagged ice.

the monsters knows little but base instincts. violence. desire. hunger. nikolai twists away from yennefer, giving her a discourteous shove through the snow. ]

Leave.

[ this time he doesn't hesitate before plunging his hand back into the wolf's corpse, lifting out thick blood and bits of flesh, and smearing his fingers over his mouth. the taste of iron and salt floods his tongue, quieting some deep, primal urge within him. another mouthful, then another — then he's gagging in the snow, trying to rid himself of the taste, but clear-headed, finally. at least he thinks he is, and he hopes it will last. ]