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

HERE!!!

[birkenstock]

[ Between one moment and then the next, while Roy Kent is experiencing his life flashing before his eyes from the very real fear of a wolf attack, he might hear the beast that had been in hot pursuit of him suddenly yelp and then whimper before backing down.

If he looks down at the retreating beast, he may also find that there is a long line of red ribbon that stains the trodden snow. And then suddenly a young blonde woman with wide blue eyes appears in his periphery. She looks just about as scared as Roy probably feels, but there's something else there too — panic and urgency, and adrenaline that seems to push her to snatch at the man's arm and tugs him forward. ]

Come on! They're not going to stay away forever, and I really only had the one knife ... which is gone now.

[ She lets out a breath. Her fingers are stained with old, dried blood. She's never felt more terrified than she is now, but that just seems to be this evening's itinerary. ]

Turns out I still have a lot to learn about — um. Well, that whole thing.

[finefurryfella]

[ Once again, a hot blonde woman has entered his life to save the day.

He stares at her in shock for a moment, an almost comical look on his face as though she just broke his brain with her unexpected display of heroism and he needs at least a minute for it to restart like an old Windows PC. But he doesn't have a minute to process what just happened, her grip on his arm enough to shake him out of his daze. ]

Fuck, yeah, sorry. [ Sorry you got blood on your hands. Sorry you saw a grown man almost cry like a fucking baby. ] My place is just there. Come in and wash your hands.

[ He gestures to the house in front of them, leading the way. He feels awkward, like it's the end of a date that went horribly wrong, inviting her inside when she doesn't even know him. He has no idea what to say to make her feel like she's safe with him - safer indoors than she is outside - so he says nothing until they're inside. Sometimes that's why Roy is so silent - because he's afraid of saying the wrong thing. ]

Here. [ He gestures to the kitchen sink to wash the blood away. His heart is still pounding, so god knows how she's feeling right now. ] You okay? You did fucking great back there. [ Unlike him. ]

[birkenstock]

[ Barbie doesn't need to be told twice. Without another knife or anything else to defend them both, she's relieved that shelter isn't too far away, and she can wash her hands of all of this ... blood.

She's never seen so much blood before; actually, before she'd arrived here she'd never seen blood in person in her whole life! That's what happens when you're made of plastic, and life is fantastic and pink and dream-like. But none of that is on her mind as she pushes it all aside to help the injured man while he limps with his best effort to lead the way, and she says nothing even when he pushes the door open and lets them both inside.

He gestures to the kitchen sink, and she nods to confirm that she's heard him, but she bites her bottom lip the moment he asks her if she's okay, like she could burst at the seams with that question alone. She doesn't, of course, but her eyes start to prickle. ]

I'm fine. [ And so she makes a beeline for the aforementioned sink, twisting the tap and letting the too-cold water wash over her frigid, blood-stained fingers.

It helps.

She breathes in and out and begins to scrub the redness from her too-pink skin. ] Absolutely scared as all ... h-heck, but I'm fine. Are you okay? That was a really close one.

[finefurryfella]

[ Her use of the word heck reminds him of Ted, which he can't decide is comforting or not. He also wishes he could do what this woman just did - freely admit she's scared - instead of hiding it. He wishes he could voice how he's feeling without a million doubts running through his mind telling him it's a bad idea to be open and honest with anyone.

He doesn't answer her question because he doesn't know how to answer it without sounding like he needs a hug. He clears his throat, swallowing down his emotions. ]

Can you forget what you saw? [ He's looking for something for her to dry her hands with and settles on a tea towel. Avoiding her gaze, he's clearly uncomfortable with the vulnerable side of himself she witnessed him display in front of the wolf. No one gets to see that side of Roy Kent. Only one person has, and he pushed her away. ]

Pretend I wasn't pathetic as f— heck, back there. [ He clarifies, choosing a word she might be more comfortable hearing. ]

[birkenstock]

You weren't pathetic as anything. You were ... well, I think you reacted like anyone would have if you haven't been surrounded by sharp-toothed wolves before. I was the same when I first saw them.

[ But then she saw them again.

And then again.

And then she realized that even if she was so scared, she could still do something. It helped to be taught a couple of things, real quick, before she arrived here with a knife. (A knife, she remembers again, that she'd lost.) ]

But if you really want me to, then sure. [ With a murmured 'thank you', Barbie dries her hands on the offered tea towel and smiles tentatively. ] I don't remember seeing anything.

[finefurryfella]

[ He's not just anyone though, is he? He's Roy Kent... which sounds so egotistical. Good thing he didn't say that aloud.

He grunts at her appreciatively (she'll get used to how all his grunts express something different). ]

I've got a certain reputation back home. The public eye sees me as a wolf - [ ready to rip anyone apart ] - not a soft, defenceless sheep. [ He's not meant to cower, and cowering is what he did back there. ]

You probably deserve a medal for bravery for what you did back there, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell the papers what you saw once we're out of here... [ He's so used to people selling stories about him, he decides to be one step ahead of her. ] I'm guessing you want money for your silence, so I'll give you this watch until I find a cash point.

[ He removes a very expensive watch from his wrist, which is probably his third watch this year. At this point, he only keeps buying expensive watches for emergency situations like this. They sure come in handy when he has no cash on him. ]

You'll get more money if I sign it. [ He's not bragging, he just knows from looking online that people tend to sell random stuff he's signed for absurd amounts of money. Plus his signature is stupidly small enough to fit on a clock face. ] Years ago, I signed a thong that someone sold for five grand. [ And he never signed underwear again. The fact that his signature is small enough to fit on a thong is laughable. ]

[birkenstock]

Well, you don't have to live up to your reputation if you don't want to. You're you, right? And you'll feel whatever you feel because that's who you are.

[ She knows a little thing or two about having a reputation and then going against that and not really knowing anything after that. She's lived her whole life thinking she fit under a specific designation with all of its limits and its borders, and it was totally, completely perfect ... until it wasn't. ]

And thank you. [ For the compliment, because it does feel good to be brave and to help someone because of it. And then he starts to talk about papers and money, and he's suddenly handing her his watch, and that confuses her a whole lot. The smile, both encouraging and a little hopeful, suddenly vanishes like a light extinguished. ]

— what?

[ And now he's talking about putting his name on underwear? Her eyes go a little wide though she isn't sure whether it's because of the shock, or the expensive gift, or the conversation about underwear but she's holding her hands up in front of her in protest. ]

No, hold on, I don't want anything from you. I just wanted to help because I finally could help.

[finefurryfella]

[ You're you, right? Only that's the problem. Without football, he has no idea who he is. He felt like an empty shell after his retirement. The fact that football might make up his entire personality is both frightening and mortifying.

He's so used to people demanding interviews and autographs and selfies from him that it's a genuine shock to hear she doesn't want anything. ]

So you're a good person. [ With her rejecting the watch, he moves it back to his wrist. ] Well, that's a fucking relief so I can keep telling the time in this shithole.

[ Respecting her for not taking the gift, he offers her his hand to shake. ] Roy Kent.

[birkenstock]

Well, I try.

[ She offers him a helpless little shrug. Because it's true — she does try. It's part of her striving to be an inspiration to all girls and women everywhere, to set a good example, and ... well. It probably doesn't even matter anymore because she's chosen to become human, and now she's here, but ... she'll still try. ]

Um. Yes. Please keep it.

[ And with the offering of his name, she brightens immediately. ]

Hi, Roy Kent. [ No, she still doesn't recognize the name for anything other than a name that she'll commit to memory. ] I'm Barbie!

[finefurryfella]

[ He's getting used to people not recognizing him around here. What are the odds that he's gotten stuck somewhere nobody seems to watch football?

A pause, then - ]

Barbie. [ Like the doll? Jesus... Wait, didn't he meet a Ken the other day? Didn't he mention a Barbie? ]

You... [ He falters, thinking how stupid he's about to sound. There was no way, right?

Fuck it - ] You don't know a Ken, do you? [ He thinks how to describe him. That fucking guy with the peroxide hair? ] Bit of a pretty boy?