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

[jackdawvision]

You can borrow my kitchen knives when this is done. Consider it an apology for bringing them to your door.

[Kenway says this absently, already grabbing something to prop up against the door even as a large body slams into it over and over again. A small knife isn't ideal, but he'll take it—is taking it right now, even, flipping it around in his hand and testing the balance. He winces. Not a good choice, but it's pointy, and for now it'll do. Damn it, he wishes he had his swords.]

I'll go out the back, climb up and get their attention. I can keep out of their grasp as long as I'm moving above them. [He pulls another cartridge from his pouch, lets out a quiet curse. He's running low as well. Two more shots and then he's out, three if you count chucking a knife at a wolf as a shot.] We can't take out all the wolves, but if you can kill one while it's distracted with me perhaps that'll get the rest to scatter.

[fidior]

[ There's a sharp exhale of breath at that, something that's not quite a laugh, and if he were a man more prone to making quips in the heat of adrenaline (or.. at all), he might jokingly say something along the lines of assuming we both live through this. But Edward remains extremely severe, brows pinched together in fretfulness, looking quickly round for anything else that might be remotely useful. There's— nothing. A few chairs around a small dining table, at least those can be used to keep holding the wolves off, but.... not much of anything. At least this cabin has a second floor, another room to run up to and hole one's self in, but clearly doors won't be able to keep the creatures out. He can hear the scrape of frenzied claws against wood, and a second body joining the first with slamming itself against the thing. It won't hold forever.

His head's snapping back to stare at the other man as Kenway quickly devises a plan, but it leaves Little horrified. ]

What if you fall? They'll be on you— [ ...with seconds. The mental image is... unbearable, and despite Kenway's clear skill with agility, Little can't help worrying. ]

[jackdawvision]

Aye, but that's if I fall. And I'm very, very good at not falling.

[Kenway is all cocksure confidence, damn near bordering on arrogance. He knows what he's good at—it's climbing, and being a great big distracting nuisance. But he's seen this sort of worry before, so he flashes Little a half-smirk to reassure him. It's only the tiniest bit strained by the wolves clawing at the front door. They can't waste time.]

Keep your head low. I'll head out the back and climb up there. Stay out of their sight and we'll get through this, Little. Perhaps with a wolf pelt for our troubles.

[So saying, he heads out a back window (and shuts it with a light kick once he's outside), knife on his belt, and starts climbing up to the rooftop. Easy enough for an Assassin.

A sharp whistle cuts through the wolves' howling, and from the rooftop, a little bit away from the front door, Kenway calls:] Oi, you mangy bastards! Your prize is up here! Come and try to take me! [Come on, Little, he thinks, trusting that Little will follow through. In the meantime, he bites open one more cartridge and pours the bullet and powder into his pistol, and when one wolf starts trying to clamber up, tosses the kitchen knife in its direction. It doesn't hit, but it's certainly getting the wolves' attention.]

cw: animal (wolf) death

[fidior]

[ If Edward (Kenway) exudes a cocksure confidence, then Edward (Little) is certainly on the opposite end of that spectrum, fretful and uncertain. It's not that he doubts the other man's capabilities, per-say; he's seen glimpses of them for himself, after all.

But he has seen skilled men fall at their own tasks, seen them ripped to shreds, seen them maimed and killed by forces beyond their control. He has seen his own skills rendered useless. Too much confidence is a danger, a distraction, and Little cannot afford himself the luxury of that.

.....Though he may be going too far toward that way of thinking, having hardly any confidence at all in this moment. He's opening his mouth to continue to protest even as the other man climbs right out of the cabin window, Little shuffling anxiously around the room for a few moments, before he utters a sharp curse and runs back to the front door. He stays there close to it for a few moments, shotgun clenched tightly in his hands, heart pounding. Listening — but he can no longer hear any snarls coming from the other side. The wolves seem to have taken the distraction, and so.... he very slowly eases the door open, not making a sound.

Creeping around the corner of the house, Little aims his gun out again, swallowing against the unbearable surge of adrenaline and the equally unbearable thought of Kenway being ripped to shreds, should he fall. If Little misses... if he ruins this, it could cost them dearly. But he knows he must hurry, and he knows he's a skilled shot, beneath everything. He must remember his training. His instincts.

He seeks out the wolf that's most distracted by that knife, the beast snarling and slobbering close by it, hackles raised. Carefully, Little eases a bit closer; distance matters, with a gun like this. Even as his body screams at him to run, he keeps shuffling closer, closer.... Time slows, and then— he shoots.

The creature doesn't even scream. It's dead on impact, its huge body falling to the snow with a heavy thud. But the others are startled by the loud sound and the sudden death, and there are yelps through the snarls. Little doesn't wait to see if it's worked, or wait to be seen; he runs back to the front door, heart hammering. Slams it shut again, pulls a chair to it, and then rushes to that window, opening it up and sticking his head through a bit to look upwards. ]

Kenway?!

[jackdawvision]

Hah!

[Kenway’s jubilant laugh is drowned out by the wolves’ startled yelps, and as he watches, the beasts scatter, leaving their fallen behind. Smart of them, and lucky for him and Little, because he has one bullet in the barrel of his pistol and one cartridge left in his pouch. Just to be petty, he sticks up two fingers at the wolves in a very rude gesture, then starts clambering down with the same easy grace as he climbed up with.

He glances down as Little calls his name, then gives him a little grin.]

That was a fine shot, Little! [He means it. Just to be a showoff, he kicks off the wall once he’s maybe five feet off the ground, then drops onto the ground near the body. He inspects it with the appraising look of a seasoned hunter, then:] That’s twice now you’ve saved my arse from damnation. How do you feel about a wolf pelt?

[It’s quite literally the least he can do for him.

Although he is not about to try skinning this thing outside in the snow with wolves not too far.]

[fidior]

[ Any moment of relief at that jovial, grinning response, is short-lived as Little witnesses Kenway jump onto the ground. ]

Mr. Kenway—! [ he sputters, horrified. Why are you on the ground, get back up on the roof where it's safe or inside this window right this moment—

Little's leaning further out the window, fretfully watching the other man step close to the body. ]

Please, come away from that and back inside! They may return—!

[ He is going to have an aneurysm. ]

[jackdawvision]

Peace, Mr. Little, they won't be coming back too soon. In the meantime... [And he just lifts this dead wolf up with a grunt, and does as Little's ordered him—comes back inside with a dead wolf just there in his arms, its tongue lolling out. Up close, it looks a bit mangy. Kenway's not too keen on eating it, although hey, the bones could still prove useful enough. Sharpen them into darts and he'll be set.]

I do believe I owe you a coat. [He glances around the cabin once more.] Any place I can set this down on, so I can start skinning it?

[fidior]

[ Oh God, he's just bringing it inside—

Little's completely stunned as he watches the other man lug the thing inside in his very arms, taking a few steps backwards and then following him around the place, exasperated. What— how is he supposed to handle this??? ]

I—

[ He wants it out, but the thing's lolling all over the place, and probably dripping some blood, oh it's so ghastly... ]

There— on the table!

[ He gestures quickly to the dining table that divides the small kitchen and living room, reaching up to tug off his officer's cap (he's feeling especially sweaty right now!!) and place it down on the counter, running a hand through locks of messy waves. ]

Mr. Kenway, skinning it will not be necessary, really.