singillatim | extinction is the rule

extinction is the rule

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

i. the fear in her ;

[ Plastic doll or not, she has always had a heart that beats and lungs that breathe, and the feeling somehow didn't feel different when she became a real human. Now she feels her heart beating too fast, and her breaths feel short and shallow. There's a numbness in her fingers and a chill up her spine, and she knows that this isn't normal. It isn't okay.

You do not belong.

That's fine. She knows she doesn't really belong — she's a doll turned human, and she's just getting the hang of it all, slowly but surely.

But there's more to it than that. There's so much fear in her right now: fears about the rest of her life, how long or short it might be, how easily it could be taken away from her; fear about being here, and how long she'll be here; fear about Ken, for Ken ... it keeps building until she thinks that she's forgotten all together how to breathe and she's starting to see lights in her vision.

Disappear, Interloper. Go into the Long Dark. ]

N-no. No, I won't. I've asked for this. I can do it, I can do this. I can!

[ And yet she doesn't sound so sure, certainly not when she's already getting to her feet as though to go somewhere. Perhaps you hear her, or you happen to see her as she heads for the trees without her winter coat on, looking wild-eyed and afraid. Either way she probably shouldn't be on her own. ]

ii. the fear in you ;

[ Somehow, some way, she's managed to overcome her own fears and now she sets off looking for lost souls just like her, those who look as though they might do something terrible, something they can't undo.

She might spot you walking through the forest to get to the cliff's edge, or she might find you already at the cliffs themselves. She approaches quietly enough not to startle, but with deliberate steps to let you know that you are not alone.

She's dressed in her thick white winter coat and matching winter boots. She's since cleaned herself up too — her hair is tied back into a long, blonde ponytail, and her blue eyes look to you now with concern. ]

I'm here. [ Her voice is soft, kind. ] Please. Let me help you. Don't listen to those awful voices, come away from the Dark.

Hey.

[ Probably March could make up some bullshit about how he can't resist pretty lady in distress--even if it's true--and how maybe he wants to be a white knight for once in his life and do something good a la Healy, but the fact of the matter is that he firmly believes that understands that the world sucks, and you're miserable, and there's nothing you can really do about it so you just gotta deal with the shit hand you're dealt with.

But it's more than just a pretty lady in distress and more then March going on autopilot. He's been hearing the voice nonstop, too, but it's easy to squash down for him because he's been doing it for a whole year at this point. He's a little bit behind Barbie, hands in his pocket, voice casual. ]

You thinkin' of going into the Long Dark? [ No judgement in his voice whatsoever. Just a calm question as he keeps her other words in mind. ]

[ The last of her protests dies quietly on her tongue, and instead she feels herself move closer and closer towards that darkness, as though she was still nothing more than a Barbie doll, and someone was playing with her.

This isn't how she wants to go. This is, in fact, the opposite of everything she had finally decided on.

She wants to cry (again), and she wants to tell the voices to stop, to shut up, but she can't find it in her to fight.

It isn't until something — no, someone — interrupts her that she seems to snap out of the trance she'd been under. She even finds her voice again, and her wits. ]

Of course not, don't be silly. [ Except, of course, that her gaze somehow still manages to idly drift towards the darkness on the edge of the cliffside. She's still some paces away from it but the pull of those voices start to whisper their temptations once more.

She does her best to breathe, to clamp down on her will, and to focus on the presence of March being here. The man who looks so much like Ken, her Ken, and yet nothing at all like him at the same time. ]

Why ... are you here?

[ She’s not a very good liar. March finds it strangely charming. Probably it has something to do with the fact that he does nothing but lie. Professionally, to himself, the list is endless. But those blue eyes drift to the forest and it doesn't take a schmuck of a private to figure out what’s going on.

That’s fine. He keeps his distance, figuring that if it were him he’d get agitated if someone approached him with the intent of dragging him back. He’s fairly sure he can tackle her if she runs anyway. Probably he shouldn’t have this as an immediate thought, but can he really help it? The world sucks. Of course his first instinct is usually negative. Says a lot about him, but he’s not up for examining that right now: he’s far more focused on the blonde in front of him. ]

Saw a pretty chick without a coat. Put two and two together. [ He brings a hand up to motion to his head, tapping at his temple. He winks for good measure. ]

So. You, too, huh?

[ Keep her talking. Easier to block out the words with chatter. Relate. That voice has been simmering in Mach's skull like stew as well. ]

[ She'd never really been created to lie, so her skill is a little more than rusty. She is terrible at it, but if she'd learned how to cry and what anxiety feels like, maybe lying isn't so far-fetched a skill to acquire.

Still.

For now it's her earnestness that remains an intrinsic part of her personality, and it's March continuing to talk to her that slowly distracts her from the voices that fill her head with echoes of death and despair.

She nods. ]

They're just a little too convincing, you know? The echoes. It's like they know things.

Yeah.

[ It’s a semi-defeated tone, though in full agreement: he keeps eye contact with her, a flicker of a small smile gone and disappearing in a fraction of a second. They do know things. Too much.

This is such a pain in the ass. March sighs heavily, shrugs–hey, what’re you gonna do about this voice telling you you’re an extremely worthless piece of shit?--and starts to slide his coat off. ]

C’mon. C’mere. Let’s talk about it where it’s warm, dig?

[ Odd. He actually wants to make sure Barbie’s okay. He jerks his head behind him in the direction he came from, and shakes his coat a little bit to signal that he’s giving it to her if she wants it. ]

You’re going to freeze that extremely adorable nose right off your face. Less woods, more warm.

It ... is cold. [ Actually, she hadn't even really noticed until he brought it up, and now she realizes that in between the time it had taken to get from the village to here, she never even thought to put on a coat or her proper boots, or to even check her hair in the mirror before leaving the house. None of it had even crossed her mind, not one bit.

How could that be? ]

Okay.

[ Her voice sounds smaller than she'd ever like it to be, now that it dawns on her how insane this must all look. But she feels gradually more and more like herself again, her own thoughts and worries and feelings filling her brain again. They don't quite chase out the echoes of those horrifying voices, but they're quieter now.

She takes a step back from the cliff's edge and towards March. And then another and another until she's decidedly walking to him. ]

I wasn't going to — [ she starts weakly, stepping in to his coat. It feels warm already with the residual heat he'd left when he took it off. She shivers. ] I wasn't going to go with the voices.

[ She isn't sure if she's saying this for him or for herself. ]

[ Baby steps, but slow ones, and March probably can't hide the relief he feels when those steps are a little more purposeful. He doesn't really know Barbie--doesn't know much anyone in the village--but knows enough about her to understand that how despondent she was is extremely out of character. She's just gotta knit herself back together, and she's savvy enough that March isn't surprised when he sees that, too. ]

'Course you weren't. [ He doesn't believe that, not really, but that's not something Barbie needs to know. He offers a thin smile and starts to head back.

Fuck. He's freezing. Shit. ]

Gets easier to block out with time, you know. The voices.

Oh, good. I hope so.

[ She can't help the sigh she lets out, or the slight shiver either, because the voices haven't completely faded away yet. Perhaps it's still too soon for that.

She walks alongside him now, his coat draped over her shoulders and spares another glance up towards the profile of his astonishingly familiar face — only to see him shivering a little. Without anything but his thin shirt in this frigid cold, it's no wonder.

She isn't sure how she'd been out here for this long without a coat either. ]

Hey — um, Holland? You look cold. [ Obviously. ] We can share your coat until we get back to town. Honestly, I don't know what came over me not even thinking to bring a coat before stepping towards a dark abyss telling me to jump.

Wha? [ March says it immediately as Barbie says his name--it's a guy thing, it's a 70s thing, it's a 'talk over people naturally' thing, but it's mostly to show he's paying attention. He shrugs, waving dismissively. Let him play the gallant knight for once in his life. It kind of feels nice, asides from the freezing cold part. ]

I wouldn't worry about it--they can be pretty convincing. At least the new one. Really makes you wanna jump.

[ She's not entirely sure he's cut out for the gallant knight thing, at least not where offering his coat to her is concerned, but a second ... two ... later, and she pulls the coat closed again. Better not to lose more of her own heat, and he'd made himself pretty clear.

Instead, she edges just a little closer towards him in case heat-by-proxy is a thing. He's her friend, and he looks like Ken, and after everything she and Ken have gone through, she feels a bit of protectiveness over Holland March. ]

I really didn't like what they were saying. What were they saying to you?

[ March shrugs, desperately trying to keep the air of casualness about him. He doesn't like talking about this sort of stuff much, these feelings: he's a man, and this is what men do: keep mum about problems and bottle it all up and wear their vulnerability on a chain tucked under their shirt.

But maybe Barbie deserves this. Not the voice, but March sharing. The rest of the world is cold and withholding enough, and she's one hell of a bright light, so he might as well be vulnerable. She's pretty, too, in that jacket of his, but he respects her enough not to start. ]

Mostly that I'm worthless. Better to just...[ A shake of his hand towards where Barbie had been, smooth and flat like he's slowly karate chopping in the direction. ] I'm not gonna. Got Holly to take care of.

Oh, they're so wrong. They're so wrong!

[ About him, about her, about everything! And now that she's warm again, she feels a little fire burning inside of her, heating her desire to do something with that energy to prove just how wrong those voices really were.

Instead, they're walking back towards the village, and that's fine too. Maybe there will be a way to gather everyone else together and come up with some sort of a plan. She's done it before, she can probably do it again.

But one thing does stand out to her, something so personal she certainly can't ignore. Her voice has softened to a gentle ember, warm and open. ]

Who's Holly?

My daughter. [ March doesn't miss a beat. Hell, he's proud, lips curling up into a grin despite the situation, despite the grimness of it all. ] Just turned 13 before all this happened, this-- [ Another vague gesture. He can't help what comes out of his mouth, clearly proud. ]

Wanna see a picture?

Yes! Please.

[ The genuine affection and love that Holland very clearly feels about her daughter is infectious, and Barbie can't help but feel further warmed by the thought of him in his own world (somewhere that looks astonishingly a lot like Los Angeles if only because it's the only point of reference she has for the real world) caring for his daughter, the two of them living a life that reminds her a lot of Gloria and Sasha.

She smiles, eyes bright, and all thought of dark thoughts and voices seem to have gone away completely. ]

Tell me about her.

[ March can't help the small, boyish grin that peaks out behind his facial hair, feeling warmer even just talking about Holly. He can't help it--he may be the worst dad ever, but he still loves her. He'd still do anything for her.

He's pretty sure his back is permanently fucked because she wanted that film reel, but hey. A pinky promise is a pinky promise, and he shifts awkwardly to grab at his wallet. He's got a school photo of her, dated by a year but still very much Holly: she has her dad's hair and eyes, and March immediately hands it over. ]

She's great. 13 now, smarter than I'll ever be. Loves to read. I bought you for her when she was little. Not--Not, you, uh. A barbie doll. The one with the tan and the towel, big pink sunglasses.

[ Barbie happily (and gently) accepts the little photo, studying the face of a little girl who does bear a striking resemblance to her father ... and, again, a little bit to Ken. (But she doesn't dwell on that thought for more than a second.) ]

Oh, she sounds lovely.

[ And she perks up again at the mention of Barbie, returning the photo back to him. It's special and it should be protected until he can be reunited with her again. ]

Malibu Barbie! Oh, she's fun. [ But then how could you not be when you're all about the sun and friends and the beach? ] Does she still have her? Her Barbie, I mean.

[ March handles the photo with more care than he ever really handles anything: a warm reverence, a little last look before he tucks it away with his Safeway shoppers rewards punch card and a coupon for a free massage. ]

Yeah. Right next to her Agatha Christie collection by her dresser. No Ken, though. She's smart. She'd love you.

No Ken. [ She huffs a soft sound of amusement at that. It's a little strange to hear about Barbie without Ken because for so long Barbie and Ken were ... well, Barbie and Ken.

But she nods, her smile growing a little more serious. Thoughtful. ]

You know, I think I really needed to hear that. Hearing that there are so many girls who hate me, who think Barbie stands for all these awful things that happen in the real world, even if that really isn't true ... I'm glad you have her. Holly. And I'm glad she has you too.

[ March's face scrunches up, something he's glad is at least partially hidden by the night sky. They're almost at their shared domicile, too, which means March can shrug and brush the Holly comment off.

He knows he can do better. Deep down he does, But that's not something he's interesting in examining or touching on today. Not when it's Barbie that needs help. ]

Who's saying that? That Barbie's no good. Kids love Barbies. Girls are saying that?

These girls —

[ Barbie shakes her head.

Honestly, it doesn't really matter because she isn't even a doll anymore, and Sasha ... well, Barbie thinks she's warmed her over to a better understanding of Barbieland and the Barbies who live there.

Of course, Sasha will hardly be the first and only girl who thinks like that. And Barbie, for all that she might be naive about some things, knows better. ]

Maybe Barbie doesn't solve all of the world's problems, but we aren't causing any either. At least that's not what we're meant to do.

[ She shrugs helplessly. ]

I've since learned that the real world is complicated, even when it comes to Barbie's place in it.

[ March feels his chest tug in a similar fashion as it did when Holly used to get upset with these sort of things when she was younger, trying to navigate the world of pre-teens and elementary kids. Her mom was better at handling this stuff--and Barbie's a far cry from a kid--but there's that innocence that's hard to mask for the blonde and a large part of March wants to keep her from things like it, things like the bad stuff, the conflicting emotions, the gray monotony and the confusion of life. Best for her to be happy and worry and stress free, right?

Because here's a girl, and she's a grown woman, sure, but everything is new and exciting usually but now the bad stuff is happening too. It's unfair to try to shield her from it but the protective urge is there, rising like it's been doing more and more recently. Since Holly's pinky promise a few months ago, since arriving here. The voices Barbie's been hearing is proof that he can't, but he still wants to try. ]

Real world's a mess. I'm sorry you have to experience it. [ They've arrived, and March even opens the door for them, allowing himself to shiver properly the moment they're out of the cold. ]

Start a fire, would ya? I'll grab some blankets.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

extinction is the rule

( open ) it speaks — ;

fear in her;

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