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

— the aurora, aftershocks; open.

[symptomatic]

i. signals.

[ The skies change. And then, the lights turn on.

Later, when it happens again over the next month, it'll be easier to stomach. They'll have problems with wolves, and fire, and the nightmares and voices and thoughts that are strongest in the dark. But right now— right now, Thirteen makes a beeline for one of the abandoned houses.

She knows nobody's staying there. She knows that because she's been checking up on it, every so often. She knows that because, in the second floor study, there's an old computer, and an even older radio. Her boots crunch in the snow as she runs, heart thudding so loudly in her ribcage that it feels like urgency, like that stupid, impossible desire to have something work — a diagnosis, some truth, an answer to where they are, what happened here, how to leave. If they can leave. Somebody else has to be out there, don't they?

Quick, harsh footsteps as she clambers up the stairs. There's red in her cheeks from the cold, the run over here. She flicks the lights in the room on, the computer, the old ham radio. It was probably some guy's hobby, rather than rescue effort, but as she's about to sit, someone else climbs up the stairs. Yeah — no way she was the only one to have a similar idea. Thirteen nods, floats a suggestion, still a little out of breath, ]

Check the computer? I'll figure out the radio.

ii. echoes. cw child abandonment, violence, brief ref. to mental illness.

[ The difference in delusion and hallucination is that, generally, one is interactive over the other. It's a cold comfort. It doesn't stop Thirteen, either, from seeing them, once the lights split the night sky again. Angry, feral people, yelling at other faces, or a girl sobbing as she's laid out on the ground, shotgun pointed at her face. Another kid, too; his eyes wide, as if he's caught sight of something in the distance, then running off.

He passes by, close enough to touch. Close enough that it feels like, if only for a moment, he's looking directly at her. There's something so, so frightened in his face. Alone, maybe eleven years old, with nothing but a backpack and the wilderness, and whatever is happening right now, whatever they're all seeing in Milton.

It's not long before Thirteen's steps go from walk into a run. And then her feet stumble, almost, half-tripping over each other as she thinks about that kid, about how he looked like her brother: same age, same height, same chin, her head on a swivel as she looks confusedly from door to door—

—landing her right in somebody's way. She bumps, hard, shoulder-first, and barely even clocks who it is. Her words come out even, but everything about her isn't: ]

Did you see him?

[ The house on the left. Is that where the kid— ghost? —went? It must have been, she thinks, and she barely registers any response, just makes her way to that house on the left, ]

There was this kid. He looked— upset, like he saw something.

ii

[finefurryfella]

[ Roy would very much like to know what the fuck is going on, but he's had little to no answers since he got here, no fucking thanks to Methman (aka Methuselah, he just can't remember his actual name) who just fucks off to whereever the fuck he came from. Then again, Roy can hardly blame the guy when him and the rest of the arrivals aren't his problem. Roy would probably do the same. (And like Methuselah, he'd come back to check on everyone because he does have a conscience.)

He should probably be focusing more on the unexpected surge of electricity brought on by the aurora, but it's the appearance of people - there but not there - that makes him stop and stare. He's never seen a ghost before - is this what they look like? Or is he having some kind of mental breakdown brought on from the stress of being stuck in Milton without football?

He's had a lifetime of shoulders bumping heavily into him, mostly on the pitch, so it doesn't faze him. ]

Doc. [ He greets her with a nod before looking towards where he saw the kid went. Roy was drawn to the kid too, which he wonders is the result of spending so much time with his niece. Becoming an uncle has changed him over the years, makes him notice children more when they're sad because he's always looking for those signs in Phoebe. He wants to make sure she's happy and if she's not, he'll fix it. ]

I saw him. You're seeing this shit too, then? [ He's not just talking about the kid - he's talking about everyone. ]

i

[bigbaddy]

[ Honestly, it's not even that Bigby initially came over here to check out the technology. His attention was just first drawn towards someone rushing through the place like that, trying to figure out what was going on - following her because of that, only realising what she might be doing once he also enters the house and realises the equipment that's lying around in here.

A smart idea. She's definitely getting points with him for that, though the expression on the man's face shifts into something a little bit more awkward when she starts to say that. ]

Can we maybe do it the other way around? [ It feels a little childish to ask for that, but on the other hand, Bigby knows doing it the other way around is a bad idea. He figures he ought to clarify though, even if he only looks more embarrassed as he admits: ] I'm not really.. good with these things.

[ He gestures vaguely in the direction of the computer. A radio? Sure, he can work that, but the chance he'd just break something on the computer is way bigger than him actually getting it to work properly. ]

signals!

[babysitters]

( so, it turns out? flickering lights, electrical misfires, things turning on and off? that sets off a bad sort of itch, under his skin. flickering lights wasn't the worst of news, in the realm — basically a "hey, idiot! generator needing fixing over here!" and as an idiot, Steve had appreciated the obvious tell. however, even though it sort of feels like he's been stuck in these murder games forever, technically he hasn't been.

and before then, wildly strobing lights and power surges just meant something faceless and hungry was crawling out of a wall, and things were about to get ugly.

for the most part, he's kept away from the lights. because... well, just for personal, wanting to stay alive reasons! not that things are much better out in the cold. the wolves just won't goddamn stop, no matter how many times he catches them somewhere squishy with his nail bat. he can scare them off (often at the expense of a hunk of flesh) but he can't get them to go away, not for long.

so it wasn't for some grand plan he followed the lady darting through the snow. he wasn't en route to fuss with electronics. more he didn't like the idea of someone being in here on their own if something went sideways. the creaking, cracking lights make him think that it might. he doesn't hear screaming, but he slinks slowly up the stairs anyway, tracking the footsteps and the sounds, and —

nearly jumps out of his skin when the lady he came in here after immediately notices him. so he's just the teensiest bit on edge, thanks for noticing! ) Jesus, ( Steve condemns, trying to swallow his startle. it's not very effective. he feels immediately foolish for being so skittish — he's getting startled by being noticed by the person he chose to follow? get it together, Harrington! — so the command of what he should do with himself is a small relief. though..... as he sends a leery glance toward the computer, testing a grip on his bloody bat (hmm, perhaps following people with a BLOODIED BAT isn't a good idea, Steve?), he is obviously unsure. ) Check it for what?

ii. echoes (cw: dissociation things)

[fidior]

[ Edward Little is no stranger to ghosts.

But his have existed internally, haunting him from within. He hears them, those phantom sounds of memory, the familiar voices of the men: whispers, cries, laughs, moans of pain. The captain's voice calling his name in its thickly-accented Irish. Edward.

He feels them inside of himself, aching, strained. Though food is scarce here, there is more than he once had. Enough to keep his belly fed, even if not full. But still it hurts the way it had when it was starving, making him double over in the night, curled up into himself. And not only his belly, but other parts of him — an ache that spreads through his limbs, his joints. He knows his ghosts are not true ones, hardly believes in such things, but on those pained nights, he imagines his men clawing at him from the inside all the same, and he allows himself to. It is, of course, what he deserves.

He has never seen anything like those flickering shapes that appear through the town. His first is a woman shielding two children in her arms, kneeling down in the snow. Next is a man running, features impossible to define, but his crackling static voice is crying out. For help, in fear, distressed. He disappears, then appears again, running. Always running.

Little can't— understand this. Can't comprehend. And every defense he has been so obstinately willing himself to maintain (every day he dons his uniform, keeps it crisp and professional, patrols the streets of this town and tries to keep order, tries to be who he once was, and this is how he copes, this is how he keeps going—) ....crumples. He can't... do anything, can't react; his fear, horror, aversion have him in a vice-grip. There he stands in the middle of the street, looking ever the part of authority in his long greatcoat and officer's cap, shotgun strapped to his back. But his eyes are wide and a little glazed, and his mouth is tipped open just-so. His heart is pounding, or has it frozen? He can't tell. He can't tell anything.

Then something's making contact with him, hard, and the lieutenant gasps aloud, startled out of his daze, or perhaps into another one. ]

Please forgive me— [ comes the automatic apology, polite in its formality even now, but then his own words cut themselves off quickly. A child? Had he seen a child...? He has seen many things, many... forms on this street, and his mind has struggled to process them. With an odd jerking motion of his head (a shake? he doesn't know) Edward is following along after the woman as though on auto-pilot, boots heavy as they crunch against snow. He does not know why he follows, only that it feels right. Perhaps a desperation to stay close to someone who is real and solid and true. To follow someone else's path.

But when he asks, it's with a wide, hazy expression, and he speaks with confusion. He may be caught in a dream. He feels.... distant from himself, as though this is happening to someone else. ]

I don't understand. What is— what is happening...?