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

[fidior]

[ Edward gives a glossy-eyed blink as he looks back to the offensive creature, listening to the other man's words. That's. That's all a very good point! He has no idea what he's doing, but that sounds like a very good point!

And clearly this much younger man (sorry Huaisang, he went from thinking you were a beautiful woman to thinking you're like eighteen years old) has experience with such matters, so Edward is very much looking to him for guidance on this. ]

I see what you mean... but what can be done? I'll not leave it in your home, for you to be alone with it.

[ He eyes the thing again, sideways this time, cutting his gaze warily to it. ]

[fanoperator]

[Huaisang frowns as he thinks about that, brow furrowing. After a few seconds, he sits down, still just clutching the throw blanket in his hands. It's strange, people asking his opinion and advice about things. He doesn't feel like he knows anything, and he's more out of his depth than ever, and yet no one here has treated him with the same assumption of uselessness that he's accustomed to from back home.

Everything about the glass box feels like an enormous chasm of unknowns. Is it hostile? Inert? A spirit? A natural element? It's asleep or inactive now, and it's made no move to escape or attack. Even though it startled him quite badly, it still made no actual hostile movements. It seems like ... just a box. With one glass wall. And he's not sure that it isn't some defensive measure, capturing spirits that come into the house so they can't do any damage.

Instead, he finds himself thinking of the woman on the lake that tried to attack and drown him, and the hostile whispering voices, and all the dead figures looking toward the horizon, the same horizon, and the hungry, vicious wolves.

In comparison to all that, it's hard to be afraid of a glass box full of angry hornets.]

I don't know, [he says at last, sighing tiredly. He arranges the blanket over his lap, smoothing it down, because it comforts him and it's something he can control.] I don't know if it's a threat or a protection. It frightened me, but it didn't actually make any threats or attempts to harm me. In this place with so very many things that are unfamiliar and so very many things that want to kill us ... it isn't as though anywhere or anything is safe.

[fidior]

[ Certainly, Edward Little knows what it is to feel in over his head — swallowed up and overwhelmed, and a particular guilt associated with the feeling lives within him like some gluttoned parasite, feeding, growing bigger and bigger with each passing day.

His inability to know what to do cost so many lives. So much pain. And even now, as he tries so desperately to help people, to take care of and protect them the way he's meant to.... he's so often at a loss.

Which is why, when he watches the younger man move to sit, and hears that tired sigh, something within the lieutenant aches softly, and he finds himself hesitating only a moment before drawing carefully over to join him on the sofa. He's wary to step away from the creature, but he keeps his gun with him, resting it on his lap and aimed away from the other man as he listens to him speak. ]

Forgive me if this is too brazen, but I feel I understand your thoughts, [ he offers after a moment, quietly and with a furrowed brow of empathy. ] There is much here that I also do not... understand. Much that is unlike where I come from. Truly, I feel... lost, as though in a dream.

[ It isn't typical for him to speak of his feelings, and he's a little awkward with it, though earnest. After a moment, he voices a question. ]

You are... clearly quite familiar with spirits. Is everyone, in your world? Or is it your specialty?

[fanoperator]

Everyone of my ... [He tries to think of some phrasing to explain their very specific societal structure to someone from an entirely different world.] Social class. At this point, it's a specialty of the nobility, though there are still rogue cultivators who specialize in it, too.

I'm not very good at it.

Anyway, I don't think it was brazen at all. [He gives his new acquaintance a sad and tired little smile.] But some of my favorite people are brazen, so feel free to continue all the more boldly in my company.

[fidior]

[ The man's eyebrows lift slightly at that, curious as he listens. Certainly, he understands the importance of societal structure and the differences amongst the classes, though to hear that in this young man's world, the nobility specialises in such things... It's so different. All of this... ideas of magic and spirits.... it's so hard for him to comprehend.

But it must be incredibly important in his new companion's world, and Edward offers another empathetic little half-smile. 'I'm not very good at it.' ]

It seems a difficult thing for anyone to master. I can scarcely imagine how challenging something like that must be.

[ To communicate with spirits.... and what else this responsibility may require. Edward glances back to the thing for a moment before he very carefully sets his shotgun down on the floor, near his feet. Hands freed, he can reach up to touch the tip of his officer's cap and give a polite nod. Especially given what he's just learned of the other's social ranking, it's only proper. ]

Before I continue, please allow me to introduce myself. Edward Little, Lieutenant of Her Majesty's Royal Navy. It is a pleasure to meet you, though I am sorry it is under such circumstances.

[fanoperator]

[Huaisang smiles softly, pleased by the formality. Little is the first person to offer such formality to him since his arrival here. Even though Huaisang never much cared for formality back home, it's been unnerving that no one here bothers with it at all.] Sect Leader Nie Huaisang, of the QingheNie Province. Please just call me Huaisang. It's a pleasure to meet you as well.

[He thinks just a moment before deciding what he wants, and nods his chin in the direction of their glass enemy.] We'll hold vigil. Go on and take off your boots, though, while we're inside, and then we can sit and stay warm while we keep watch.

[And cuddle. For body heat. But also just because Huaisang is a bit cuddle-starved in his situation back home, and Little already makes him feel safe.]

[fidior]

[ It's a lot of words the likes of which Little's never heard before, but his polite smile maintains. Though there's a moment when he angsts over mispronouncing the other's name — Huaisang. He may require some practice....

Until then, he's nodding at the instruction. Certainly, he's happy to follow what Huaisang desires; this is his home, his creature. And keeping vigil over it is the plan he would likewise suggest, though for how long.... well, he isn't certain. Even if the thing displays no further aggression, can this home truly be called "safe", so long as such an unknown entity remains within it? It will have to be removed or dealt with, somehow.

Until then, keep watch. Edward leans forwards to remove his long boots as directed, tucking them neatly aside. ]

Thank you. I apologise for such an abrasive entry into your home, Mr. Huaisang. [ He definitely doesn't pronounce that right, but there's an attempt! And a beat, as another discomfort trickles in; he gives a frown, deeply embarrassed by his blunder. ] ....I must also apologise for referring to you as madam, before. Your clothing, and the length of your hair.... where I am from, only women appear in such fine things.

[ ...Granted, never with their hair worn so loosely, and the thin material of the clothing makes it seem almost like night-wear, which would also not be seen out in public, but. It's painfully evident that this man doesn't come from Victorian England. ]

[fanoperator]

You were coming to help me. There's no reason to apologize. Come and sit with me? It's always so cold here, even with a fire.

[He lifts up one side of the blanket to offer it, inviting Little in to sit beside him.] Where I come from, only convicts have short hair and the trousers that everyone seems to wear around here are a style that I'm only used to seeing as undergarments. I feel terribly out of place, even though it seems as though I'm one of the few who are accustomed to snowy mountain regions. I suppose we're all out of place in this world.

[fidior]

[ There's a quiet relief that he hasn't terribly offended his new companion, though it's immediately followed with an equally quiet startle at the request. He isn't used to drawing near to others — though Edward is an unexpectedly affectionate man in his ways, prone to small gestures of intimate physical contact with his men and the other lieutenants of his ship.

But to someone he's only just met, there are certainly societal discomforts of his time associated with breaching someone's personal space. And yet, to be beckoned forth by someone who is not from his society, but from a high society of his own, surely with his own norms and social delights.... He hesitates to deny the man's request, especially when it surely is meant to be a gesture of goodwill.

And so he moves to sit alongside him, even if a bit awkwardly, body tense. Still, he offers a little smile as he listens to the other man explain more about his world. Yes, it seems that there is much that is different, but... one thing stands out: mention of the cold. ]

Before this place, I was on a ship set to explore the Arctic — through waters and ice colder than any I have ever known.... for some years.

[ Edward pauses again, solemn. Strange to think that the cold is something he feels so familiar with, now. But he looks back up to the other man, curious of what he'd mentioned. ]

It is very cold, where you come from?

[fanoperator]

[Huaisang spreads the blanket over Little's lap, tucking it in so he'll be warm and pressing close against his side to share some body heat as well.] Not like this, no. We have snow, and high in the mountains the snow can get deep, but still ... never like this. I've never known a cold like this, nor snow so deep and lasting. In my region, it rains in winter as often as it snows, so the snow doesn't last more than a few weeks except on the mountain tops. But some things are the same. Enough things so that at least I'm used to snow, and mountains, and how to walk on steep slopes in the ice, and how to trap birds.

Back home I only trapped songbirds, collecting them as pets. I still can't bear to kill the birds I catch here, which makes for an awkward time dragging them back to the community hall to find someone else to do the killing.

[fidior]

[ Edward's unable to stop himself from stiffening slightly, eyes widening with a bout of nerves. He tries to keep his mannerism controlled, but — oh yes, he's quite unused to this type of closeness with another.

But he keeps himself polite for his present company, not shirking from the weight of the other man's body against him. Still, when he speaks, his voice is a little tighter, and there's a slight flush to his complexion. This is fine....! ]

Ah— perhaps there are other tasks better suited for you, so that you don't have to subject yourself to such discomfort. [ His strained smile manages to soften a little at the corners. It's... a deeply sad thought, that someone who so enjoys birds would have to resort to such things here. ]

Wood is always in demand to heat homes — I spend much of my time chopping and collecting it, when not on patrols.

[ Huaisang, have you ever chopped wood... ]

[fanoperator]

All the tasks of survival are uncomfortable. I'd rather paint and read, but those things are of little value in this place and I don't wish to starve. I can't cook or clean or care for a house, but I know how to lay traps for small animals, to build a fire, and to do a little field medicine. So I try to go out trapping twice a day, morning and afternoon, while it's light, and the rest of the time I keep the fire burning in the community center or treat injuries until one of the more capable doctors can get to them.

[All these tasks feel exhausting, and yet Huaisang still feels utterly useless. People seem to take him more seriously here, and yet he's never been so out of his depth.]

It's good of you to help chop wood. The community center is always in need of it.

[As is Huaisang, it would seem. There's no fire burning in his little house, and it's only fractionally warmer inside than outside. He knows that must be obvious in this moment, and he feels embarrassed about it.]

I don't really live here. I ... I can't live alone. Like I said. I can't cook or clean. [He starts blinking, finding tears springing up in his eyes. He's never felt so alone, but he doesn't know anyone well enough to ask to live with them, to ask them to cook and clean for him, so all he can do is stay in the community house and bring in the small animals his traps have caught, in hopes that his contribution will be worth the food he eats.]

This house is just the place I come when I want to be alone for a while, a place to do a little of my art.

[fidior]

[ Edward falls quiet to listen — always better with that, with listening. And he finds ideas forming, things that he might be able to offer the other man, quietly kept inside just for a few moments longer so that he may sort out the thoughts properly. But first....

He pauses from where he'd attentively been listening, head tilting slightly as he hears, feels, the shift in Huaisang's voice. He's always been sensitive to upsets in others, empathetic perhaps to a fault, absorbing and internalising those things. As he hears it now, his frown is deepening again, and then his mouth parts softly as he sees the gleam of wet across the other man's blinking eyes — Ah.

He leans forwards a little, brow knit. He has nothing to offer, no handkerchief, only the woolen fingerless gloves he's wearing — hardly suitable for his present company to use upon his delicate features..... The lieutenant fights a helpless sensation in his chest, realising that all he has to soothe with are his words, and so he offers them, gently. ]

It matters, [ he begins, quietly. ] The things you do here, no matter how small they may seem. Trapping, maintaining the fire, treating injuries as you're able — those things do matter. It's all right if you can't do other things. Those are the tasks you can do.

[ And he firmly believes in their importance. But he knows his words likely won't be enough, and he understands what it is to feel so horribly inadequate.... ]

If you'd like, you could accompany me sometime. On patrols, and gathering wood. I could show you some things I've learned, and I could always use a hand.

[ Sometimes Kate Marsh accompanies him, and it's nice. (Oh no Little, don't look now but you're adopting more ducklings...) ]

Perhaps you could show me some things, as well. I do not know much of art, but in a place like this... perhaps it could be soothing.

[fanoperator]

[At the suggestion of adding patrols and wood-gathering to the tasks he already does, Huaisang gives him a pained grimace, agonized by the thought of more tasks, more discomfort. But he tames it almost immediately, not wanting to displease his new friend.

He's surprised at himself for not pouting and wheedling, insisting that he can't do anything, begging to be spoiled. It's how he would usually deal with things. But perhaps, he thinks, the core of his nature is not actually helpless and spoiled, it's that he's a results-driven sort of lazy. Wheedling had been the most effective way to deal with Mingjue and Meng Yao, but he'd always found it worked better to be pleasantly forgettable with the children of other sects. He adapts in order to get the best result. It's interesting to him that he's adapted again, seeking another result.]

I can show you trapping. It's a patrolling sort of thing already. So as to not duplicate efforts. [So as to offload as much of Huaisang's efforts as possible onto whatever amount of effort Little is already doing.] I don't want to gather wood. I've gathered some berries and other edible plants, as I can. Gathering wood is too much. I'm already so tired, all the time.

[fidior]

[ Little doesn't miss that grimace, even if it lasts only briefly, and he finds himself unable to stop from giving a little chuckle, even if it's very slight and soft. There's an amusement to the reaction, one perpetuated by the younger man's honesty. 'I don't want to gather wood'

It's so... unlike Edward, who does tasks without any complaint, even those he would much rather not do, and there's something oddly.... refreshing to hearing someone outright say they don't want to do a thing. This new companion of his is indeed very mysterious, very different, and it's intriguing even for a man who clings so fiercely onto what he does know.

But sometimes he gets tired, too. It might be nice to complain, sometimes. Maybe someday, even the stern Edward Little can learn how. ]

In that case, leave the gathering of wood to me. [ He offers another little smile. ] But perhaps patrolling — yes. We can work together there. I should like to learn trapping. And it's much safer in pairs. One shouldn't be out alone for long, here.

[ He looks back to the creature (television set) for a moment. Speaking of being alone... he tips his head slightly towards it in gesture. ]

I can keep watch here tonight, if you'd like, so that you may get some rest. Or if you'd feel safer at the Community Center, I can escort you back there.

[fanoperator]

[It's a very kind offer, to watch over him while he sleeps, and Huaisang appreciates it deeply, but something immediately sticks out to him about the offer, and his brow furrows.]

Who watches over you, while you sleep? [Huaisang asks softly. He suspects that there isn't anyone, that Little is offering this protection without expecting anyone to protect him in return. If it comes to that, standing watches, then Huaisang supposes it'll be more efficiently done at the community center. Then only one or two need to keep watch for a dozen sleepers. Trading off one to one is a more costly bargain.]

[fidior]

[ Edward gives a little smile, dipping his head slightly for a moment, finding himself oddly almost a bit embarrassed to admit. ]

Ah— I'd be up, regardless. I tend not to find much sleep in the night.

[ He usually keeps awake long into the hours, whether starting up a fresh patrol around the town or spending time alone in his small cabin. Nighttime brings fresh aches and pains — literal ones, he finds, the joints of his body hurting, or his head and stomach. He suspects it's the poison he knows lives within him.

Then there are the mental pains. It's in the night that his internal ghosts find release from his body, dance around him, whisper against the shell of his ear in the darkness. The corpses of his dead men. ]

Please spare no worries for my sake. It is no trouble for me to stay guard, if you'd rather have your private bed here. [ He knows sleeping in the Community Center can steal one's privacy and perhaps be a bit more uncomfortable than in a personal home. ]