methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
singmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2023-09-09 11:30 pm
singmod) wrote in singillatim2023-09-09 11:30 pm
Entry tags:
- *event,
- barbie: zelly,
- bigby wolf: jelle,
- bucky barnes: gail,
- callisto: iddy,
- castiel: noodle,
- clayton epps: thalia,
- cornelius hickey: kates,
- din djarin: cosmo,
- eddie munson: hannah,
- edward kenway: effy,
- edward little: jhey,
- erichthonios: fey,
- grace marks: bobby,
- harry goodsir: karin,
- holland march: chase,
- joel miller: noodle,
- kate marsh: cheryl,
- ken: laus,
- kieren walker: cheryl,
- levi jordan: cirape,
- max briest: justine,
- mohinder suresh: anna,
- nie huaisang: marlowe,
- nikolai lantsov: eden,
- number five: kayla,
- remy "thirteen" hadley: kaye,
- rorschach: shade,
- roy kent: cathy,
- simon "ghost" riley: milk,
- steve harrington: katy,
- takashi shirogane: terra,
- thomas richardson: beth,
- vash the stampede: fen,
- zoey westen: bri
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
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.
1. Due to the Aurora's influence, these wolves are harder,
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.
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.
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.
( closed to mohinder )
There's no way he hasn't woken up his neighbours with the abuse he's been yelling at these wolves. If this is how he's going to die, he won't do it silently. He'll die screaming at these wolves to go fuck themselves.
He can see a snout and snarling teeth through a small hole the wolves have managed to create in the door, and Roy bares his teeth back at them, just as much a wild beast as they are. He's been filled with anger since he got to Milton, itching for a fight. It's not the fight he was expecting - Roy Kent versus a pack of hungry wolves - but it is what it is. ]
Get fucked, you furry, ugly bastards! [ He shoves a broken bottle against the hole in the door once the wolf's snout is far enough, and he can feel the splatter of blood against his face, but it's nowhere near dead, only angrier. ]
no subject
This counts. Mohinder has been fortunate enough thus far to hear the wolves only at a distance, see only the aftermath of their attacks while helping the doctors to bandage the wounds, but there's no question now as to why his new neighbor is bellowing profanity fit to wake the dead. In other circumstances, Mohinder might have begun their acquaintance by opening a window to yell irritably back--but how could the guy not be shouting, when the sounds of howling and clawing and slavering are louder still? Mohinder doesn't fucking blame him.
He doesn't know firsthand how persistent the beasts are, with only the shell-shocked testimony of some of the wounded to go by, but whatever the man next door has just done to defend himself only seems to increase the volume of the howls. Matt would probably be proud of the speed with which Mohinder manages to vault out of bed, throw on a coat and arm himself. This would promptly be overshadowed by a lecture about suicidal recklessness, because if Mohinder can't trust his aim in the dark from the next house over, then he's just going to have to get up closer to the pack. What else is there to do, if the things can break down doors? He takes some marginally-effective cover behind a woodpile that sits between the two properties, and fires two quick shots into the roiling canine mass. ]
no subject
Roy quickly moves over to a window, pushing aside the curtain to look out. It's hard to see in the dark - he's joked about his eyesight not being good at night because of his age and maybe there's some truth to it - but then he spots some movement behind a woodpile. A mop of dark curls.
It doesn't take long for the wolves to figure out where the gun fired from. They can probably smell him, and he watches with dread as they make their way closer to the stranger's hiding. How many bullets did they have? Enough to kill a whole pack? Probably not.
Shit. He needed to create a distraction, enough of one for the stranger to flee to safety. Quietly, he opens the window and throws a bottle as far as he can down the street before ducking down out of sight. It might only succeed in distracting the wolves for just a few seconds, but hopefully it'll be enough for the man to get away. To go back to where he came from because Roy wasn't worth dying for. Wasn't worth saving.
He peeps out the window again to track the stranger's movements next. This was tenser than watching a football match. ]
no subject
But they don't need to. They head for him with alarming speed, and his first thought is to get back to his own house and regroup, but they're cleverer still than he could possibly have given them credit for--two of them have slunk around to try and cut him off from behind if he does.
The thrown bottle makes the wolves in front of him turn and startle, buys Mohinder just enough time to bolt past them instead and bang on Roy's door with the flat of his hand. The wolves are gaining on him again, though another gunshot briefly scatters them. ]
Just open up, quick, I'll help from in there--
no subject
Are you fucking mental? [ Are the first words out of Roy's mouth instead of thank you (he'll feel like a dick about this later). ] You were supposed to get the fuck away from here, not join me–
[ He pulls Mohinder away from the door just as the wolves return on the other side, one of them almost taking a chomp out of his leg thanks to that hole they made earlier. The smartest thing to do would be to push a great piece of bloody furniture in front of it, something he probably should have done earlier instead of antagonizing the wolves by yelling at them through the door, so Roy grabs one end of a dresser. ] Oi, help me with this. [ There's no time for please, not that Roy is particularly known for his manners. ]
no subject
What, and just let them bash their way in?
[ As if Mohinder hasn't let enough people die in the past few months. Those, at least, were mostly unintentional failures--nothing so deliberate as going home and barricading his own door and blocking out the howls until they stopped. ]
You can't have expected me to--
[ He grabs the other end of the heavy dresser, grunting with the exertion as he helps pull it along. ]
--just roll over and go back to bed while they ate you alive.
no subject
[ Mohinder doesn't appear to be 'some people' though. He's never had anyone come to his rescue like this, mostly because the most danger he's ever been in is being caught up in a fight at a football match, and he was more than capable of defending himself in those situations. Being attacked by wolves is wildly different, and he doesn't know how to process someone risking their life for him in such a way. ]
Listen up. [ He's using his Coach voice, getting right up in Mohinder's face which is probably a bad idea when the guy has a gun, but the adrenaline running through his veins makes him ignore that. If he acts like a dick, maybe Mohinder will realize he's made a mistake. ]
This ain't a movie where you're guaranteed to make it to the sequel because you're the good-looking lead with a gun. [ Did he just pay Mohinder a compliment? Anyway - ] This is reality. Reality is shit. Good people die. And now you've tripled your chances of that happening by being here. [ By being with Roy. There's a reason why he's living alone. His knee injury puts anyone he's with in danger. He can't have people waiting for him to catch up. He can't have people working twice as hard to keep him alive because he's the weakest link. He doesn't want to be a burden on anyone, and if that means dying alone, so be it.
His knee didn't like him moving that dresser and suddenly he winces, a crack in his angry mask showing, a flash of vulnerability in his eyes, and then he's hobbling towards the nearest chair to sit down. ]
no subject
If he analyzes this later, he might recognize it for what it is (and be pleased, in spite of himself, at the compliment)--but right now, with adrenaline surging and the wolves still at the door, it only has the desired effect of making him angry. The outrage of being told good people can die for no reason, as if he doesn't know, as if he hasn't lain awake at night replaying the vision of his father's last moments, the security footage of the spreading pool of blood under Thompson's head, the sight of Dale Smither's hollowed-out skull with the knowledge that he delivered her cheerfully to her murderer on a silver platter--
But it stings nearly as much to know that this man is still right, for all that. He's no less correct in his assessment than Matt with his exasperated "you're a professor, Mohinder, not 007." And it's the blow to his ego that makes him set his jaw and argue back. ]
Reality? We've been teleported out of our homes to a frozen wasteland that makes us hallucinate ghosts, and you want to lecture me about reality?
Who the hell are you to presume I don't know how--
[ A loud crack at the door makes him break off and whip around, but the barricade is holding, even if the wolves would rather it not. Mohinder turns back around just in time to catch that look on Roy's face, and his own flare of temper melts away as Roy sits. ]
Did they hurt you?
no subject
Did they hurt you? Now there's a question that makes him feel like he just stepped into a therapist's office - but he's probably talking about the wolves and his injury, not his personal issues with relationships. ]
No. [ Sat hunched over with one elbow against his good knee, Roy grits his teeth through the pain. ] I'll tell you what is excruciating - this conversation.
[ But they're stuck together now until one of them comes up with a plan, and Roy heaves out a sigh. ]
I don't mean to be a prick— actually, I do. [ He corrects himself honestly. ] But there's a reason why I live here alone. I'm not a fucking people person, alright? And I never asked you to save me. [ He'd never ask anyone to do that because that would require having an ounce of self-worth. ]
So thank you. [ For coming to his rescue. ] And fuck you. [ ...For coming to his rescue.
(At least he said thank you in his own way - the Roy Kent way.) ]