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

[m1895]

[ A genuine smile tugs at the edges of Vasiliy's mouth as deep brown eyes twinkle with amusement. ]

Yes. I have been smoking for a very long time. It grows on you. Everyone coughs at first.

[ He takes a drag off his own cigarette and gets up, pulling a pair of nitrile gloves from the kit bag open on the coffee table and putting them on as he walks to the kitchen. He pours off some of the water in the pot that was sterilizing the needle and thread, then plucks them from the warm bath with one gloved hand and carries back the pot of saline solution with the other.

He sets down the pot and draws up two irrigation syringes, placing them (and the needle and thread) down atop a clean towel. ]

My family name is Ardankin. Yegorovich is... like your middle name. It is okay for you to call me just Vasiliy Yegorovich. [ It's not, of course, a "just" to a Russian speaker—there's a respectful distance, a degree of formality to it—but any use of a given name, to an Englishman, seems to carry a feeling of informality. ] Are you ready?

[fidior]

[ It's strange, the sensation in his throat from the experience. Altogether more abrasive than what he's used to, and he's not too sure he enjoys it, but manners are manners and he's already accepted the offer. He holds the stick inbetween two fingers like he's not quite sure what to do with it, but he'll try again shortly....

For now, he watches the other man, a little apprehensive by all of the things that register as unfamiliar — especially the use of gloves. It's all quite strange, but he tries to calm himself, lifting the cigarette back to his face, breathing in the smell of it as he listens to the explanation. So— both names, then? Mr. Vasiliy Yegorovich.... He'll remember that, and stick to it (because of course the formal Lieutenant Little will).

An inhale through his nostrils, slow and long, and then a quiet release from his mouth. Edward looks up at the other man, giving as severe of a nod as if he were about to have major surgery.... ]

I'm ready. [ Almost immediately after, perhaps a concern that's been lingering or perhaps just a rush of words to release some nervous energy— ]

I'll make certain to pay you for your time and use of resources, of course — in some way.

[m1895]

Please. There is no need. I do it as part of the collective. I give my help because it is what is most useful from me. I receive things in return already.

[ He can't help but to at least allow a vague trace of his own communism to seep through—it is, to him, a natural answer, the most obvious one, even though he figures it wouldn't be to an Englishman from the height of industrialization. He pulls back the cold-stiffened plunger of one syringe and draws up 60 ccs of saline, then repeats with the other. ]

We all do what we can. I am going to take off the jacket now.

[ He does, setting it to the floor. The wound seeps blood anew, but not as aggressively as it had been. There's dirt and grit in the long lacerations, contaminants the wolves had carried on their long sharp nails after they sank into the mud under the snow.

He grabs the towel and presses it to the intact skin at the end of the wound, then positions the luer slip at the uppermost edge and slowly depresses the plunger, flushing out a small river of debris that soaks into the towel as dirty pink water mixed with streaks of brighter blood. He keeps his voice muted, both an effect of focusing on what he's doing and an effort to keep his patient calm. ]

Done with that one.

[fidior]

[ "The collective" isn't a phrase he's too used to hearing, but there is something of it that sticks out, to Little, at least — the idea of being useful. Perhaps in different shapes and forms; he can't fully relate to the way the other man lays it out, but.... there's a soft hitch of something within his own chest to the concept.

It is rare to hear someone voice such a thing so directly, however, at least when and where Little's from. There's something intriguing to it all, and a little unsettling in the same vein — he isn't fully sure what to make of his new companion, although he holds onto his own concepts of gratitude and exchange, and knows he can't simply let this go. He'll have to pay him back somehow, or at the very least show his appreciation in some meaningful way.

For now, he doesn't want to distract the man from his task at hand and falls quiet again, readying himself as the jacket is removed and letting his eyes fall back to the tools in Vasiliy's hands. He's not seen any sort of.... pump? like this device. His eyes widen as he stares down at it, giving a sudden sharp gasp of breath, surprised. He's staring, looking equal parts startled and frightened, swallowing back a little wave of sudden, odd nausea by the display. It doesn't hurt terribly — a bit of a sting as the current makes contact with the wound — but it's mostly the novelty of it that disturbs him (and some of it his lack of a strong stomach for medical things in general).

Still, he can see that it appears to have... cleaned the scratch, and there's some quiet awe to the fact. If they'd had access to such tools as this... ]

....That device.... cleaned the wound?

[m1895]

Yes. You fill it with sterile saline to irrigate debris before closing wounds. That way there is no dirt inside. Then you sanitize with antiseptic.

[ The sanitization normally happened after the patient had left his hands, but that's a luxury he no longer has. He knew enough, at least, to know what disinfectant to grab from the over-the-counter shelves of the pharmacy; with every passing day, he feels more like a nurse than an EMT, and he's taken to educating himself as best he can based on what limited literature he can find around town. ]

We use povidone-iodine in my time. Do you know this solution?

[fidior]

[ It's a lot of terms he's unfamiliar with, although iodine is one that he does know, vaguely. He isn't close to the medical community, lacks most knowledge, but he'd studied up on some basic terms before embarking on the voyage. (The "povidone" part, he's not so familiar, and so he's shaking his head) ]

I cannot say that I do, no. But... one of my companions who served on the same expedition is here. An anatomist who acted as doctor out of necessity, when our situation became more.... dire. I'm sure he should like to know about such advancements as these.

[ The subject of Goodsir is a difficult one, uneasy. Edward doesn't quite know where they stand with one another, and with this place itself. Are they "fellow survivors?" He feels more like a ghost, and that the other man haunts the same space as himself. ]

[m1895]

[ An anatomist. He's not exactly sure what that would entail—dissecting cadavers for medical illustrations is his best guess, the sort of thing that would be useful if surgery needed to be performed, less so for medical complaints. Not that there was much that they could do for lead poisoning in his grandparents' time.

Vasiliy doesn't point out that here he's in much the same situation as the anatomist was there: he's outside of his scope of practice, operating in the realm of what he's read in books since his arrival and what he happened to observe in hospitals, not things he's been properly trained to do. It's what the situation requires of him. ]

I can show him some things.

[ It's good to keep him talking, to get his mind off of it; they have a long way to go yet. He glances back down at the two uncleaned gashes remaining. ]

I am going to flush these now.

[fidior]

[ Edward gives a nod, emotions muted but an earnest warmth to his eyes at the thought. Goodsir would appreciate it, he's sure. And not only that, but— ]

—It's good, for the people here, that there are those such as yourself and Mr. Goodsir. It's... a great relief. So much can afflict a person in cold such as this.

[ And he certainly can speak from experience now, given what this man is doing for him now. Granted, his wounds may have come from wolves, not the cold itself, but... the environment is the problem. This world, this cold. White and sterile and unforgiving. The creatures that live here would of course be deadly; they'd have to be. It's all.... terrifying.

With that, he nods at the remark and keeps his body still, ready for the next two flushes to come. ]