singillatim | there'll be oats in the water

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there'll be oats in the water

JULY 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE AURORA: REDUX: A storm finally arrives, and with it — Enola extends her hand to help the Interlopers once more, granting them new abilities.

PROMPT TWO — PENSIVE LOOKOUT: With the Forest Talker efforts focused on sabotaging hunting efforts, Interlopers can attempt to explore the Pensive Lookout Tower, where they can uncover secrets from the diary of Sam Bouchard — the former firewatch worker of the summer of 2014.

PROMPT THREE — A PEEK INSIDE: A group of Interlopers get their hands on one of the Forest Talkers in search of answers — and get a little more than they bargained for.

THE AURORA: REDUX

WHEN: Mid-month, for three days.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural/extreme weather; lightning storms; potentially disturbing dreams; dreams of being trapped in ice; dreams of animal death; dreams of the death of loved ones.

July brings warmer weather. The fog has lifted, and the daylight returned — but an odd kind of pressure lingers in the air, the kind that feels similar with oncoming storms but something still feels off about it all. Measurements and readings are erratic, with them often making little sense. It’s hard to predict just what might be coming, but sure enough something is coming.

Hold on a little longer, Enola told you. A storm is coming.

It comes quickly, the gathering of storm clouds. At first, it looks as if a kind of snowstorm is moving in, but there’s something else at play here. Within the grey, cloudy skies, there is a tell-tale sound of an Aurora mixed within those clouds.

And with it, in amongst the dark, the swirling colours. Greens, pinks and purples weaving through the clouds, almost mesmerising to watch. The air is alive with sound: static noise, cracks and pops: a storm and the Aurora mixed into one. For those who’ve been here long enough, it’s a worrying, unnerving sight. The storm rumbles with the low roar of distant thunder, growing ever closer. The electronics of the world begin to come alive, and in the static of it all — you begin to hear Enola’s voice even clearer than before.

After so much darkness, now there is so much light. A lightning storm — aurora colours mingling with the grey clouds, punctured with crackles of lightning. Something powerful and strange — flash forking across the skies, followed by booms of thunder.

The storm lasts three days, and even though her voice is soft — you hear it over all the noise, nestled gently in your ear.

“You're still here. It means something. This isn’t the end, I refuse to let it be the end. It can’t win. You won’t go into the Dark.” Enola tells you. ”I will make you more than what you are, more than what was stolen from you. This place will not be your end. I have to try. We have to try. Together. I showed some of you, once. I’ll show you again.”

She tells you to sleep. For some, they recognise this and realise what may end up happening. For others it feels like going out on a limb. But you sleep, and perhaps a dream may come to you.

COLD FUSION: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of a great hall of ice: as if it had been carved into some great ridge of it. You walk through it, marvelling at the beauty of it — a blue gloom, echoing with each of your footsteps. But as you take one particular step, the ground cracks and collapses beneath you, sending you into dark, frozen waters. In seconds, the water freezes around you, encompassing you in thick ice, your entire body trapped within it. The coldness burns you, and you are stuck there — frozen in agony. The pain is immeasurable, your entire body crushed and searing from the ice. There is no escape, no reprieve.

A voice speaks to you, perhaps it is the voice of a stranger, perhaps it is the voice of someone you know: Do you know how you survive the cold?’ They ask you. You do not know, and you wait for the answer: ‘You become colder than it.

Your eyes close. You believe those words, you do. You must become colder than the cold itself. And so you will. Your breathing slows, your heart slows and the cold… it stops hurting, it doesn’t burn. The ice around you begins the crack.

When you awaken the first thing you realise is despite the temperature, you are completely cosy and warmed. You do not feel the slightest chill. It is perhaps only once you are around other than you truly notice the difference to you — you are cold to the touch, lacking the heat you once had. An understanding comes: you are at one with the cold, it will not beat you, it will not cause you agony. Winter is at peace within you: perfect Cold Fusion.

MOON TOUCHED: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of running through the silent woods at night. The moon is full above you, the air is calm and still. Hunger draws you forward, everything is so sharp and vivid in your senses, even in this dreamscape. You hear the crispness of the snow beneath your feet, smell the scent of the pines on the air, feel how warm you are against the coldness around you.

The snuffling of a rabbit catches your attention, and you swiftly leap after it, jaws opening and closing around its neck as you capture it. You bite down hard, feeling the crunch of its bones as they break, the sweet coppery taste of blood filling your mouth and nose. You lift your head towards the stars, blood on your tongue. You realise you are not a person at all, but a beast on all fours: a wolf, content and filling your belly with meat.

You wonder, for a brief moment: were you ever a person at all?

You do not know the answer to the question. You do not seem to worry about such a thing but there’s a flash of warning on the air. Something you cannot quite place, but you know that you should not forget it.

When you awaken, you feel… different, somehow. Everything seems a little sharper, as if the world around you had been dull, or behind some pane of frosted glass. With it comes a strange balance of calmness and chaos, tameness and wildness, fear and bravery. You find yourself looking for the moon in the skies and when you finally find it, it hits you — this is what it means to be Moon Touched.

INTERLOPER’S SACRIFICE: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape and then fade into nothing. You dream of kneeling in a darkened, charred wood. You are not alone. In this dreamscape, you dream of a loss, or a time you have never felt more helpless in your life. Perhaps it is when someone you knew died before you, or you stood as someone was sick and injured and you were unable to do a thing. As you kneel, they are there with you: sick or dying or even dead in your arms. You cannot do anything but hold them, and the helplessness is overwhelming.

You look up and a woman in furs stands before you, her expression solemn. Enola herself. There are tears in her eyes, as if she shares the very pain you do: the loss, the grief, the hopelessness, the powerlessness. She approaches you and lowers herself to kneel in front of you and your companion, bracing your shoulders for a long, lingering moment. There are no words, none from neither of you.

Enola shifts slightly, leans forwards. She kisses your forehead, much like when a parent kisses their child: sweet and tender.

And then you feel it, as if you are set alight: an agonising pain that encompasses you whole — so painful you cannot even open your mouth to scream. You feel yourself growing weak, the corners of your vision blurring into black. It feels as if you might die from the pain, and you want for it to stop but it doesn’t.

Enola pulls away and you gasp, slumping in exhaustion, but still alive, somehow. You stare at her, sweating and clamouring for breath, and she offers you a sad smile. Never again. you feel the words inside of you. This time, it will be different. Better.

When you awaken, you can still feel the kiss upon your forehead — enough to make your fingers reach up to touch it, your entire body tingling a little. A small voice in the back of your mind whispers, reminding you as you find yourself looking down at your hands: never again. Never again, you tell yourself and the comprehension comes to you: you have chosen. This is what it means to be: this is your sacrifice. The Interloper’s Sacrifice.

NOTHING: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape, but only for a moment. The edges of your vision begin the blur with black, slowly closing in until everything goes dark and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. You awaken, and although you feel rested, as if the dreamless darkness has helped you feel a little more ready to take on the day — nothing else about you has changed.

PENSIVE LOOKOUT

WHEN: The month of July.
WHERE: Pensive Lookout Tower, Lakeside.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival; possible fall injuries/treacherous climbs; themes of terror; themes of diminished sanity; themes of starvation.

The Old Hunting Lodge is located in the southern-most area of Lakeside, and its surrounding area is generally considered no-go territory with the presence of the Forest Talkers. As June turned into July, the Forest Talker’s presence in the wilds of Lakeside has begun to grow again — but their efforts appear to be focused on sabotaging the efforts of Interlopers, Methuselah and Young Bill in hunting fresh game. If anything, it could mean that with attentions drawn away — perhaps the braver sorts of the Interlopers can explore the area a little more fully.

There’s little in terms of buildings of interest in this area. The wilderness is thick and deep here. Perhaps the odd ransacked cabin once belonging to a local may be stumbled across — its contents picked clean, presumably by the Forest Talkers. Many of these buildings will be completely inhabitable due to the damage done — with some cabins being razed to the ground.

However, on higher ground, with a good hike to access it, stands a watch tower.

These lookout towers could mean a number of things: a chance to access supplies that may have otherwise been forgotten about due to the hike to get up there, a better view of the surrounding area, and the possibility of a radio — given the sign of a radio transmitter that can be found blinking a feeble red on Aurora nights.

With the snow on the ground it’s a little more treacherous, but given the circumstances, anything’s worth a shot, right? Those who attempt the hike may fall foul to slips and trips along the steep slow to reach the tower, and should take care in the ascent. Even with the warmth of July, it’s difficult. One might hope this might make the place a decent outpost, if you think about it. Somewhere hard to reach, and with such a vantage point.

Reaching the tower and climbing it to its interior will it largely intact but a mess. Someone has lived here for some time. Interlopers will find no food here, but some useful tools that belonged to the lookout: binoculars, maps, a compass, an alidade. There is even a radio sat upon a desk, and with it — a journal.

The journal, Interlopers will find, belonged to a man named Sam Bouchard — the firewatcher for the season during the previous year, detailing the months of his arrival and ending in November last year. It is unknown what happened to Sam, but his journal will perhaps offer some insight and even some information.

A PEEK INSIDE

WHEN: The month of July.
WHERE: The Gas Station, Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of kidnapping; imprisonment; self-starvation; blood/minor injuries; psychological torment, supernatural abilities.

The Forest Talkers have a long history in the Northern Territories, long before Interlopers started arriving in Milton. Champions of nature, they have sought to put an end to the industries and tourism-related expansions in the Lakeside area, first peacefully and then… not-so-peacefully. But with the events known as the ‘The Flare’ last year, Forest Talkers have been… acting peculiarly, disturbingly, aggressively.

There are plenty of questions to be asked. But the Forest Talkers are difficult to communicate with. Previous attempts have ended up in aggression or being ignored entirely. And now, even with the events of the previous month coming to an end — game remains difficult to find, and Forest Talkers are keen on sabotaging any attempts of hunting made by Interlopers, Young Bill or Methuselah. And more importantly: what is the yawning grave?

It starts as mutterings between tired and disgruntled Interlopers. They need answers, and there’s got to be a way in trying to get some. They’re hungry and exhausted and so many of their numbers are now dead. Those mutterings grow, and soon enough a plan is put into place. A small group of Interlopers embark into Lakeside and wait.

Soon enough, it bears fruit. A man is captured, bound and blindfolded — quietly and secretly brought back to Milton to be held up in the unused Gas Station to be questioned. It is not the leader, but surely one of them is better than no one at all. He is injured, but not enough to kill him. It will prove challenging in trying to get answers out of him, but soon enough the Interlopers will get him to talk.

News of the Forest Talker in their midst will inevitably spread, as most things do in small communities. Secrets are hard to guard. It won’t be just those behind the kidnapping who might end up coming across the man being held in the Gas Station.

Anyone who goes to investigate will find the man sat on the floor in quiet contemplation. Attempts of conversation will be met with long, silent stares — holding your gaze for an uncomfortably long time. He will spurn any gestures of kindness: spit on the floor at Interloper’s feet, refuse any food offered — as if the man has chosen to starve himself in protest. He says nothing, at first.

But after some time, he will look into an Interloper’s eyes and utter something. A word. A phrase. It may be a name, or a place. It may be a specific thing an Interloper has read, or been spoken to by someone. Something that holds meaning to the Interloper. It may be the name of a loved one from home, or the last words ever spoken to you by a friend. Something the man shouldn’t know.

Whatever it is that he speaks to you, it is not something that will fill you with hope or fondness to remember — but quite the opposite. A reminder of something painful, of a loss, or some other thing that caused you misery. As if he had reached right inside your mind and plucked some painful part of your past from you and spoken it to the wind.

The Forest Talker smiles, and will say nothing else. The damage has already been done.

FAQs

THE AURORA: REDUX

1. The next three Aurora Feats are unlocked! Please see the following page for more information.

2. Aurora Feats are completely optional.

3. Interlopers will only receive ONE Aurora Feat. The only time this is available is this month. After July, players will have to wait for the next Feat round for another chance at an Aurora Feat.

4. This Aurora/storm will last a full three days, darkening the skies almost to night.

PENSIVE LOOKOUT

1. Interlopers who dwell in the lookout for the next Aurora will find the radio works, albeit poorly. They will be able to pick up the same broken morse code message.

2. There are no signs of blood/injury that befell Sam in the lookout. It appears he made good on what he wrote on in his journal and attempted to leave to get to Silverpoint.

A PEEK INSIDE

1. While only a small number was involved in the kidnapping itself, anyone can discover the fact there's a Forest Talker being held in Milton.

2. In terms of appearance, the Forest Talker is very much your typical average white guy. Bearded, weathered by the cold, someone who's lived several years without much in the way of comforts or luxuries.

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He's trying, bless him, and she adores him for it. "Next time skates, this time a walk," she agrees and tucks in close so she can place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Tell me about the puppies while you get ready," she tells him.

He nods and sets his hands on his knees with a slap, then gets up to put on the boots that are sitting by the fireside, drying out. "They're all healthy and active," he reports, as he starts lacing them up. "And mostly spoken for. They're already bright and attentive; I think they'll train nicely."

Once finished with his boots, he comes over to offer her his hand to help her up. "I was thinking we might go to see them, before they go to their separate homes."

She can't help the wide grin as she takes his hand to pull herself up. "I think you should," she agrees, squeezing his hand once before letting it go to follow him out.

"I am happy they have homes to go to. Are you still in trouble?"

"No," he chuckles, tucking her arm into his and grabbing his jacket and hat as they head back out the door. "Bill's keeping one for himself. Scout's a marvelous dog, and Dief — well, you know. So I think he's recognized that a puppy from them would result in an especially skillful working dog."

She hums softly, happily leaning against him a bit as they walk. She can't help but test him a little, make sure that he can handle the weight, test how much he's healed. She isn't going to nag him about it, but she is going to be worried!

"Does that mean Dief will be returning to stay with you soon?" she wonders. "Once his children are in their new homes?"

"I hope so." He stays steady as she leans against him, without any sign of a flinch or of tiredness. He'll be sore from the hunt, he knows, but his recovery is coming along splendidly. "I hope he does choose to come back. It's not the same without him."

Not that he's been hurting for company, as is clear. He settles a hand over the one she has curled into his elbow and smiles at her. "Which direction should be go? Do you feel like exploring, or looking for a nice view?"

"Hm." She takes a moment to think, scanning their surroundings. "Let's go this way." She points. "No exploring, but some place I haven't been in quite some time." Since her ill fated meeting with Goodsir, actually.

"I hope he does come back. I miss him. He is my savior, after all."

He obligingly directs their steps toward the path she'd indicated, and laughs in a warm huff of breath.

"Careful letting him know that. He saved my life once, and now it seems as though he feels like he has the right to run it."

She looks up to him and gives him a little nudge. "Ah, but he does. Who better to run your life for you, hm? He would do a very good job of it, I think."

Sveta isn't in any hurry now that she's here. She's got everything she wants right beside her. She can't remember the last time she was actually content like this - happy in this way.

Another man might mention, or make a joke about, a certain woman entering his life and ordering him around like a superior officer. Ben, who has always appreciated directness from the people and animals around him, only nods. "He's never failed to lead me in the right direction," he agrees, then smiles over at her.

"I wouldn't say he led me to you, but he certainly assisted as much as feasibly possible."

She - feels so much the same, though. "It was my own inattention and your desire to call to action," she laughs, leaning against him so she can place another kiss against the corner of his mouth.

"And I am forever grateful for it."

"So am I." He doesn't like to think about what might have happened if he hadn't been on the lake that day. He had been, and together he and Diefenbaker had pulled her from the water, and now he's here, with this wonderful woman on his arm, turning his head to return her kiss with warmth and a little something else leashed tightly back in his chest.

They're out for a nice walk. So what if he's started to feel better, if he's been thinking about that night they spent together when all they could do was lie in her bed and try not to move too much?

He shifts his thoughts away from that subject with the ease of long practice and takes a deep breath of the fresh air. "Do you have any animals, at home?"

She shakes her head, brushing a strand of blonde from her face. "Aside from the strays that wander around the flats? No. I don't have time for pets. I do have a friend who could turn into an owl," she reminds him with a hushed laugh. "But that was more of a punishment and a curse than anything. Now she likes to drive in her fancy sports car more than fly."

He looks up at the sky, trying to imagine it. "If I could fly, I'd be hard-pressed to come back to earth, I think."

Now Fraser looks back over at her, smiling. It's incredible how often he smiles when he's with her, even in this place with all its trials. "Do you turn into anything else?"

"Not me! I am a sorceress, not a shifter. Tiger Cub and Bear are shifters. Hm, they are also married."

She doesn't actually know their real names, but she doesn't think they remember them, either.

"Well, it's quite a commonality, I imagine, being able to turn into an animal." Like Bigby, although... Bigby seems like a special case.

He rarely indulged in flights of fancy, but today, well.. they're induling, aren't they? A little. "If you could turn into anything else, what would you choose?"

Oh she likes this game.

"Hm. I think I would be a cat. Going in and out as I please, walking on the fence posts." She moves away from him, hopping atop a rock in her boots, walking with wobbly feet on top of it, her arms outstretched.

He keeps pace next to her, charmed by her lighthearted playfulness, ready to catch her if she should lose her balance. Being, after all, a human and not a feline. "I think you would make an exemplary cat."

At turns bossy and affectionate, opinionated, independent; yes, he can see it clearly. "Sleeping in a sunbeam doesn't sound so bad, either."

She can guess what he's meaning by that, and it pleases her to no end. She likes being bossy and independent, especially since the second one is what she's always been working on.

"It doesn't. What would you be?" she wonders, hopping off of the rock into the snow.

He holds out a hand to ensure she keeps her balance, without touching her unless she needs it, and gives her question the same serious consideration he'd give a request from a direct supervisor.

And it's a good one: what would he be? "Wolf or orca would be the more exciting option," he says, once he's worked through his initial musings. "But I think in the end, I would want to be a caribou. They're as much a part of my world as the trees and mountains and snow."

He smiles over at her, pleased with his assessment. "It's the best way I can think of to give back to the land, after everything it's given to me."

"You would make a fine caribou," she decides, nodding as if it's a fact. It is, at least, to her. He is not the same as the single minded orca or the wolf in his pack. He belongs to the snow and the ice. He lives in it, thrives in it, despite what it brings. He respects it, which she thinks is the most important.

"Wolf or orca is obvious, but that isn't you." She tucks against his side, guiding him in the direction she wants to go. Towards the hot springs. "Ah, do you know where I am leading you yet?"

No, he's not a predator. When he dreams of running through the woods of over the tundra, it isn't in heated pursuit of prey, it's for something even simpler: driven by instinct, by the slow spin of the seasons.

Sveta comes closer and he puts an arm around her, keeping her close even though the cold isn't so bitter today. "Well, there's really only one destination I can think of in this particular direction, unless you've discovered something else."

The prospect is a little nerve-wracking, but... he has to admit, it would be nice to soak in some hot water. "Is this your way of telling me I need a bath?"

It's her way of telling him that she's tired of the memory of them cuddling together on that terrible night when he showed up hurt and bleeding. When he could barely move and she had to basically tie him down to keep him from leaving. Their first night together was terrifying and exhausting and she is very keen to change that.

She laughs instead. "Of course not. If I had thought that, I would have said it outright. No, I haven't been in a very long time and I thought it might be a nice change."

"I certainly can't disagree with that." And... he'd be a liar if he said he hadn't been thinking about how it's felt to hold her in his arms, to kiss her and even, during that one desperate night, fall asleep with her. He'd been exhausted, in pain, and it had been far from the way he'd wanted to spend a first night with her. Some barely-formed images of carrying her laughing to her bed and kissing her down into the pillows had been forced to the wayside.

She's seen him undressed, as a doctor does: clinical and professional as she treated his wounds, but he flushes at the realization that she's engineered an opportunity for them both to be bared to one another. Oh, dear.

But... even as he turns faintly red, he can't keep from recognizing a spike of want deep down in his gut. It's been a long time since he's been with a woman in a situation anything like this one, but he's a Mountie, not a monk. "I think it sounds perfect."

"It is a wonderful date that you have concocted for us," she points out. "And with so little time for me to get ready. What a thoughtful opportunity," she teases, noting that slight tinge of pink in his cheek and wrapping her arm through his.

She's engineered the entire thing as her way of telling him that it's alright. That she's a grown adult. And that she would very much like to not be his doctor for an evening.

"It really was a miracle to find this place," she mutters. "I'm sure it has saved a lot of people."

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