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 a little slower with his own tea, wanting to savor the happy warmth for what it is. "Save the berries," he tells him. "I will enjoy those in a moment."

He's not in a hurry at all, but he watches as the Doctor gets everything together. "How is your side today?" he wonders, because the Doctor had unfairly burdened himself with that injury. So Thomas must remind him to take it easy. To be careful.

He finally does stand, taking a handful of the berries and tossing one up to try and catch in his mouth, though he misses and it tumbles to the floor.

He shouldn't, in theory, need to be reminded to take it easy and move carefully, but...it seems Thomas is a step ahead in knowing better because yes, he's terrible at it.

The sharpest edge of pain has dulled, but he feels it in every quick movement. He doesn't like letting things like this slow him down, of course. "My side! Yes. It's been a good side. Sturdy. And just where I left it."

— The art of the non-answer. He grabs a berry himself, though, trying to mimic Thomas and catch one in his mouth, which he also misses. But then he takes another, holds it between his index finger and thumb and tries to catch Thomas' eye. He doesn't throw it yet, but he makes a silent gesture like he will, to see if Thomas wants to or can catch it when it's thrown this way.

It's a terrible deflection, but he doesn't mind it as much anymore. He's seen under the mask, knows the reason for it, and he can appreciate it for what it is now and what it does for him.

Thomas laughs fondly, popping another into his mouth while he watches the Doctor fail with a smirk. The second berry, though, gets his attention and he laughs, opening his mouth.

Apparently this is a silly game that transcends communities and races and species, because Thomas knows exactly what he's doing. And he's ready to catch it.

"No pressure, but this one's for the championship," he teases, knowing full well he won't know at all what he's talking about.

The Doctor will do his best to aim with a sure and steady hand; just the right amount of propulsion so the berry doesn't fall to the ground before it's barely moved. He could undershoot or overshoot, it's anyone's guess. But like with many things, he does random mental calculations as though he could determine the perfect velocity and angle of pitch. He doesn't leave Thomas waiting more than a second or two, though, grinning as he launches it towards him, and —

- it's good!

Thomas manages to catch it, losing his balance a little and knocking against the wall with a laugh. But it's a victory, and he raises a hand in the air.

"You did it!"

And The Doctor gets a playful acorn at his head for the trouble.

He's quick to stick his tongue out at Thomas for the acorn maneuver, tucking it into his pocket now. God knows what will happen to it from here.

"Pleasant surprise! I didn't have a speech prepared, I'm sure I have cue cards somewhere though it was a group effort," he makes a show of patting his pockets briefly and grinning playfully before he shifts and sticks his own hand up in the air, moving closer.

"Put your hand up — this warrants a high five."

"I know what that is and you cannot make me do it," he laughs, folding his arms across his chest and stepping back. He's never going to see that acorn again. Thomas has made his peace with that fact.

"There is no speech you can give me that will change my mind."

"Thomas! You're actually denying me a high five? Me, really?"

He drops his hand and he pretends to be offended, though his expression shifts to something decidedly poutier as he folds his arms over his chest in return.

"Even when I make this face, you can say no?" It's a very exaggerated pout now that he tries to pull. "You're immune to this?"

He looks slightly apologetic, ducking his head and averting his gaze. "Unfortunately, sir, I have seen sadder and more put-upon faces in my years." He tsks softly, hiding a smile as he starts to pack their bag to leave.

"I'm afraid you might have to do without."

"I suppose that's life, isn't it — sometimes you reach out for a high five and you're met with...well, it's not everyone's cup of tea, as they say."

He does turn away towards the front door of the cabin, though, and it's like an itch hasn't been scratched so he very simply claps both of his own hands together just once and then smiles and nods a bit to himself. A solo high five!

"There, that's better." He turns back to Thomas, though he's looking around to make sure they haven't forgotten anything, and he ties up the cloth with the acorns and berries, to bring in his pockets. "Going back down, it might be — we can stop as often as we need."

Thomas laughs behind him, trying to get the image of that solo high five out of his head. He doesn't think he'll ever forget it. The photograph, he remembers. To put in a book. With a caption.

Absurdity, he thinks that particular caption would be. Like a painting with a card. The Doctor and his bowtie and that ridiculous high five. Thomas feels a rush of fondness.

"We won't need to," he replies almost immediately, a little too confidently, but he's afraid of being left behind if he takes too long. Even now, that rush of fondness turns to fear. He isn't going to slow anyone down and he won't be weak.

He shoulders the pack and adjusts it to his shoulders, keeping his chipper smile. "Lead on, sir."

I'll be the judge of that, he thinks. He has no real sense or gauge of how well they might be able to out-stubborn each other on this journey back, he only knows he'll get stuck in quite easily when it means keeping Thomas safe and out of pain. That's rather paramount to him.

He's quick to smile back at him, though, and he buttons up the top buttons of his coat as they go out into the cold. The steps down from the tower will be the first hurdle, and though he's careful not to go slow, he's also mindful of not putting too much space between them just in case he needs to lean on him.

"The sun came out to say hello again," he smiles, squinting his eyes up at the sky a bit. It's encouraging, filling him with a renewed rush of optimism.

"It did," he chirps. "Quite a warm day today, actually." It isn't, but Thomas has no actual way to tell. He does push his shirtsleeves up past his elbows, reaching up to his shoulders to grip the straps of the pack as they walk. The ladder down is much easier going down, now that he's fresh, and while his legs are sore and his joints ache from the exertion of the day before, they're not terrible enough to slow him down just yet.

The first part down seems simple enough and he takes the Doctor's hand for just a moment before he starts downward.

"Tell me the oddest creature you've ever seen."

He'll hold steady to his hand as long as he needs, and his own steps are careful, but sure. At the question, he smiles and looks out ahead a bit, briefly lost in thought as he thinks back. There have been many, but one of the strangest for sheer absurdity —

"Krynoids! One of the oddest. Quite dangerous, but — you wouldn't think to look at them at first. They weren't creatures in the ordinary sense, they were sentient forms of plant life, seemingly harmless. They spread out across the universe through seed pods when the volcano on their planet would erupt. They'd look for hosts so they were quite dangerous to anyone that wasn't them. You could sort them out well enough if you kept them spreading too quickly, growing too much. Fire was effective."

There's another creature that occurs to him — "You'd have enjoyed a run in with a star whale. Absolutely beautiful."

He has a thousand questions. What sort of volcano? What did they look like? How did the force spread them through the universe? How did they grow? What was it like in space for them?

But he doesn't ask them, not quite yet. He keeps himself quiet, just right now, letting him continue because the thought of star whales...

He hurries to him. "Tell me of those."

"Very, very far into the future, in one possible timeline — possible, mind. Time can be in flux," he notes offhand. In flux, even...rewritten. But he pivots back to his point — "There was a group of humans who had to flee Earth when it was being destroyed by solar flares from the Sun. The Star Whale, it heard them, out from the depths of space, it heard them crying out for help and it came to them. They built their massive starship around the whale, and it carried them out into the stars to safety."

He gets quieter, softer, reflective. "It was one of the last of its kind. The last, I believe. And it only wanted to help them. That's how it intended to live out its days, just...carrying them through the stars. It was just kind, purely kind. And massive, and...an absolute wonder."

There are so many words and concepts in that collection of a story that he does not understand, but he does understand the meaning of sacrifice. Of kindness. Of wanting the very thing that you're remembered for to mean something.

Oh yes, Thomas Jopson understands that very well.

"I'm happy," he says, crouching to hop down from a rock to the snow below. "Do you know what happened to it after?"

"No, I...wish I did," he notes softly. "But it was still young and it could live a very long life. I think —" He squints with one eye closed, looking back up to the sky for a long moment before he briefly glances to Thomas with a smile, and then looks back at the ground ahead of them. Not like he could suddenly see the whale up there, but it's easy to imagine it in his mind's eye.

"I would imagine it carried on for generations of families living on that ship, and they eventually found a new home, those families. And the whale, when it passed on eventually, it would have continued giving of itself. Quite like whales in the ocean, you know, when they die and what's left of them over time makes whole communities of other life thrive. It would do that out in the stars, too. Bits of its beautiful life still out there like the stars themselves. Every life is like that in its own way. Beautiful and important."

He likes the thought of that. Of it staying around as long as it could, helping so many people until the very end. They reach a flat part, where the walking is mostly straight, and he takes the Doctor's hand in his.

"I - admire that you see that, too. The value and merit in every life." He hasn't met anyone else like that. Yes, Thomas can be petty and quiet and angry, but there is only one person he has ever wished immediate harm upon. It isn't something that he takes lightly. Even his mother, who had hurt him so deeply, is worthwhile.

He misses her. And William.

It feels so strangely natural when Thomas takes his hand that he hardly thinks of it when his fingers slip around his in return. That chill against his skin is already familiar, but not unwanted.

"I wouldn't know how to be any other way." While he's certainly himself been disappointed by people, angry with the choices they might make at times, for him it also doesn't devalue their life.

"People are like that, too. The star whale, I mean. It's not sentimentality, it's a fact of the universe and how all life exists in tandem, from the beginning to the end of time. Like the elements in our bodies, for instance, many formed in the stars. They are there, like the star whale, out there beyond, everyone any of us has ever known or loved." He looks again to the sky for a moment.

"Of course, not the best point to make while we're under an abundance of sunshine and no starlight. Just remember when it gets dark again."

"The stars are and always have been a guide," he says gently, looking up along with him. "If I don't leave here, and you do, then I'll be in the stars."

He's never been a religious man, not really in the way he should be, but he's always hoped, at least a little, that he might be able to have something else after he dies. He had crawled away through those rocks for something. Why not this?

More than only the stars he thinks, but doesn't say. His eyes linger on the sky a moment longer before he glances down at Thomas' hand briefly. He's not the only one here living a life after death and it shouldn't be possible, but it is. And the Doctor's own words briefly come back to him, that sometimes very rare, impossible things happen in the universe and people call them miracles. What else would explain how they could be here of all places holding hands together? There's obviously more to it — the strangeness of this world itself, the power it holds, but for as much as the Doctor wants to know things, he can admit when there are things he simply...doesn't know. When it surpasses even his overactive mind.

He doesn't care to think of leaving Thomas behind. He'll find another way around it somehow, he always does.

"Well," he starts, his tone soft, yet slightly flippant, trying to mask the melancholy that conjures, "I'll just keep holding your hand, that'll be us sorted."

As if it were that easy.

To live and breathe and pray in hope. He doesn't quite know what to think of it all, but he wants to. He wants to know it. He squeezes his hand and then stops, pulling him back against a tree so he can wrap his arms around him, enveloping him in his chill. As if holding hands wasn't enough to keep him grounded here.

"You will fly away like that beautiful creature in your story, Doctor. And you should."

He should, he should, of course he should, he repeats in his head. It's what he does, it's what he's best at — leaving and moving and running. He has to, he needs to, he can't ever really stop. And knowing that he can't stop, shouldn't stop, must not ever stop...is what usually keeps him from getting too close.

But he doesn't want to lose — no, he can't think it. If he doesn't think it, it won't hurt as much. But he feels it already, the tendrils of it, the thing that hurts the most.

Should it be enough to have whatever time exists here? He's never been good at that, either. It's knowing the end that waits, that makes it hard for him to appreciate what exists before it. He's trying, though. Thomas wraps him up and he tries to think of only this for a moment.

I'm not good at letting anyone go, is another thing he thinks and doesn't say. Slowly, he holds onto him in return.

And because he's the Doctor and because he is very not good at dealing with even the whisper of loss — "What if I get attached to the scenery here?"

"Ah yes. This is a very good tree. I can see why you would want to stay for it. But you see, sir, this tree belongs here. And there is no reason to stay for it when there are other, more exciting trees," he explains, smiling though he doesn't takes his arms from around him.

"You see, the universe, I've heard, is full of trees."

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