there'll be oats in the water

[singmod]

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

Comments

[sputnik]

That has the cosmonaut's eyebrows lifting. A voice... He, too, heard it — and he knows that most people here seem to share that collective experience, but it's rare he actually addresses the phenomenon aloud. Even now he hesitates to admit to such a thing, but... what harm can there be, sharing it with this pecuiliar little creature?

"I heard the voice, too," he nods. "I think it's something most of us share, when it happens. It's bizarre, but.... there's so much about this place I just can't explain."

He tilts his head curiously at the way she phrases that — 'not like that at least.'

"Nothing comparable to these lights happened, back in your world?" Beat, a follow-up question lingering for a few seconds before he voices it. "What is your world like?"

[weavered]

"I do have more questions than answers with this place." She agrees with him, it's impossible to know all there is about this place when it's, as he has put it, bizarre. She wants to ask if he dreamt, if he too had someone from his life speak to him -- but not everyone has the same dream. Perhaps it was just her that dreamt of her deceased mother, perhaps it was just a dream and nothing more.

She goes to ask, but he asks about her world and she hesitates to speak. It wasn't like she didn't want to talk about Hallownest, or where she grew up, but it was difficult to speak of such things. She shifts on her feet, then she looks up at him with a slow, steady sigh.

"It is... was beautiful. I did not know the kingdom in it's height, only in it's downfall." She says slowly, shaking her head. "It is a terrible thing to witness, to be born into, but Hallownest was full of possibility and innovation. We lived beneath the ground, lumafly lanterns dotting the landscape to give us light. Society rose beyond what we thought possible."

They had music, commerce, trade, tradition -- all the things built up because the Pale King had a vision for uplifting bugs.

And then it fell, because a vengeful goddess loathed the worship of the Pale King and his innovation.

"The world is vast," she says. "I have not travelled beyond the edges of the kingdom. As far as the Howling Cliffs as I dared, to the edges of the kingdom where the wyrm had cast off it's shell..." She pauses, looking at her hands as she thinks of her home, her people, the Knight's sacrifice. "My view is limited to what I was born into."

Another pause. "But I would have liked to see more of what the world offered."

[sputnik]

A kingdom, in its downfall. As Hornet describes her world, a mental picture is painted, Konstantin's imagination conjuring up images to go along with her words. Beneath the ground, dark and contained, but with lanterns as light — perhaps casting a warm glow.

"It sounds beautiful," he agrees with the word she'd used, voice quiet, thoughtful. And the vastness of her world, places she'd yet to venture... it's an incredible prospect. Any lingering unease towards this entity he perceives as alien truly has melted in favour of pure curiosity. He listens with the rapt fascination that a younger version of himself possessed when he was only a teenager and Gagarin made history in space — as well as during the years of preparation after his military career, in order to become a cosmonaut. Konstantin loved the thought of exploring those unknowns, venturing further out.

'But I would have liked to see more of what the world offered.'

"...I understand that," he offers, easing into the conversation. "I've always longed for such things, myself. It became... my job, or even more than that, my purpose in life. Exploring past the boundaries of my planet. We weren't able to venture too far to other worlds, but... we were trying. Researching, pushing further."

...Now he's not so sure that humankind were ever supposed to make it too far out there, in their explorations. He came across something he was likely never meant to encounter. Even so.... he loved being up there.

"What... caused your kingdom to collapse, before you were born?"

[weavered]

Beyond his planet! She barely knew what lay beyond the kingdom let alone beyond the world itself. What wonders could he have possibly seen? She has never thought of stars or the sun, the moon or the sky, but she longed to see Hallownest in it's prime. To see the people of the kingdom in their everyday lives, not as they fell to the infection that plagued them.

"A vengeful goddess, near forgotten because of our king. She laid waste to the kingdom with an infection. Turning bugs against each other, making them weapons without a mind." She aches, thinking of how the Radiance destroyed lives in petty vengeance. "There was a plan to try and stop her, trap her behind a seal using a vessel void of all things, but it did not work."

She could go on, explain how she was born from a political agreement, that her time with her mother was short with her agreeing to become a Dreamer. That she is both princess of Deepnest and Hallownest, but has complicated feelings of rule. She does not, the feelings of both pain and comfort settling in her chest; a reminder that she has accepted what is, and what will not be, but also of what could have been. She longed for a mother who raised her, but cherishes their brief time together.

She exhales, realizing she's been holding her breath far longer than necessary. "I am glad you find my description beautiful. It is difficult at times, speaking of my home." She admits with a tip of her head. "But I am glad for it, glad you have asked."

She may tell him more, at a later time, when they are more known to each other, but she's grateful to have someone who is curious and empathetic. Who will listen when she finally does.

[sputnik]

A vengeful goddess. Konstantin, a man who had always relied on logic and science, on what could be proven and seen by the eyes and who certainly could not believe in the concept of God or a god.... has since found all of that shaken, after his arrival in this place. Even the creature that occupies his body could be explained, is simply a living being from outside of Earth, but gods? Goddesses?

But now... He's learned about such things being quite real in others' worlds, and here in this place, there are supernatural influences that even he can't deny. So it's with much more openness than he might have possessed not long ago, that the cosmonaut sits there listening to Hornet speak, and he doesn't doubt her words. This is her reality, her world — and he wants to learn all he can.

Bugs, she says. Is that... the word for her people, maybe? He frowns quietly in thought, by the severity of everything voiced. It's also evident that speaking about this is difficult for the little being, a fact reiterated when she tells him as much. Not for the first time, Konstantin wonders if the strange being inside of himself has any awareness of... loss, of grief. It's certainly intelligent, and easily frightened — it must understand that it's far away from its home.

It's an odd thought, that he might feel empathy for such a thing that plagues him. Konstantin swallows, dips his own head into a solemn nod as he focuses back to Hornet.

"I am very sorry. I can imagine how difficult it must be — it sounds as though your people have known... much strife. Much loss."

He knows what war is, served in his country's military as a commander — knows some of the horrors associated with economical and political turmoil, but... what she's describing is ruin.

"You called them 'bugs'... is that what your kind are known as?"

[weavered]

"I hope we can rebuild. Though the wyrm has passed, I believe it's still possible." Though she is not sure she should be the one to do so.

She nods, wringing her hands together as she finds the right words to say.

"Yes, we are bugs. Skittering things beneath the soil - divided by tribe, but brought together, united by the Pale King." Though there was resistance from Deepnest, they still have ties for trade and commerce. "I know not what the future holds for my home." She wished she did. The Knight was successful, at least as far as she can tell, but she hasn't seen the extent of it's reach. Did bugs come back to their senses? Does the infection linger? Does the Hollow Knight live? Was survival an option for them?

A mystery she was eager to return to. To see with her own eyes what awaited her as she left the Black Egg Temple.

[sputnik]

There is something insect-like to her, he'd thought as much before, but... that her species understand themselves as such a term — it's truly unlike anything he could have imagined. She's clearly so different from the thing inhabiting him, and though she may technically be an alien to him — he supposes he's as much of one to her people.

Konstantin nods somberly, flexing his fingers and looking down at them for a moment as he reflects on all of this.

"You must be very anxious to return to your people. I am too, although... truthfully, I don't know what the future holds for my home, either. Things aren't in such a state as your world, but..." He pauses; it's odd to talk about this, but some part of him feels a sense of relief to voice some of it. He's kept it locked away for a very long time, and it's strangely refreshing to sit and chat with this little bug.

"Just before I was brought here, I was trying to stop something horrible from happening, in my world. I don't know whether I was successful or not. Being here... I keep thinking about what my family might be experiencing, back there. It's a helpless feeling, isn't it? To be trapped, unable to help them."

[weavered]

She listens, realizing how much he was able to empathize with her situation, to know that something horrible was to happen and being unsure if he succeeded in preventing it. She could not prevent the Radiance's infection, a thing before her birth, and her failure to do more than simply protect the dying kingdom were always on her mind. Though, she was grateful for the Knight, and learning to trust that they would do the impossible.

"It is." She nods in agreement, glancing away from him to the window for a moment. "Not knowing the outcome. Not understanding the implications of what remains." She pauses a moment, returning her gaze to him. "To not know the consequence of actions - it's difficult. I think often of what I could have done now, what more I could do. This place, despite it's own problems, gives me time to dwell on what could have been, what could be, and what my place is."

Which was the question: what was her place? Would the bugs understand her? Know she was the daughter of wyrm and spider? Would acknowledge the way to rebuild?

It was a terrible thing to want knowledge she could not have while she was here.