methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
singmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2024-07-10 05:05 pm
singmod) wrote in singillatim2024-07-10 05:05 pm
Entry tags:
- *event,
- bigby wolf: jelle,
- chloe frazer: tess,
- cornelius hickey: kates,
- francis crozier: gels,
- jason todd: jessi,
- john irving: gabbie,
- kate marsh: cheryl,
- konstantin veshnyakov: jhey,
- levi jordan: cirape,
- louis de pointe du lac: tea,
- randvi: tess,
- snow white: carly,
- svetlana nazarova: kota,
- the doctor: kris,
- thomas jopson: kota,
- william gibson: jelle,
- wynonna earp: lorna
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
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.
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.
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.
no subject
And I got a whole lotta experience with people who are human, and let me tell you, it doesn't take fancy powers for men to lose control of themselves. Even the half decent ones.
[He shook his head, lips downturning briefly.] Plenty of pissing contests turned bloody and last for generations where I grew up, over slights, over land, over liquor, women, cattle, cons... [One lean hand gestures in a lazy circle. The list went on and on and on.] Add in what you might assume I know about wolves and pack mentality, I figure the question is warranted. If folks get more aggressive with this, somethin' I'd like to know ahead of time.
[He wasn't trying to be offensive. He was being pragmatic.]
no subject
[ Sure, maybe there is some downside to this power Bigby hasn't found yet. So far nothing feels off whenever he transforms, but.. who's to say. This place sure likes to pull out nasty surprises every now and then.
But at the core, Bigby feels like what he's saying is true.
(And maybe he just can't help but defend wolves and wolf-people by instinct.) ]
Then it'll just be because they gave a shitty person more power. If someone is already a terrible human, then of course they're gonna be a terrible wolf. But I don't think anything fundamentally changes about a person just because they can suddenly become a wolf. [ Not like he'd know, since he has never been a human turning into a wolf, but.. It is how he sees it.
He shrugs. ]
I've never pissed on anyone's fence, for the record.
no subject
[Bigby is right, 100% and Raylan agreed wholeheartedly. That didn't stop people from lying about who they really were. Like he felt he did, most of the time.]
But the record notes that fact. Not particularly concerned about that petty kinda insecure bullshit from you, ya know. Big Bad Wolf an' all. [A sidelong look is given with a slight pull of a smile.]
I ain't even gotten around to being rude enough to ask you how old you are. [Believe it or not, he respected his elders.. Sometimes.]
no subject
Well. [ It's not like the other is really asking, but Bigby may as well provide. It's not like he's insecure about his age or something, not with the way beings like him are supposed to live forever. ] Just think about how long there's been stories about a wolf. Not even just the Big Bad Wolf - that's just the label they put on it later.
[ Yeah, Raylan.
That old. ]
I've been around since humans first started talking about me. So that's the sheer amount of time I've got wolf experience already. Kind of makes me the expert around these parts.
no subject
[He takes a deep breath, shifting so he faced Bigby a little more directly. Generally speaking, he knew it was rude to ask too many questions; people didn't like feeling interrogated. When given room and leave to ask though, he'd take it. He wanted to understand, best he could.]
If what you're tellin' me is true, it also means you're immortal, okay I can swallow that - but is this one'a those 'always been there' like Death or 'manifested outta the-'[He pauses for a half second to pull the right words out.] '-power of oral and spiritual history'? You a god? Were? Or just a Spirit Of?
no subject
[ Given how much everything else has shocked Raylan, Bigby is pretty sure the guy won't be able to handle this one. It requires a little bit too much thought about the multiverse and meta levels of existence.. ]
To put it in simple terms: I'm a Fable. Not really a god or a spirit or whatever. Pretty much everything you've ever heard a story about actually exists where I come from. [ He pauses, trying to figure out how to put this, but then arrives at-- ] C'mon, just name a story. I probably know the people from that personally.
no subject
Choosin' the easy option, we're in Boogyman and Santa Claus area, neither of which I put too much stock in. But choosin' the hard option - most of the stories I grew up on ain't what you'd call traditional. Haints and boogers, spirits of the green wood and the dark mountain. Rules about runnin' water and paintin' our porch ceiling's blue.
You know any of those people personally?
no subject
[ He truly is saying it with the nonchalance of someone who is just talking about their parents' coworkers, even though this is about Santa Claus of all people. Bigby don't specify beyond it, weirdly enough. Maybe he thinks that is enough information by itself, or maybe there's more to it.
.. or maybe he's just contemplating the rest of what Raylan is saying. ]
Dunno if I know any of those others personally though. It sounds more like a local thing, judging by the way you're telling it. Fables that ended up in different parts of the world after we left the Homelands. [ He's heard of those cases. There seem to be enough of them. He shrugs, like it sounds believable enough to him that those really might exist around the parts Raylan grew up. ] I'm more familiar with the New York City Fables. I'm not exactly allowed to leave there.
no subject
New York City fables like the 30 foot gaters takin' over your sewer systems or ... that Pizza Rat ordeal - You got giant sentient mounds of rats, Bigby?
[He doubted that was the case, but he was more than open to be being corrected.]
Why can't you leave New York?
no subject
That assumption isn't even insulting - especially not since it does follow the line Bigby himself was talking about, so he can see how the other man would arrive at this of all things - as much as it's outright amusing to Bigby. He doesn't full on laugh, because that doesn't happen so easily for him, but a more relaxed, amused expression starts to slide onto his face.
Mostly because he's now imagining Pizza Rat as a Fable. It's funny. ]
I meant the Fables that moved there. The ones from the stories everyone has heard of. You know, people like Cindy. Everyone knows her. [ Maybe it'd help if you'd call her by her full name, Bigby...
Then again, maybe Raylan can make the connection. ]
A whole lot of us have gathered there. It's why they dragged me there too-- and why I can't just leave. They want to keep an eye on me.
no subject
He was old and smart enough to know that if it was the case, that means it's just something that's not known or something that's not talked about. The builders of the gate weren't ever as important as the fact of the gate that kept people somewhere.]
Cindy.. Like Cinderella? [Sure, Bigby could be talking about someone named Cynthia, but with everything else that he'd just been told, it's not a far jump to that assumption.]
What are they scared of y'all doin' unsupervised? I'm guessin' the whole quasi-prison thing hasn't been forever and the world is still runnin' straight.
[Unless it wasn't, there.]
no subject
Not multiple people. [ He then comments at that 'y'all.' ] Just me. They--
[ Bigby pauses, only now seeming to realize that.. yeah, maybe he is sounding a little bit ominous. Even though it's not his intention. It's just that talking about this is so mundane to him that he's ommitting things that are natural to him, but of course wouldn't be natural to anyone outside of the community..
So to help Raylan, he pauses, and then corrects himself with: ]
The other Fables don't exactly trust me. You know the stories about me. I'm pretty sure you can figure out why they don't really like me, or trust me to run around the place without supervision.
no subject
It was the seeming lack of governing body, maybe.]
A bit like havin' the fox watchin' the hen house, ain't it? Supervision or not.
[He shakes his head a little, lifting a hand.]
They must think more of you than that to put you there. And I ain't here to question your motivations in what I assume was thousands of years ago or why they still hold a grudge.
Mostly just here to make sure I'm not slowly goin' insane in my head, I suppose. So I appreciate what insight you've given.
no subject
He can kind of appreciate Raylan not questioning that part further. Bigby would love to do nothing more than put that past behind him, after all - and in a way, this place is a chance for that. He's never been around people before who weren't often personally involved in the things he used to do.
Maybe it's why the corners of his mouth curl up ever so faintly. It could never be called a smile, but-- you know, it's there. It's something. ]
Well, if it helps, you seem pretty sane to me. I think any regular guy having to deal with this place's shit would have at least a slightly hard time. [ And Raylan seems to be dealing better than most would. ]
/end?
It helps. Considerin' y'all are on that side of the 'wild shit' line.
[God what he would do for a good drink.]
Think I'm gonna go see if I can't get lucky and maybe find a pack of those cancer sticks myself - there had to be a few smokers in Milton, statistically speakin' and frankly, I don't know that any one of us is gonna last long enough for the bad habit to reach out and bite us in the ass, forgive the pun.
I'll catch ya later, Bigby, and thanks again.