singillatim | it must be that old evil spirit

it must be that old evil spirit

SEPTEMBER 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — PAINFUL REMINDERS: An Aurora briefly connects the Interlopers to their homeworlds, and with it are able to receive items from home — but these ones will bring no comfort to them.

PROMPT TWO — THE ENEMY WITHIN: Strange and familiar occurrences begin in Milton and Lakeside, growing in frequency and danger for the Interlopers. Who can truly be trusted among their numbers?

PROMPT THREE — BAD BLOOD: The Forest Fighters finally come to Milton, and with it: they bring the yawning grave.

PAINFUL REMINDERS

WHEN: 5th - 9th of September.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potentially upsetting themes; themes of loneliness/isolation.

For many, the sight of the Aurora is now one they have become used to. There have been plenty of them over the year that has passed since the Interlopers first came to the Northern Territories. Often, they have been a sign of great danger, with plenty of unsettling and unnatural things happening when the skies light up. Other times they have been the herald of aid — a link between Interlopers and Enola, gifting them with abilities to help them survive in this world. There is no real knowing what kind of force the Aurora is, truly. And there is a tension that holds amongst the Interlopers as the day turns to night and there is the soft sound that grows louder.

The ethereal, high-pitched chorus of sounds, is difficult to place. Perhaps it sounds like voices, or discordant strings. And with it, the low-drone of electrical buzz — punctuated with the echoing pops and sharp cracks. The sky is alive with sound, and with it comes the swirling streaking of colour against the inky black of night, growing brighter and brighter as time goes on — greens, blues, pinks and purples shifting and dancing across the night. And much like every Aurora before this one, the electricals of the world come to life too. Homes, streetlamps, cars long-stranded in the snow. Man’s world comes alive, buzzing and flickering precariously.

But there are no ghosts like there once was a year ago. No terrible weather, no poisonous fog. If one could call it a ‘normal’ Aurora, that’s what it appears to be. But there is something else in amongst all the light and noise. Snatches of things: whispers of conversations, names called, laughter and tears.

You realise you recognise these voices. They are the voices of home. Perhaps you hear your mother, your siblings or friends. Whoever they are, you can hear them. And although they might not be able to hear you — for one brief night, the Aurora has connected you, bridged the gap between your world and this one. You may sit for a while, simply listening to the voices, relishing in hearing those from back home. If others join you, you will find yourself compelled to speak of them: to share in stories about those from back home — the connections you share with them.

It’s strange, though. These voices do not fill you with comfort or joy. Instead you are left with feelings of sadness, anger, and isolation. The Aurora has connected Interlopers, but now you feel so cut off from home, cut off from friends and loved ones — reminded of everything left behind. Everything you long for. Everything you have lost.

Something strange skips through the sky, a warping of the sound. It’s unsettling. Something feels... wrong, somehow.

It’s not just the voices that will remind you of this. Something else comes through the Aurora after that night. A small token will be brought through. Whatever the item may be, when you go to sleep and next wake, you will find said item. It may be placed on your bedside, on your desk or dining room table.

The item, you will find, will bring you a reminder of pain. Of sadness. Of horror. Perhaps it’s something you haven’t thought of in some time. Maybe it is something that has lingered in the back of your mind. Perhaps it is a part of you, waiting to be uncovered. A sign of something to come. A painful reminder of your past, or an ominous omen of your future.

THE ENEMY WITHIN

WHEN: The month of September.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: kidnapping/attempted kidnapping; attempted murder; murder; vandalism; arson; assault; animal mutilation; corpse mutilation/manipulation/desecration; themes of peril/terror; possible character/npc injuries; possible character/npc death.

It starts with strange happenings at night, things left to be found by the next morning. Those within Lakeside many find themselves unsurprised by it, given their location, but the scenes found in Milton are a foreboding sight.

Mutilated bodies of animals: rabbits, ptarmigans, even deer — mangled and strewn about the streets, blood upon the snow. Some may awaken in the middle of the night to the sounds of their windows breaking, with houses on the Outskirts being targeted more than those in the middle of town. There is… a kind of unrest in the world.

It escalates.

Some may leave their home for the day and return in the evening to find the place trashed: items broken, precious foodstuffs thrown about the place and destroyed. Those within the Outskirts are once again particularly vulnerable, as are those within Lakeside. Fires are started in some of the abandoned buildings of Milton. Something, someone is targeting the Interlopers.

It is hard to pin-point who exactly, and it only puts the Interlopers on high alert. Nothing like this has never happened before. This is new, especially in Milton.

As the month progresses, the acts become more serious. Fires may be started in the middle of the night in Interlopers’ homes while they sleep. Some are attacked in the night, others are taken from their beds. Some killed within their very homes. Of the Interlopers that go missing, their mutilated remains may be found days later out in the wilds.

In Milton, soon enough, someone is bold enough to come out from the darkness, out from the gloom of the night. Interlopers may be attacked in broad daylight — by those they may recognise as newer Interlopers of the community, who appeared from the wilds: lost and shivering, with nowhere else to go. Some of them have been within Milton for a few months now.

Those in Lakeside will face something similar: Forest Talkers are making a move, rogue and isolated incidents — done with sabotaging attempts at hunting and taking a more direct approach.

They have no qualms about being captured or killed, only determined to get rid of as many of the Interlopers as they can. They whisper, they scream: “You don’t belong here. You should never have come here. It wants you gone, it wants us all gone. The end is here, it’s too late for any of us. Nature must run its course. The yawning grave has been opened.”

The attack is on two fronts: the first of Forest Talkers in Lakeside amplifying their actions. The second in Milton, enemies within the ranks of the Interlopers, Forest Talkers hiding as Interlopers.

Within Milton, newer Interlopers will likely be met with suspicion as being some of the Forest Fighters as a result of these individual acts of violence. As the numbers of Milton have been infiltrated, and it’s easy to have mistrust amongst those newer to the community. In-fighting is likely, and the entire town is stuck in some terrible, tense state — unsure of who to trust within their own numbers. In the days and weeks that follow, it remains like this. Acts of violence and vandalism — chaos and disorder.

BAD BLOOD

WHEN: The night of 27th - 28th September.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: attempted murder; murder; vandalism; arson; assault; mentions of blood; themes of peril/terror; possible character/npc injuries; possible character death/npc death; actual NPC death.

Towards the end of the month, the moon is full. They call it the Harvest Moon, but colour seeps into it — oranges and reds: a blood moon, partially eclipsed. The night is calm and cloudless, but there’s an uneasy feeling in the night.

The earth groans, the rumble of another quake that’s plagued the Northern Territories since the beginning of August. It is the only warning Interlopers will get — if they may realise it as a warning. To some, when they look back, it’s a omen, a starting pistol.

They do not come through the Mines. Thanks to the efforts of Interlopers to guard the entrances of the Milton Mines, they know better. They come to town from the south, not the north.
The quakes of August and September have opened a new way from Lakeside to Milton. They are led by their Leader: a man dressed in white, a large deer skull upon his head. And while their numbers are small in comparison, they come armed and with the determination to get rid of the Interlopers once and for all. As they come into town, they launch their attack.

More fires will be set, Interlopers will be attacked with abandon. Shot at, stabbed, beaten. It is a mass execution. They will not stop until the Interlopers, or them, are dead.

Well, the majority of them. There are just under a dozen teenagers and younger people amongst their ranks who have shown hesitance toward violence in the past. Perhaps they can be reasoned with. Perhaps there may be a way to convince them to abandon their cause. There is fear in their eyes. Some of them do not want to die. They fear the yawning grave.

What will do you then, Interloper? Are you willing to fight for your life? Are you willing to take another’s to save your own, or a friends? Will you hide, or run? What choice will you make? The Forest Talkers have long since made their own choice. Now you must make yours.

It is another night of chaos on a town already scarred by the events of June. Interlopers will note two familiar faces in the fray: at some point during the night both Methuselah and Young Bill will arrive. While Methuselah will concentrate on aiding the wounded and trying to shelter Interlopers the best he can, Young Bill will help protect Interlopers from the Forest Talkers with his rifle in hand. But fortunately, it is just for one single night. Ammunition runs out, sides are switched, and people are killed. As dawn approaches, Forest Talker numbers dwindle. Either killed, incapacitated or defected. In the early morning light, bodies lie in the snow both Interloper and Forest Talker alike.

Those trying to hunt down the leader will see him slipping inside an empty cabin, heavily wounded. Following after him, they will find him settling himself down to kneel on the floor. The white of his tactical gear stained red with blood as it blooms from his wounds. Slowly, he removes the deer skull from his head to reveal a clean-shaven man in his late twenties with a shock of white-blond hair. His eyes are blue, calm.

He sets the skull down, panting and sweating. He is dying. He is not afraid.

“My name is Mallory, not that it matters now. We are dead, you and I.” he says softly. “We exist in a dying world.”

He is in much pain from his wounds. He moves again to sit cross-legged on the floor. A hand touches the bloodied fabric of his front and he laughs humourlessly.

“You don’t understand, do you? The end must come. That is the order of things. The end must come so the world can be reborn. That is how it’s always worked. When the world is swallowed, it will grow again from the earth.”

It is a story. The story of the Darkwalker. Some believe it to be the end of the world, but Young Bill had once said there is another telling of the tale. A creation myth. The Darkwalker swallows the world and returns to its slumber within the earth. Within it, everything its swallowed grows again and the world returns.

“We fought against man’s actions to ruin this place, not knowing our true purpose. The Devourer has shown me the truth, and I sought to put that into action.” His head tilts to one side. “The yawning grave is opened. Does new life not grow from the decay? It is a cycle. The grave and the cradle.”

He finds it difficult to breathe, but he presses on.

“You fight to live. You come here and you do not see what you are. You are only delaying the inevitable, perverting the true course. Prolonging the suffering. You are the Interlopers, you are not part of nature’s design. The Darkwalker does not want you here. And where it fails, we have tried to succeed.”

There’s another laugh, something catching in his throat. He coughs, blood bubbling from his lips.

“And failed. For now. The First Cursed cannot hold it forever. She, too, delays the inevitable." Even as he is dying, he still have the energy to sneer. He speaks of Enola. "A woman who plays at being a god. What right does she have? All must go into the Long Dark. ... As will I. Return me to the grave.”

Mallory’s head dips, his body sagging. He inhales once more and then stops.

FAQs

PAINFUL REMINDERS

1. Players must sign up for items. See the toplevel on the plotting post.

2. Items will face the same warps/nerfs as everything else that is brought into the game.

3. Items can be no bigger than something your character can reasonably carry.

4. While items do not have to belong to your character, there has to be a good reason why they’d receive such an item — ie. something related to your character.

THE ENEMY WITHIN

1. The Forest Talkers within Milton are a number of NPCs that have been pre-selected from NPCs who arrived in April and August. Not all of them will show their true intentions as the month goes on but will continue to stay hidden.

2. Two NPCs killed in the June Event were also Forest Talkers. … Good… job?

3. The following NPC Interlopers will out themselves as Forest Talkers at this stage: Devon Busswood; Rita Yee; Realm Lovejoy.

BAD BLOOD

1. Following the events of this prompt, Interlopers now have an additional way into Lakeside. It’s still rather dangerous: it’s through a partially collapsed cave system that ends into abandoned bunker on the Lakeside side. The game map will be marked accordingly in due course.

2. Some Interlopers may recognise a familiar face in the Forest Talker ranks: the man who was kidnapped by Interlopers previously in July has returned. Looks like he made good on his promise. He's come back to cause problems.

3. The following NPC Interlopers will out themselves as Forest Talkers during the attack: Jackie Blackmore; Ross Huguet; Jennifer Kitchen; Daniel Kresco.

4. As a reminder of numbers: around fifty Forest Talkers will show up for the attack.

5. There is an OOC vote on the fate of the remaining Forest Talkers, the link is here.

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Arthur's startled out of his almost trance-like motions by the voice calling for him, and his head snaps up in surprise.

"Ah-" He's wide-eyed for a moment, a little caught off-guard as his brain rallies to catch up with him. "It's- I-I'm fine, really, you don't have to worry." He lifts a hand to try and wave her off, just a gentle motion, and tries to ignore how covered in blood they are. "There's other people far worse off, we should make sure they're seen to properly."

Sveta comes close, shaking her head. "I won't accept that. If you will be helping other people, I do not want to come across you fallen in the snow. Please, just let me look you over," she tells him firmly.

He's ready to protest it, to get back to work so he can push aside having to think about any of it for later - but two things stop him.

Firstly, that he is tired. He doesn't actually even know if he's injured, with every other layer of exhaustion running through him first. He can almost hear John telling him to take a break.

And the second is... her concern. Being able to see it in another person, for the first time in... too long, it feels like, that it's obviously concern and not pity - he finds his stubborn walls crumbling. And he gives a weary nod.

"Alright. Yes, I- shall we head back inside for it, at least?" Better than out in the cold or dragging her along to the next body.

"Yes," is the quick answer. "Inside, in the warmth, where my supplies are." She gently puts a hand on his arm to steady him if need be. "Your head is the most worrisome part right now. Do you feel any other injuries?"

It's easier for her to be a doctor right now than it is for her to be - well, an actual person. "I'm Doctor Nazarova," she adds in. "You can call me Svetlana if you'd prefer."

"Arthur Lester," he replies easily, and he doesn't shake her arm off as he's lead back inside, but only because he doesn't feel like he's being dragged along for it. "A-and I'm fine, it's not a concussion. I'm familiar enough with the sensation to say it with confidence."

He's happy to play along with whatever she needs, for the time being. "I don't... I think I'm alright, honestly. Most of this truly isn't mine, i-it was just- chaotic. I've almost certainly strained something," he adds, like it'll lighten the mood. "But I think that's it."

Sveta does laugh at that, directing him to sit near the fire where the most light is. "I'm certain you have," she agrees. "But I'm hardly worried for strains and more - how many times have you concussed yourself?"

She takes a wet rag and, if he allows, starts to clean the blood from his head first.

The blood's really not difficult to see the cause of - the friction scars on his right side got split open near his hairline, the already weak area impacted open - but there is sharp clarity in those yellow-flecked brown eyes, looking her over curiously even as he winces at the gentle touch.

"Enough times that I couldn't give you a number," he huffs dryly. "Not enough that I'm worried about it. I've just had, er. I suppose a tough life, sometimes. I-it's fine though, really."

"Now you let me worry about the state of your brain," she tells him with a small smile, tsking softly when she finds the root cause.

Another clean rag is taken out and she presses it against the source firmly. "Place your hand there for me a moment. And tell me what else needs my attention."

He does as he's told, shifting it to keep the rag out of his eye, and glances down at himself with a tired curiosity.

"I'm not going to ask you to wash my clothes for me, at least," he hums, but he does slide off his outermost jacket - a little awkwardly, trying to keep the rag pressed to his forehead as he does. "But I know I didn't get shot. If I did get anything else, it'll just be flesh wounds at worst."

Certainly nothing feels sticky under his clothes, in the way he's become unfortunately, intimately familiar with. Nothing aches like a break, though when he shifts his left wrist out of his jacket he has to bite down on a wince. Definitely jarred that somewhere.

"Oh no. My bedside manner stops right at clothes washing," she remarks gently, helping him out of the jacket and running her hands along his arms, feeling for anything wrong.

She does note that change, though.

"The wrist or the elbow?" she wonders, her touch light.

It's a baggy knitted sweater on top now, that hides multiple other sleeves beneath it, unhelpfully distorting the shape of his arm beneath it, but - not quite fully hiding how thin he is.

When she gets to his wrist, his gloved hand, he pulls away; obviously not from pain, but the self-conscious twist of his expression certainly looks like it. "My wrist, or- m-my hand, really. An old injury, it's- something I'm already aware of."

She immediately moves her hand away when he pulls back, not wanting to exasperate it.

"Ah, alright. Do you need anything for the pain? You need to be able to rest tonight."

She does notice how thin he is, but they've all starved here before. She makes a note to ensure that he gets some of the fish from Crozier at a later date. When all of this is - situated.

"Just some Aspirin will do me, truly. It's not something that goes away, but straining it during all this has, er. Exacerbated it a little, that's all."

He doubts the root snapped during all of it, but he'll have to check later. When there's no doctors to make a fuss about it and hound him with questions he's too tired to answer.

"I do, in fact, have aspirin," she assures him. "But you come to me if it gets worse." And Sveta uses her stern voice. It comes with a very intimidating frown. "I promise, I have seen worse than whatever it is that happened. I want to keep an eye on your head, as well. When this is all over, and it will be over, you and I will be fast friends."

She manages a laugh, despite the chaos outside that darkens the light in her eyes.

Terribly intimidating, of course. Arthur gives her a solemn nod with her determined glare. "Of course."

But it's... nice, in its own way. To see the light at the end of the tunnel, after a gruelling night. And even then there's something to be said that it was just... human violence. Just an idiotic revenge quest gotten out of hand.

"I'm certainly not in a position to say not to having some friends here," he returns easily, the edge of a smile creasing his cheek despite himself. "We could all use a bit of sticking together after this."

She nods, trusting that. "We will be. And I will not forget. I once tracked Lalo down when he had a cough and forced him to sit and let me treat him." She starts to clean up and digs a small pill bottle out of her bag. "One," she tells him firmly. "Three in a day. No more. I do not have any spare kidneys to give you and these are extra strength."

A part of him vaguely wonders if his kidneys have escaped some of the perforations his stomach has sustained over the last six months, and promptly decides it's not worth worrying about. He takes the bottle with an easy smile. Moreover, he resolves to never let her see him without his shirt on, medical be damned.

"Thank you. I assure you I'll be responsible with them." And as he pockets them- "A-and what about yourself, then? How are you holding up?"

She gives him a smile. It's not bright and it's not cheerful, but it's there. "I am surviving. But I've been here longer. I have friends who help me. And I - am happy to have met you to help you, too."

His own expression is tired in return, but- at least they're both still here.

"This too shall pass," he says quietly. "And- a-and I'm very glad to have met you as well, Svetlana. If you need a hand with any more of, of this, then..."

He gestures to her medical bag. "I'm certainly more than capable of being an extra pair of hands if you need them, or helping run supplies. Whatever I can do to help."

~~Please don't leave him to just sit still with his thoughts.~~

She nods, sensing that he likes to be helpful for his own reasons. She understands that better than some.

"Will you return to my cabin? It's just there." She points through the door. "Three doors down and then to the right. There's a rug hanging on the fence around the porch. Inside are more bandages. Will you fetch them for me?"

He glances back with her directions, and nods firmly. "Of course." He gives her another smile, and he can't deny that there's more than a bit of relief to it. "I'll be right back."

And he can certainly follow straight-forward directions; he tries to be polite in her cabin, at least, and not poke around more than necessary until he finds the bandages, but his curiosity is definitely insatiable, and he's looking around curiously despite himself, just for a minute, before he makes his way back to try and spot her again in the hall.

Svetlana's cabin is cozy and warm, the blankets and furniture well taken care of, despite their initial dilapidated state. There is dried fish and meat all around the cabinets, as well as some canned foods.

On the table is a manual for growing seeds with her own notebook beside it, notes written in Cyrillic. Beside that is a bag with a few folded rags, obviously clean, for bandages.

She's checking her supplies when he comes back and smiles. "Ah! You've come back. Did you find it?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

it must be that old evil spirit

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors

Re: Bad Blood - Survivors