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singillatim2024-09-09 11:48 pm
singmod) wrote in singillatim2024-09-09 11:48 pm
Entry tags:
- *event,
- arthur lester: maniette,
- benton fraser: lorna,
- billy prior: karen,
- casper darling: mimi,
- charles rowland: giz,
- chloe frazer: tess,
- cornelius hickey: kates,
- daisy johnson: amy,
- edward little: jhey,
- eren jaeger: lyn,
- francis crozier: gels,
- illarion: lark,
- james fitzjames: ami,
- jane margolis: amber,
- john irving: gabbie,
- kate marsh: cheryl,
- kieren walker: cheryl,
- konstantin veshnyakov: jhey,
- lalo salamanca: amber,
- levi ackerman: dem,
- levi jordan: cirape,
- louis de pointe du lac: tea,
- michonne grimes: cloude,
- ragnar lothbrok: lily,
- randvi: tess,
- reiner braun: kas,
- sameen shaw: iddy,
- sandor clegane: em,
- scratch: laus,
- snow white: carly,
- tim drake: fox,
- trixie: gels,
- vasiliy ardakin: yasmine,
- wynonna earp: lorna
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
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.
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.
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.
no subject
Swallowing heavily, she wipes a hand down her face before raising her head, and she's honest. She doesn't answer the question at all, not at first. ]
I forgot. I forgot what he sounded like. [ Her voice cracks in pain at the confession. ] How can someone be gone so long you forget their voice?
[ She thought with Judith, it was because she was so young. Of course she'd forget Rick and Carl's voices. But Michonne? She should've remembered, and she hasn't been able to tell anyone she's forgotten. If that can happen, she knows she'll forget what her babies sound like too, and her chest spasms again in a deep ache. Clearing her throat, she glances over, then shakes her head. ]
Don't need that kind of help.
[ Physically she's fine, she thinks. The chest pain is just loss and grief, trying to make room for it when she thought there was no more space. ]
no subject
But, his head is such a jumbled mess and he's not thinking straight. He swallows, pain etching itself on his face as he listens to Gwen's voice in his ear, over and over. He will never tire of her voice but he needs it to stop.
It won't. It doesn't. It can't. ]
Yeah.
[ He swallows but doesn't leave. ]
Are you — are you hearing something?
[ Is that too forward to ask? ]
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My kids, at first. Now my husband.
[ There's longing in her voice when she gives her first answer. But there's grief wrapped up in the word husband, and she exhales shakily. ]
He's gone. He's been gone for a long time.
[ Gone. Just gone.]
no subject
[ His words trail off because what does he say to that? What can he say? He swallows. ]
I'm — I'm hearing things too.
[ He's not exactly sure why he's admitting it except to try and be a comfort even if saying the words are so painful, like a knife underneath his rubs.
He closes his eyes. ]
Someone I loved, someone who...she's not here anymore.
[ Gone. Dead. Because of him. ]
I lost her.
no subject
I used to hear things, thought it was just me. Wild someone else is hearing voices this time, too.
[ It's easier to talk about how insane she thought she'd gone, but that isn't the point. ]
Sorry. [ She hears the self-blame in his voice; the bridge explosion wasn't her fault, she can't find a way to blame herself for Rick, but for Mikey? For Carl? She can find that blame all day long and then some. ] About the woman you lost. You carry it alone?
[ It's the weight in his eyes, the weight she can almost see, pressing him down, that makes her question feel relevant. She carries hers alone now, maybe she always will. Maybe that's how it has to be. ]
no subject
[ It surprises him that he's told someone that he doesn't even know about Gwen and her death. He'd been keeping that to himself since he'd gotten here and now, it's out in the open.
It feels like he's done something wrong, letting other people see that grief because he should be carrying it alone. He should be burdened by it. ]
But it's fine. It's what you have to do, right?
no subject
You're still here.
[ He's young. Tragedy that young can shape the rest of someone's life; of course, she can't and doesn't know what his life is like, but she assumes grief hurts like hell for everyone. ]
I watched my husband—[ She won't say die. She watched him set off the explosion, but then? No body, no...no anything. So she won't say die. ]—I was right there, and I lost him anyway.
[ She isn't one who opens up either, not usually, but what does it matter anymore? No one knows her here. She has nothing to lose, here. ]
So I might get it, if you want to...you know. Talk.
no subject
He swallows and slides a hand over his face and through his hair. ]
I was right...there when I lost her too. I tried to save her and I didn't.
[ He'd failed, she'd died. ]
I messed up. I caused it. I'm — I caused it.
no subject
You tried.
[ She could've easily pushed free of Maggie and Carol both; they're strong but she had a sword. But she hadn't threatened, hadn't fought much. Just screamed and watched, then let them drag her away. But she hadn't caused it, and that's a key difference in their shared grief.
She shifts, silently inviting him to sit if he wants. ]
Would she think that? What you think about yourself, I mean.
no subject
[ Peter shakes his head, trying to shove away the attempt to soothe him. He can't let that happen. He has to punish himself though, if asked, he wouldn't know how to explain why.
Peter digs the heel of his hand into his eye, wiping away tears that aren't there. ]
She would think...I don't know. What's the point in thinking about that when she's dead?
no subject
[ She can't make anyone believe they didn't try hard enough when they feel so responsible. No one could ever convince her Mikey's death wasn't her fault, or Andrea's. And while she's learned to live with that grief, it'd be a lie to say that she's actually forgiven herself. She won't let herself off the hook like that. So, she gets it. ]
Someone told me once, grief is just love with nowhere to go anymore. So I talk mine out. Talk to him, talk to them, talk to my dead kids.
[ She doesn't look at Peter, can't, instead she just stares ahead, out of focus. ]
I think it's kept me from forgetting the sounds of their voices, just a little bit longer. Because they talk back. They keep me from forgetting who I am.
[ She's only admitted that to a single person before in her life: Rick. And sometimes he's still there, if she looks up he might standing right behind Peter, telling her to stick it out with this kid, keep talking it out as long as he wants. ]
no subject
[ He hadn't realized how scared he was until she'd said something about it, until she'd brought it up. He's so scared that, one day, he'll wake up and he'll forget how Gwen sounds.
It shakes him right to his core and his voice pitches lower, like he's some child. Peter shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the tears that want to slide down his cheeks. He can't cry, he can't cry. ]
I'm sorry. I'm — about your kids. I am.
[ Because he can't even imagine the well of pain that something like that's produced. Peter swallows. ]
Do you...talk to them about anythin specific?
no subject
I'm sorry about the woman you lost.
[ At his question, she shakes her head, thinking about past 'conversations.' ]
Mostly, I tell my two at home that I'm still looking for their dad. That I haven't given up. Except I think I have to, now. This little small town bullshit detour makes it too long to be gone.
[ A tear does manage to fall straight down her cheek and Michonne sniffles, not bothering to brush it away. ]
But I think you can talk about anything you want. She might even talk back. [ She glances over at him. ] What's her name?
no subject
[ When he says that, a breath rushes out of him and he almost feels faint. He rubs eat his eyes. They're dry but he feels like he could start crying at any second. ]
I think that's the first time I've said her name out loud since I got here.
[ The realization picks at that scab inside of him that he's never let heal. ]
I don't know if I'd be any good at talking to her. I don't know what to say. I...she died because of me.
no subject
[ Michonne can't claim to be good at advice, but she tries, and she's sincere. He's young, and he seems lost, and she wants to help. ]
Just talk, start with random shit that doesn't make any fucking sense. It'll come, whatever it is that needs to come out.
[ Taking a deep breath, she puts another offer on the table, unsure how he'll react. ]
Or tell me about her. Tell me about who Gwen was. But get out of that moment you're blaming yourself for, or you'll get stuck. Trust me on that.
no subject
She was...really smart. Really smart. I liked to listen to her talk. Even if I didn't really care what she was talking about, I just liked her voice.
[ And he was so, so scared of forgetting how she sounded. He didn't want to lose her voice. ]
I wanted to hear that voice for the rest of my life. She could have talked to me about...Idado and I would have loved it. I would have questioned her enjoyment of a random state but I would have loved it. Just because it was her.
no subject
Idaho is pretty fuckin' random.
[ She cracks a small smile, but it fades just as quickly as it arrived. ]
How'd you meet?
no subject
[ He laughs a little, quietly, before he shakes his head. ]
School. High school. We were classmates, that kind of thing. I noticed her, she didn't notice me for awhile so I just kind of pined. Not creepily.
no subject
Had a high school sweetheart about a hundred years or so ago. Something like that. I was the pining one though. Also, not creepily. What made her notice?
[ She leans forward with here elbows on her knees, letting herself (forcing herself) to relax a little more and listen to his story. ]
no subject
[ He rubs the back of his neck and laughs. ]
She was interning at a lab and I...snuck in, took someone else's identification card and kind of did the tour when I wasn't supposed to. It wasn't just to see her but she happened to be there and...yeah, she caught me.
no subject
[ She's trying to make him feel, even if it's just for a split second, a little lighter. It helps to remember, to let the good memories flood in. The dark can't ever be shut out, loss like that is too big, but the light can be let in enough to push it back, make it harder to wrap around him.
When she started thinking like this, she isn't sure. Maybe when RJ was born, when she realized she needed to have more hope for him, for Judith. ]
You a lab rat too? [ She asks in a genuine way, curious about where his interests are. ] I was more of an English nerd. Read a lot.
no subject
[ Because he is, indeed, a skinny white boy. He laughs a little, looking down at himself. He's filled out a little but he's always going to be a beanpole. ]
Yeah, I always liked tinkering around with things, making them work. I didn't mind English though. It just didn't keep my attention as well as the sciences.
no subject
I have a friend, Eugene. We found a satellite, crashed probably...fifteen, twenty miles from one of our territories. He salvaged parts, hooked shit up from old radios he found scavenging, then made a functioning ham radio.
[ She smiles a little, then looks at Peter. ]
What kind of science? More like a chemist or an inventor?
no subject
[ Please point him to any downed satellites or otherwise because he would be happy to make something out of nothing. ]
Chemist is probably closer to what I'd like to do than inventor. I've known chemists who have invented things but I haven't gotten there yet. My dad did before he died. So, maybe I'll do it too eventually.
no subject
[ He's always messing with shit, maybe they could get into something together. ]
You're young, you'll get there. Gotta get out of here first, but you will. We all will, eventually.
[ She has to believe that as solid fact, can't let herself sink into the alternative. Maybe it'll take time, but they'll get out. ]
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