methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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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
Perhaps that's a philosophy about to be put to the test. ]
Ah, yes. Thank you for asking.
[ His smile is only a flicker, but he sets the piece of metal aside after turning it over in his hands one last time. His glance moves to the bottle of milk the young man is carrying, and his brow furrows in confusion. ]
Did that...
[ It isn't from Milton. Not only has there not been fresh milk here for likely over a year, any milk that might be found would like be in a bag. ]
Where did that come from?
no subject
[ But that's a lie, isn't it? He knows exactly where it had come from. His fingers tighten around the cold glass and he looks down at it. ]
It wasn't here yesterday. I think — I don't know. It wasn't here yesterday.
[ He's babbling, not making sense and he knows it. Peter shakes his head. ]
It just showed up. I haven't had milk in a long time and it just showed up. How does that happen?
no subject
[ In fact, he's nearly certain of it. The item he received was too pointed, too precise a blow to be pure happenstance.
The younger man seems caught in the undertow of his own thoughts as he stares at the milk bottle, and Fraser shifts, facing him a little more directly, offering him a lifeline of words. They may not be much, yet, but he's simply trying to give the younger man some direction, something to grab onto. ]
It's Peter Parker, isn't it?
no subject
( peter nods and even steps forward to offer his hand, an automatic gesture that he barely realizes that he's doing. )
This is, uh, it's the first time I've experienced something like this here. Just something showing up out of the blue.
( he doesn't think he likes it. )
no subject
[ His grip is firm without any attempt to be overpowering; his smile is a small flicker of its usual self, but he manages it. ]
For me, too.
[ He looks over at the twisted piece of metal, lacing his fingers back together as he leans his elbows on his thighs. ]
And I can think of no reason why I might have received this except to make me worry.
no subject
[ That's what it feels like to him too. Just way to instill some kind of fear or anger or pain in him. To remind him of his failures. He shakes his head and brings the bottle of milk up in front of his eyes. ]
It's — I don't know. It's making me remember things from the past and I don't really know if I like that.
[ Because of what it was, because of how badly it hurt. ]
It's this place, isn't it?
no subject
What matters is the faintly lost expression in Peter's eyes, the way his glance returns again and again to the bottle. It's an expression he's seen a thousand times on a thousand faces. ]
Yes, I believe so. This place, the forces at work here.
[ He considers, for a moment, weighing his words. When he speaks, his voice is gentle, sympathetic. ]
Would it help to talk about it?
no subject
[ Peter laughs at the answer and then shakes his head, eyes locked onto the bottle of milk for a second before he rubs his face tiredly. ]
I haven't ever really...talked about it. Which isn't good, I know. But I just couldn't. I couldn't talk about it.
[ The shame, the grief, the overbearing feeling of failure were things he just had to keep to himself. ]
this is so late, apologies! also Fraser talks about his dad for 895781274012 words...
After my mother died, I was raised by my grandparents.
[ It has the cadence of a story's beginning; he glances up at Peter, lifting a hand in an agreeing, hold on motion before he goes on. ]
I know, this seems unrelated. But I was. You see, my father was also a Mountie, and the only way he really knew how to manage the grief was to throw himself into his work. He wasn't a man who spoke often — or at all, really — about his regrets. In fact, he died before he and I ever really had a conversation about what he felt about Mom, or even about me. My grandparents were like that, too. Very kind people, but not comfortable discussing their innermost thoughts and feelings.
Anyway, after my father died, I found a collection of his journals, where he wrote at length about his struggles, his regrets and guilt and sorrows. And I wonder if he ever hoped I'd find them, to read the things he was never able to say. It's interesting, because one of the regrets he mentions most often is that he couldn't tell me these things himself.
[ He smiles, very slightly, and shakes his head. ]
Which is a long way around to saying that if you ever wish you could tell someone the things you might only be able to write, or perhaps not even that, well... I'd listen. And if not, I understand.
it's all good, don't worry about it!
I think my uncle would probably get along with your dad. They sound similar. My uncle might have been a little more talkative but I...yeah, we didn't always talk. I know that they kept things from me to protect me and that made me angry.
[ He'd wanted to know about his father and he was pissed when that had been kept from him but he thinks he...understands why. Even if it's still hard to comprehend. ]
I hadn't ever really considered writing it down. I guess I just...well, decided that keeping it all bottled up was a smart coping strategy.
[ Said dryly. ]
I don't even know where I'd start.
no subject
[ Even as he says it, he wonders at his own hypocrisy. Discussing his feelings hasn't ever come easily to him; he finds it so much more rewarding to help others with theirs. But then, he's part of the problem, isn't he? Is it due to what he learned from his father, his grandparents, or has he simply made the same choices as them despite knowing better?
He nods at the milk bottle. ]
You could start with that.
no subject
[ God, the only thing he wants to do with this milk bottle is throw it down and shatter it. He doesn't want to see it again but it feels like he has to carry it around as penance. ]
I might. I don't know what I'd say. I've thought so much about that night but then I just...stropped thinking of it. It hurt too much. So, I just put it away. Not the best coping mechanism, I know.