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

"Bruce is right." He moves enough to sit on the steps, in an easy sort of grace like those stairs are the most comfortable couch in the world. "Is that thing going to bite, explode, or just keep being a metaphorical and emotional bomb?"

"Tick, tick, tock," March mumbles, but having someone there and asking him questions is working--he's slowly coming out of it. He shakes his head.

"S'not gonna explode, it's just a wedding ring." It matches the one around his neck on a silver chain he'd had since his arrival, too.

"In cases of bombs, it's usually more tick, tick, boom," he murmurs. He keeps an eye on March but responsiveness is progress of some sort. At the very least it's less worrying. "The literal, not the emotional." Which the ring still clearly was. "Your wife?"

"Yeah. S'great. Beautiful. Fantastic cook." March sniffs loudly, the words seemingly jostling out of things more. He straightens a little, and his eyes actually rake over Bruce's.

"You wanna drink?"

"Sure." March is drunk. Bruce can taste it and dump the vast majority of it, in as subtle a way as he can manage. "Maybe I can make suggestions on increasing the proof." That gin and odd brandy thing.

"What was her name?"

March doesn't answer that question--he's not upset by it, he's just not ready--and grunts with the effort it takes to get up in a way that can only be described as a 'dad noise.'

"C'mon in. You're Tim's guy, right?"

He pauses, looking down at the ring. Fuck. He needs to pick it up. March inhales in a way that moves his whole chest, lingering in the doorway for a few seconds before he stoops down.

He stands up and moves back when March moves forward, but he does not under any circumstance move toward inside or past March. He'll follow once March goes though.

"Tim's guy?"

That's probably the wrong thing to say. March keeps his voice dead pan anyway, and decides to clarify by saying nothing new whatsoever.

"Yeah. Tim's guy. Still don't gotta smoke, huh?"

He's startled and confused, but it's not wrong - just vague.

He shrugs one shoulder. "It's as good as anything - and I don't even have a lighter." The last may be a joke.

"Don't need a lighter." Aurora had made damn sure of that, and March is positive it's given him his fire power on purpose. The wedding ring that matches the one on his neck is a stark reminder.

He does, however, finally pick it up.

"It's freezing, you wanna come in?"

That remark - not the invitation, the throw away remark at the start gets him to lift his eyebrows a bit. He nods, once. "I would love to come in."

That's an overstatement but goddamn is cold rough on him physically. Mostly ignores it, and will continue to do so - but he won't pass by the opportunity.

He'll follow March in and see if he can shake loose some words and already rusty social skills for the occasion, even.

It's cold--march's natural warmth courtesy of the aurora gift means he has little use for heat--but he has the wherewithal to move to the fire and add a few more logs. Who says he's not a good host?

"Hey."

Better to talk to someone else about their own shit. He glances over.

"What's Tim's problem?"

He's a very good host, for an alcoholic - which is about all Bruce has managed to even think he's figured out.

He showed up in a business suit, but has since gotten more appropriate clothes (and thanks to Tim, coat). The coat comes off and gets moved to the side, so he's not insulating himself from the warmth of the fire, and once there's more fuel on it drops to an easy crouch in front of it.

"I wish I knew." That's all dead honest, and even blunt - for him. "If he were being intentionally evasive, I'd have a better chance of figuring it out. As it stands, I'm lost, and concerned. What are you seeing?" March probably knows better than Bruce does at this point.

"Double," March answers that question literally, unable to resist a bit of a quippy zinger, a pleased smirk flashing across 70s features. That's the great thing about being constantly and consistently drunk -- the wit kind of surfaces up after a while and you can do your normal routines with ease despite being smashed. Or maybe it's a defense mechanism. He's not examining that too closely.

He does actually answer Bruce, though.

"I'm seeing a kid who's crazy as hell and has no idea who he is," he says honestly. "Likes you, though."

Well, at least the man's got a sense of humor about it and seems self-aware.

"I should hope so, given that I adopted him." Actually, that doesn't make it a given, at all. It's actually something of a surprise, but he wants that information out. Actively, given what he's hearing, here. "Has he been like this the entire time you've known him?"

He's not faking concern. Baking in front of the fire, keeping his eyes mostly on the flames but attention on March. And... really, really worried.

"Yeah. Kid likes to join the rest of us in the gutters, I guess." March flashes another half-cocky, very drunk smile, makes himself a little more comfortable in the place. It's cluttered in the way a bachelor's pad is, but surprisingly smell free.

"He's got a habit of showing up at 3am in distress."

He stays crouched down in front of the fire, because - well pain and his knees are not going to want him getting out of that position now that he's in it. "Showing up at three a.m is better than the alternative."

Tim, what is he going to do with you.

"What's the alternative?" March makes the immediate choice not to tell Bruce he has absolutely been sliding the guy some of this pine wine. It's one thing to be an irresponsible dad to his own daughter who's school photo is bright, in colour, and currently on the mantlepiece, and it's another to supply a teenager with an easy way to fuck up his life.

(Tim isn't a teenager per se, but March can hardly tell the difference.)

There's actually a slight, and slightly sad smile that comes with his answer to March's question.

"Not showing up."

Tim alone is... worse than almost any option. Better to fuck up his life than lose it.

It's a sentence that certain sobers March up, as much as someone like him can be sober, considering most of his blood at this point is straight pine wine.

Shit. Time to be serious. Again--and this time, about something else. It makes his skin crawl.

"He's gonna keep showing up, though." It's stubborn insistence, watching Bruce carefully.

He even knows that Tim's being supplied with alcohol. He doesn't approve, but he still prefers Tim having someone he goes to.

He pivots around enough to be facing March rather than the fire.

"I'm aware." He is. "Drunk is better than dead." Could he be more blunt. "At this point I don't care how dysfunctional the behavior you think you are enabling. Even dysfunctional coping is still coping."

Drunk being the easiest thing to address as a possibility but it applies really, really, broadly.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

it must be that old evil spirit

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