methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
singmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2024-09-09 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
He is slightly less guarded when it comes to displaying emotion, however, even if he does prefer to choose when to do that as well. But he has no issue showing sympathy, and draws close enough to take the photo when offered--it's odd, like a far more durable daguerreotype printed on paper--but what's far more noteworthy is that the woman's face has been marked out. Perhaps the photo is just damaged, but it seems intentional. Strange.
"Is she your wife?" He's noticed the ring but it's entirely possible she's a sister or something and the jewelry is a keepsake, particularly if she's no longer living, as he wonders from Zane's last comment and the tears.
no subject
It helps to talk about it. He's never gotten a chance to talk about it. He's not entirely sure it's real anymore, but it helps, the company and the words. He points at the background, sniffing lightly.
"And the cabin. First thing I bought when I moved to America. Pretty great place--run down, but the lake was beautiful. Do you have some place like that? A terrible, awful place that you can't help but love?"
no subject
"I don't." He answers honestly, after a brief moment of consideration; he can easily bring to mind places he loves and misses, as well as those where his experiences had been so horrible he never wants to revisit them, but none that brings up both feelings at once. Erebus comes closest, but he doesn't truly find himself mourning the loss of it, nor was the situation they'd all ended up in any sort of fault of the ship itself. Neither emotion is strong enough to really qualify for what Zane is talking about.
"Did you both move there together?" It's a question with a perhaps obvious answer, considering the photo of the two of them is taken out front of the cabin, but it's less about the answer and more just an invitation for Zane to continue talking if he wants. And, suddenly, James is struck by the oddly mundane realization that he should probably make tea, and gathers the kettle from where he'd left it near the fire before heading to the kitchen to fill it, though clearly still listening should Zane start talking again.
no subject
"It's easy to transform yourself if you know how, you know." A kettle is being lifted, moved. Fitzjames is a good host. That's good. That means he's feeling much, much better. Tom's not entirely sure what the feeling he has about that is--he's proud, maybe, but something else is there--but isn't worried. That will come later when he has a chance to ruminate over the situation all by himself. His fingers absently run over the photo he has, over Barbara's scratched out face.
"And it's never too late to start."
no subject
"Were the changes in name a part of that? Transforming?"
Names are, of course, something James has thought about--perhaps more than many--when it comes to identity, but the thought of simply changing it is one he's never truly considered for more than brief moments. Changing one's name while both trying to avoid any questions about one's heritage and also attempting to build a reputation at the same time had just not been a good option, and so he'd never seriously entertained it, but the idea is certainly an intriguing one.
Of course, he could also be reading too much into how connected Zane's statements are, but he thinks it's a reasonable enough conclusion to draw that it wouldn't raise any suspicion.
no subject
"James Fitzjames, I think you might be onto something," he says after a second, and there's a brief flash of something melancholy on his features before he's right back to that soft, friendly smile. He makes himself a little more comfortable: feet crossed at the ankle and propped up, draping himself over the couch like he owns the place, holding court at a house party. The only things missing, in his humble but correct opinion, are a Jim Morrison record in the background, a smoke in one hand, and a negroni in the other. Then it would be perfect.
"You're a pretty smart guy." he doesn't want to pry too much, not right away, but the other is irresistible to him in that fashion. "I dig it, man. There's an edge too you, but you're not rough. Just observant. Like Doctor Darling--And the right amount of polite, too. You must be swimming in suitors."
A half-wave of the photo of him and his wife, brow raised. He wants to keep picking. Wants to know everything there is.
"You got a lucky girl? Lucky fella, back home?"
no subject
He didn't miss the brief flash that crossed Zane's expression, though it's no surprise either, considering the subject of discussion. And that's also why it isn't terribly unexpected that the topic shifts, though it is somewhat difficult to tell if the deflection is on purpose or not. Either way, though, it's nicely done, starting with flattery and then smoothly shifting to a question that turns the subject solidly toward James instead.
He'll allow it, just briefly, mentally filing away the compliments themselves; he's used to gleaning what others think of him through their behavior, but rarely is he directly told any of their observations. It's odd, for someone who tries to be so careful about the image he presents, and especially so when what's being observed is somewhat different--though not in a bad way--from what James usually goes for.
"I am not the type to settle down."
He gives the answer to Zane's inquiries easily, because it's practiced; not for the exact questions, of course, as the second option is certainly not one proposed to him so brazenly, but the answer is the same regardless. James has had his... Flings, perhaps, is the right word to use, but never seriously entertained anything more long-lasting for an entire host of reasons that he's unwilling to contemplate too deeply, let alone share.
"I admit it's a surprise to hear that you are. She must have been quite remarkable."
It's said with a small nod toward the photo, taking his own turn at shifting the subject.
no subject
"Good for you," he says, and seems to mean it. It's another piece of the Fitzjames' puzzle carefully being assembled. Eventually, though, the finger he's been waggling hooks onto the wedding ring he wears on his chunky, beaded Jim Morrison-esque necklace, slipping it through a finger and lifting it up so the other can see it.
"She's always here," he assures. "Even though she drowned before me."
no subject
"What do you mean?"
Is he being metaphorical or literal? The latter would normally not be possible--she could've drowned, but Zane shouldn't be here speaking to him if he'd done so too--but it is this place, and James knows all too well those rules don't apply here.
no subject
Tom's strangely calm during this--not still, never still, but despite the subject matter, he's no where near as manic as he can be.
"Art is a very powerful thing," he says softly, "have you ever stopped to think about it? Anything you can write, any stories you tell, well, they're real, aren't they? It's all real in some form of another. And sometimes," he leans forward, looking James right in the eye.
"Sometimes, if you're very careful, if the water lets you, if you have a knack for it, if you're truly an artist, you can make and unmake."
no subject
Stories, again, are a running theme, and one that's shared between them. But although James is certainly aware of the power of stories, of presenting events and tales in a certain way, of the illusion--and in some senses, reality--that can be created. But that's a matter of perception, of belief, not reality. James can tell a story of something that he's experienced, and he can twist and alter it to get the reaction and response that he wants, but it doesn't change what actually happened. There's still a truth there, even if it's hidden.
What Zane's talking about feels like something more. Water is not a part of telling stories, not specifically at least, and not in an inherent way that would make this understandable as a metaphor. But it is another perhaps coincidental, perhaps strange, shared connection; James had nearly drowned attempting to rescue someone from dangerous waters, though it had been a river, and ultimately both James and the man he'd been trying to save had survived. Still, that had simply been because James is a strong swimmer, and there had been boats around that eventually been able to assist. It had nothing to do with the water itself, or making or unmaking any sort of story.
"Make and unmake in what sense?" Although he hadn't been speaking particularly loudly before, he finds his own voice has softened as well, matching the strange shift in tone of the conversation. He doesn't know if he's buying into this, but he wants to understand all the same.
no subject
Tears are threatening to spill again, something Tom is not ashamed of in the least. He smiles nonetheless, teeth pointed, smile a grimace. The ring slides off of his finger, rests back onto his bare chest. His sigh takes up his entire body, moving right down to his hand holding the picture, guiding it in front of him.
"She came back wrong."
no subject
Except they can.
"Wrong?"
A part of him feels like he shouldn't pry, not really interested in upsetting Zane any further, but it isn't enough to stop him; perhaps if this had been a matter of simple curiosity it would have, but not at this point. Not when this is the first time he's heard of someone being brought back from death outside of this place, not when he's hearing it had gone wrong somehow, not when he feels so unlike himself in so many ways.
no subject
So Tom gently reels his little fish in. He recites a poem, staring into the fire.
"Kept from sleep again last night
By the sound of chimes
I sway
So far below heaven
So high above hell
Frost creeps up
The trunk of my spine
All is blackness through these holes
Of my eyes
Just the wind in my skull
And the wings of her crows
They perch on the gallows
They have pecked me clean
And made a chime from
My bones."
He glances over at James, looking at him pointedly, searching his face for something--anything. Whatever he's looking for, he returns his gaze to the fire.
"What was in the lake wore her face, but it wasn't her. Not really. That thing's here, too, now. With us in Milton--a different form, a different person, but around. He's quite handsome."
no subject
At any rate, James can't glean all too much from the poem itself, other than the general tone of the imagery. So although he's listening, there isn't much besides contemplation to be seen in his expression, nothing particularly standing out to him or otherwise ringing familiar. However, at the last comments Zane makes, James can't help but be a little surprised that this didn't come up earlier; some sort of being that had been not quite Zane's wife is here, in this place?
"Who is it?" It's the obvious question, but he follows it with another. "It can change form?" How? Are there limitations? Is this something they need to be aware of, that some person or thing here can shapeshift and pretend to be others?
no subject
"The Dark Presence is a part of it no matter what you do. It had my wife before I fixed it, made things right, wrote an alternative solution for another me to solve. But you can't ever fully get rid of it, not something like that, not a spirit of something, an idea of something, you know?"
He's watching James very, very carefully.
"It'll always find a way to come back, always find some artist to lure down and give it what it wants. Poets, filmmakers. Rock bands. A writer. You can cut out your wife's heart and drown you both, and it still won't be enough, because it wears your face now, layered through time and iterations, worming its way into another you's life just like that, messing it up, making it worse, burrowing into their story, thriving."
Tom leans back, smiling.
"Or maybe that's just the plot to movie I made. Pretty wild story, though, huh? Very meta."
no subject
And then Zane makes those last few comment, and James is not amused with the insinuation that perhaps this had all been just a story. He doubts it was, and thinks this is either a last moment attempt by Zane to play off being too honest about the subject, or that he's just purposefully messing with James, or both. Whatever the case might be, he dislikes the purposeful attempt at creating ambiguity, and although his tone is lightly neutral when he responds he matches the flippancy through his words.
"This may be an appropriate time to admit that I don't know what a movie is."