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

IN THE FIELDS THE BODIES BURNING
bad blood. warnings for dead bodies, discussion of decomposition, graphic description of immolated corpses.

[ The principal mode of body disposal here, Orson has gathered with some distaste, seems to be whole-body interment, in which the corpse is lowered into the ground to simply… rot away to nothing but the skeleton that underpinned it. (Like Galen’s will be, someday, back home, once scavengers have had their pick of his flesh.)

He is surprised, therefore, that the man whom he volunteered to assist with the undesirable—to others, not himself, of course—business of disposition of the corpses left over after the raids not only knows how to create a proper pyre but defaults to doing so instead of undertaking the fool’s errand of trying to split the earth and dig through the rocklike permafrost out of sheer sentimentality. Maybe he comes from a culture other than the nation Canada’s—the name he was given when they met, Rama Raju, doesn’t seem to follow the naming conventions that bind the natives of this place, and most of the extradimensional trespassers, together.

Whatever the reason, they work well together, and have made a significant amount of headway in the past three hours, multiple pyres constructed correctly, the blackened bodies atop the scaffolding engulfed in bright flame several feet high by the time one of the defectors approaches—and asks them to instead undertake this culture’s primitivist method of burial out of sentimentality, for the bodies of the enemy, no less. He leaves after that, to let them discuss, and once he has, Orson turns to his companion, scoffing as he momentarily pauses in layering thick straight pine branches across the pyre he’s constructing. ]

It’s completely unreasonable. Has he forgotten that there’s a permafrost several feet deep here? Or that these people were our enemy?

[He's angry enough, even by the time the whole of the thing is clearly done, to set the bodies alight with nothing but the bizarre abilities this place has 'gifted' him with, usually so difficult to coax and to control by turns, but perfectly in tune with the rest of him now. But bodies burn easier, more completely, with something built to move the air around and underneath them and there'd been something shameful about the wrath with eyes on him, others to see and know some useless tantrum toward men already dead.

So he hadn't. And if the bodies, once the barebones, serviceable pyres are lit in the more normal way, happen burn a little more brightly than they otherwise might, some of the flames larger and hotter than they really should be, given their fuel... Well. He certainly isn't going to tend these things long enough for the bodies to burn properly, so they may as well burn hotter while he's here.

He wouldn't have helped with this part of the cleanup much, though, if the man he's ended up with expected the same thing as the rest of them. The same as this particular one of the Forest Talker survivors, intelligent enough at least to leave after their request instead of staying here to argue for it. The boy leaves, Orson turns to Raju and speaks, and Raju snorts, less an amused noise and more grimly appreciative. It's a relief, the derision implied in the words, the permission it gives Raju to indulge in it, too.]

Maybe they expected that 'yawning grave' to swallow them up after. How many fingers and toes do they expect us to lose digging holes in the cold for men who would have killed us in our beds?

[ Orson lets out a short huff of agreement through his nose and watches it crystallize in the frigid air as a small white cloud that dissipates a moment later, contemptuous, vaguely amused by the irrational sentimentality. ]

It's delusion. Sentimental delusion. I notice there was no offer to help.

[ He regards the pyres they've already constructed. ]

The bodies have been allotted far more dignity than rotting in a mass grave to begin with. If anything, we're owed gratitude.

[ Because this is, as far as he's concerned, a respectful and properly conducted burial, not the flavor of backwards primitivism and mysticism that has dictated the disposal of so many of the Interlopers' own dead in other parts of the town. It's something a people like the Jawas or Tuskens might do, something that died out a long, long time ago in civilized society, and these Forest Talkers somehow have the gall to expect them to humor it anyways.

However, Orson has always been a pragmatist, easily able to see the fine web that connects each individual in a shared social setting. There could be consequences if they don't, if the people who do subscribe to such a backwards belief—the majority—come to view them as inhuman monsters. They'll be less likely to trust them, to allow them deeper into the social hierarchy of this place. Orson considers. ]

There may be consequences if we don't find a way to humor their desires to let the bodies... rot. Decomposition is a part of the grieving process for most of the Interlopers in this town, too.

Edited 2024-10-05 14:35 (UTC)

Mm.

Raju frowns, looking over the pyres with Orson and thinking about it. He appreciates the man's pragmatism; Francis has already forgiven the townspeople for refusing to punish Hickey and the others and maybe a better man would follow his example, but it isn't in Raju to do it. It's a relief to be able to think about all those people he isn't forgiving in terms of consequences, the way that he needs to act toward all of them rather than the way that he should.

When the Darkwalker takes people, someone always insists on burying them.

He doesn't know if this man's been here long enough to know that or not; even if he has it's worth saying, because it proves him right. He moves over to a pile of wood gathered up from some of the damaged buildings and trees, deciding on a piece long and straight enough to start building another pyre on.

If anyone else complains, we can tell them we thought we were being respectful.

He shoots Orson a conspiratorial half-smile as he picks up a piece of wood. The excuse even has the advantage of nearly being true, so long as this way of dealing with the bodies is something both of them are used to. And it must be for Orson, or at least something close to it; Orson's talking about the idea of burying bodies as if he's never heard about it before, and it had tasted bad coming out.

I take it burying the dead isn't usual, where you're from?

[ The man casts him a conspiratorial look, a smile, an indication that their line of thought has converged in very similar directions—this man, Orson thinks as he barely returns it and resumes picking up smaller horizontal branches, seems to be cut from a similar cloth as himself. He seems to lack the frivolous emotions that burden most of the sentient populace, the things that would stop most of the sentients Orson has known over his lifetime in this situation: empathy, compassion. The capacity for guilt. Interesting. Perhaps like a bird, he's drawn to reflections of the familiar in others, to those who seem to experience the world through a lens similar to his own; he always has been. Galen was an anomaly, overflowing with things he couldn't feel.

More and more, Krennic is thinking that Raju will be a useful person to know here. ]

Not in civilized society. I had never seen a whole-corpse burial until my arrival here, and I find it... distasteful. I'd heard of them, in primitive species like the Jawas and Ewoks, but that process died out thousands of years ago in most human society. We don't let the bodies of our loved ones rot or get dug up by scavengers, as a general rule.

[ And yet, that's what will happen to Galen—what will have already happened to Galen by now. He does his best to push the image of his motionless body on the tarmac away from his mind's eye before imaginary scavengers descend on it to pull him apart. ]

I take it you come from a society more similar to my own than most of these people.

[Primitive species, even now, gets a curious look from Raju; the phrase slots Orson into the slowly growing category of People From Space, Or At Least From Outside Earth that there's nothing to do with but accept, but with each one he meets accepting at least the theory of it is growing easier, and in a moment Raju's focusing more on picking out and placing the right sizes of wood again, thinking about his answer.

Primitive species. Alright. With bodies still scattered over the ground and anger from the attack still burning in his chest, it isn't the time to ask. The rest, then, as if Orson's said something sensible, because in a place like this there's nothing else to do with it. Raju answers as he bends to pick up more wood.]

I hadn't even heard of it, burying the dead, until... it must have been one of my first few trips into the city. I wasn't quite a boy. It isn't usual at home, but it's not unheard of. But it's a great deal warmer at home, too. Softer ground. I'd do it for a friend if they needed it, but if these men cared that much about it they shouldn't have attacked us in our homes.

[As he reaches that last part his expression twists into a scowl, and he places the next piece of wood a little more roughly. The next couple breaths he takes are louder and slow, calming, and he looks for something to focus on that isn't the anger, before the 'gift' in him takes the feeling as permission to make something burst into flame. It hasn't happened accidentally in front of anyone other than Francis for a long time, and he intends to keep things that way.]

I'd feel the same as you, if this was my first time seeing it. That boy's lucky we let him live, nevermind asking— [He cuts himself off with another slow breath, and shakes his head a little.]

You're correct, [ Orson says coolly, the implication being—'Don't cut yourself off. There's no reason to.' ] To ask the impossible of the enemy, after one's own life was spared, requires a level of gall I seldom saw even in the military.

[ It's clear, perhaps, in the way that he delivers that phrase—after one's own life was spared—that Orson doesn't agree with the decision. He'd remained quiet when he saw how the tide of public opinion was turning; it wouldn't do to alienate himself from these people so early on, especially with so many in apparent ownership of bleeding hearts. But it doesn't sit well with him, and he intends to keep a close eye on these people—he has the feeling that this decision will undoubtedly come back to harm the settlement in the future.

Men, with the exception of mercenaries, don't simply change their loyalties because they were spared by those who killed all of their friends. They defected because they wanted to live, and people will do or say anything if they want to live. ]

It was an ill-advised decision to begin with. They'll harbor resentment toward those who killed their close associates, no doubt.

[Raju frowns, watching the wood in his hands, focusing on stacking it. It isn't that he's thinking it over, not exactly. But he remembers, that month when everyone had been... angrier, more on-edge, remembers the argument. Francis saying the children in that Forest Talker camp were only children, Raju insisting they weren't only children, that their parents would be teaching them everything, that it made those children just as dangerous. When Raju had confessed just why he was so certain of that, at what age that he'd learned it, the argument had turned into something else, and Francis had apologised and he had meant it. He'd been arguing because they hadn't been themselves. But Francis probably wouldn't agree with this man, now.]

Hard not to imagine they won't advance the cause their families died for. Who wouldn't? [He murmurs it, then looks up at Orson.] They gave up now because they'd never seen this kind of fighting before. But give them time to think about it...

[It's been bothering Raju, too, some place in the back of his mind. No one would turn on their own that way, would they? Not for good. Not only because they wanted to live.]

...and they'll turn, now integrated into this settlement and able to do far more damage.

[ He sets down another log and folds his arms for a moment, thinking—these people are soft, largely with no military experience, and in the category of human being that forms the majority—not like him, not like Tarkin and some of the other men he knew in the Imperial Navy and in the Engineering Corps before that. These people, for the most part, are weakened by feelings he simply does not feel, things that would make them hesitate in the moment when a killing blow is needed.

They'll be the last to suspect any sort of ill will or sabotage from the new arrivals, unable to truly comprehend the things a human being is capable of doing out of the selfish desire to survive. ]

Their cause is ideological, and a radical one. They'll keep that ideology, they'll just be silent about it until the moment is right.

It's what I'd do, if I'd already surrendered.

[Raju looks at him for a moment, the only other person — so far as Raju knows, so far as he's going to risk talking to about it — who's willing to see that kind of threat for what it is.

But what is there to do? The fighting is over, for now, and to ignore the surrender of a young, frightened soldier once it's already been offered and accepted, once the killing isn't an act of simple defence any more, would be monstrous. There are some lines even Raju, even after all that he's already done, isn't sure he'd be willing to cross for something that's only probable. He heaves a sigh, then turns back toward his work.]

I suppose they'll house them in the Community Hall, too, with most of the supplies. It's where the rest of the new arrivals go. Nothing to be done about it now, is there?

[ With the supplies—wonderful. They’ll be surrounded by temptation, then, thinking about how stealing and bringing these things back to their own encampment would help people they know, ones they have far stronger social and emotional attachments to. Compassion and sympathy are powerful, powerful motivators in those who feel them, Orson knows; he's leveraged these things in others countless times in the past, to include when it was needed to make Galen, much more emotional than himself, see reason. This is an engineered disaster, and he can’t help but to feel a tremendous amount of aggravation toward those behind this series of decisions—sparing them, trusting them immediately, installing them in a vulnerable point. He frowns. ]

Not necessarily, [ Krennic says, staring into the middle distance in thought. ] At the very least, they should be supervised. Maybe partnered with Interlopers who have a chance of swaying their ideology. If they know they’re being watched and form some degree of emotional attachment, it will be harder for them to re-defect down the line.

[ Provided they aren’t like him. There’s always the possibility of an Orson Krennic in their midst, surrendering because he knows it’s the most advantageous thing to do, weaving himself into the social fabric of their society until the people of the settlement forget he hasn’t always been there. Those are every bit as dangerous as the emotional ones. Maybe moreso. He stacks another log with a gloved hand as the wind picks up. ]

Some of the people here could probably be convinced to do so, considering that they felt so strongly about… [ spoken with obvious distaste: ] sparing them. Unless their mercy starts and ends at inaction.

[ Which is a very real possibility. He still suspects that some of these people simply aren’t cut out of the material that allows someone to kill. ]

[The experience in the way the man speaks gets Raju's attention, and he looks away from his work again to study him. Is it something the officers at home would have said, after men like Raju's family fought and died, and the rest sat in chains for it?

Maybe it's better not to know. Not here, where it's a blessing enough to find someone likeminded in this place. Would Francis have been as angry after that town meeting if Hickey hadn't done what he'd done, hadn't been involved at all? He probably wouldn't have. And Raju doesn't mind — Hickey was involved, and he and Francis are of one mind on the lack of accountability afterward, and Raju wouldn't have been as angry without that particular personal grievance either. But he would have cared. This man would have, too. The message a law sends matters nearly as much as the law itself, if not more. This is a man who understands that.

Then Orson goes on and Raju lets out a harsh breath through his nose, a derisive snort.]

It certainly seems to. At least from what I've seen. How long have you been here? In this town?

[The pyre, such as it is, is as close to finished as it needs to be for a stranger who would have cut Raju down in his bed. As he speaks Raju bends toward the nearest body to grab at one of its sides, waiting for Orson to grab the other.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

it must be that old evil spirit

for @load_aim_shoot

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sorry this is so late!! i've been super unwell RIP

no worries! I hope you're able to feel better

thank you!! i seem to be on the upswing at last lmao

good good

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cw child soldier stuff

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