singillatim | 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

Someone's watching him.

The weight of another's gaze prickles against Illarion's awareness; he snaps his head up, still chewing--then grabs his rifle and abandons the corpse to retreat to cover. The dilapidated shed he'd sprung his initial ambush from will do; once he's in shadow with his back to a wall, he'll take another look at his surroundings.

There. Behind that fence--the wet shine of moonlight on blood and in wide, wide eyes; might that be someone else making a meal out of their attackers?

Unless the Forest Talkers have more than humans in their own ranks. Doesn't square with what he's heard, though. So he'll call out: "Good eating?"

The blood is exquisite. Animal helps him get by, but it doesn't taste good. Human is better. Human has him giddy and nourished.

Flesh is abhorrent. Strange to him. It's less of a foreign idea to him to put human in his mouth, but like all food it would taste like soap. Only the blood has a taste.

"What the fuck?" he spits. He has no room to talk like a shocked gentleman in a fancy parlor; he's disheveled and covered in blood. "What are you doin'?"

That response, from one predator to another, gets an actual blink out of Illarion. He licks blood from his own fangs, narrowing his eyes as he tries to make out more of his interlocutor. (Wishes, for the tenth time tonight, the Aurora hadn't stolen a quarter of his sight along with most of his body. There was less high-violet in moonlight than sunlight but it would still give him a better idea of what he's looking at--and whether he's made a mistaken assumption.)

"Dinner," he answers the question, at length. Then casts his eyes skyward, looking for that absurd single moon and its proximity to the horizon. "Might be breakfast by now," he amends, after a little thought. It's past midnight.

Then-- "You need a moment?" Even at this distance he's near-certain he can recognize someone kill-drunk from the hunt. Pity it doesn't happen to him anymore.

He's doing dinner. He has fangs. Oh Lord. Vampires don't typically eat the flesh; at least, Lestat never taught him if it had any benefits. He only said, during Louis's messy clumsy first feeding, that you don't bite the blood. Common sense.

Louis can't help following his gaze to the moon too, but for a different reason. He's on a time limit.

Something cuts through the haze. "Oh sure, why don't I just excuse myself—don't mind the body—because I need just a moment. A little smoke out back. That's all I need. Perfectly normal."

He never met another vampire besides Lestat and Claudia before he came here. He's curious but also cautious. It's reckless to speak this way to another immortal(?) but incredulity has taken over Louis, and it makes him leave his sense.

Is there a little discomfort in that response? A little absurdity doled out to deal with a situation the other man wasn't ready for--despite being fangs-deep in someone himself?

The notion gets a low growl of laughter out of Illarion. "Freshen up while you're at it," he suggests. "You got some on your face."

At least, he thinks so, from what he can see. And it's funny even if not, so let it stand.

He takes another look around, then, listens for a moment to the unquiet night, before slipping back out of cover to reclaim his own meal. Grabs the corpse by its ankles, and adds, "I'm coming over there."

He's fairly sure that's another Interloper, and there's no reason they should be dining separately when they could be covering each other.

Louis's hand (unblemished, with sharp tips to his nails) automatically goes to his face to wipe at his mouth. It should be a mannerless motion, definitely not fit for a dinner table, but somehow he still exudes the impression that if he had his handkerchief, he might pull it out.

"What? Why?"

Does he want to eat the other man? Does he want to eat Louis? God, and Louis hates being watched while he eats. There is a shame in it. This is his private sin.

His victim twitches. Louis, despite himself and his growing concerns, dips his head to the fount again, staring at Illarion with wide green eyes. He was taught not to drink dead blood and not to drink through the last heartbeat lest it pull him down into death, so he must hurry before the man's heart stops.

"Cover," the shrike explains, brusquely. "One eats, one watches."

Which means--perhaps to Louis' relief--Illarion's not going to be staring at his fellow-predator at his meal. Instead, he drags his own kill into shadow, tucking the corpse against the fence. Then he's slinking for the nearest still-standing building, scrambling up onto the roof and flattening himself there.

Better vantage, from here. And from what he'd seen, few of the Forest Talkers were as paranoid as real soldiers--they didn't look up for their targets.

"Say when you're done."

Which is trusting, of course, that the other fellow's going to have some sense of reciprocity. But if he doesn't--Illarion's hardly in a worse position than he was before.

He lifts the dying man so he can more easily imbibe. Watches. Louis reluctantly drags his lips away from the neck again. His mouth curls in the beginnings of dislike.

"You like to watch?" he grouses after Illarion's retreating form.

He doesn't care that Illarion seems to scramble out of sight. Illarion still has the high ground and can survey what he pleases without being seen. But Louis is hungry. Out of spite—Illarion's weirdness, his own shame—he bites down again as he stares up where Illarion's voice comes from. He finishes in a matter of moments, as a vampire can feed quickly especially if they're experienced. He throws down the body like a sack of potatoes, as if that will make him feel better about all this.

"I don't want to watch you feed," he complains, and he lets his complaint and continued presence stand as a signal that he's done. (He can hardly hold a conversation if his mouth is occupied.) But something in him is fascinated in a way. If not a vampire, what is Illarion?

"Why eat the flesh?" The body and the blood, comes the unbidden thought. The ghost of his Catholic upbringing strikes again.

it must be that old evil spirit

i see your vampire & raise you a cw: zombie feeding

hahahaha

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