it must be that old evil spirit

[singmod]

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

Comments

[fidior]

[ The process of lifting him up won't be an easy one — he's dimly, weirdly aware of this, of his own inability to help her with it. Everything feels as though it's happening to someone else, even as Edward is able to hold onto the faint remnants of what's happening to him, what's real and true, what's warm and alive: Wynonna, a bundle of hands and arms, fingers holding, reaching, grasping, pulling.

When he's up, he slumps against her and almost breathes out an apology, but can't. He's dizzy, head lolling to one side and then back towards hers, tipped there. But this, too, is something familiar he can let himself fall to, rely on: she has him, the way she's had him before. Memory floods into one indistinguishable blur — she pulls him through a burning house, she holds onto him in the middle of a whirlwind of violence and screams and gunshots, she's killed a man for him and wrenches him up to coax him across the snow.

'I won't let go.'

The words, surprisingly, aren't a relief. They're not a relief because they don't need to be. He already knew she wouldn't let go of him; it's knowledge that Edward doesn't even need to pull out of himself, or be reminded of. He knows. She won't, she wouldn't.

Somehow, he manages to move forwards with her, through some gait that couldn't be considered anything close to walking; one leg stumbles forwards, one drags, he finds footing again and then loses it. It's slow, and so heavy, but the pain keeps him conscious. He's no longer bleeding as heavily, things plugged up like he's a machine and not a person, but the shirt she's wrapped around him is staining fast. ]

I won't let go.

[ He mumbles the words, an imitation of hers, or a reassurance of his own, or maybe just a reflection of the same bone-deep knowledge that exists there. ]

[pacificator]

[ It's a miracle he's even semi-conscious; a miracle she was able to get him to his feet, to get him to move. A miracle. But it isn't enough. She bulls through the snow by sheer willpower, more than half hauling him along with her, agonizingly slow step by dragging, stumbling step. If her legs give out, it's all over. If her arm spasms and loosens, she'll never be able to get him back up again. Everything depends on this: on his warm weight against her hip and side and shoulder, his head lolling against hers, on her ability to keep them both upright even as her legs shake with tiredness and adrenaline.

She has to stay focused. One by one, she lays out the steps in her mind: step one, get him to his house, the closest building to the spot where she'd found him. Step two, get him safe and sheltered. Step three, find help. Step four, save the goddamn day. But they have to get there, first.

Just like she did all those months ago, back in Milton House surrounded by flames and the ghosts of his own past, she talks to him, holds out a lifeline of words, trying to keep him awake and alert and moving. She loses track of the exact words. They don't matter, anyway; it's her voice she wants him to hear, not the words, even as it goes sandpaper rough with the exertion of dragging them both through the snow. He's lost so much blood; her hands are scarlet with it— she can't think about that, she can't think about anything but each heavy, reluctant step, can't think about anything but pouring every coaxing, encouraging word she can think of into the air, and when she runs out of those, replacing them with curses and frightened, toothless threats.

It's impossible to say how long it takes — long enough for her voice to grow hoarse — but she looks up from her focus on the ground ahead to find a familiar porch, a set of steps leading up to it. They might as well be the Rockies right now, those few steps, but they've come this far. Her teeth grind together, her jaw tight as she muscles him up the first, dragging a breath in to shout at the house. ]

Kate!

[ Please god let her be here— ]

Kate, open the door!

[ Panic runs under her voice like a river under rotting spring ice; she can't let it crack through, can't let the flood take her. Not yet. But it's still there, terrified and swirling and just waiting to drag her under. ]

Open the goddamn door, do it now!

[castitas]

[ Kate's home. She's moved downstairs, too antsy to stay locked up in her room. Maybe that's Tim's fault, maybe it's not. She's not quite sure. Maybe she's preparing to bolt if she needs to— she's already seen the flames dotted around the town, cabins set ablaze as the night goes on. So she hunkers down in the living room with Merry, keeps the lamps low — her satchel close with the gun Tim had pressed into her hand and told her: Nine rounds. One chambered. That shot and eight more—

She doesn't want to use it. She can't. She doesn't want to, it's not her. She's not that person. But a small part of her wonders: what if she needs to? Outside is so loud. Pops of gunfire, shouts and screams, the crackle of flames and wood splintering and collapsing in the heat.

And then another voice, shouting for her. Kate rises from the couch, her heart already in her throat. Merry whines in the direction of the door. ]

Wynonna? [ She doesn't dare raise her voice too loud. Her eyes glance over to her satchel, the gun hidden inside of it. She can't bear to hold it in her hands again, but it's there. But Wynonna calls for her again, and Kate lets out a shudder of a breath, rushing for the door.

She wrenches it open, and the sight before her makes her stomach drop. No. There's a strange sound, a cry that startles her into instantly moving — rushing out into the snow to meet them. ]

Oh, God— no— [ The woman's fighting with the weight of Edward Little, straining with it as she tries to pull him towards the cabin. Kate's voice wavers with fright and adrenaline: ] I've got you, I've—

[ She's got them both. Kate moves to his other side, tries to help Wynonna carry the weight of him — wrapping the Lieutenant's arm over her shoulders. ]

What happened—?! What— [ She's already breathless, her heart hammering away in her chest already. Fighting to keep her voice steady. She helps the two of them the rest of the way, inside to the warm and gentle light. Kate nods her head in one direction. ]

Get him on the couch.

[fidior]

[ He loses track of all time, and would lose track of everything else, too, in threat of slipping into a mindless lull, everything a foggy blank haze that might be too easy to lose himself to. Except Wynonna doesn't stop talking to him, and his mind latches onto that. He gazes at her sometimes, head tilted as much as it can to look over at her, before a shift or jolt of movement has it knocking limply back against hers, or falling backwards.

But it keeps him with her. It doesn't matter what she says, just that she's saying it — that she's there. He isn't alone.

But by the time they reach the door, he's barely able to stand, even with her desperate help. Maybe some part of him recognises where he is, but his eyelids are fluttering, vision glossy and dazed, not quite making eye contact with Wynonna anymore, or Kate when she appears and helps support the dying weight of him.

He doesn't really grasp much of what's going on anymore, just exhaustion and pain intermingled into one thing, and when he's lying down on the couch, it's with strained, violent noises that don't quite constitute as breathing but rather gasping, body working to keep itself alive even now. But the wound is fatal, internal, too deep, too damaging. ]

[pacificator]

[ She honestly has no idea how they manage to get him to the couch. Midway there, something goes weirdly wrong with her left leg and it does its best to collapse, sending her jerking downwards— but Kate's there, helping, and keeps them all from tumbling to the floor in a heap. ]

He was stabbed—

[ Her voice is a wreck, ragged and rough and breathless, and that's all the information she can offer because she's still only on step 2 and she needs to be on step 4, save the goddamn day, like yesterday. They get him onto the couch, and she lands on her knees next to it, at his head. Her leg screams at her in refusal; when she looks, she sees a wide rip in her jeans at the outer curve of her thigh, blood welling from a deep, jagged cut there. ] Motherfucker— [ She must have landed on that spear when she tackled the Forest Talker— but it doesn't matter. It's not life-threatening. She'll live, but he's dying. ]

I tried to slow the bleeding but he needs help— he needs—

[ He needs someone who isn't her, right now. She can't fix things, she only breaks them. He's gasping and choking for air and every desperate pull for oxygen sears itself along her own lungs, sinks into her chest with horrible finality. Not one skill she has can save him, but she's not the only person in this place who'd been offered — and taken — a gift. Her mind spins, latches onto the mental image of a smiling, lanky man with an irrepressible curiosity and a need to help. ]

He needs the Doctor. He's got that healing power...

[ She reaches for one of his hands, gripping it tight as she leans over him, trying to get him to look at her. Her voice shakes and she reaches deep inside herself for whatever's left of her willpower, forces firmness into it. ]

Edward— Edward. I'm going to get help. You're safe, okay? Kate's here, she's gonna be right here. And I'll be right back. You're gonna be okay. You have to—

[ Whether any of this is sinking in for him, or if he's too far gone, she doesn't know, but she has to go. The last thing she wants to do is leave him, but she has to go if she's going to have any chance of saving him. Her voice breaks weirdly, and she shoves up onto her knees, ignoring the yell in her leg, to lean down and press her cold lips to his colder forehead. Her hair spills down over her shoulder in a wavy brown veil, and then she's ripping herself away and back to her feet, making for the door at a dead run. ]

Do not let him die! I'll be right back!

[castitas]

[ Kate stands for one moment, once he's deposited safely on the couch, her face sheet-white. Breathless in her stun. In the low hazy gloom of firelight, it's enough to get a better look at him and it fills her with horror — the darkened sheen of blood, the fabric of Wynonna's shirt around his middle thick with it. It's too much. There's too much blood, she makes a soft sound — eyes glossing with tears.

(God. Please, God, no.)

She moves like she's ablaze, scrambling off towards the kitchen. She's moving to grab towels, anything to staunch the bleeding. Please, God. Not like this. Don't take him. She has to move, she has to— it feels like the room's spinning, her heart hammering too quickly in her chest. Her hands shake, clattering through cupboards — grabbing whatever she can find. And then she's back, pressing folded towels to the wound as if it might help try to stem the bleed — there's too much blood.

The world feels too small, too sharp and her fingers are already sticky and hot with blood. Healing power, it comes to her belatedly — realisation fluttering in her face. Wynonna shifts, but Kate's focus is lost on the blood. But what if she— The Doctor, I'll be right back. Kate can't let him die. She nods, makes a sound rather than forming words. The silence that follows is deafening, but her breathing is even louder — panicked, choking with sobs.

And his now empty hand, she takes. Keeps her other on the wound, applying firm pressure. ]

Edward? Edward, can you hear me? [ She lowers herself to kneel, works his hand and brings it to her face and holds it there. Her voice hushed, trembling into a higher pitch. ] Edward. Hey, it's me, it's me— Kate— keep your eyes open. You gotta stay with me.

[ She fights to see through the tears, her eyes wide in horror— she's so scared, what if she loses him, what if she can't help— and she's uttering prayers in her mind again, pleading: Please God, let him stay. He can't leave her. But she tries to meet his gaze, tries to keep it focused on her. She needs him, she loves him. He's always been there for her, in this place. If God had sent her an angel, He can't possibly take him from her now. She's not ready, she doesn't think she'll ever be ready. ]

You— you can't go. You— it's not time, yet. I need you to stay. I— I can't lose you, I— you have to stay. Don't go. Please, Edward.

[ She tried once. When she'd arrived home and found Lieutenant Irving with wounds across his stomach, one jagged line along his head. She'd tried to make it right, but nothing had happened— she couldn't help. And maybe it was broken, maybe the gift from Enola didn't work. She never tried again.

But she has to try. She has to. She has to do something. If she doesn't, she'll lose him. The moments since Wynonna's whirlwind of a departure drag on, excruciatingly. Each feels like an age. It feels too long, it feels like they're running out of time. She can't lose him, too. She already lost Heartman, she always had him taken from her. She can't lose Edward, too. Not this kind, decent man she loves so dearly. She can't. ]

You saved me. More than once. You're a blessing to me. [ He found her, out in the snow. Shaking and terrified. He found her at the cliff's edge, wanting nothing more than to sleep forever. He found her, scrambling on the ground, hands around her neck. Kate nods at him. ] It's my turn, now.

[ Her head shifts to look at his middle, where her other hand holds firm against the wound. She can do this, she has to. Never again, Enola had told her. She remembers the burn of the kiss against her forehead — this will hurt. It's worth it. ]

I'm gonna— I'm gonna fix this, okay? Trust me.