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

[The reassured snap of his holster sounds sharp on the now quiet air, the ring of peace and the stillness of death, and Raylan was grateful to get inside. The forest was too much right now, too much deadly, bloody chaos and promise that he had enough of over the long night and day that had preceded all this.

His systems were exhausted if he wasn't pouring every ounce of stubborn bastard into keeping moving, so Tom's invitation would have been impossible to not take, even if he didn't want to. Shoeless by the time he hits a chair by the fire, he can't help but sigh, heavy with the weight of it all for a moment.]

You live here by yourself?

I float. [ A gentle, casual reminder of something he'd only vaguely said before, ages ago. Before all of this, before the Forest Talker hits. He gets to work--first washing his hands, trusting Raylan to grab a blanket if he gets too cold at the moment, and then getting a little bit of water into a small cup to put over the fire. He all but throws the sewing needle into it to sterilize, grabbing the fishing line from his morning routine without a second thought. He's still manic, full of energy, but he has a purpose. He moves like he did with the bodies: focused, despite everything his appearance gives off. ]

So enamored with me you want to move in? Flattery will get you everywhere.

Might just be the blood loss. [It was a joke, he swears. But Zane's mention of floating draws back up the conversation from when they'd first met. Lives with the guy Raylan just shot, someone else, and Dr Endearment.]

Wantin' to make sure I'm not gonna shock anyone if I take my shirt off. [A task he was already starting. Getting his arm out was the worst of it, sending new streams of hot blood down his side and arm but by god, he wasn't going to let this shirt get cut up. Not that the shirt mattered - he was running on half automatic at the moment.]

[ A few clean rags are softly launched in Raylan's direction, Zane throwing them from across the room as he grabs the tongs to pull the needle out. ]

No shock here, Raylan, only awe. You swim? You should swim. Take up free diving, it's a fantastic hobby.

[With his bad arm out now, he gathers up one of those rags and presses it to his side wound with a hiss and a deep breath, half huffed out at the question.]

In collage. I swam in collage. I'd swim here 'cept we got a big fuckin' monster lurkin' in the depths of the lake and I ain't dumb enough to be a worm on a hook.

You done this a lot before? Sewin' up assholes and idiots? [Raylan knew he was, himself, one of the two. Possibly both, but that wouldn't be clearer til morning. ]

I don't see an idiot or an asshole here, so I can't say I've done a lot of that. [ Tom's words are casual, washing his hands one last time before sighing and getting to work. He loops the needle with fishing line, brow furrowed in concentration. ]

I grew up around lakes and woods. Finland, and after that Bright Falls, and after that...

[ He trails off, and without much warning, slides right onto Raylan's lap, straddling the other. ]

First aid's important. I started making movies and started doing it for the gore close-ups, too. [ A glance from his needle to Raylan. ] The Final Girl narrowly escaping death by sewing her wounds shut, a figure doomed to silence piercing a needle through lips...

Do hold still, sweetness.

[Raylan can only grunt a little at Tom's deflection of his own self-deprecation. If he was neither asshole nor idiot, he wouldn't be here bleeding - he would have been able to get through everything without this kind of damage.

His brain was more than happy to run through all the scenarios that it could, from paranoia or possibly from blood loss; what could he have done different? Where could he have been faster or-

He barely hears Tom's answer amid his mental assessment until the man slips himself into Raylan's lap. His free hand spreads out to the side like he was avoiding the natural tilt towards settling it on Tom's thigh with a hitch of his breath, held for a long moment as he looks up at Tom.

Fuck. This was inappropriate, the feeling that coils up in the low of his spine, the one that comes with a familiar feeling in his groin, the one that aches to be reminded that he's still alive. It was mixed with a soft horror that only reflects in his eyes at what Tom was saying, and the first stab of the needle in his skin has Raylan hissing in a breath as he turns his head, hand falling to the arm of the couch to dig his fingers in.]

Goddamn, [He snarls out softly, trying his best to do as he was told.] What I wouldn't give for whiskey. For the wounds and me both, jesus christ.

[ Raylan's eyes shine differently. Tom catches it immediately, that little glint. Fear? Not quite. Something, though. Beautiful. Haunted. Interesting. Tom loves interesting.

But he has a rather time sensitive problem to fix, and with a toss of his head to get some of his wild curls out of the way, he begins to patch the other up with a heavy, forlorn sigh. ]

I know. I miss negronis. Oh, and pineapple, Raylan. Fruit. Sometimes I think about mangos and I just want to cry.

[ He talks because he thinks it's what Raylan needs, something to keep the edge off, and tugs on the thread to pull it through in one expert move, brows furrowed as he concentrates. ]

Cherries or peaches - [The information is supplied with no context beyond the last thing that Tom had said - Raylan missed cherries and peaches. Blackberries, bananas. Raylan didn't eat terribly but fruits weren't in his diet at home as much as he'd like. It was a good distraction. Tom's chatter is exactly what he needs to try and ignore the pain and the weight of the man on top of him and how it was playing into the bloody works of the night.]

Cobbler. Gods gift to us all. Finland mean you're accustomed to the cold?

[He wasn't. If it wasn't for Goose, he'd have to sleep directly next to the fire.]

Mmmmm. [ It's a sort of noncommital, half hum of recognition the other has said something, leaning in a little too close as he slides the needle through flesh, lower lip jutting out slightly as he concentrates. It's only when he's done that that he speaks again. ]

Sure! I did move to the pacific northwest for a reason. Beautiful. Less cold. Rainy, but still full of forests and lakes.

[ He smiles softly, chuckling softly to himself. ]

As long as I have sauna, I can handle the weather. Mr. Scratch has one in his cabin, it's a real dream--we should go together. Relax. You could use it.

Full'a bears and mountain lions too- [The words end with a hiss of an inhale as Raylan looks off into the middle distance of the left, distancing himself from his pain.

When he feels Tom finish with that stich, he turns his focus to breathing.]

Don't know that he'll appreciate my usin' it, considerin' I shot him some 5 days ago. Which ain't to say you aren't right, but I'd hav'ta keep my gun and hope the steam doesn't compromise my ammo.

Northwest is nice though. Too much rain for my tastes, too few beaches.

[ Tom laughs, both at the northwest and the Scratch comment. Of course Scratch has been playing roughly with others. It's oddly charming. So's hearing Raylan shot him, if he's being honest. ]

Poor thing doesn't know how to make friends. [ It's not an excuse in the least. Zane continues as he gets to the half-way mark with the stitches. ]

He's darkness, you know. Flickering, frightening ideas on a cave wall. Shadow and smoke.

Edited 2025-01-07 19:18 (UTC)

[Poor thing doesn't know how to make friends. Raylan's eyes snap back over to Tom face, wide and dark, blown out with the SUPER weird mix of pain and almost arousal. And a quiet fascination that was underlaid with the too American urge to fight back against 'darkness'.

Raylan was, for better or worse, very much human.]

Messed up part about all this is I- ow, shit[it's exclaimed with a wince, but Raylan just leans his head back a little and hisses out the front half of the remaining words.] I believe you. That might be what he is where you're from and he might be that in his head here, but he still bleeds.

Good for him, I think. Bruise that goddamn ego of his.

[ Tom laughs at that, genuine and pleased. Raylan has the right of it. Three more stitches to go, still pleasantly on Raylan's lap. ]

You want to keep him in line? Leash around the neck? He'd probably enjoy it before he bites.

Wouldn't be the first time and it's yet to stop me yet.

[Raylan enjoyed it too, for entirely different reasons and he wasn't closeted enough to avoid something and give himself away.]

I catch him killin' again, and he'll want a leash over what I'll give him.

As long as you wait for this to heal, you can do whatever you want.

[ Tom's smile is light and thin as he concentrates. Once last stitch is finished he grabs the scissors and ties it off accordingly. He leans back--still on Raylan--admires his handy work for a beat, sighs happily, grabs Raylan by either side of the face to pull him closer and places a kiss on his forehead. ]

Good as new!

[He hisses softly again as the last stich is tugged and cut and he was distracted by that enough to not have any wherewithal to stop Tom's kissing his forehead. That was the second or third forehead kiss that Raylan had gotten inside two months. His hands moved by themselves, settling high and easy on Tom's thighs.

.. He should tell the man to get off. But he was touch starved and would happily let this torment him later-]

I woulda thought you'd be defendin' your.. friend. [Were they friends? Wasn't Tom friends with everyone, whether they wanted him or not? ~~Wasn't that part of his charm?~~ ]

[ Tom, in turn, doesn't see the point in moving. He does start putting things away from this spot, even if it's a little awkward. ]

Hmm? Which? I've already given Alan the tools he needs before we got here. Mr. Scratch can take care of himself just fine.

[Raylan's face goes all squinty.]

Is this a Que Sera Sera thing or do you just believe in them that much?

Both. Neither. [ Zane's nose wrinkles as he smiles at that squint. ]

Alan is very, very special.

I'm gettin' the feelin' all three of you are, for vastly different reasons.

[His smile pulls a little as he studies Zane's face at this angle and his thumb brushes back and forth on one leg.]

Don't suppose you got any pine wine or somethin' stiff to pour over this wound or down my throat, do you?

[ This is nice. Raylan doesn't seem to mind Tom casually draping over him like this, even though he should have moved a while ago. People here are too uptight, too stuffy. Not Raylan. Not in the way the others are, at least. ]

Hah, yeah--Alan, though. I'm awful proud of him. [ A pleased, happy sigh. He pats the other's heart, finally slides off, and moves to where he knows Darling keeps the booze. ]

Crack shot when he's angry, too. Got right here no problem! [ he leans back by the doorframe, arching back at an odd angle, pointing right between his eyes, absolutely delighted. ]

Edited 2025-01-20 15:46 (UTC)

[Raylan was greedy and felt slightly delirious from everything that had happened over the last 48 hours and his pain; the weight and solid confirmation of company, not to mention the warmth, was more welcome than he would ever want to admit out loud. He had survived the day, now he had to survive the night.

Just like he wouldn't admit that the pat on his chest felt good on a human type level that he didn't have the whiskey to think about. But his eyebrows lift at Zane's intimation. Was he suggesting what it sounded like he was suggesting?]

Y'all have all been through or currently are some weird shit, ain't ya. How'd you get around a bullet in the head? That's a trick I've never seen.

[ Tom laughs again, free and pleasant, another bottle of pine wine surfacing from its' correct spot, making a mental note to make up for it to his scientist friend in some way shape or form. ]

It's all Alan, really. We're just along for the ride. Did you know I thought all of this, what's happening, was him at first? Thought he'd plucked me right out of my hotel into here.

[ He doesn't answer the actual question Raylan gives, instead moving right back to Raylan's side. Not on top of him but still near, knees touching knees. ]

He's so creative, Raylan, he's just too stuck on himself. A little like you, now that I think about it!

[Raylan stares, bewildered as he comes around to maybe believing that Zane was not, in fact, joking. What the hell was up with these weird Swedish cousins?

It didn't matter - Zane was a good egg and Raylan liked him. Maybe it was the haze of pain or the passing blood loss, but he could almost feel heat coming from Zane's knee. He can't help but bark a little sound of half laugh surprise at the sudden assessment.]

I think you're gonna have to define 'stuck on myself' a little more since I don't have any comparitive context. Also, in general, I'm not sure I agree, considerin' my definition.

it must be that old evil spirit

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