i heard a scream in the woods somewhere

[singmod]

MARCH 2025 EVENT

PROMPT ONE: THE AURORA — TERTIARIUS Enola reaches out to the Interlopers and offers them the chance to gain an ability for the third time.

PROMPT TWO: THE HUNTED, PART TWO: The hauntings of the mysterious spectral bear begin to escalate in physical attacks on Interlopers, but assistance comes from a familiar face in trying to ward the Old Bear back.

PROMPT THREE — DON'T SLEEP: A mysterious creature is attacking and killing Interlopers as they sleep. Interlopers must either cosy up with a friend, or spend the night holding a sleepless vigil in order to fight it off.

THE AURORA — TERTIARIUS

WHEN: The Month of March, Mid-March.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potentially disturbing dreams; themes of starvation; themes of disordered eating; themes of animal attacks; mentions of blood; themes of terror.


There has been an increase in frequency of Auroras over the month of February and into March. It is very much something all within the Northern Territories are used to, barring the newest numbers to the ranks. The noise starts: faint at first, but then growing louder. An ethereal, high-pitched chorus of sounds difficult to place. There’s a kind of electrical buzzing with it all, a low, endless hum punctuated with cracks and pops. The sky is alive with sound, and with it comes the swirling streaking of colour against the inky black of night.

Streetlights, illuminating the town’s roads; lights in stores and homes will come alive, buzzing and flickering at times. Rotting and rusted cars, almost entirely buried in snow will turn on, their headlights blaring. Electronics that had previously seemed broken flick on — and whilst there are no broadcasts available on televisions, and the radio waves only drone on in static, with occasional emergency broadcasts somehow still going. Any computers and phones will turn on, but will have no internet or reception. Instead, Interlopers may find texts and emails — many of them unsent. The everyday lives of their users stored within, now readable.

With it, Enola can be heard. For many, this is a familiar thing — but not everyone is overly familiar with Enola. She is the First Interloper, and although she is somewhere unknown — the Aurora connects all. She can be heard muttering, distracted and exhausted. Her whispered, unintelligent words a ghostly presence over the Northern Territories.

By mid-March, on Aurora nights, you hear her calling out to you. You hear her call your name. Soft whispers on the wind that echo, she’s trying to reach out to you: “I see you. I’m here.”

On one particular night, the Aurora is particularly notable — it’s almost beautiful, even with its haunting aura. The shimmering waves of colour dancing across the skies, brighter than they’ve ever been. During this Aurora, shooting stars can be seen streaking across the skies. Sharp glints of light across the night. Interlopers finds themselves stopping to watch the shower of stars.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there. I.. I can’t leave. I have to—.” she cuts off, exhales heavily. For a long time, there is silence. Nothing but Enola’s laboured breaths. She sounds… tearful, overwhelmed.

“You’re doing so well, you know that, right? You’re surviving this place.” she tells you. “Even if I can’t be there, I’m with you. All of you.”

There is a silence for a time, long enough that it makes you think Enola has gone.

“I promised I would help you the best I can. This place… doesn’t have to take everything. This is not the ending of all things.”

She tells you to sleep. For some, they recognise this and realise what may end up happening. For others it feels like going out on a limb. But you sleep, and perhaps a dream may come to you.

EFFICIENT MACHINE: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape, overwhelming for a moment before they begin to settle. You dream you are sat at a magnificent feast, the table laden with rich, exotic foods. The mere sight makes your mouth water, your stomach rumbles in protest. You have never felt more hungry in all your life, and you want nothing more than to take your fill.

You are not alone, you realise.

At the opposite end of the table sits a woman, her face shrouded from view, a crown of thorns and flowers upon her head. You cannot tell if she is old, or young. Perhaps she is both, but you feel slightly apprehensive in her presence.

‘Magnificent, is it not?’ she asks. ‘Eat, if you must. But you will hunger again, and know a time of nothing to fill your belly. You will waste away to nothing.’

You stare, unnerved.

‘But… touch nothing, and you will never understand such a pleasure again — but you will never know hunger again. You will never know thirst again. Death will not come for you for an empty belly or an unquenched thirst.’

You sit for some time, staring at the food before you. You hunger desperately, but in the end, you decide not to eat. The woman chuckles, nodding. ‘Very good, child.’

When you awaken, you feel content, like one does after a large meal. That pleasant kind of sleepiness that comes with it. You do not realise that this day will be the last time you ever feel this kind of satiated. There’s something within you that understands: you are blessed, perhaps by Mother Nature herself.

You are an Efficient Machine, and will never suffer for it in times when you have so little. Her bounty, no matter how toxic, will never harm you.

OLD BEAR’S BLESSING: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of kneeling in thick woods, one you recognise to be Lakeside. You hold a weapon close to you: your gun, your knife, your bow, whatever it is you use to arm yourself in waking life. The air is alive with breathing, your heart thunders in your chest.

You feel… warm, with blood. You are injured. Sharp claws have torn your flesh, fangs have punctured you, mangled your bones. The pain is overwhelming, and you look up to a shadow of a great and terrible beast.

The Old Bear. Impossibly big in this dream, more so than the phantom that’s haunted you the past several weeks. It towers over you. You cannot win this fight. You are tired, weak and injured.

But you will not be afraid. And you keep your weapon ready.

The bear approaches you, weighted and purposeful steps to your kneeling form.

Its giant muzzle is level with your face. The moment is fraught. Its jaws open wide into a ferocious roar, and you don’t flinch away — even as you feel its hot breath against your face. In reply, you scream back. You will not be afraid.

Old Bear falls silent, salivating jaws dripping onto you. You gaze at the Old Bear’s huge, black eyes: intelligent and fearsome. The darkness in those black pools feels endless. And yet you feel… seen. The Old Bear sees something in you.

You will not be afraid.

When you awaken, you feel…. strong. Hale. Perhaps the best you’ve felt since you came here, perhaps for the first time in your life. But there’s something else, too. Something that rolls in slow waves in the pit of your stomach. Rage, some old kind of fury that warms your bones. The Old Bear has granted you a boon, a blessing. May you use it well.

DARKWALKER’S REVENGE: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape and then fade into nothing. When you look up, you are in a place of endless, impenetrable black. You are not alone. Enola stands with you, apprehension in her expression. You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. In silence, all there is the sound of your breathing, Enola’s breathing. She looks about, searching, on guard. She steps in front of you, as if to shield you.

Something is wrong.

Enola looks over her shoulder at you. Her blue eyes are sharp, fearful. She says your name softly.

Out of the dark, an invisible force grabs Enola, lifting her from her feet and yanking her backwards and away from you. It drops her briefly and she falls to the ground. You can try to chase after her, try to help her, but there is an almighty sound: as if the very earth is splitting open. Enola is dragged from you, kicking and screaming and fighting as furiously as she can.

No—! Leave them! Leave them be—!

Something shifts, and it is as if she’s being dragged down into the very earth itself. She claws, trying to gain traction, trying to stop herself from being pulled down completely and disappearing into the dark. A gigantic skeletal claw rips emerges from the darkness and her from you. She’s cut off mid-scream, horror in her eyes.

In the dark, you are alone. Or so you think.

There is the slow churning sound of bones and scattering of earth. Out of the darkness appears the violent green of three glowing wolf skulls, impossibly enormous and rising and rising and rising.

It towers above you, gargantuan and leering. The Darkwalker. The wolf skulls snarl, their jaws pulling into terrible grins. The center of its skulls opens its maw, dripping emerald mucus. It is hungry, so very hungry. And then it lunges at you, swallowing you whole with the snapping of jaws and a terrible wet sound. There’s pain, and fear. Overwhelming and all-encompassing; and the dream snaps shut as it ends.

When you awaken, you feel sick to your stomach, exhausted. Perhaps even feverish. You will not be able to rise from your bed, spending an entire day sick with some unknown illness. By the nightfall of the second day, you will begin to improve and feel… stronger, somehow. Revitalised. The night is long and bitter, but you are not afraid of the dark.

But do you understand the price? Something has gone wrong. This is the Darkwalker’s Revenge. You may never know the light again.

NOTHING: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape, but only for a moment. The edges of your vision begin the blur with black, slowly closing in until everything goes dark and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. You awaken, and although you feel rested, as if the dreamless darkness has helped you feel a little more ready to take on the day — nothing else about you has changed.

THE HUNTED, PART TWO

WHEN: The month of March, into April.
WHERE: Everywhere, but mostly Lakeside.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural creature; hauntings; supernatural experiences; themes of hunting, being hunted/stalked by an animal; bear attacks; potential gore/maulings; potential character death; potential NPC death.

For months now, a presence has been haunting the Interlopers across the Northern Territories. At first, nothing more than footprints in the snow that lead to nowhere, shadows against the rocks that disappear when you turn around.

The Old Bear has Returned, and may you find your way far from its teeth and claws.

Out in the wilds, you will find yourself being stalked. For many Interlopers, they have been through this dance before. The prickling sensation at the back of one’s neck. The thuds of its paws in the snow approaching you, low grumblings of a great, angry beast seeking you out.

Something feels different, this time. Something feels real, weighted.


In time, the creature will be upon you — a hulking, great bear with thick brown fur, snapped arrows sitting at its neck and a strange, keen intelligence. It watches you, follows you from a distance, up high. And soon enough, it will charge.

Fleeing from Old Bear would have you running from nothing but the wind. Previous attempts of standing one’s ground and attempting to shoot or fight the bear have proved that the apparition will dissolve into thin air quicker than a blink.

But not this time. The phantom is made of flesh.

Old Bear might not kill you, but a mauling from them will certainly draw you close to death if its allowed to get at you for long enough. Almost as if it hopes the resulting injuries or the exposure will kill you. Pray that you have someone with you to help fight Old Bear off so you can escape.

And It seems as if there is very little to be done to stop Old Bear’s approach even now with it being physically able to harm you. Flames will not harm it, nor ward it off, campfires will not keep it at bay. Shooting at them will only anger him even more if it can see you. The sound of guns may keep them at bay, provided they cannot see where you are. Flare guns are effective, particularly if Old Bear doesn’t see where its coming from. Hiding in buildings is effective enough too, with Old Bear clawing at wood and hefting its great weight to try and force its way inside for a time until it eventually gives up and leaves you alone.

But there must be something that can be done to beat the ancient creature back, and there is someone who may be able to help. On occasion, Young Bill, who is out in the wilds of Lakeside, may come across you in the midst of Old Bear trying to attack Interlopers. He will help chase the bear off with the use of a trusty flare gun — with it being far better at spooking the animal off for a short time. In the aftermath, Young Bill will help tend to any injuries in a state of shock and — once Interlopers are alright — with a grim smile.

“I thought we were all just seeing things. Ghosts. But that old bastard’s still around, like… for real, huh?”

He’ll gather up Interlopers and take them back to his cabin for any further treatment and a chance to get warmed up again. He will tell the Interlopers the story of the Old Bear (for those who have yet to read it in the Camp Office) before leaving to fetch a chest from his bedroom. Inside will be a broken spear, still covered in ancient, dried blood and carefully wrapped in fabric, along with ancient blue-prints on yellowing, fragile paper.

“My ancestor was one of the hunters who went after Old Bear.” he will explain, showing Interlopers the broken spear. “This was all that was found after they, and Old Bear, disappeared out on the muskeg.”

“I thought it was all just… stories. Hunters with ego trying to stop an old bear. But… that bear shouldn’t be alive. With the way things are now, with how things are changing. I… I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“When my old man was dying, he said it wasn’t the Darkwalker that was coming for him. It was the Old Bear. Maybe he had a point.”

It makes you wonder, considering the state of the world.

“You need something that can do what bullets or arrows can’t.” he tells them, laying out the fragile blueprints on the table. “Thick steel, far better for piercing through that hide. Make one of these, and you might just have what you need to keep that thing away. Maybe enough to keep it away from you for good. I don’t know if this might work, but it’s worth a shot. And I owe you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“There’s a forge at the Maintenance Yard. I’ve used it before, the guys there would let me do work there on occasion. I think one of you guys have been in there lately. We could make some of these. They’ll last longer than bullets, too.”

At least for those inexperienced in metalwork, Young Bill will accompany Interlopers to the Maintenance Yard and get to work — guiding them in powering up the forge and getting to crafting new spears. The spears are strong, sharp and sturdy, despite their modest appearance. Young Bill checks each one, whispering something under his breath to the steel as he runs his thumb along the edge, and perhaps you may hear the words. It’s strange, they are not English, but you understand them all the same:

‘May you know your enemy.’

You may not be sure if this will work, but if the Old Bear comes for you again then you have something new to try. And soon enough the creature will come, stalking you for some time before it draws in to attack. As it charges, readying your spear by kneeling in the ground and angling it just right will give you a fighting chance of piercing through that tough hide and giving you a fighting chance of avoiding being mauled. An intense, desperate fight will ensue, but the spear proves to be a valuable asset, allowing you to fight Old Bear off far better than anything else you may have tried before now.

And sure enough, the creature will run off — leaving nothing but blood upon the snow. You won’t be able to hunt the beast down, such is not the way of things with this strange, ancient creature. But you will have fought it off enough for it to leave you well alone. Until next time, that is.

DON’T SLEEP

WHEN: Throughout the month of March.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS:malevolent supernatural beings; sleep paralysis demons-esque creature; themes of hauntings; themes of peril/terror; death of npc interlopers; possible character death; supernatural death; possible sleep deprivation.

Something attacking the Interlopers in the dead of night. Perhaps there are whispers of it amongst Interlopers in town, utterings in conversation. A bad night’s sleep, a terrible dream. A monster in the corner, and being powerless to move against it.

A shadowy presence in the room where you sleep. Distant, in the corner of the room: something impossible tall and human-looking. Watching you. The first night it does nothing but watch from its distance.

The second night: it is closer. You still can’t quite pick out the details of it other than the bald head and unnaturally long limbs as it towers over you, bent to loom close.

The third? Well. Those affected don’t speak of the third night. The dead don’t speak.

Checking on neighbours, it will be uncovered that some of the Interlopers have been killed in their beds. Investigations of Interloper homes will turn up showing no sign of a break in, nor will anyone note anything out of ordinary on the nights that these Interlopers die — no screams, no signs of a struggle, no assailant running off into the night.

But it is clear that something is killing people as they sleep each night — often targeting Interlopers who live, or sleep alone.

As for the poor Interlopers themselves who are found dead the next morning, or after, their bodies will all show the very same injury: a strange depression in their chests. Anyone who wishes to look further than and perform some kind of post-mortem or autopsy will discover that while there has been little damage elsewhere in the torso, the heart has been completely crushed.

Something, some kind of… supernatural being, perhaps. No man nor beast could perform such an act.

Understandably, Interlopers will find themselves too terrified to sleep. What if whatever this is comes for them too? While they sleep? It means some long nights of sleeplessness ahead, until someone works out what to do here. The only problem is that people need sleep to survive. The body requires REM sleep in order to function, and the odds are already so terribly stacked again Interlopers without the preciousness of sleep. Sleep deprivation can be potentially devastating. Those who fell victim to the Glimmerfog last year will know only too well about that.

There are a couple of options of what to do, it seems.

Interlopers can avoid meeting a grim fate by sharing a bed for the entire month. There’s strength in numbers after all.It might be a little awkward, all things considered. But what’s a little awkwardness in the face of possibly dying horribly by some terrible creature? Bunking up with someone might be a decent idea of keeping yourselves safe — and also keeping yourselves warm, considering current state of the world and winter’s grasp clinging so tightly despite the coming of Spring.


Another option is to hold a vigil for another Interloper, to allow them to sleep for the night whilst you keep watch. Whilst this may be extremely difficult for some, it might just be enough to ward the mysterious being off from coming after Interlopers as they sleep. It’s entirely possible that the creature may actually still come for the sleeping Interloper — and will finally be revealed to the one keeping watch.

The being is nude, tall and pale, something possibly human-like but with little in terms of distinguishable features. Its face is nothing more than a warped, eyeless mask and an open, circular mouth of teeth, and with long, spindly limbs and clawed hands and feet. It’s a terrifying thing, and it may still attempt to come for the sleeping Interloper, clambering along the wall and dropping onto the bed, making to attack.

The creature can be scared off by the one standing watch by even so much as a firm word, let alone a physical attack — and it will be enough to scare it off from both the sleeper and the watcher for the duration. And it truth, it will work — while the being may continue to go after other Interlopers for the remainder of the month, both the watcher and sleeper will not be troubled ever again.

FAQs

THE AURORA — TERTIARIUS


1. The final three Aurora Feats are now unlocked! Please see the following page for more information. Aurora Feats are completely optional.

2. Interlopers will only receive ONE Aurora Event. The only time this is available is this month. After March, players will have to wait for the next Feat round for another chance at an Aurora Feat.

3. Now that all Feats have been revealed, the game will hold further events with three Feats chosen at random until the Endgame.


THE HUNTED, PART TWO

1. The spears don't appear like much, nor do they appear like they will do much damage — but are incredibly sturdy and strong. Is it magic? Belief? The power of folk story? It's hard to say. But there's something about them that is incredibly effective in dealing with Old Bear.

2. Interlopers are allowed one spear each.

3. Interlopers can make an additional spear to bring back for a friend who might not be present.

4. The language Young Bill speaks to the speaks is one native to the game-world and thus fictional. However, those familiar may note similarities with the languages of the indigenous peoples of Canada.

DON'T SLEEP

1. Interlopers who are haunted by the creature and spend a single night sharing a bed with another will find that they will 'reset' their hauntings but there will be an additional day added. Their next night alone will be uneventful, the second will have the creature appear at a distance, the third will have the creature closer and the fourth would be the day they would be 'caught' by the creature and killed.

2. As Community Hall is a bit of a grey area considering Interlopers are sleeping 'alone together', it is player choice if the creature targets them or not if they choose to sleep there.

3. The creature will attack Interlopers whenever they are sleeping, regardless of the time of day.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

[pacificator]

[ She no longer has a direct line straight to Fitzjames' emotions, but his grief is clear nonetheless. It doesn't leak from him like it does from Little, but she understands it. She's the same way, keeping it all tied up inside.

It's nice to hear him talk about his friend, a man who'd been kind to her and to pretty much everyone who crossed his path, and she smiles, slight. ]

Sounds like him. That guy was smart as hell. If anybody coulda figured this place out, my money was on him.

[ Was. It's such a cruel word, but as far as she can tell there's no use in trying to talk about Harry Goodsir in the present tense. If he hadn't been taken away, then he's dead, almost definitely. He's been gone for too long, the weather's been too bad. And there's the bear. ]

He patched me up once after the Forest Talkers shot me and Ruby.

[ That was before the dreams that gave a few people around town — Kate included — their strange new healing powers. She still doesn't understand it, but she'll never forget that it was Kate, bolstered by her new strength, that saved Little's life. She's not sure Goodsir himself could have managed it in time, not with how deep the wound went and how much blood he'd lost.

She peers around the woods as they walk, clear eyes reflecting back the snow and shadow as she squints, looking for tracks or any sign of the bear. ]

Think we should try to call it out?

[gildedlife]

[He smiles a little again at that--Goodsir was smart, and not just that, he had the curiosity and drive to understand to go with it--but is glad to move on from the topic for now. However, he does mentally file away the information that Wynonna had been shot, because that's another interesting thing they have in common.

James is pretty sure at this point that his vision is as good as it's going to get back to now, and that means that he really should accept that it's not particularly great in low light, but he hasn't. So he's also visually scanning the darkness between the trees, looking for any motion or change of color or any number of things, as if he'll actually be capable of really seeing them.]

That may be our best choice. It seems to respond quickly enough to taunts, and if we can lure it out in a location of our choosing, we can remain relatively close to the congreves.

[Just in case they need them. But also, speaking of which, he realizes--]

I presume you've never fired one before?

[It's... Perhaps a flaw in the plan if they do need the rockets but James is unable to be the one to shoot them.]

[pacificator]

That is correct.

[ Weirdly, no one's ever trusted her to fire a rocket before. ]

But I'm good with guns and I'm a fast learner. And really, is it more complicated than 'point and shoot'? Or, I guess, 'point and light a fuse'?

[ This is what happens when Dolls pigeonholes her with training! What if she needs to be able to fire a rocket on her own? What if they have to start using them at home?

She indulges in a moment's daydream about what one of Fitzjames' congreves would do to Bobo, ideally fired from close range, and smiles to herself. ]

I can probably manage that much.

[gildedlife]

[Excuse you, Wynonna. James draws his attention away from the forest to fix her with a look, equal parts amused by her smile--at least she seems to be enjoying the thought of firing one of the congreves--and not at all impressed with this simplistic idea of how to do so.]

It's somewhat more complicated than that. But provided you have a stationary target, yes; place the congreve on the launcher, use the launcher to aim, and fire.

[There's no way he can explain all the complexities of it at the moment, but there's the angle the rocket takes, the weight of it, wind, the time needed for the fuse to burn, and so much more to take into account.

But with any luck, they won't need it, and even if they do hopefully they simply won't be in a bad enough situation that this will be an issue. Hopefully.]

Same plan as last time, I presume? Split up so that at least one of us should have a clear shot?

[pacificator]

Yeah.

[ That part worked last time, anyway, and this time...

Well, this time they have fucking rockets, and they won't make the same mistakes as before. Just one of those congreves should send the damn thing running; what wants to stick around and fight when people are shooting rockets at its face?

She slides her hands into her back pockets and turns in place, looking around at the woods around them. ]

If you want to line up your shot, I can try and bait it in. Get it all set up for you.

[ Is it dangerous? Yeah. But better than letting the damn bear pick their battleground. ]

[gildedlife]

Alright.

[It seems like the best plan. The rifle is likely to do more damage than the revolver--any particular special powers aside--so it only makes sense James attempt to take the first shots, even if he isn't hugely enthusiastic about letting Wynonna put herself in danger now that they know the bear can likely do some damage. But they're in this plan together, and this is the most logical way to go about things.]

I don't require much time or distance to make the shot.

[Poor night vision or not, he has no doubt he can hit the ghost-bear; she doesn't need to lure it very far away, and so he'd prefer if she doesn't, just in case things go wrong.]

[pacificator]

Good, because you're not gonna get much of either.

[ She's putting a lot of trust in a fuy she barely knows, but having already seen him work under pressure, she's reasonably confident in his abilities. He's better with a rifle than she is, anyway, and this way at least one of them will get one good shot in before the bear figures out it's got two potential targets.

Wynonna taps her index finger to her forehead in a lazy half-wave, half-salute and turns away, heading deeper into the forest on her own. An eerie, blanketing silence envelopes her, broken only by the sound of her breathing and the crunch of her boots in the snow. Not enough to gain the attention of a demonic ghost bear. ]

Hey!

[ She turns on the spot, waving her arms. Inhaling deeply, she projects her voice with what might seem like slightly out of place zeal, considering. ]

Don't you want to get me back for shooting you in the face? You're so fucking ugly it was probably an improvement!

Or you just gonna show up and disappear again? C'mon! I'm more scared of my baby sister's stuffed teddy bear. At least it's solid! Pussy!

[gildedlife]

[James can't help but be a little nervous, even if it's a quiet underlying hum more than anything else. He's very aware that this is dangerous, much more so than what they'd done before, because they'd gone into that presuming--correctly--that the bear itself couldn't hurt them. But they'd still ended up falling from a cliff, and now they know that the bear itself is truly dangerous, this has gone from potentially risky to life-threateningly dangerous.

So he's slightly nervous, but the calm of entering into a dangerous situation is settling in as he makes certain he has a good vantage point. Depending on where the bear appears from he might have to move, as he isn't willing to shoot past Wynonna unless there's no other choice, but fortunately enough as he senses something begin to take form it's off to the side a bit. Good. He'll have a clear shot.

The bear seems to morph out of the shadows, though whether that's reality or James' eyes playing tricks on him isn't something he can tell for certain. He knows the strange sense he has is real though; the sense of the creature's presence, its weight, the solidity of it, is new and distinct. It's really truly here.

He waits only a few seconds, making absolutely sure; it shifts its weight, stepping heavily onto a paw as it snarls in Wynonna's direction, and James carefully adjusts his aim. The creature is too large to try shooting in a vital organ, so he aims for the head, breathes out, and fires.

It's a direct hit, but instead of dropping, the bear roars in fury and raises onto its hind legs, standing far too tall and terrifyingly unaffected by what should have been a fatal gunshot. Its head turns, in James' direction, and he makes eye contact for the briefest moment before the creature is charging.

Running doesn't cross James' mind, and even if it had, he would've written it off as pointless. Instead he chambers another shot, raises the gun, and fires again; another direct hit, this time in the chest, but again it seems as if the bear barely notices. He has another bullet chambered in only seconds, but realizes suddenly that he isn't going to have a chance to fire it.

The bear is very solid. Before, when he'd felt the effects of its charge, the worst it had done was knock him hard to the snow and then disappear as if it had been the wind. This time, when he hits the ground, the bear does not disappear.

James feels the weight of it more than anything else, at first; a huge paw pressed against his side, and although it seems unintentional, even a tiny amount of the bear's weight feels crushing. He tries to twist away, but the attempt is immediately forgotten when his field of view suddenly seems to be nothing but teeth, and he throws an arm up in front of his face on instinct; it's shock more than actual pain that causes him to cry out as the bear's jaws clamp down, and in the midst of this he has the strange thought that at least it's his bad arm. At least if the bear rips this one off it won't be as much of a loss as the other would be.]

[pacificator]

[ For a while, it actually works.

Her heart's in her throat, tight and fluttering, but she recognizes this emotion and the familiar accompanying inner eye roll: it isn't fear, it's anticipation. She feels the same way she used to when she and Dolls hit the road to stare down the revenant jackass of the week, she can feel the blood flooding hot and fast through her; she feels alive and hungry and ready for a fight. No: not just ready for a fight, spoiling for one. She wants revenge on this fucking bear for screwing with her and Fitzjames and worrying Little so much it could almost be one of the Seven itself.

It seems to manifest directly out of the shadows beneath the trees: where there had been nothing but a swirl of fog, a shaded thicket, suddenly she's facing down a hulking monster, brown fur matted and scarred, stuck all over with broken arrows. It's mouth opens and opens and opens, teeth gleaming in the dim light, and before it can lunge she hears the satisfying crack of Fitzjames' rifle. It strikes straight and true and she's about to yell in triumph, but the bear only shakes its enormous head, turning furious, beady eyes on this new aggressor. Seconds after it charges away, she hears Fitzjames yell, and her own voice comes tearing out of her as she runs in the bear's path. ]

No!

[ No, she can't let this happen, she can't let Fitzjames die, she can't fail another person, again and again and again. She can barely even see Fitzjames, pinned below the bear's massive bulk, but she can see the struggle, the way it sloshes the snow around them, the splashes of red as Fitzjames' blood spills—

Something happens. It feels a little like the strange wave that came over her at midnight on her 27th birthday, the day she came into her inheritance and her curse. It prickles, cold and then hot and then there's nothing but the tin-whistle scream of fury in her ears as she flings herself into the melee and reaches for the huge, blunted snout currently worrying at Fitzjames' arm. There's no way it should work — the bear's about twelve times her size and as strong as an earthquake, but Wynonna grips her fingers into its nose and pulls with all her strength, wrapping her other arm around the bear's gigantic head to grip the stub of its ear, twisting. ]

Get off him!

[gildedlife]

[James only vaguely hears Wynonna's voice and has the brief sense that she's moving, but he expects her to be going for the congreves as planned, and so his focus remains entirely on the bear and the situation he's managed to get himself into. Neither fear nor pain have set in yet, world narrowed down only to what's in front of him and what he needs to do; he's lost the rifle but it's useless in this situation anyway, but he has a knife and although it's sure to be even less effective than the bullets, maybe it'll buy a little more time for Wynonna to get to the rockets.

Of course, there are a few problems with this plan, as although the knife is in a theoretically easy place to reach--one of the pockets on his greatcoat--that's far easier said than done in his current situation. The paw on his side presses harder against his ribs and he can feel the claws digging in, blood already dripping from his arm even through the layers of his clothes, and he blindly reaches for his pocket with his free hand.

He doesn't immediately realize what's happened when the bear suddenly gives a furious snarling, almost yelping noise, and suddenly releases his arm. All he knows is that it's let go, and that it's shifted its weight at the same time, and he suddenly has an opening. The thought of the knife is quickly abandoned in favor of trying to put some space between himself and the creature; he manages to shift a few feet to the side and up to his knees before finally realizing what's happening.

It's not as though James is someone who actually has any right to judge what other people do when it comes to reckless bravery. But he has a moment of disbelief anyway as he realizes Wynonna didn't go for the congreves, but for the bear, and has done so with nothing but her hands.

He doesn't know what to do about this. Everything in him tells him not to leave her, because the creature is just going to turn on her the moment it shakes off its own shock, and he should intervene. He can't abandon her.

But they can't win a physical fight against a bear that can shrug off bullets. If he draws its attention again, Wynonna will just do the same in turn, and the only end to it will be when the bear kills them. He has to stick to the plan and drive it off for either of them to have a chance, and its that thought that has him staggering to his feet, and then doing so again after he finds himself suddenly back in the snow. There's blood everywhere and his head is spinning, but he's had worse, and he has to do this and do it quickly.

They hadn't gone far from where they'd left the congreves. He hopes desperately that Wynonna will hold out long enough for him to return with them.]

cw: mauling by a wild animal ig?

[pacificator]

[ She barely notices when Fitzjames stumbles to his feet and starts making his way through the snow only to collapse and drag himself upright again: all her focus is on the bear. They square off in some insane real life version of the dream she had the other night, and for a moment pace each other in a considering half circle. The Old Bear is monstrous, as big as her old truck back home. The paws that land heavily, stirring up snow, bristle with claws as long and sharp as a kitchen knife. It snorts, breath fogging the air, then lowers its head and bellows a challenge.

The Aurora gleams and dances overhead, shifting light and strange energy, and Wynonna's temper, always on a hair trigger, simply snaps.

Just like in the dream, she screams back at the bear, mouth wide and teeth bared, and before it can lunge at her, she's barreling toward it, a closed fist connecting with its battered nose as she scratches for an eye. Strength and vitality flood through her; she's faster, hits harder than she ever has before, every conscious thought evaporated in the searing heat of her fury. Fitzjames, March, Raylan, Edward, everyone in town — this bastard has been holding them all hostage, just like the thing that brought them here to begin with. It snarls, enraged, at her and in its scarred and twisted face she sees Malcolm and Marty, hears Red's mocking laughter and Willa's scream echoing in her ears right before she launches herself at the beast again, tearing and hitting and wrestling.

But no matter how strong she is, how fast she is, the bear is stronger and faster. She brings a knee up, swift and sure, to ram it in the nose, but its maw opens at the last second and closes on her thigh, teeth sinking past denim into flesh and bone. She screams again, this time in agony, as the Old Bear tightens its grip and shakes its huge head, only letting go so it can swat at her with one huge clawed paw. Lethally sharp claws shred through her shirt, skin, and muscle and send her tumbling to the ground. Now it's her holding up her hands, one jammed nearly inside the thing's mouth as she wrestles for control, every muscle taut, yelling with the effort of trying to keep it from reaching her face. ]

y e a h cw for blood/injury from here on plus a few tags back, also cw for ptsd-type description

[gildedlife]

[The snow under his boots crunches with the sound of shifting stones, as he weaves through trees that become tents of fluttering white canvas in his peripheral vision. James knows, logically, where he is, but the sense of deja vu blends seamlessly with the dreamlike haze the world has taken on, and it doesn't feel important to fight it. What does it matter which bear he's about to fire rockets at? What does it matter if he's unsteady from scurvy or blood loss? What does it matter if it's a foggy day or an aurora night?

He isn't sure how he manages to collect the congreves and the launcher, especially with one arm mostly useless, but he comes back to himself as the sound of screams and snarls and scuffling becomes louder and he realizes he's close enough he can actually see the shapes of Wynonna and the bear. For a moment, he wonders if it's a hallucination that Wynonna is still upright, but then she screams again as the bear bites into her leg, and suddenly James' surroundings are clear again for the moment; Wynonna's somehow held her own until now, and it's time to uphold his own part of this.

The launcher is in place and the congreve loaded in only moments; even with one arm he could do this in his sleep, and he strikes the firestarter he'd brought in place of matches. It lights, and the fuse catches, and James uses one hand to aim at the hulking creature now looming over Wynonna, mentally counting down the delay and making the tiniest of adjustments to the angle--

The congreve streaks through the air and strikes the bear directly in the side, lighting in a fireball upon impact. The bear makes a terrible sound, and James might've had the briefest moment of thinking he'd done it real harm, if he didn't already know it wasn't that easy. Still, it's enough, as the bear hesitates a moment as though it wishes to continue its attack, but then turns and runs.

A few seconds later, and James and Wynonna are alone in the forest once again.

He leaves the launcher and one remaining congreve where they are, willing himself to make it across the short distance to reach Wynonna's side; the immediate external threat is gone, but they're not out of the woods--figuratively or literally--just yet.]

Can you stand?

[He can't tell how badly she's hurt, but there's only so much he can do about it whatever the situation may be; their best bet is to get out of here and to someone who can help them, and to do so as fast as possible.]

[pacificator]

[ There's a whistling sound, and then an explosion, filling the air and her head with terrible light and sound and heat. Wynonna wraps her arms reflexively around her head as the bear yanks back howling; like someone shoving an open bottle of smelling salts under her nose, she breathes in the thick, rancid scent of burning fur and flesh and it shocks her out of her strange rage-induced frenzy with the speed of a slap in the face.

She coughs, retching as she rolls onto her side, no longer caring about the bear or much of anything aside from the pain in her leg, in her chest and side. Her arms come up, her fingers bloody and gashed, nails torn, and she convulses with another cough that hacks up something wet and red that she dully hopes she doesn't need too much.

She shouldn't be alive right now. That's all she can think, as she shakily pushes herself up to all fours. The snow beneath her is soaked in places with blood; it makes her feel weirdly dizzy. With an effort, she gets one foot down, but putting her weight on it to try and push herself up to standing leaves her whimpering with pain, her face drawn and pale as she sets her jaw and reaches for him with one grasping hand. ]

Help me up.

[ Oh, there's so much blood. Oh, that's so not a good thing. Her thoughts are scattered, weirdly distant, and she shakes her head, trying to clear it. She's in bad shape, and Fitzjames isn't any better. They need help.

It's not a conscious decision. They need help. Help is Edward, it's always Edward, he's always the one who finds her and helps her. She blinks for a second at the blue-coated figure reaching for her, whose features fuzzily reconfigure themselves: Fitzjames, not Little. But it's enough to remind her where they have to go. ]

C'mon. Little's cabin... 's not far. He'll get Kate. He'll help.

[gildedlife]

[When she moves he can see just how badly she's bleeding, the snow around her stained red, and for the first time since the bear had shown itself fear jolts through him. She could die--they both could--and for a moment he thinks they need to find Goodsir, before he remembers that isn't an option. Goodsir is gone, just as he had been when the fog had cleared after the attack on Terror Camp.

James realizes, suddenly, that Wynonna is reaching out to him and he pulls her arm around his shoulders so he can support her on his good side. He just needs to get her on her feet, and to stay on his, and get them to help--right, yes, the lieutenants and Kate; Wynonna's right, they should go to them--as quickly as possible. He can do that. He's walked a lot further while dying before.

With the immediate threat gone, the calm that settles over him in a fight is rapidly fading, shock taking its place; distantly, he registers how fast and short his breathing is, dark spots dancing in his vision, but pain is still distant and dim for now even as he can feel the warmth of blood as it continues to pour from his arm and side. Another sense of deja vu.

This isn't the time for that. He tries to pull himself mentally back to the moment, unsure how much time has passed, and gathers all the strength he has to focus on the task. Get back to the cabin.

For as long as Wynonna can walk, he'll support her, and if she can't any longer, he thinks he can carry her for at least a short distance. They can make it. They have to make it.]

[pacificator]

[ Here she is again, stumbling through the snow with her arm locked around someone, trying to to make it to one particular porch, one particular door. The world swirls around in her confusing loops; she can't remember, is it Fitzjames next to her, or Edward? Is this blood on her hands, staining her clothes, hers or his? ]

I've got you.

[ Half-mumbled to a memory of dragging Edward step by agonizing step to his cabin. But it's not Edward here with her now, is it? It's Fitzjames, his arm tight and firm around her, her hand gripping into his coat, and she doesn't know what's wrong with her. She's bleeding from a half a dozen injuries or more, yes; her thigh is a mangled mess under the ruin of her jeans, but there aren't any deep punctures to her core. Those wicked claws had slashed up her shirt and torso, but none of them had found their way deeper inside her to something fundamental and necessary. She's bleeding and hurt but alive and moving, even if it could only generously be called a rapid stumble.

Yet she feels it closing in: a feeling like watching storm clouds roll over the prairie, blanketing it in shadow. Something inside her is being eclipsed, snuffed out; she's so tired. Every step drags as though she has a leaded blanket draped over her shoulders instead of Fitzjames' arm tight against her back. Her vision furrows, wavers, narrows as she fights to keep the darkness from bleeding fully in. How much blood has she lost? Enough to bleed out before they manage to get help?

If that's the case, she should let go of Fitzjames right now, let him go on without having to spend his energy dragging her along with him, but she doesn't. She's too selfish, her stubborn heart too desperate where it pounds in her chest. She doesn't even know if Kate will be there or if any healer will be close enough to help, but as lethargy creeps into her muscles, turns her steps from slow to drunkenly staggering, she doesn't care. Her only goal now is just to get there, to see him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to slip away into the dark if Edward Little is there with her.

Her toe hits something hard and she blinks; the stairs of the cabin's porch. Getting up them feels as impossible as climbing a mountain, her injured leg protesting and that strange weariness seeping irrevocably in, but she lifts first one heavy foot, then another, half-tripping on the last. ]

[gildedlife]

[They're moving, and they're covering more distance than they likely have any right to be in their conditions, and that bolsters the part of James that is both determined and hopeful that they can make it. They can do this, even if he feels Wynonna getting heavier--whether because she has to lean more heavily on him or because of his own failing strength he isn't sure--and his vision continues to darken around the edges.

His arm is completely numb, at least as long as he doesn't try to move it, which is easy enough as he has no real strength to spare for doing so unnecessarily anyway. Every breath sends shocks of pain through his body, though that's so unfortunately familiar a feeling that it's easier to ignore than different injuries might have been; what really is the difference between the stabbing of an animal's claws and being shot? Except the shot had missed anything vital, and he has the distinct sense he hasn't been so lucky this time, though perhaps it was the weight of the creature crushing his ribs that's responsible for how difficult each breath feels.

Reaching the cabin seems almost surreal despite his belief that they could do so, and although the sight of the building prompts a rush of both relief and determination, his body lags behind his mind and refuses to give anything further. Staggering up the steps, trying to be sure he can pull Wynonna with him if he has to, is all he has left, and he realizes suddenly--and almost morbidly humorously--that he doesn't know if either of them can even manage to knock on the door.

What time is it? Will anyone inside be awake? Probably, so perhaps he can simply call out to them, but when he tries to draw enough breath to shout he finds himself choking instead, the familiar taste of blood in place of his voice; he's going to die this way after all, body slowly shutting down around him while he's still able to feel every moment of it, and--

No, they're right here, and if he can't shout or spare a hand to knock, then he'll solve the problem another way. With the last of his strength he rams his knee into the door, which should surely be a hard enough hit to prompt someone to investigate. It had better be.]

[fidior]

[ As the night settles in and the world grows darker, Edward feels himself change, the way he has in the nights since his own terrible dream of being consumed by something ancient and impossibly hungry. All of his senses open up; his spirit itself feels... strengthened, emboldened. It's a vitality he's not sure he's ever quite experienced, apart from when he's in his wolf form, but now he's human and he can smell and see and feel too much.

He's also hungry. Hungry the way the thing in his dream was. Hungry in a way that terrifies him. He tries to stave it all off, to force himself to stay awake through the day and sleep at night, but it's like fighting against his own nature, now. (What has he become?)

He lies on his side on the sofa, curled into himself with shut lids and eyes twitching restless beneath them. John and Kate are asleep, and he tells himself he's protecting them from something. There's a loud sound at the door.

Edward snaps to attention, eyes big and breathing abruptly halted. Something slammed to the wood, hard and fast, and he's moving to creep that way, nostrils flared. Nudging back the nearest window curtain — he's kept them closed, even as night slipped in — he can see an odd shape at the front door, something that looks too big for a moment, until he realises it's two people. Even without the Aurora's lights dancing overhead, he'd be able to identify the dark greatcoat of one. He can see through the night now.

Edward rushes to unlock and pull open the door to reveal a nightmare behind it. Immediately— blood is the first thing he registers. So much, too much, dark red pooling on the wood of the porch and down into the white snow, and it becomes a strange sight to behold beneath the Aurora's flickering array, like the cosmic ripple of spilled oil.

The body slumped forwards and bleeding is Fitzjames. And it's also Wynonna, he realises with a violent flip of his heart; it's both of them tangled up in one another, and here and there in little glimpses Edward can see torn-up flesh and hear breathing that's all wrong, and he thinks he can almost taste something leaking out of them both, but surely that's not right— ]

I have you, here—

[ His mind's numb, he's reaching out to wrap himself around them and pull them in — one arm wound around Fitzjames, one hand pressed to Wynonna's side, a pained and heavy process as he half drags them in — he's unable to process, his heart's beating so fast and loud it physically hurts to breathe. Blood follows them in. There's so much blood. (No, no no no no—) ]

[pacificator]

[ This is one of the weirdest feelings she's ever had.

She doesn't think she's dying — wounded as she is, none of her injuries are lethal, and the only truly bad one is the bite on her leg — but she's finding it harder and harder to stay upright, to keep her eyes from drifting closed. Fitzjames slams his knee against the door and she startles a little, like someone snapping out of a doze, but it only lasts a heartbeat before she's drifting once again. It takes every ounce of mulish resistance she can muster to tighten her jaw, blink her eyes wide, and stumble into Little's cabin even sort of under her own power.

They're all in a tangle, her and Fitzjames with their arms around each other, and she can't quite tell who is holding who up even before Little gets involved. But he is there, just like she knew he'd be, even without the string between them telling her for certain. Despite everything — her shredded and ruined clothes, soaked with blood; the vacant haze that keeps creeping in to dull the clear blue-gray of her eyes — she's smiling when the door closes behind them and he's helping her and Fitzjames into the warmth of the room. She can always depend on him. ]

Hey.

[ Her brain feels like it's disconnecting from her body, she feels almost drunk. Her limbs are too heavy; the pain seems very far away. Wynonna extricates herself from Fitzjames with weirdly loose movements as the floor see-saws under her.

Little looks horrified. She smiles at him as reassuringly as she can — unlikely in its effectiveness, due to the sleepy, disconnected glaze to her eyes — and goes to pat his shoulder with a hand that moves like she forgot how muscles work. She mostly misses. ]

We could use a little— a little—

[ ?????? Oh, right. ]

Could you get Kate?

[ God, she's tired. She blinks owlishly at him one more time, then takes a drunken, staggering step towards the couch she can see only a few feet away. ]

I'm just gonna—

[ Which is as far as she gets before the darkness she's been pushing back swells up like a balloon and swallows her whole. Like flicking a switch, one second she's staggering but conscious, and the next what's left of the light in her eyes goes out and she's falling, fallen, sprawled face down and totally insensible on the floor. Her back lifts and falls with her breath, but it's the only movement she'll make for a long time. ]

[gildedlife]

[It would've been a relief no matter which of the cabin's residents opened the door, but that it's Edward is not just a relief, but reassuring. They made it, and from here, Edward will figure out what to do. James can let him take over now, and trust that he'll do whatever can be done for them.

He allows Edward guide them in, barely registering it as Wynonna untangles herself from his own rapidly weakening grasp, and only remains upright out by leaning heavily on Edward and through sheer subconscious stubbornness. Wynonna's saying something, and James can't really process it, but she's speaking and so hopefully that means she's--

Passed out on the floor. That isn't reassuring at all, and James feels a dull spark of concern jolt through his dazed, waning consciousness, drawing him a little more back toward the present once again; he's so tired and so cold and in so much pain but he's not done yet, he should be helping, and he should tell Edward what happened so he has the context he needs to best decide what to do.

So he tries, and manages to form a few shaky words that he thinks are useful, but in reality are entirely unintelligible and soon trail off into ragged gasping. But as far as he's concerned he's accomplished that goal, and so allows himself to lean more heavily on Edward for the brief moment that it's still a choice, before his legs finally give out; he's still conscious, but only just barely.]

wrap!

[fidior]

[ How in the world they managed to make it here is a miracle — if he believed in such things. He's not quite sure these days, what exactly he believes in.

(Except for people. People, his people, and here two of them are, stained in blood and leaking more of it, and both of them in the process of losing consciousness.)

Wynonna's smiling up at him, and her eyes don't focus, look far away and clouded. The sight freshly horrifies him, because he's seen men die — quickly, all at once sometimes, but mostly.. slowly. That's the sort of death he's the most accustomed to. It's a gradual fade, more and more draining until someone becomes less and less and then they're nothing. Already she seems like a ghost, reaching out for him with a hand that doesn't quite connect, movements slow and staggered and distant. Words barely pieced together.

Edward turns his head towards her, keeps an arm out as one stays wound around Fitzjames, who feels so limp and heavy against him, whom he's seen die once before, who seems to sway in and out of reality. He's terrified to lose them both in one fell sweep; if he blinks they'll have stopped breathing. Then Wynonna goes down, too fast and too hard, and Edward's crying out softly. No. This can't— happen, it can't happen. ]

Miss Kate, [ he feels himself say, too quiet to begin with. James is still speaking, but nothing of what he's saying makes much sense, and it's mostly just noises, and then he's crumbling too. Edward startles in a rush, heart frozen in his chest as he grapples for the taller man to try and gently help coax him more gracefully to the floor, fingers trembling as he gently tips his head to rest against the sofa nearby. Then he's moving to try and help— help Wynonna, but he's on his knees beside her and she's not moving anymore, and he thinks she might be dead. ]

Miss Kate—! [ Louder now, a cry more than a shout. His hands are shaking more, uncontrollably, as he places one to Wynonna's side and realises his palms are bloodier, wet and fresh and sticking to her clothing as he pulls his fingers back.

There's a pained inhale of breath that feels like his ribs are suddenly too sharp, curving inwards to scrape against his heart. She's alive, breathing. She's alive. But... for how long? It could be seconds. Seconds until... His hands are both hovering over her, not knowing where to go, where to touch, how to help. She and Fitzjames are two broken things inches away from his fingers and he can't fix them. ]

Please, I need— Please help me.