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singillatim2025-05-10 08:02 pm
singmod) wrote in singillatim2025-05-10 08:02 pm
Entry tags:
- *event,
- ari tayrey: millisa,
- bruce wayne: kia,
- chloe frazer: tess,
- cornelius hickey: kates,
- dorian gray: kates,
- edward little: jhey,
- eren jaeger: attack on titan,
- frodo baggins: tossino,
- john irving: gabbie,
- kate marsh: cheryl,
- kieren walker: cheryl,
- konstantin veshnyakov: jhey,
- levi ackerman: dem,
- levi jordan: cirape,
- louis de pointe du lac: tea,
- natalie scatorccio: alexis,
- randvi: tess,
- reiner braun: kas,
- root: liv,
- sameen shaw: iddy,
- snow white: carly,
- tim drake: fox,
- tim gutterson: raye
i was following the pack all swaddled in their coats
MAY 2025 EVENT
PROMPT ONE — THE SHUDDERING EARTH: Quake activity in the area, paired with decaying infrastructure, reveals a way for Interlopers to make their way to the coast.
PROMPT TWO — THE LONG ROAD: Interlopers can now embark on the long and dangerous journey to Silverpoint, and make some grim discoveries on the way.
PROMPT THREE — TRY HONESTY: A dream leads to Interlopers being a little more honest with one another, in different kinds of ways.
THE SHUDDERING EARTH
WHEN: Early May, onwards.
WHERE: Everywhere, Carter Hydrodam.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of natural disasters; earthquakes; potential avalanches; themes of exploration/survival; potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.
Seismic activity is well known within the Northern Territories. Both last year, and over the last month or so, Interlopers have felt intermittent tremors — the ground quaking beneath their feet, enough to upset some objects around homes but never quite enough to cause some serious damage. Interlopers have been fortunate, but the damage caused by these quakes have long left their scars over the years in this world: railroads and roads buckled and crumbled, bridges destroyed and tunnels and pathways caved in, cutting off access. The quakes can cause some serious damage.
Interlopers will find that out in the late evening of one otherwise calm day in May.
Animals will notice the signs of the impending quake before humans do, growing restless and agitated in the hour or so before the shaking starts.
A low tremor that makes items in homes quiver, the ground vibrating beneath your feet. It quickly grows more violent — items can be sent flying if they’re not secured. Light fixtures sway overhead, furniture will shake and topple over, dust and debris could rain down from above — some places worse than others, depending on the building.
Diving for shelter is the best thing to do, out of the way of windows and objects that can fall over. Finding something sturdy to take cover under. The shaking grows intense, especially in the Lakeside area. There is a strange and terrible churning of metal and stone, a crash, something giving way. Roars and crackles of noise.
In Lakeside, where the quake is far more intense, the sound reverberates around the area, but the sound can even be heard so far as in Milton — distant but noticeable. It comes from the direction of the Hydrodam.
The quake is fortunately short-lived and finally dies down. Interlopers will be able to come out of hiding and assess the damage and check on one another for injuries. Within Milton and Lakeside, some buildings that have never been inhabited by Interlopers and remained empty for a long time (and thus in states of disrepair) will be found severely damaged. Water pipes may burst, causing flooding in some unused buildings — ultimately rendering them now useless and uninhabitable.
Generally, it looks like large swathes of the area have come out unscathed — but there is a risk of avalanches in some of the more remote locations near to the mountains. It might take several days for Interlopers to take stock and assess properly, even check further afield.
Interlopers who choose to investigate the Hydrodam will come to find that sections of the dam itself have given way, the metal burst open and water spilling outwards and down the river towards the coast. The huge gorge which separates Lakeside and The Coast is a raging torrent. In time, these waters will eventually calm but it looks like the previously flooded sections of the dam that had meant it was completely inaccessible might be now free to explore with the fact the water had .
The Hydrodam has been in a state of disrepair for some time. Before The Flare, it barely had a skeleton crew running things. Now, with no one to maintain the dam itself following previous quake activity — it looks like this quake has been the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Traversing through the dam will reveal that the lower levels are now accessible and can be entered. But Interlopers should take caution: while the lower dam is now free to explore, this section of the dam still contains freezing cold water that can reach knee deep on the average person. What’s worse is these sections are filled with debris: equipment, furniture and even random junk and industrial supplies that had been once stored there. Some are broken, and can can injury to the unsuspecting traveller.
Travelling through the dam through an Aurora would be incredibly dangerous due to damage in the building, with exposed wiring and partially flooded areas not mixing great companions. The utmost care should be taken when exploring and finding the way through, or it may spell trouble.
But what it will lead to is a way out. On the other side of the dam.
And a way out to the coast.
THE LONG ROAD
WHEN: Early May, onwards.
WHERE: Carter Hydrodam, The Coast
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of exploration/survival; potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk; corpses; dead npcs.
Coming out and down from the other side of the Hydrodam will bring Interlopers to the destroyed Connector Bridge and onto Coastal Highway — the main road that leads to Silverpoint. There are a few extra outbuildings on this side of the dam which are dry but not particularly comfortable — but it’ll make do in the face of recovering from getting through the dam itself.
But after that? The world is far more open compared to Lakeside and certainly less sheltered than Milton, meaning winds are incredibly biting and difficult to contend with whilst travelling. There is little in terms of cover, and thus Interlopers may need to really plan well in order to keep themselves alive. Hopefully Interlopers have come well prepared for the journey ahead of them.
A great deal of the landscape has been damaged by quakes, making the terrain difficult to navigate: with huge, icy ridges and gorges in the earth and roads — providing ample danger to travellers. But sticking roughly to the road means a straight-forward way down but it will take several days to walk down, given the difficulty.
There is nowhere indoors to shelter on this journey save for a single garage and gas station about half-way through the trek south. Interlopers will need to brave the outdoors, even sleeping out doors or in the shallow, sheltered caves that may be seen just off the road. Interlopers will need to huddle for warmth, keeping an eye on one another to make sure they make it through the night. The gas station will provide decent shelter and warmth, however, and even boasts a few supplies left of food, water and fuel. Some one has definitely been here, but with it being so remote, it’s no wonder it’s generally been left alone.
The reasons why will soon come to light.
On the road down, Interlopers will make grim discoveries: frozen, partially mummified remains of people, half-hidden in the snow and ice. Many of them appear poorly dressed for the journey, and look to have died from hypothermia or some other kind of cold-induced injury. Some may be found as if they had simply collapsed in the snow and died. Others may be found in small groups, huddled and slumped together — having succumbed to the cold. Suitcases and bags will be littered around with them — sometimes luggage will be left abandoned alone, as if someone just gave up carrying it.
Some Interlopers will realise: these are the remains of Milton’s original residents. The ones that made it out of Milton and Lakeside, only to die on the way to the coast. Dozens upon dozens of bodies, making you wonder if anyone ever made it out alive at all.
One long road, a graveyard.
And then, in the distance, where the ocean stretches out before your eyes: the outline of a village can be seen before the land meets the water. Civilisation? People?
As twilight falls, more curiously, a light blinks slowly on the landscape. It may be easier or hard to spot, depending on the time of day. What… is that?
Silverpoint.
TRY HONESTY
WHEN: May and into June.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of honesty/forced honesty; potential body horror.
It begins with a dream. You stand in the atrium of a large cave, lit by a large campfire — the smoke drifting out an opening in the cave’s roof above. Someone sits by the fire with their hands covering their face and as you draw closer and closer to the flames, you realise it is a woman who sits on the opposite side of the flames. For some, they will not know who this woman is but some will recognise her: Enola.
She does not speak, does not look at you. She keeps her face hidden behind her hands, almost-childlike as she sits. The light is low but it’s a pleasant, peaceful kind of ambiance — even if Enola’s actions are a little strange, almost troubling. If you listen carefully, you’re almost sure you can quietly hear crying.
Across the campfire, on your own side of it, there are three stones laid out on the floor, each of them carved with a rune of sorts. It’s hard to tell what the runes mean, exactly. They don’t appear to be in any symbolic or runic language you’ve seen before. Even if you don’t understand them, you find yourself drawn to one of these runes.
You move to kneel on the cave floor and you reach forwards. Your hand hovers over it — a strange thrum in the air, like you can feel some kind of energy of vibration coming from it. You reach for the stone, Enola doesn’t move. As you move to pick up the stone, you feel the sharp burning sting of pain—
The dream ends.
You awaken. Not the sharp snapping of sleep to waking. Just the simple, natural waking that comes when one wakes up. But you feel… different somehow.
Honest. But honest, how exactly?
It all depends which rune you picked in your dream.
HEART RUNE: Interlopers who chose this rune will find themselves more emotionally honest. How this manifests is an aura of colour that surrounds the Interloper which will reflect their current emotional state — ie. golden for happy, shades of grey for exhaustion/tiredness, pinks for romantic feelings. The aura is dynamic and can shift with colours and even have multiple colours in play, depending on the complexities of the emotions.
MIND RUNE: Interlopers who chose this rune will find themselves with an honest mind, and will feel compelled to speak it. They are honest with their words: blunt and to the point, avoiding lies or bending truths. They may even feel compelled to reveal things that have been playing on their mind for some time — choosing to clear the air, and potential dirty laundry.
FORM RUNE: Interlopers who chose this rune will find themselves physically honest. Their previous hurts and injuries will become visible on their skin. This can be previous injuries or sicknesses the Interloper has sustained over the course of their life — even if they are now long since healed. It could be a physical manifestation of emotional or mental pain in some way. Your body no longer holds it secrets, they’re now plain and open for the world to see.
FAQs
1. Players are free to destroy their own homes/make them uninhabitable if they wish. Please amend the Housing Spreadsheet to reflect this. Commercial/Public buildings are off limits for destruction but players can handwave any other random buildings/empty homes in Milton that have been destroyed in the quake.
2. THE HOT SPRINGS ARE OKAY. Just a little snowed in.
3. The Hydrodam (and it's hot showers) will have seen damage done to it and will require repairs/maintenance.
1. The Coast is now accessible to all players. Please see this page for further information.
2. Beach.....................
3. As a reminder. It takes about 24 hours to get from Milton to the Carter Hydrodam. Once out of the Dam, travel down to Silverpoint will take a number of days.
4. Three minor NPCs have been introduced! Molly, the owner of The Frozen Angler; her teenage son Jace; and Father Thomas of St Christopher's Church. There will be an opportunity to ask them questions, a top level of which can be found below!
5. Marra will not be open for interactions just yet.
1. The durations of the effects are down to player choice, but will last at a minimum of three days or can last up to a full month or so and even continue into June.
2. The Form Rune's effects are purely cosmetic and will not actively harm the Interloper.
3. The Heart Rune's effects will only be visible to Interlopers.
4. Players can only play with one rune, they cannot choose to go with more than one.
Try Honesty
And then, from behind them, a voice that's more hoarse than a holler-
"She won't do anything! She's friendly!"
-and Tim Drake had never in his life thought he'd be one of those dog owners.
He's panting when he sees the person- an Interloper he's crossed paths with at the Community Center maybe once. His aura spikes that flame-color of not-quite-red, of muddy, ruddy yellow, of deep and earthy-- burgundy. Something serious, Tim hopes, because only one of them has a gun. Only one of them isn't gasping for breath.
And that man's not him.
Laelaps shakes herself and then disappears.
Tim, irrationally and overwhelmingly, feels betrayed: blue, grayish and unending.
Not unlike the blue of his eyes, searching the man he (rudely) interrupted from his own... sea of gray.
Tim schools his heaving chest, straightens. Points to the binoculars- good, expensive-
says, voice dry from the frost, "Sorry. At least we're both done with hunting for the day."
no subject
Of course, avoiding animals is different than avoiding people, and when he catches sight of the wolf-- dog-- whatever-- behind him, the physically startled reaction is easy enough to keep mostly contained. The aura around him, though-- it flares red. Alarm. And faintly shadowing that, a much darker color. Fear.
Why does everybody in this fucking town have to have a dog?
The hunting rifle is strapped across his back, but one hand leaves the canvas tarp he's been using to drag the buck carcass to come to rest on the handgun tucked into the back of his jeans at the sound of another voice. Probably not a threat, all things considered. The residents of Milton haven't given him any trouble thus far. It's a habitual reaction more than anything.
The color around him settles back to gray, but a bit darker than before. Annoyed from being caught off guard. But at least this guy is in the same predicament he is.
"Were you starin' things to death?"
Because he sees no gun, just the binoculars, and they seem like an ineffective bludgeoning tool for hunting.
no subject
Tim had expected a telling off from a serious man for his pup getting out of control. But the man had reached for a gun. Hadn't brandished it.
Tim's not a stranger to that reactive kind of threat. Doesn't mean the kid's gotta like it.
"If that's a Glock-17 you found here," he drawls, "that's mine."
It just happens he-- lost it, somewhere between shifting into an animal and tasting human blood in his mouth; he lost it, and now the deep scratches on his cheek aren't so deep anymore. So that's something.
Tim steps forward- blue, glacier blue- steady. He gestures to the tarp. Want some help? he means to say but doesn't, because he's going on, sighing to break through the posturing. "There's moose moving through here."
Staring things to death? Well, yeah, maybe.
Hopefully.
"They did the same thing last year. But I didn't know it. I don't think any of us did. The animals keep their instincts. So if we're going to want to bag big, big game? I think we've got a week to get our stuff together. At most."
no subject
"This is my Glock-17 that came with me from home."
Leave it to a teenager to lose his gun. Not a question of why a teenager has a gun -- he's from Kentucky, he got his very first hunting rifle for his sixth birthday. But honestly. Who loses a gun in a place like this?
Irresponsible teenagers, that's who.
Wordlessly, he pulls his hand away from the gun and takes one step to the side, gesturing back. Yes, take the tarp. Tim holds onto one corner of it, and once the other's grabbed, he continues the previous trek towards town. Somewhere in there, there's a silent thank you. It shows in soft shades of yellow, and Tim lets out a heavy sigh himself.
At least neither of them are talking about it.
"Have you tried takin' down a moose before?"
It's hard as fuck. Deer hunting is far more popular than moose hunting in Kentucky. Moose require special permits. He's never done it himself -- mostly because he stopped hunting animals a long time ago. Something about being trained to hunt humans by the military kind of steals the sport from it. The only reason he's doing it now is out of necessity. And because there's nothing else to do in between getting fucked over by the Forces That Be.
cw discussion of hunting, animal injury
Appropriate.
Does he look like he's ever tried to take down a moose, he doesn't say. He'd rarely ever even have to hunt down a parking space-- wealth comes with perks. But Tim's just glad he doesn't have to scramble to keep pace. Other guy is short, too.
"I'm not a hunter," he says with the patience of someone explaining the obvious.
Transport, he thinks with a frown, will be the worst of it.
"But I can trap. And other people have learned how to hunt."
Well, no, he corrects himself. Transport of hundreds of pounds of meat will be a logistical nightmare. But the worst will be the sound of crying after broken legs, broken necks, broken backs- will the animals have calves yet? Might as well start planning veal dinners. (Black's a good tell for death, even if it makes Tim remember the Lanterns and that makes him a nauseating white-yellow-blue. Like an ugly bruise.)
(And if someone is worried about the aesthetics of bruising, shit must be okay.)
"And you... are a hunter. Your kills are always clean. There's only a few others who know what the hell they're doing. We're going to need that."
no subject
Hunters, for example, don't lose their guns. The dancing color around him is starting to shift into the bright red of exasperation. Like one of those obnoxious color changing nightlights, it jumps rapidly from the soft yellow to the high red and then into a leaf green. Satisfaction.
Of course his kills are always clean. It has less to do with the numerous hunting trips his father took him on in his teenage years and a lot more to do with spending eight years as a sniper with the Army Rangers. There's not a lot he's good at, but hitting his mark? He's a crackshot. He doesn't miss. He's proud of that. The aura glows brighter to prove it.
Both of them flashing like strobe lights, and neither of them acknowledging it. That's just How It Is right now. Nothing to comment on if either of them want to make nice.
He sighs, adjusting his grip on the tarp, jaw working working as he considers. Green dipping into a thoughtful blue.
"The trick will be killin' 'em quick," he finally says. "Once they're trapped. Stress, fear-- it affects the meat. Makes it tougher, makes it spoil faster. Trap too many at once and the ones you get to kill last ain't worth shit."
cw food scarcity, starvation, mmmurder
Tim won't comment and won't dwell on it- but it's good to know.
He turns his head. Out the corner of his eyes, Laelaps reappears and stalks them again. She's got her eyes on the deer. Tough luck- this one's for the people.
"Does it really matter," Tim asks. The words are tired and old and flat, but: it is a question. He can learn, likes to learn, will learn. Maybe.
He wipes at the sweat on his face, before it beads and drips and stings at his eyes.
"There's some guys who make jerky. It wouldn't matter if the meat would spoil quicker if it's dried."
It sounds naive and too straightforward and Tim... despises that, loathes that, really. Festering desperation, Tim's learning, is khaki and copper and ashy. He looks ahead, readjusts his slipping grip; carries on, even. Steady.
"Summer of last year, we were left without any food. There was nothing to hunt. We went through the stores quickly. And I mean, quickly. I had been raising rabbits. Wake up one day and, no more rabbits. I don't know anybody who would have turned up their nose to... gamey tasting meat. We were eating leather off our jackets. Some people died. Some were killed."
And Tim Drake had practiced going hungry since then. But there's others here who haven't. Who won't. And this time, he has to imagine things can only get worse.
same cw warning but about children specifically :')
That doesn't mean it's not nice to have a second set of hands. But that doesn't mean he's going to say thank you, either.
Maybe later. If it turns out he doesn't hate this kid by the time they're done here.
He's quiet for a moment. He's no stranger to witnessing the effects of famine. Walking through small, poor villages in Kandahar. Poverty and lack of resources leaving its ugly mark. You don't realize how small a starving child's body can get until you see the remains slumped on the streets. Thin. Skeletal. Nearly unrecognizable.
It does change things, actually. It's not hunting season in Kentucky. The rules are different here. As in, there are none. And Tim has to adjust accordingly.
"How many traps you got?"
It doesn't feel necessary to tell his company he's right. The aura does that for him, shifting into the somber blue of understanding.
no subject
What was the saying? 3 meals makes the difference between civilization and anarchy. Something like that. Not that Milton made for 'civilization'. (But 'community'.)
Then, add a gracious touch of supernatural fuckery to a population of persons unaware and unable to fight the magic coursing through their bodies.
Short tempers. Limited resources. Dogs snapping at one another for the bone.
Anyway. Tim thinks, ideas are one thing.
Information is another.
Distractedly, if only to smear balm over the shift, his voice pitches a touch higher, brows pinching together,
"What's your name, again?"
He thinks he's learned the other's colors well enough by now.
His own stay earthy, muted. Steady.
no subject
It's not unlike a warzone. Milton, that is. Unpredictable and dangerous. This -- the technicolor light show their emotions put on -- is mild from what he's heard. Inconvenient at worst.
At least so far. That is where the unpredictable nature comes in, isn't it? Anything can happen from here.
He shifts his grip on the tarp and as he does, catches sight of the wolfdog stalking them once again. The discomfort darkens the aura around him, though not enough to blacken it. Just enough to look like the sea before a storm.
"Tim," he says, and cuts his gaze over as if to say your turn.
no subject
--no time to mask the inelegant outburst that marches hand-in-hand with the low swing and reach of lost, indigo compassion. It's a blip. It was also not for-- see, the thing is
in the quake? Tim had sworn he'd heard his name. Had heard someone bellow it. In the immediate moments after he'd been certain he had imagined it because, well, the anxiety in that voice just didn't line up with Tim's reality.
Turns out it hadn't been his name that had been hollered.
Perks of small town living, huh. Cramped little residential spaces.
He's oblivious of Tim's notice of Laelaps, mumbling a childish and sheepish and impossibly foolish, "Well that's awkward." that helps him remember how to wag his tongue again in the way that makes Words happen, instead of only harboring hesitation and the sour heavy sting of-- of, what-?
Tim is gray-green, and he decides that Moss is a good color against pale skin.
He blinks blue eyes to Tim. Says, "Tim. Nice to meet you. My name's Tim."
He decides, who cares.
Sobers.
"I only have seven bear traps left. But I've practiced deadfalls. By the basin? I can set snares and have- wires that'll be strong enough to hold... a large animal, at a gallop. But mostly I have the, uh, the trail, that the herd followed last season. I wrote it down. I write everything down. I think, with a stampede, we can predict where they'll end up. Have the guns ready for them as they head there."
The unspoken tail: I don't know. He doesn't fucking know.
no subject
He watches his companion go on an interesting journey of emotions that he can't even begin to put together or make sense of, even with the array of colors providing physical, tangible proof that they are, in fact, happening. It doesn't matter, it's not really his business, but--
That was you.
He's curious, suspicious. Hues of golden yellow and slate gray swirling around him. The introduction doesn't exactly clear it up, but it does make way for the brighter yellows of amusement. Chloe had told him there was another Tim here. Only a matter of time before they ran into each other, the timing, though. It's less than ideal, both of them flashing like neon signs.
He does recall telling Chloe he'd have to fight this other Tim for the title. He glances over, eyeing the other for a moment before silently deciding -- but not without a flash of bright green in his aura -- that he can probably take him.
"Once we drop this off, you can show me where that trail's at. Gonna want hunters up top mostly. Moose are aggressive. They'll wreck your shit for lookin' at 'em funny. The ones that miss the traps? You don't want to be on the ground for that stampede."
no subject
If he asks then he spooks the elephant in the room. So Tim figures, he can guess.
He nods along at Tim's suggestion, the advice, though his stomach does that thing where it does a barrel roll at the thought of more walking. He's fairly sure it's a horrible idea. He'll have time to build his argument against common sense. But mostly Tim frowns because he swears he's no wimp; he's battled Crocs and Devils and swordsmen that'll make Hollywood samurai blush; he's not supposed to be both flush and pale with exertion. Yet here he is.
Here he is, mouth a thin line and one would reckon he's plotting the snipers' nests. That is, until he says,
"Man, I'm going to need your last name because this is going to get weird if I don't have a call sign for you or something."
no subject
In the grand scheme of things, this is simple. Especially with a second set of arms and legs. They've got maybe a quarter of a mile left, no need for a break unless his present company can't keep up.
His gaze cuts to the side, looking past the aura at the other Tim. The corners of his mouth twitch with the suggestion of amusement. His aura dances with much more than a suggestion. He shakes his head.
"You can call me Big Tim. You'll be Little Tim. Easy."
Is he trolling? Being serious? Both can be true.