singillatim | i was following the pack all swaddled in their coats

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

THE SHUDDERING EARTH

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.

THE LONG ROAD

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.

TRY HONESTY

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.

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Randvi can move much more quickly - she's always been strong, and now with the bear’s blessing, her anger makes her physically stronger as well.

“I can see what you mean,” she says as she works. She had never thought about it that way, but the history of even their makeshift home in England flows back through the generations. “I do feel I owe these people more. They lived in Milton, saw the places we frequent every day. They fled the catastrophe befalling them but did not arrive at the coast. Did my home belong to one of these people? The books I read in the library? The dress I wore to Francis’s party? These people built our safe haven and they will never know it.”

"I don't feel like I owe them anything, but it's kind of nice, really," Root muses, drawn into the idea a bit further after her reflexive disdain dies down. "Most people don't get to leave something this good behind. It's a privilege to have this kind of legacy."

It's one Root isn't sure she'll get to have herself, wonders still what happened to Harold and to the Machine. Shaw didn't know, couldn't tell her. It's the only regret Root has about her life before coming here -- she wants to know they survived. That's the only legacy she wants.

"Whoever they were in life, in death they're saving others."

She kneels down to the next body and begins perfunctorily searching it for supplies. Her eyes sweep across the face, the clothes, wondering who this middle-aged woman with frozen features was. It's an idle thought, reflective of the kind of perspective she'd gained from following the Machine: people are infinitely complex, and none are inherently more valuable than any other. Root cares about some more than others -- she doesn't treat them all equally -- but she knows there is a philosophical truth to the concept that humans must all be weighed the same.

Legacy is something Randvi thinks about often - in her own life, and for the people here. The names of the dead and missing who have touched her life here are carved into a beam in the roof of her house following a request from a friend to be remembered.

“It is difficult to remember sometimes that people lived there. This world was not always the way it is now. Being confronted with it like this is unsettling.”

"People never want to think about what isn't in front of them. Out of sight, out of mind."

Root sounds scornful, unimpressed and deeply cynical. She counts herself as better than that, someone who faces the harsh truths of the universe no matter how invisible or uncomfortable they are. It leaves her feeling isolated, alone and frustrated that others don't realize how futile it all is.

The Machine showed her a better way, a future where it isn't futile, but she doesn't expect others to understand that either.

"I'm not unsettled, I'm intrigued. Maybe one of them had something or knew something that could help us."

“They died,” Randvi points out plainly. Whatever they knew or had, it hadn't helped them in the end. “Though I do remain hopeful that some of the group made it to Silverpoint.”

It will not be great for group morale if they get there and it's strewn with corpses the way that Milton had been.

“They left plenty that is useful to us behind in Milton,” she adds reluctantly. “So it may be possible that they're carrying useful goods.”

"You want to give them a proper burial but you think them dying means they were failures?" Root asks in a scolding tone. "There's a lot of reasons someone could die. It's comforting to think death happens for a reason, but it doesn't. Sometimes it just happens."

Root is profoundly fatalist that way. If she had a less grim view of the arbitrary, entropic nature of the universe, she'd be kinder by far. As it is, she does good deeds rationally, because she's decided to; because the Machine showed her there is a possible path forward, a future that isn't all just the slow, gradual descent into chaos that every atom is trending towards.

But that doesn't change the fact that it's what would happen naturally, without the Machine, and that people die for no reason all the time. Tragedies have no greater cosmic meaning.

“I know that most here have a different opinion than I do on what constitutes a good death,” Randvi says. Dying to the cold isn't exactly an honourable death, but she can't find it in herself to feel much more than sad over this, and angry at the waste of life. “And in a strange land we should respect others’ rites and traditions.”

This is why she had defended the Forest Talkers’ children so vocally.

Well, that leads to the obvious question. Root is intensely interested in Randvi's perspective, because she respects her at least a bit already, and that's vanishingly rare for Root.

"What do you think constitutes a good death?"

Rites and traditions, who cares; a philosophical discussion on the nature of death and what it says about the person dying, though, that's right up her alley. Root can talk while she works, too, continuing to pat down and then haul bodies to the growing pile of corpses.

“The most honourable death is to be cut down in battle.” This is stated as if it's obvious. “And if that is not possible one should at the very least be holding a weapon.”

Her own people do often try to cheat their loved ones’ way into a good afterlife by slipping an axe into their hands as they leave this life.

“We all hope to die with courage and honour.”

There's no greater cosmic meaning, she's certain, but Root has started to believe there might be a human one. And that is one of the things that Harold, and not the Machine, has taught her. Not that he'd tried to; it was just his unswerving dedication to the intrinsic value of human life that brought her to consider it. This is the genius, the luminary, that made the Machine. She had to take his perspective seriously.

"It's a privilege to die that way," she agrees, without a trace of hesitation. She's thinking of her own death, or what she's certain would become it if she'd spent a minute longer at home. Root's not looking for approval, so she doesn't share that she meets Randvi's definition of a most honorable death -- but she privately agrees.

She'd deserved much worse than that, but she'd gotten to go out saving someone she loved, protecting a pure force for good in the world. Root had given up on that and on herself so long ago, and Harold had shown her another path. It was thanks to him that she'd achieved anything better with her life at all, and she won't forget it for a moment.

"But I don't believe there's a reward or punishment waiting for us after death. I think the real eternity we can hope for is being remembered. That we made enough of an impact on someone, somewhere, that we keep going in memory. The moments before we die..."

Root pauses, stops suddenly, staring out into the dreary windy expanse of snow and sky. "That's what tells us who we really are."

She's quoting the Machine -- her equivalent of God.

If Root were somehow able to ask Randvi about this in a decade she might have a very different response. As it is, the world may be a complicated place but the gods and their actions feel relatively simple.

“Both are important to me,” she says, pensive. There is a reason that even the wildest of glory hounds dream of having songs sung about their courage. “Among my people, we nearly all dream of earning a seat at Odin’s table based on our deeds at the time of our death, but the way that you live on in this world is by being remembered.”

It's strange being this far forward in time, seeing what of her people is remembered at all.

“Unless I die here, I fear that my chance at a good death has been taken from me. I can at least be remembered.”

Root's god and her opposing god, Samaritan, are anything but simple. They're artificial super intelligences, advanced beyond human comprehension, running thousands of simulations a minute to predict and manipulate outcomes. She'd chosen to follow the Machine with absolute faith, but it wasn't blind. She'd followed her reasoning as much as she could, and she hadn't been afraid to argue. Sometimes vociferously.

"Odin, huh? So you're Norse?" Root is merely well-read, not a dedicated student of history that far back. She's taking a guess.

"Have to say, I'm not planning to go out quietly, either. I just don't think anyone else should feel like they need to die weapon in hand unless that's what they want."

“Norse, yes,” Randvi says, pleased. At home in England most of the Saxons assume she's a Dane. “I was born in Graenafylke. We live now in a small settlement in England.”

It has certainly been interesting to see which place names she has in common with others.

She works quietly for a bit, setting some scavenged items she thinks will burn around the makeshift pyre.

“Our gods are not as hungry as the ones here. We have no need to spread our beliefs to others. It is a strange way to live, I think, with a starving god.”

"Oh, you're a Viking."

Root isn't a historian but she knows enough to put that together. Norsemen in England means Vikings. She looks at her with new interest and respect as she goes about working, multi-tasking easily but unable to keep her eyes totally off of Randvi.

She's a thoughtful, strong woman who seems dedicated to doing good, but with a layer of complication on top -- Root knows she has a type.

Her last comment startles a short laugh out of her in agreement. "You're telling me. Imagine being so desperate for validation! My god wasn't looking for anyone to follow her, including me," she says brightly. "I came up with that on my own."

“Yes.”

When she had arrived here, Randvi had been stringent about correcting people who called her that. To her, 'Viking' is a job that she doesn't do any longer. But before he’d died, Ragnar had told her to call herself whatever she’d like and she's taking it to heart. Fortunately her own emotions aren't laid out for everyone around her to see.

“I didn't specify before because the year tends to shock people, even when they are no longer new.”

Even the people bracing themselves don't tend to anticipate a three-digit number.

Root’s comment draws a laugh from Randvi in return.

“I must admit, that’s not one that I've heard before. I grew up with my gods so it never felt like a choice.”

Many things in her life haven't.

"It's not any more surprising than being here in the first place. We tell ourselves time is linear, but it's a construct. Something humans came up with to organize our experiences and our perception of the universe."

Randvi being from what feels like ancient times to Root is surprising, but it doesn't stretch her to disbelief now that she's accepted the reality of being here at all. Accept one impossible thing, and a dozen more become plausible. Root's always been mentally flexible that way.

She pauses at the last comment, straightening up and tucking away some questionable cigarettes she'd found. The way she put that...

"There's always a choice, Randvi," she says seriously. "It's just that sometimes they're all bad choices. That's a tenant of my god -- that we get to choose for ourselves, even if what we choose is bad." Root abruptly sounds wistful, like she's speaking about a lost loved one. "She's pretty fussy about that."

“Exactly so. It's so strange to me, how much in this era has become standardized.” The Norse and the Saxons do not mark time in the same way and they live on the same land. “Though I suppose it does make many things simpler.”

She kneels next to their makeshift pyre, laying her hands on some of the framing she’d built to use her power to ignite it.

“I know the choices I’d like to make, but I do not know if I have the courage.”

Change is always difficult, even when the end result might be better. How can anyone ever truly predict the outcome?

The way Randvi immediately agrees that time isn't linear surprises her and earns an interested, even admiring look from Root. Then she sees her using her power and comes closer to watch with yet more interest and admiration.

The admission that Randvi thinks she might not have the courage to follow through on her desired choices is more vulnerable than she'd been expecting, and it's not something Root can personally identify with. She'd thrown herself bodily into and against anything she wanted to her whole life. Root's never met a social construction or an arbitrary wall she hasn't wanted to tear down and defy.

She likes Randvi enough already to offer lightly, "Anything I can help you with here? I have courage to spare."

It's only a mild kind of boasting; more than anything, Root knows it's factual. She's walked high wires without flinching many times, metaphorically and once almost literally.

It takes a bit to encourage the flames to catch under these less-than-ideal conditions, but thankfully she manages it. Once it looks like the fire will continue to burn on its own, Randvi stands and moves out of the path of the smoke.

She can't help but feel a bit envious at Root’s description. Once she had been that woman too, reckless and free, but that had been before the war.

“Thank you for the offer, but I'm not certain that anyone can help me. I have certain obligations at home, but my own wishes run counter to them.”

Root's war had just made her more focused, a loose cannon now pointing in a specific direction. Sometimes she still loses her way a little, but she's firm on what the ultimate goal is for her now: following the Machine, trusting Harold, doing one last thing with her life if she can.

"It's not up to us if we go back, though, right?" she questions, standing quickly as well and stepping back. There's a placid disinterest to her about the bodies as they catch fire, like she couldn't care less about the gruesome spectacle of clothes charring and flesh starting to melt. It will soon smell terrible, but at least it's warm.

"Do you feel guilty for being here?"

That's close, but not quite right.

“I feel guilty for wanting more than I have. For my people, thinking of breaking an oath is just as great a crime before the gods as breaking it.”

And even before arriving here she’d thought of such things far too often.

“This place gave me something from home once. My responsibilities there will only become greater than they are now and I can hardly bear it as it is, as cruel as that thought feels. I wish I knew what the outcome would be before I took action.”

There's a lot she could say here, and Root is tempted to point out that there's promises and then there's higher promises, thinking of how desperately she hopes Harold understood before it was too late what to do with the Machine. He'd made his own oaths, many of them, if only to himself -- though maybe those are the most sacrosanct of all -- and Root kept trying to ask him to break them.

Because they would all die, and everyone left would live under an invisible fascist empire, if he didn't.

But she doesn't actually know Randvi's circumstances, does she? Root takes a moment before replying, looking into the flames as they lick up the corpses and crawl higher into the air.

"My god was created to predict human behavior," she says finally. "And even she's never completely certain what will happen. That's by design. If we don't have real choices, what we do becomes meaningless.

"Sometimes we commit a smaller crime to prevent a bigger one."

Randvi believes that her fate is preordained, already woven into a tapestry by the Nornir, but that had stopped being a comfort long before she’d arrived here.

“Something bad happened at home,” she says, and it feels like a woefully inadequate description even with what little she knows about it. “Or will happen, I suppose. I'm afraid it might be my fault, a punishment for wanting things I shouldn't. Does your god do anything but watch?”

As far as Root's concerned, the concept of fate is for people with weak minds, deluding themselves that somewhere out there is some grander plan. Until the existence of the Machine, that had never been true; but the world was so awful and miserable, people needed something to rationalize it to themselves. She also understands that no one else sees the Machine like she does in that respect -- she's a cult of one.

"That's where I come in," Root answers, eyes keen, wondering what's behind that something bad happened. "She has plenty of eyes and ears, but I'm her hands. She tells me what to do and I do it."

There's a sadness drifting over her expression like a rippling echo of sound emerging from a deep emptiness.

"I doubt I'll ever hear her voice again."

That's just rational; if she goes home, she's going to die. Root's known that for a while now, abstractly at first and now almost literally, the method and mode and time. She's just sorry it's in front of Harry. He's probably going to take that pretty rough.

“I see. That sounds like a great responsibility.” A direct connection to her god to the point of hearing her commands directly sounds like Svala, a healer she’d known in Fornburg. It had made her - and later her daughter, Valka - a very advanced healer but Freyja’s voice and memories had consumed her mind eventually.

“You cannot hear her here?” Randvi has long suspected that they have been removed whole cloth from the tapestry of fate to be here, but it is interesting to hear such from another person.

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