stripped to the bone, i wait

[singmod]

JANUARY 2026 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — SUNDERED PASS: The sun does not rise, and a new pathway is unlocked to Timberwolf Mountain: through the Sundered Pass.

PROMPT TWO — THE GRAVEYARD: Interloper explore Bittermarsh Muskeg, and find an unusual graveyard of forgotten things.

PROMPT THREE — THE LAST RIDE: Interlopers come across a deadly steed and become potential victims of a watery grave.

SUNDERED PASS

WHEN: Mid-January, onwards.
WHERE: Milton Region, Timberwolf Mountain region.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of exploration/survival; potential injuries from rocks, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.

Marra had once said that access to Bittermarsh Muskeg to the north was a treacherous journey, and often blocked off by the winter weather — even long before the lights went out. Now, the area is essentially cut off. The harsh, unforgiving weather has meant that the usual pathways have never revealed themselves. No thaw, no warm weather to allow passage to Timberwolf Mountain.

When Interlopers dream of Enola and the Darkwalker on the night of January 1st, a new pathway opens — even if it isn’t as obvious as first. The trembling of the world Interlopers wake to has been a shifting of the world: the mountains that envelope the Milton area crack and shift. Snow gives way, and a route lost to time is revealed: the Sundered Pass.

On January 14th, the first sunrise of the year is expected: those brief forty minutes of daylight to signify and end of the winter. Enola had warned you: The Darkwalker has been waiting, the solstice has only just come but it doesn’t intend for the light to return.

The sun does not rise, but lights can be seen to the east, growing closer to town: the flames of torchlights. Methuselah leads them, having found them in the wilds.

There are five, all women: four appear to be middle aged, one is no more than fifteen. They come to Milton, dressed in thick furs to protect them from the winter chill.

“They are natives from Mountain’s Watch.” Methuselah explains. “They say they have come through the Sundered Pass. It has been a pathway to the east long closed off by the quakes, but it seems the recent shifts have rendered it accessible.”

The women are fed in the Community Hall. They are exhausted from their journey, a couple of days traversing through the mountain pathways. They explain that while they are largely dependent on themselves, their trade routes with Silverpoint have been cut off for over two years now — making it difficult to get through the winters. Their numbers are low.

“There were others, but they’ve gone now.” the youngest tells you. “They went east with the one from here.”

They’re open to trade: they’ve brought caribou pelts and meats/jerky; cattail pollen flour; arrowheads made of bone skilfully crafted.

Methuselah looks at Interlopers carefully before offering: “If Enola is east, perhaps it is wise you travel there to meet her. Offer the people of Mountain’s Watch aid. You know only too well the hardships of this world, and how you have suffered in the face of it.”

After a few days rest, the women will depart to return home. Interlopers are free to go with them, journeying east towards the mountains that curve around the Milton region. They warn Interlopers to pack well: the journey is difficult and cold — climbing is involved. They will mark down maps for those who wish to venture forth at a larger date, advising the path is marked along the way.

The journey through Sundered Pass begins at a gorge between the mountains: a long, winding path that rises and falls through altitudes. In places, the space will open up, and travellers will have to climb and zigzag through the rocky ledges to pass through. The snow is thick and uneven in places, making it even more difficult to get through.

While sheltered from the worst of the weather, the tremors of the earth makes the rock tremble and can send broken pieces of rock tumbling down below. There are rest places here and there, overhangs and shallow caves where Interlopers can camp for the night. There are fallen trees remaining, ideal to use for fires to keep Interlopers warm through the night.

Coming out the other side of the mountains on the second day will reveal a mass expanse of open land and muskeg — dwarfed by the silent giant of a mountain to the north: Timberwolf Mountain. You see the small shapes of Mountain’s Watch up ahead, and with it: foreign and strange shapes of things dotted around Bittermarsh Muskeg.

THE GRAVEYARD

WHEN: Mid January, onwards.
WHERE: Timberwolf Mountain.
CONTENT WARNINGS:. themes of exploration/survival; memory-sharing themes; potential disturbing scenes; dead bodies of humans, beings and animals; possible gore/decomposition;

Bittermarsh Muskeg is an expanse of frozen muskeg that lies in the shadow of Timberwolf Mountain. The boggy pools differ in both size and depth, with some being marshy enough to sink an unsuspecting traveller into knee-deep frozen peat and others being several metres deep. While frozen over, the sections of pools are not sturdy ice and you may find yourself walking onto ice that cracks and splinters — sending you into the chilly water below. Sometimes it might be a better idea to take the long route and skirt the edges of the muskeg, where it’s far safer to travel.

While rugged and harsh, there’s a peaceful kind of beauty to the muskeg. Before the Flare, you could understand why people travelled here: teeming with wildlife, but a stillness too — the looming mountain above you.

They call Bittermarsh Muskeg ‘The Graveyard’ now.

You’ll have seen it as you first entered the region: the shapes of things in the distance — strange and out of place amongst nature. From Mountain’s Watch, these shapes become clearer, but seem to make no more sense. The people of Mountain’s Watch keep well away from these shapes, but they mention one from the Mainland who can often be found out there. The objects out on the muskeg disturb them, and they don’t seem keen to scavenge through — although they can hardly be blamed, considering how disturbing the scene is.

Throughout Bittermarsh Muskeg lies the remains of various things: objects and beings that were once living things, now dead, and their remains left behind.

Some of the things found are huge: sections of buildings from different points in time: the corner walling and windows of a Georgian townhouse; broken columns that one would find from a temple in Greece; the front door and mantle of a library. They lie in a heap, scattered across and half-sunk in the muskeg: brickwork warped and strange. There are smaller objects: vehicles, vessels, aircrafts, broken and useless in the snow and bog — warped and half-melted, rusting in the silence.

Among the buildings and objects lie the remains of both humans and animals alike — in varying states of completion and decomposition. Fortunately the cold keeps the rot away, and the remains are well preserved, half-mummified by ice or the peat from the muskeg. But Interlopers can find bodies of people, wide ranges of animals from whales to domesticated animals. They can also find remains of strange, otherworldly creatures — some of them no more than bones and frozen skin or scales.

But it is not just physical things that lie scattered across the muskeg. Throughout the Graveyard lie whispers and glimmers: ghostly visions of brief moments in time. It might be a simple, mundane thing: someone turns away, someone walking; an argument between friends, an embrace between lovers. Each of them on loop, playing over and over again for a time before they fizzle out, lost. Some of these moments you might recognise as moments from your own life: a few seconds of yourself, with a loved one. Tiny moments, significant and insignificant. Memories colliding between worlds. There for a few moments, then gone.

It’s not just yourself you can see in these moments, but moments from Enola can be found in amongst the ruin of the muskeg — sporadic instances throughout her life:

You see her as you recognise her now, but before her face was injured. Her face is grave, apprehension lingers. She turns to someone unseen: “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

As a child, she sits, clicking clumsy fingers to make them ignite with flames. She is barely seven, her eyes are wide and afraid. But there is wonder here, too.

Another, she is even younger. She sits with two boys, who you recognise as the Barker boys. The boys bicker as they fish. Enola is silent and sad as she watches them.

As a woman, she bites down her pain as she tends to a wolf bite on her arm. She works with shaking fingers to clean the wound and stem the bleeding. The wolf lies dead, she pays it no mind.

As a teenager, she stands awkwardly in borrowed black clothes in the churchyard. The funeral is done. Methuselah puts his hand on her shoulder in comfort. Enola doesn’t cry, only looks down. “Where am I gonna go now?” she asks. Her lips do not move.

Another as a child, she kneels in snow in a stun, coughing and choking. Above her, a woman stands holding her arm, injured as she dry heaves: ... what did you do, Beatrice?! What did you do?! You have heard this voice before, in a dream, and now as you see her — you feel this woman is very familiar to you.

All these moments, all these relics. Held in this place. More questions.

THE LAST RIDE

WHEN: The month of January
WHERE: Everywhere, particularly near bodies of water.
THE LAST RIDE — CONTENT WARNINGS: malevolent mythical creatures, horse-creatures/kelpies; falling through ice, attempted drowning/possible successful drowning, potential character death; potential npc death.

The Northern Territories are home to many members of the Cervidae family: moose, deer, caribou — a good choice for the hungry Interloper looking to capture a decent bounty of meat. Interlopers these days are well accustomed to the sounds: their calls, how they flit through the woods. Given how long it’s been, hearing a different kind of animal may initially draw confusion.

Off in the distance, you hear the soft whinnying and snorts of a horse.

It’s hard to say just where a horse might have come from. Maybe it belongs to another Inteloper, because it’s not unheard of for Interlopers to bring animals from their words here. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you go in search for this mystery horse.

And you’ll find it, soon enough — snorting and stomping one of its feet at the water’s edge, trying to press at the ice.

At a glance, it looks like any ordinary horse. No saddle or reigns. But the horse will appear and behave to Interlopers depending on the Interlopers. It might come across as a favoured colour of coat or pattern — maybe a horse you once owned, or a horse you liked in a movie or TV show. Even the breed itself may differ: some Interlopers come across a warm-coloured Thoroughbred, or a powerful Shire. It might even appear as a Shetland Pony. Its behaviour towards you also differs depending on the Interloper. It might be skittish, or playful. It may be calm, just patiently watching you when it realises you are close.

However it appears: congratulations, you’ve just found a horse.

The horse will warm to you, with even the most aloof horses finally coming around. But however long it takes, the horse will seem to invite you to be close to it. To even climb on to ride it — maybe there’s a nearby trunk you can use to help get you on, or you could just hop on and try for the best. Either way, the horse is patient enough to wait for you. It seems relatively well-trained, and will even listen to your directions as you try to maneuver it towards civilisation. A horse could be pretty useful, for travel or for tasks back in Milton.

Until it decides it’s no longer listening to you and it bolts: back towards the direction of water.

Whatever body of what you might find yourself by, a river or pond or lake or muskeg, or even the sea itself — the horse gallops in the direction of it and onto the ice. You realise, as you hang on and try to correct the animal that the beast is no usual horse. The beast’s fur shifts into a mottled green-grey; pale and wet and sticky. It’s mane (perhaps the only thing you could hold on to) shifts from hair into thick clumps of ragged, wet reeds. You’re seemingly stuck to this creature, and it’s taking you straight for one thing: the water.

As the ‘horse’ moves onto the frozen water, the ice begins to crack beneath you — pings echoing in the air, sharp snaps as the surface begins to give way. The beast bears down hard, its hooves driving into the ice to break it and the ice finally gives way — slowing down as it begins to sink into the water, and dragging you with it.

Soon enough, you’ll find yourself submerged in the waters, stuck to the beast and slowly sinking down into what will be your watery grave. The beast plows onwards, breaking ice as it goes — and you can’t help but feel you’re stepping into your death in slow motion.

Perhaps you might have a friend close by. One who might be able to carefully brave the fragile ice to rescue you. There are ways to stop the beast from killing you, at least.

And after that, the beast will vanish — leaving you to flounder in the frozen waters. Pray you were in the shallows, and you might find yourself reaching a watery end still — or fall victim to hyperthermia.

FAQs

SUNDERED PASS

1. Timberwolf Mountain is now unlocked! The areas page has been updated to show the new details of the new area, along with the world map on the State of the World page.

2. Players are free to ask for more information from the women of Mountain's Watch if they wish.

THE GRAVEYARD

1. Yes, there are even dead dinosaurs here.

2. A question answered about the aircraft that can be found in The Graveyard.

3. A question answered about the possible loot in the graveyard.

THE LAST RIDE

1. This creature is based off of Kelpies, a creature of folklore who would lure weary travellers and then drag them to their watery graves.

2. Many of the typical ways to defeat kelpies can be used: they are susceptible to iron and silver, along with religious iconography/symbols. Bridling the creature while its transformed into its true self will also stop the creature from its course of action.

3. Players cannot keep the kelpies. Sorry.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

[extramuralise]

[ If there is any comfort at all that might be taken from the manner in which these two pilots most likely would have perished, it's that they would at least have had each other during those final, chaotic moments; they would have at least not been alone at the very end, unable to make sense of anything else but their unbearable, mindless fear and suffering.

So too is it of some smaller relief that the bodies themselves would have by now been reduced to little more than dust and ash, if not simply from the force of impact itself, than unquestionably from the sheer amount of time they've clearly spent here, quietly decomposing within this lost and forgotten tomb. Irving and Freddie will not need to try dragging out whatever might still remain of the bodies in order to inter them any further, which of course is hardly much of an actual bright side to really speak of, but—

But nor, surely, is it nothing, either.

Irving does not replace his hat until after the memory of Freddie's prayer of service has faded and begins to dreamily dissolve into the gloom, and then, once he does, the action seems distracted and vaguely clumsy as if his thoughts have become confused and are drifting slowly out to sea.

Then he gives his head a harsh, brisk shake, as if hoping to clear his head again. ]

No, I-I'll... th-that is, of course we first should take a moment to mark their final resting place. [ His first thought is to perhaps carve something into one of the many surrounding rocks or trees, but he isn't sure he brought anything sharp enough along. ] And where would— er, the flight recorder, would that be in...

[ Irving turns his gaze back towards the overgrown, crumbling ruins of the airplane, struggling to picture where within that massive body such a thing might be located, assuming it wasn't destroyed as well. ]

[faa]

Well, normally, it's in the tail section of the craft.

[ Freddie gestures in that general direction, where, several dozen feet away from them, the vertical stabilizer still juts out of the peat like a tremendous iceberg, the paint identifying the fleet to which it belongs largely chipped and eroded away to reveal the weather-dulled aluminum alloy beneath. ]

But with how long this might have been out here, and how scattered everything is, and animals coming by... It could be anywhere, assuming it hasn't just sunken into the marsh entirely.

[ Perhaps he knows, deep down, that that's most likely. The wet and the cold wouldn't destroy it, of course; these things are made to survive immersion in planes that go down over bodies of water—but they're not equipped with any of the things that the real search crews who investigate crash sites would have to help them find it. They don't even have a flashlight with them, let alone anything like a metal detector, or whatever it is that investigators would use. If it's completely buried, it's all but lost to them—so he's not getting his hopes up. ]

We might be able to find some... rocks or something, to make a grave marker. Or roots.

[extramuralise]

[ Irving's eyes follow the direction Freddie gestures, and again he nods slowly in an absent, unsure sort of way. It isn't terribly hard to work out, from both context and the myriad, scattershot information he's been learning ever since first waking here, to work out what a "flight recorder" most likely is — some form of equivalent to a typical written captain's log, surely — but why Freddie should actually want to find it, knowing what they know, rather mystifies him. True, it would probably prove to be very useful in the long run, but at what cost..? ]

Then we should assume it's gone for good, [ he agrees solemnly, glad at least that Freddie isn't trying to insist they search through the boggy marshland in near darkness. ] Though if there are any other loose segments within reach, we should add those to the memorial.

[ Irving regards the partially submerged plane again, but doesn't know enough about the mechanics of the thing to be able to recognize by sight any parts that might be both detachable and light enough for two men to carry. Hesitantly, he adds: ]

You would know better what's most appropriate, of course.

[faa]

...Keep an eye out for it still, just in case. [ No matter how bleak the overall prognosis of the search might be, it's possible that it survived. It's possible. It was engineered to survive this exact scenario. It's just small. But there is one thing that should help— ] It would be painted bright red or orange. It'll stand out. [ Assuming, of course, that the whole thing—if it's still aboveground at all—isn't covered in mud or soot.

As for the second part of what he's saying. Well. Freddie's voice comes out a little quieter. ]

A cross, if we can find something to tie the pieces together with. [ Because that's just what a grave looks like, unless you're Muslim or Jewish. ] Or a rock pile. Something so people know what happened here. So that they don't forget.

[ Freddie realizes a beat later how stupid it is to say that as they stand among the skeleton of the massive craft like a whalefall on dry land—its metal sides and fragments of its body have survived long enough for them to find it now, long after the bodies left behind would have decomposed to nothing but bones had they not been immolated by the blazing heat of burning jet fuel. It still feels important. ]

[extramuralise]

[ Could Irving recognize such a thing by sight, even if he were to somehow see or trip over it? But well, "painted orange" is a good enough start as any, he supposes. ]

I'll look for it, [ he agrees, not sounding terribly optimistic. ] But I'm not wading into the bog. No sense in losing our boots over it.

[ Their boots at best, given the disturbing exhibit of ruins spread around throughout the muskeg; a veritable modern tar pit of timeless artifacts that could have been trapped anywhere between six months and sixty years. Then his eyebrows raise, expression seeming to brighten up slightly at Freddie's suggestions. Of course— why didn't he think of it sooner? ]

Yes— we should build a cairn.

[ He nods again with a bit more enthusiasm this time, looking back at Freddie with tempered encouragement. ]

It's unlikely to degrade, since many which have already been found are thought to be some centuries old— and no one could possibly mistake it for what it is.

[faa]

[ That was something he hadn't considered, when he'd suggested they jerryrig a wooden cross—realistically, Irving's right; it's likely to get knocked over or to sink into the bog, or just to break apart as it weathers over time. It still just feels right to include it, though—so he plans on that as an addition to the more sensible cairn, even though he doesn't say it (and is slightly surprised when Irving, the pious one and the believer among the two of them, seems to latch onto something much more nondenominational.

He's right, though. And Freddie does want this to last—it's not just about his own feelings of closure, but about them as well, making sure that they're remembered beyond the obvious graveyard of the plane's warped fuselage. A cairn among it says that someone found it and cared enough to pay their respects—and even though the dead aren't around to appreciate it, or to mind it if no one does, it matters to him. They were all afraid going down. And that's a hard pill to swallow. ]

You're right. We should build it inside of what's left of the fuselage. The walls will help protect it from any high winds, and if it's on a floor [ or what remains of one ], it's less likely to sink into the marsh under its own weight.

[extramuralise]

[ The fuselage— Irving looks back in the direction of the wreck, feeling hesitant about actually going inside that enormous thing, but he still manages to make himself nod. Freddie's right; better to build it on solid, even ground, if they can manage it, and being sheltered within those metal walls will certainly help protect it from being disturbed by the element or any animals that may happen by.

And of course he'll be happy to incorporate a cross, too — it does feel right, after all, for the marking of a grave — if they can figure out how to construct one without any twine or carving implements. Probably between the two of them, though, turning out their pockets would yield something they can work with. ]

The stones should be about yea big, I think— [ he brings his hands together to indicate size. ] Not too small, but not too heavy, either. I might also recommend we not build it too high, else we'll be here a while simply trying to keep it from collapsing.

[ And actually gathering the rocks, for that matter; no easy task in the dim, dark fog, but at least it's something they can do by touch without too much difficulty. Beyond the outer edges of the muskeg, around the perimeter, the ground is thankfully more sturdy, more substantial than mere dirt and mud. ]

Have you built one before? I can show you how, if not, [ he adds, since he actually does know a thing or two about their construction. Not that it's exactly complicated, granted, but there's a method to it to keep the stones from avalanching. ] We can add the cross at the end.