prelude

[singmod]

January 1st 2015

Do you remember yesterday? What is tomorrow?
How will you face this quiet apocalypse?
— Raphael van Lierop.

As the old year falls and the new year begins, the skies fill with light. An Aurora comes on the last day of December, and with it the usual signs of it: the ethereal noise, the cracks and pops in the air, the stuttering of electrics as they struggle to power on and then blare and flicker. It is, as Interlopers have come to know, business as usual — in terms of the Auroras within this world. However, something a little different happens this time.

Interlopers will fall asleep all over the town of Milton. Even the ones who fight sleep and try to stay up into the small hours of the night will find themselves drifting off for a short while — as if their eyes just feel too heavy to keep open, and their minds slip into a deep kind of quiet darkness without their realising. And at first, there is nothing — nothing but the quiet dark. Something peaceful, almost.

A dream comes.

The first thing you notice is blood in your mouth, the cold in your bones, the deafening din in your ears — as if you are caught in static and the sound of howling winds through pine trees. You are afraid. At first, you do not know why. You find yourself on your knees in the snow. The skies are filled with green light, the air is thick with smoke. And then the realisation comes:

This is the ending of all things.

You look up, to the sight before you: a huge, shapeless shadow. Towering above you, over you. A head peers down at you: a cluster of three wolf skulls, eye-sockets glowing green and terrible, and their three open maws, dripping with more green. The sound it makes is unnatural, you cannot put it into words. The darkness draws in, you are so cold, so tired.

This is the ending of all things.

It is so hungry. You are so tired. The world falls away, you cannot see the stars, the dark hiding them from view. Were they even there to begin with? Or did they go out? You have forgotten. And you know, you know—

This is the ending of all things.

The skies glimmer, licks of strange, colourful wisps curl above — a voice screams out your name, from the static and winds. Through the noise. A woman’s voice. You have heard this voice before, in the lights and noise. Do you see? What could be? What you could become?

Can you hold on? Please. A hand grips your shoulder, but as you turn — the dream ends.

For some, they snap into waking with a shout or cry. Some will shudder awake to find tears in their eyes. All over Milton, the Interlopers wake: shaken, unsure, afraid. They will awaken to the dark: the Aurora is gone — slowly fading from the night skies into an otherwise calm and clear night.

It is a new year.

Comments

[lastdecember]

[ He just flips Renny the bird in response to that healers comment, but otherwise remains silent, because the feeble sun has risen and it's time for Renny to do whatever he's got planned.

And what he's got planned is a whole song, apparently. Wolfwood's eyes go wide at the first few notes -- he'd been expecting something more, well, churchy, somber and dull, but as he's learning, Renny's neither of those things. He stands quiet, hands folded before him as Renny sings. He's got no ear for music, couldn't say a thing about the tune one way or the other, but the words he understands.

What must it have been like, to live under the thumb of a god who inspired joy and gratitude instead of fear and the promise of eventual death? A god that you'd want to pray to, instead of one that you invoked to terrorize others?

Not for the first time, he wonders what the world would have been like if the other brother had taken the throne.

Pulling out one of his few remaining cigarettes, Wolfwood blows a cloud of smoke up toward the single sun. A new beginning, huh? Sure, why the hell not? ]

You really do this every day?

[cantor]

... I don't think Lathander can hear me from here.

[It's a simple fact, one he's come to terms with after spending a few days in Milton. This plane, stripped of magic, speaks to a different pantheon of gods, a world that operates on alien logic. Renny pulls his gloves back on, straps his lyre onto his back, and massages the warmth back into his fingers. He continues talking all the while.]

Even a god's Chosen would have trouble being heard in this plane. But it's better than silence.

[Better to hear the echo of your own voice, than to receive nothing at all. Renny gives a wry smile.]

Besides, it wouldn't do for a bard to get rusty.

[lastdecember]

Well, if he ever does start talkin' back, you let me know, will ya?

[ Having a god on their side sure would go a long ways toward fighting whatever that was that they'd both dreamed about, even if he was just a god of singing and sunshine.

And speaking of sunshine... ]

If you can't find me, try the church, and ask for Vash. [ There's technically two Vashes there, but if there's an emergency, Wolfwood would trust either of them to help however they could. ] He's the kind of generous idiot who'll try to give you the coat off his back in the middle of a storm. You two'll get along great.

[cantor]

[He'd hoped to take Wolfwood's mind off the nightmare. When Renny had taken his walk, he'd only been looking to soothe himself. That he's able to have helped someone else forget their troubles, if only for a little while.]

Oh, you can expect to see me.

[Renny winks.]

We need all the generous idiots we can get in a place like this, you know?