The Final Test Drive Meme

[singmod]

DECEMBER 2025 TDM

IMPORTANT NOTE: THIS TDM IS THE FINAL APPLICATION ROUND. WHILE ANYONE IS FREE TO PLAY IN THE TDM, THE FINAL APPLICATION ROUND WILL ONLY BE OPEN TO CURRENT PLAYERS, OR RETURNING PLAYERS WHO CHOSE THE 'AURORA' OPTION WHEN THEY DROPPED.

PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: THE DARKWALKER’S FEAST: The Aurora signals back a group of familiar faces, for the last time, with the Darkwalker close behind.

PROMPT THREE — THE ERRODING: A toxic fog settles onto the Northern Territories, spoiling food and spreading rot.

PROMPT THREE — WINTER OF OUR YOUTH: With the Darkwalker’s presence ever looming, the former Forest Talkers living amongst Interlopers perform their final rite.

ARRIVAL: THE DARKWALKER’S FEAST

WHEN: Early February.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk; themes of terror; themes of stalking; mental manipulation/degradation; physical degradation; potential character death.

'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.’ A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. The Darkwalker hisses to you: ‘And I am coming for you.'

You saw the lights, your world went dark and in the blackness the Darkwalker called to you. The words echo as you open your eyes once more — squinting and straining to a world of dark, green gloom.

There are no stars above you, no moon. The world is impossibly quiet. You do not get the sanctuary of some abandoned cabin. Instead, you awaken out in the open — in the bitter cold and snow. You can barely see your breath cloud in front of you as you sit up; the gloom feels so oppressive, stifling. You are alone in the wilderness, in the frozen land of the Northern Territories — you are completely alone. You may feel different, too. Any powers or magics you may have feel... absent. Disconnected. Things that may not have affected you previously now do. Something in you has changed.

You call out. There is no answer. Your voice cuts short. You stand alone in the wilds of Milton, the woods are dark and deep — but the feeling of being alone does not last long. You only have but a few minutes to collect yourself, pick up any stray belongings that might have been dumped alongside you.

Suddenly, there is a sound that breaks the suffocating silence: a long, low, moaning growl. Something neither human nor animal. You cannot place the sound.

You feel a bolt of cold heat through your chest. You are afraid.

(Some of you may remember this sound. Remember the noises of the being who struck out at Interlopers, turning them into twisted corpses, frozen in horror.)

In the distance, you hear the heavy, thundering of footsteps. Something is coming. The Darkwalker is coming. You cannot stay here. You need to move, need to get away from those footsteps. Although slow, they are persistent, steady. You do not want to know what will happen if those footsteps catch up. And if you do not move, the cold might kill you just as quickly.

You must work out where you are, and you must find civilization as fast as you can. So you pick a direction and hurry into the unknown, trying to navigate your way through the gloom — to try and find a trail, something which might lead you to warmth and safety. Along the way, you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused and afraid. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear the inhuman, low, growling moan once again, and the terrain is difficult: slips and falls are likely. You’re completely vulnerable out here in the open.

Or it’s possible you may come across someone else here. Someone who looks far better prepared to deal with the freezing cold and frozen landscape, out hunting or gathering. Out looking for you. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town.

All the while, the footsteps boom in the near-distance. They grow louder and louder, and you realise the reason why they’re drawing closer: they are coming for you. The Darkwalker is hunting you, and in your bones you feel that anxious gnawing. It sets your teeth on edge, makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle.

You are a hunted animal.

You must keep going. The Darkwalker is behind you, making a beeline for you — the thuds of its footsteps making the ground quake a little the closer it gets. You cannot see the Darkwalker, save for the sickly-green footprints you may see if it is immediately upon you, but the effects of its presence will become more profound.

Move too slowly, or dawdle and soon enough that anxiousness within you will turn into true fear. You find yourself lost to hysteria, unable to move, and you find yourself growing weaker and weaker — like you might die before it has an actual chance to catch up to you. Your very life slowly ebbs away. Only gaining distance from the Darkwalker will bring you back to your senses and restore your energy — but the effects on you from the Darkwalker will linger in the days to come.

The trails will lead to paths, and the paths will lead to roads. You can smell the heavy, low scent of fires burning in the dark. Unfolding before you in the mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights: a small mining town tucked up in the valley. Battered, rusted road signs will direct to “MILTON, POP. 947”.

As you head into the outskirts and then further into town, you’ll find it’s a little easier to walk but the cold has gripped you hard. You’ll find the buildings, both shops and homes, most are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. The town is quiet in this endless night, but you can see the warming lights of your fellow Interlopers in the windows.

Once you enter the town limits, the Darkwalker stops chasing you. But you can still sense its oppressive presence not too far off.

You are not greeted by Methuselah at the Community Hall. There is no Feast.

Some of your fellow Interlopers may have gathered and attempted some kind of half-hearted welcoming committee, instead. There may be a little soup, some charred meat, hot tea. Someone may be on hand to tend to any wounded from slips and falls out in the snow, or deal with any cold injuries sustained in the journey to town. But there is nothing compared to the Feasts Interlopers have grown accustomed to, or have perhaps taken advantage of.

But, no. No feast. This time, if you are not quick enough, you are the feast.

May the Darkwalker never catch you.

THE ERRODING

WHEN: The Month of February.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural/extreme weather; poisonous/toxic fog; themes of food insecurity, themes of food scarcity; supernatural illnesses; breathing-related illnesses; nausea and vomiting.

The Darkwalker told you once: I am the Rot.

The Darkwalker’s arrival has only just begun. Not only does it stalk around the edges of Milton, but its presence brings atmospheric shifts to the world that make it difficult to get about. Interlopers are well accustomed to bouts of supernatural weather, and they’ve faced something like this before — a caustic fog that burns and erodes everything it touches, or the fog that ignited Interlopers into fight or flight.

It may linger in the minds of many when this new kind of fog sets in.

It’s hard to tell it’s settling in at first, with the eerie green gloom that covers the entirety of the Northern Territories in darkness. Vision in the world is difficult, for the most part. But you notice a certain kind of heaviness in the air, and looking up has a kind of clouded, greenish haze — like a fog is slowly drifting in.

Things seem fine, at first. Just another string to the Darkwalker’s wicked bow. But when you tend to your traps, your fishing, your smokeboxes — anything kept outside — the stench of decomposition hangs. You find the meat, the carcasses, the food rotting. Anything kept outside, no matter how well protected in boxes, crates or storage, will slowly succumb to putrefaction. It isn’t just the food that begins to rot. Even vegetation will find itself prone to withering and dying — cutting off another form of food.

The fog will drift heavier, sometimes it rolls in quickly and you’re lost in a thick fog. Being out and about in this fog will make it hard to breathe, and enough to bring the taste of blood in your mouth as your lungs slowly begin to rot with each breath you take. Interlopers who spend long enough outside will slowly drown in their own blood, and will also find themselves coming down with bouts of nausea and sickness — and if they continue to remain outside, they will fall more and more ill, withering away to nothing until death.

Fog will even try to seep into houses, with unsecured buildings most at risk — the fog appears to actively try and get in anyway it can. If it fills a home, you are as good as dead.

Interlopers must work quickly to try and secure their food sources, their very homes. But how do they when something is actively turning their food to rot and their very bodies?

You remember from a dream in January. Enola drew a rune. in blood upon the snow:

“Use this, when the time comes. It will help keep it at bay. You have power, never forget that.”

There was once a rune Methuselah told Interlopers about. A warding rune to keep the Darkwalker from stealing an Interloper’s wits during its comings. A rune etched in Interloper blood.

Paint the rune in your blood, and true to Enola’s word: it will keep the fog at bay.

WINTER OF OUR YOUTH

WHEN: The month of February.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of suicide; depictions of suicide; ritualistic suicide; human sacrifice; death of NPCs; death of teenage children; potential character injury; potential hostage situations; potential murder of NPCs.


Well over a year ago, the remaining Forest Talkers — some mere teenagers, barely on the cusp of adulthood — had absconded from their group to join the side of Interlopers when the Forest Talkers came to Milton to bring devastation and death. The Interlopers had taken them in, and they’d existed quietly in Milton — getting to work, contributing to the town and gently struggling with integrating with their former enemy. And while some of them have died one way or another in that time, eight still remain.

They have kept up their habits, private rituals of beliefs that have still stuck with them even after all this time — the hunting of small game to carry out their grisly displays out in the woods: animal remains placed in particular manners, the snow dug away to the earth.

They had once told Interlopers, when discovered in these rituals: The world is still dead, even if we don’t want to fight you anymore. We just want everything to be reborn again, so next time it’ll be better. We have to give them a chance. I guess we just have to see what happens.

And now the Darkwalker is here.

Over the course of the month, the former-Forest Talkers put plans into action. Some are quieter than others, some are far more violent in their displays. It will always be outside. They shed their outer-layers, removing boots and coats.

”Don’t you see it now?” they’ll tell you. ”Don’t you understand? This all has to happen. This has to be the way of things. The world is dead. It must be reborn. The Yawning Grave has been opened. The Long Dark awaits. Leave me to the wilds, or bury me. I will return renewed.”

A knife. A gun. And it’s all over. A sudden, violent act.

Or maybe you can stop it. Wrestle a weapon out of their hand. And maybe a fight breaks out. The young Forest Talkers have no interest in trying to hurt Interlopers but they will fight to the death to meet their own end. They refuse to be stopped, one way or another they will try to end their own lives. Maybe you might have to do it yourself, maybe they force you into putting them down when they try to hurt someone else, someone you care for.

In the quieter instances, it's slipping out into the wilderness. Letting the fog take them, or trying to succumb to the elements. Maybe you’re trying to drag one of them back into town, to try and talk some sense into them, maybe you win. This time. They listen, but they do not hear you. They have already decided what must be done.

There will be other times. More attempts.

By the end of February, all eight of them will be dead — one way or another, no matter how many attempts it takes.

The Yawning Grave has been opened, and they must go into the Long Dark.

FAQs

ARRIVAL: THE DARKWALKER'S FEAST

1. Arrival threads can be treated as game canon.

2. Items characters have brought from home can be found either strewn around them when they awaken, or in the community hall — as if someone left them out for them to collect.

3. Reminder that all characters are now depowered upon arrival. They can choose not to notice it at first, or can immediately sense something is different about them.

4. Returning players who are bringing characters back with Feats will note their Feats aren't working as they should, there is further information on this on the Tales From The Northern Territories, linked at the bottom of the page.

5. More information about Milton can be found here.

THE ERRODING

1. A rune etched in Interloper's blood will provide a powerful protection against the fog. It will keep the fog from drifting into homes.

2. The rune itself will only cover small areas, so while it could be used in the close quarters of the centre of town — it would require multiple runes all over the place.

3. The runes must be maintained with fresh blood every day to keep their protective enchantments active.

WINTER OF OUR YOUTH


1. Players can either play out a successful halting of a former-Forest Talker's suicide, or be unsuccessful.

2. There are eight Forest Talkers who will ultimately die during the month of February, despite Interlopers best attempts. These are: Jean-Marc Sun, Jack St Pierre, Steven Forest, Gabriel Dunlop, Guy Harvey, Colette Ayotte, Renee Langevin and Marnie Mann.

TALES FROM THE NORTHERN TERRITORIES NEWSLETTER

Comments

QUESTIONS

[singmod]

Ask them here.

[solitarysoul]

do npc bodies rot like food?

i mean i guess to some people they are food XD

NPC DEATHS

[singmod]

Killing off an NPC this event? Let me know by responding to this comment.

Interloper Masterlist is Here.

[solitarysoul]

Levi's gonna kill Ella Keaton and Eric Buchholz

[brushoff]

Dorian will be killing Susie Alexander and Peter Kelley. He will be killing them Darkwalker's Revenge style, so feel free to roulette for what feat he'll get.

[ricochetingbullets]

Dex lost it and killed Balazs Vekes, Klara Maria Söderberg, and Louane Wild before he was stopped.

[fidior]

Edward Little to kill newcomer Dwayne Mathis via Darkwalker's Revenge pls! Since he arrived in December, I'm thinking the feat Ned would drain from him would have to be Cold Fusion, Efficient Machine, or Darkwalker's Revenge, as given by Enola during her last Feats gifting! I'm good to randomise one o'these - even if it ends up being DW and he doesn't actually gain anything from one he already has ✌️

Emily Pope | Control/Remedyverse

[sidekickpopesnoop]

arrival

[ All right. Okay. This is happening, this happened, so Emily may as well go with it. ]

Sure would've been nice to be field certified by now.

[ Is anyone even listening? Well. Anyone from the Bureau, at least. Someone is always listening. It's just a question of who.

Anyway. Barehanded and shivering, Emily follows every single cue this place and its residents give her and makes her way to the town hall, where she finds a good coat, her HRA (not needed here, evidently, but it's not a bad thing to have), and her clipboard. That last one she grabs and starts taking furious, tiny notes on. Details she'll take back with her and document more thoroughly, cross-reference with every AWE on file, other Bureau staff accounts-- because this is fascinating and also might get counted as field training.

As she stands in line for coffee and soup, she's making notes. As she finds somewhere to sit, she's mentally making notes. When she sits, she makes more notes. She's not trying to be rude or anything, she's just got her priorities firmly set and is honestly kind of into this? She hasn't seen the sky in years. That alone merits writing down, underlining. Sighing happily about. ]


the erroding

[ The stench of rot is what catches her attention first. Emily has been playing with knives since settling in, throwing them, sharpening them, learning to butcher small animals because for goodness' sake this is survival out here, and she's been tired of rations for a while now, but now she's also tired of there not just being a huge supply of bland, nutritious stuff stashed all over.

The rabbit she had worked on yesterday, cut and smoked to perfection, looks like it's been hanging out in the muggy heat of late August for a week. It's not the sight of it that makes her feel her insides twisting, but that awful smell is enough to bm make even her composure break.

So she gives herself a second, gives her body the time it needs to go through the instincts and responses hard-coded into her DNA by the strongest of the species over so, so many years, and then heads out to do some research. ]

Hi. Is there something in the wind today? Did someone bring in an artifact from the wilderness? Or did we all sleep for an entire week? Because this rotting smell is everywhere, and I know we're all too well versed in preserving our food supplies for this to just be happening.

[ At least she said hi first? ]


winter of our youth (cw death by suicide/slit throat)

[ A young person's body lies there, blood congealing in a sticky black-red pool that Emily keeps not stepping away from after standing up because why is this the thing that doesn't feel real? She's seen so much, she's learned and studied so much, but she's never-- ]

I tried--

[ To stop them, talk them out of it, reason with them, scream some sense into them.

Nothing worked. Nothing could've.

This isn't natural. It's not that cults aren't ready, that entities aren't real, that even a fucking corn flake can cause someone to do this. It's that it happened right in front of her despite her best (best, right? right?) efforts.

The blood has already touched her boots. It's been-- a few seconds at most, she thinks. ]

Holy shit.

[ She takes a step back. Looks around. Are any of the others here? The others like this person was, or the others like she is. She might lose it this time, even as she is cleaning to her sense of reality with all her might. What does she do now. What does she do now? What does she do now??? As soon as she figures that out, she'll be okay. She's just not sure she'll figure it out before she breaks. ]

winter of our youth (hello!)

[farfromordinary]

[Everything about this is WEIRD. As weird as everything else about her life. Polaris is still there, still in her head, but everything else is… wrong. Everything else is gone. Except the Service Weapon. Except it’s stuck. And something physical, instead of summonable. There’s… SOMEthing outside the town, and

I’m really glad you’re here, she thinks, listening to Polaris’ reassuring, familiar shimmer.

Jesse’s distracted by the sound of a familiar voice. ‘holy shit’.

Emily.

Emily’s HERE? She takes off at a run, towards the sound of her voice. Because there’s no way she’s leaving her alone out here. Not after everything. Not with everything that’s going on. She might not know the half of it, but she doesn’t need to. Not to do this.

She barely takes in the body, the blood, before she’s reaching out to put a hand on Emily’s shoulder. ]

Hey. It’s okay. Just breathe.

[And she’ll pull Emily a few steps away, if the other woman will let her.]

arrival and !!!!

[readytosee]

[He knows that french twist, could spot it from a mile away. The hunched shoulders, the furious note taking. Darling laughs in surprise and utter delight as he crosses the hall towards the fireplace where his second in command is sitting.]

Emily? Emily! [Forget formalities or any sense of personal space one Doctor Emily Pope might hold dear, Darling is leaning down to wrap his arms around her and give her a tight, excited squeeze with all of his usual enthusiasm, already talking a mile a minute.] Oh it's so good to see you again. When did you get here? Hopefully -- ha ha -- recently, or I've been cooped up too long in my cabin again, if I missed your arrival. Did you find somewhere to stay? I have room, if you need it.

Winter of Our Youth

[wolf_lover]

['Holy shit' indeed. Connor finds himself stunned to his very core. It's not like he isn't used to death. As a wolf, he's killed both animals and people alike, always for the sake of survival. He's killed people in more humanoid forms too and rarely lost a night's sleep over it. There was always a reason in his mind to justify it all.

But this....this is a lot different, to see someone young and with their life ahead of them choosing to snuff it out. willingly. Connor comes up, most of his usual loud and extroverted personality subdued for the moment.]

We'll...we'll need to bury them. Can't leave them out here to freeze or be eaten by any animals.

[Assuming there are even any left around that would eat the body of a human being. So many have vanished from the forests, disappeared to parts unknown.]

kieren walker | in the flesh

[burying]

ARRIVAL — THE DARKWALKER'S FEAST — MILTON WILDS

[ One moment, he's standing amongst the mourners at Amy's wake, the next he finds himself staring up at the expanse of void above him — a sickly green cast over the world like a film. The Darkwalker's words make him shudder, and it all comes back to him: he's been here before. And now, somehow... he's back. Things were okay. Sort of. Shit, because he's lost Amy. But he's Simon, he's got Jem and they're going to get her some help and she'll be okay too. He'd gone home and been there all this time and now he's back and it feels like a bad dream.

But it's not, it's real — and the Darkwalker is coming for him.

So Kieren starts moving, and he's slower and clumsier than he remembers he could be — lumbering through the snow in a funeral suit and dress shoes and the fact he's au naturale and how he must look isn't lost on him. But he has to keep moving, because as much as he does want to think he's imagining it — he can hear the faint booms of the Darkwalker's footsteps behind him, and he has to keep moving because he doesn't want to see what happens if it catches up to him.

He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, he's sure of it. Anxiousness that's all too easy to stir in him twisting knots in his rotten insides, squeezing his stomach, his lungs. And it's almost enough to keep him distracted from the fact that there's someone else up ahead as he travels through the woods. Almost. He's makes a soft sound by the time he realises, ducking down and away out of view.

It's not that he's ashamed. He isn't anymore. He's okay. But the last thing he wants is getting shot down because he knows he's in a place where not everyone knows what he is, or what he really looks like. That'd be just... really shit.

But it's hard to keep his voice even, with the Darkwalker on his tail. He keeps himself low, obscured from view. ]

Hey, it's okay—! I'm friendly—! I'm an Interloper—!

ARRIVAL — THE DARKWALKER'S FEAST — MILTON

[ By the time Kieren makes it to Milton, the whole vibe is just... really off. It's a given, considering the Darkwalker's made the whole place green again and while he isn't sure how long it's been going on for — he wishes Enola would put a stop to that shit. He heads for the Community Hall, sticking out like a sore thumb as she stands in the doorway: a very obvious (Partially) dead person in a funeral suit.

Well, this is probably a little bit awkward. And it's weird, because there's no Methuselah and this whole show feels more like half-organised chaos. Kieren does what he does best, moves carefully and quietly, keeps himself small as he drifts around the edge of the room for a time. He's okay, but there's habits that are hard to break — the wariness of prey animals. Then, a blanket draped over his shoulders, he sits by the fire to dry himself off and to double check his fingers by the firelight for any signs of damage.

Things feel off. He isn't moving how he used to, and maybe he isn't as protected as he thought he'd be. He feels... precarious in his body. Less steady. And for once, he's sure he can feel the cold biting at him. Maybe it's just his head. Maybe he's just imagining it.

Or maybe this place is just fucking with him. Again. It's par for the course. ]

THE ERRODING

[ Green fog is never a good sign, and Kieren's been through this twice already. The first time it would burn you if it touched you, the second time round it made people... weird. Like an animal, in their heads. As he moves through town, trying to work out just who's still here and who isn't anymore — he spots it.

It takes him a few moment, squinting in the dark light. No moon, no stars, no sunlight. Just a strange green half-light that is neither night nor day. It drifts in softly, deadly and unnatural and envelopes him before he barely has a chance to truly understand what's happening.

He feels the bite in his lungs, and he knows he shouldn't. And Kieren's quickly pulling a scarf over his nose and mouth and forcing himself to stop even the reflex of breathing. He needs out of this, and fast. Turning, he's stumbling towards buildings — disorientated as he tries to find one that might be occupied.

He's hammering on doors with a fist, his shouts muffled through his scarf. ]

Hey, hey—! Anyone there—?! Let me in, please—!

WILDCARD

open to wildcards / alt starters with Kieren's return. find him picking through his old house, trying to settle in again. in general, Kieren will now he barefaced and very much looks like a dead person. he will not be wearing his coverup mousse and contact lenses unless stated otherwise.

heolstor / _heolstor @ discord for plotting!

the eroding

[thehorrorofcaring]

[ Days here, paying attention, contributing, keeping a low profile, and she's learned about the sigil. Luck, yes, and sheer determination to get through this. Everything ends. Everything leads somewhere else, even if the differences are tiny, barely there.

Someone is at the door. There's urgency in their knocking (no, pounding), in their voice.

Alice lets them in, and as soon as Kieran is inside, she slams the door shut. ]

Are you all right?

[ First things first. But then-- ]

I hoped it'd be gone by now.

[ How long has it been like this? She can't tell. She isn't quite ready to trust linear time in this strange place. ]

the erroding

[satanicpanics]

[ Shit’s weird. Weirder than it’s ever been up until this point, which is saying a lot. It’s darker, it’s colder, and the fire that runs through Eddie’s veins thanks to the Aurora no longer warm him the way it used to. He’s lucky if he can still get a fire going in the little fireplace at all.

And then there’s green fog, which never means anything good, especially when it seems so intent on getting into the cabin. That’s why, when the knocking and shouting comes to his door, he flings it open, wielding his guitar like a club. ]

What the fuck do you--Kieren?

[ His expression shifts in an instant, softens. Scarf or not, he’d recognize his voice anywhere. He hesitates, looking uncertain and distrustful, but just for a moment. Only for a moment. In the end, he decides to abandon his mistrust. That door can’t stay open for too long, and he won’t leave an interloper to this fog. So he leans his guitar back against the wall and tugs his old friend inside the little cabin, pulling him into a tight embrace.

He really missed you, Kieren. ]

Holy shit, did you ever decide to come back at the worst fucking time.

arrival, milton proper

[friendsfordinner]

[ He knows that face. And thank fuck that face is here. Out of everything that's happened, all the shit that Hickey's had to deal with what with Chloe dying and Hickey feeling as weak and fragile as he did when those tins were poisoning him, at least he's got a win. At least Kieren's back.

So, without saying a word, Hickey walks over to Kieren, claps him very hard on the back, and pulls him into an awkward male side hug. We're not doing a full hug here, thank you very much, we have some dignity. But it's very much the sort of 'I missed you but I don't want to admit that I missed you, so I'm just going to give you an awkward side hug' sort of hug a man gives his other male friend. ]

Christ, I'm glad to see you.

the erroding

[simplyam]

(The knocking at his front door is sudden and frantic, and it startles Adam from where he had been reading Paradise Lost by a barely-lit fireplace. Fear grips him first - have strangers finally come to hunt him down like the monster he is? - but as he walks to the door, he hears not angry shouts, but terrified pleas from the other side.

He opens the door immediately, then shuts it as soon as the man is inside, expecting wolves to be at his heels by how hunted the man had sounded through the door. ) What is it? ( Worry paints his low words with an urgent growl, forgetting to grab his scarf to cover his face as he walks over to the window, searching for the threat outside. )

arrival — the darkwalker's feast

[sputnik]

[ Methuselah hasn't come back, and the welcoming feast is only a pale imitation of its usual bounty — there's barely enough to go around. The hunger gnaws at Konstantin, deeper than it ever has. He tries to keep steady, keep calm, but anxiety pulses like a second heartbeat up under his skin. And the thought keeps coming, again and again: This is the ending of all things.

The enhancements he's grown so used to have faded away, leaving him a shell of himself. It's horribly familiar: it's reminiscent of how he was when he first arrived to this place and for months afterwards. Weak and fumbling, nauseated and ill. Body healing from its wounds but never able to recover enough, never able to really function well, because of the presence of its unwanted inhabitant, weakened so much here, unable to heal itself or him in turn.

He's had to take breaks from helping the few newcomers who trickle in, had to sit down on an unused cot like an invalid, eyes closed and body aching. Even the act of moving around is difficult, now. It's upsetting in a way that he can't overcome, and he's already worn down by it. Bleary-eyed, breathless, he makes his way over to the fire to stand for a moment, to gaze lifelessly into the flame. The mug of warm tea he holds shakes in his hands, his grasp so damned weak. Finally Konstantin turns, fingers shuddering, to find somewhere to sit and that's when he sees a pair of too-pale eyes and a dark mouth, a thin young man with a blanket draped over his shoulders, sitting off just a few feet away in an armchair.

Konstantin stares. Then, in a voice that's hoarse around the edges, tired and aching, he speaks. The diminutive comes without thought; an affectionate term that he'd designated, as he commonly has, for those he's met and come to know and care for in this place. This one was never spoken aloud before, but now it comes. ]

Kirya?

arrival - milton

[notarat]

[ Maybe a familiar face reappearing should be the least surprising thing under the current circumstances, when it feels like everything is going to hell real quickly. And yet it's as if Billy's ability to surprise still hasn't been dulled, even after everything he's seen here - nor by the way it has rapidly escalated recently.

Because when he spots Kieren in the Community Hall, Billy feels frozen to the spot by the sheer surprise. For a moment he can't help but worry that it's some sort of hallucination, or a creature mirroring Kieren's appearance, because-- well, with the Darkwalker truly going at it, who would expect a single good thing to be true anymore?

It's why Billy doesn't immediately wander over to the other's side. Instead he's standing at a distance as he calls out to the blanketed form: ]

.. Kieren? [ A little uneasy with the first name usage here, but Kieren had earned it. ]

the darkwalker's feast.

[m1895]

[ Whenever he hears of newcomers trudging in from the wilds and eventually stumbling their way into the community center, Vasiliy makes a point of swinging by with his kit bag—many people have arrived injured in his time here, and the manner in which most of them wake up here—so close to the way he first arose in the future—poses a significant risk of frostbite.

The slim figure warming his hands by the fire seems to have already had the same thought. Good. Still, Vasiliy heads over to check him out—and freezes when he catches his face in profile, the features immediately recognizable even if the corpselike pallor isn't. ]

Kieren?

[ Kostya will be overjoyed. ]

Tim Drake | DC Comics

[ployboy]

Arrival:
The instant he's awake enough to understand (the Darkwalker’s voice, the darkness, the cold so deep it threatens to freeze the marrow in his bones), he strikes the packed snow with a fist just before he hoists himself to standing. He had had his chance at what he'd always wanted-- and he'd blown it.

And now he was very likely going to die in the vast endlessness of the Northern Territories.

The snow... when he had hit it in his frustration, hadn't even been soft. It was unforgiving, old, hard. That's something the wolf in him had picked up, though Tim isn't sure how alive the animal is in him anymore; everything is so dead. Dead. Even the smallest of light from the stars- dead. There's a sound of a monster and Tim, the detective, can now recall the Darkwalker’s clear threat. He pushes forward, towards Milton, knowing he can make it.

(He has to make it. Has to find Kate. Has to hold her. Has to tell her--)

His thoughts would be a jumbled mess if it weren't for the the bite of bitter, bitter, torturous cold. For the drive of having to stay alive.

The Darkwalker is coming. It's close.

The tech he's wearing in kevlar weave of the Red Robin uniform-- costume-- isn't going to do a damn thing to save him.

"Hey! Hey- Milton is this way!" He can't see who it is wandering towards him. The inky black is unnerving, frankly, but more so is the idea of any person stepping away from the town, closer to their certain death. If the figure isn't covered head-to-toe in sufficient layers, Tim will be closing the distance between them to drape the cape (long, heavy, black) over them. Without breaking stride. It hurts to speak, it hurts to breathe. But, "We're almost there."

The Darkwalker is coming. They have to hurry.

Erroding:
He has his strength back, at least. And from his uniform, the boots and gloves stay visible and always on him- and what a difference to have something that fits. The red of the kevlar tunic and the fitted pants are under layers and layers of whatever clothing was left to be scavenged in Milton. Tim is certain he constantly smells like mildew and stale air because of it. And that's fine. It doesn't hinder his ability to work.

He's less loud- and far more sure of what he is here to do. Tim Drake arrived here as Red Robin, and he no longer has that self-sought punishment of silence (ironic, huh) hanging weighty over his head.

Soon there will be no food (again). He works to tear down the already derelict houses of yesteryear- were there more quakes recently? the joinery isn't only poorly, it's dangerous to keep standing.

Anyone doing repairs to their home or for the Community Center especially (and, shockingly, to the church) will find Tim hauling a tarp up to them at least once. There's tins of nails, no screws. Patchy rags not suited for wearing but maybe good enough to stuff under doors. Cabinet doors, or halves of flooring planks. "Tell me what you need and I can find it," he says.

And he will find that thing, before or just as the fog rolls nightmareishly in.

wildcard.
((HMU @ plurk/fourboars or PM if you want anything else- I'll likely put up a thread for WINTER OF OUR YOUTH but gdi i can't figure it right now so yeah))

wwwwildcardin

[castitas]

There's no Methuselah. He hasn't turned up like he normally does, even if it's a little early in the month for Interlopers to be showing up. But even if they were early, he'd still be here — that mystery of how he can sense the arrivals of Interlopers in this place would bring him into town, and the cycle begins. She's worried, it doesn't feel right.

(She can't hear Enola, either.)

Two years of Feast Prep and she knows by now what to do when people start showing up: roll up her sleeves, clear the area and get the stove going. Huge pots of water on to boil for tea and fighting back frostnip; an attempt to start some kind of soup so people have something hot to eat; pulling blankets and warm clothes out of storage so people have something. She's busy, harried, keeping a level head as best she can even if her hands feel useless and she's kicking it old school in terms of first aid. She can't let herself burn out, not this time.

(Why does her stomach hurt, like she's been gutted across her belly, only dull and aching?)

Merry catches a familiar scent, hiding under one of the tables. He's silent as he moves out from his spot, following his nose. His tail is wagging, curving around the bodies of the ever-filling hall, until he finds the boy and utters a soft awoo of excited greeting: oh, hello—! It's you—!

There's tappy feet. Of course there is.

Another basin of warm water for someone's frozen feet, a mug of tea pressed into their hands, a tight smile of kindness. Kate tells them gently she'll come back to check in a little later, straightening and adjusting her sleeves to keep them over her elbows — stepping out and looking for what's next—

Red catches her eye, makes her do a double take, and she stops. For a long moment she's just frozen in place, stunned disbelief in her expression. She's not sure if she's just imagining things or maybe there's something else in this world that's playing unfair games with her.

It wouldn't matter if it's been months, it wouldn't matter how sharp the sting is or if time's allowed it to dull a little. This place hurts them... all the time.

Her feet move forwards, despite that.

Dear God, please let this be real.

It feels like the air's been forced out her lungs. Her stomach's doing loop-de-loops—

Please, just—

"... Tim—?"

erroding

[fidior]

Everything's dark and green, fog spooling out like spider's webbing. Edward should be afraid, but he isn't. For the first time that he can ever remember, he isn't afraid.

He's aware, however, that he should be. Some part of him still holds on, stubborn and resilient, reminding him that this is wrong, he is wrong, but that part feels like it belongs to someone else now. He sees it, he recognises it, but deep down underneath, he's someone else. He's something that is thriving, because the food is rotting away and the Darkwalker is closing in, but neither of those things harm him. What he needs to eat, how he needs to survive: those things are untouched. The Darkwalker's presence — what he sees as the demon — is inside of him, and for the first time ever, he doesn't want to fight it.

When he moves through the town, he would tell himself, and others, that it's the usual patrolling. He still helps people with tasks, still maintains a presence. But he knows it's untrue. He is a predator, and he's so hungry. He's looking for opportunities, for moments. To glimpse someone alone, to come across someone whose life force calls to him so appetisingly, to feel the rush of hunger like a second pair of eyes and a wide sharp-toothed mouth opening up wide inside of him. Then he'll spring. He'll feed. He'll kill. As he moves through the town, there's a sharp, knowing glint in his eye, something unlike Little's usual soft, quiet mournfulness.

He's near the Community Center when he sees a flutter of movement, a figure outside the building, working on rough spots. Layered in thick clothing, it's hard to recognise anyone from behind, but it's part of a certain thrill: he has to get closer. ('Close?' He's been told by his late captain that was his final word ever uttered. There's a delicious irony to all of it now, isn't there?)

He has to get very close to understand who it is. He moves the way any predator does, very quietly, drawing up to the person's side, breathing in the air expectantly (though knowing that this isn't a good spot to feed, anyone could come in or out of the Center at any moment, but if he likes the smell of the person enough then he'll just have to follow them, wait for an opportune moment—)

It hits him like a fist to the gut, knocking the breath out of him enough that he actually exhales, audibly. There's surprise, even shock.

"—Mr. Drake?"

Levi | Fear & Hunger 2: Termina

[solitarysoul]

Early
Before the fog, Levi was spending most of his time either hunting or tending to/learning about the greenhouse. He'd read a few books on gardening before, but he's now planning to read all of the books on farming/gardening. He'd been able to get through a good number before things turned bad. After he figures out what the fog does, Levi shifts to staying full time at the greenhouse. But first he needs to get supplies.

Since That June, Levi had been all or some of about 90% of his kills. Most of this is stored in the community hall basement and has been free to take as long as he hasn't spotted someone taking too much at once. Some of its hidden much better, for his own use or for emergencies. Now he's pretty sure will soon be an emergency, so he stuffs his whole satchel with as much of (his) jerky as will fit and takes it (and a few other supplies) back to the greenhouse.

He's not the only one who thought of getting extra food, though, and when he gets back there's someone else there. Levi's plan had been to share, but it seems Eric Buchholz has a more hording mindset in mind. Levi finds him stuffing vegetable after vegetable into a bag; Levi confronts him and asked to leave some for others but instead Eric tries to grab his spoils and bolt. There is shouting and a failed grab but ultimately it ends with shooting Eric before he can get away. There were other ways he could stop that, but all Levi could think of were the lean times before and those that are surely coming. He can't let that happen again.

Silently, Levi gathers up all the vegetables and puts them in bins for trading then drags the body outside. He picks a place well within view of the greenhouse to dig Eric a grave, but because of how cold it is and the limit on time he can spend outside it takes a few days to get the hole deep enough. In the meantime...the body is just sitting there. Levi may or may not confront anyone who tries to move or desecrate it.


All Month
During the fog, and possibly in the future, Levi takes up residence in the greenhouse itself. He's gathered a number of blankets and towels to use to block any gaps letting cold in and also to cocoon himself in when trying to sleep. His chosen sleeping spot is close to the entrance, so he can react if anyone tries to come in. He doesn't tend to sleep more than 3-4 hours a night, but that's normal for him.

When awake Levi alternates between tending to the plants and offering trade/guarding the food. He implements a rationing system, which gets more and more strict as the month goes on. If you bring something to trade, or offer to help for an hour or two, Levi will let you take some vegetables back. (Or you manage to sweet talk/get sympathy from him but that gets harder as time goes on.) If you don't want to play fair...well, he's armed. He's got his rifle on his back, his bow near the main door and less obvious weapons on his person.

He mostly patrols inside the greenhouse, but every day he does one round outside the greenhouse. He uses his blood to make and renew the runes. He has one on all four walls, as equally spaced as he can make them. He's also renewing the blood on his talisman. You can never be too safe.

He's mostly shifted into soldier-mode this month, though sometimes when he's been alone for awhile he lapses more into Depression and shyness.


Late
The ration system Levi implements doesn't go over smoothly, as expected. Levi's been near starving before and he can handle lean times but others are less accustomed to it, even with the limited food here. So there are a number of incidents where people shout at him or a few blows are traded. Most npcs people back off after a bit, but not everyone. One night(?) later in the month Ella Keaton tries to force her way past Levi. There's a scuffle and she ends up with a knife in the neck in response.

Levi just peers down at her body for a few moments, sighing, before moving her over to bury with Eric. The ground is less frozen at the man's grave, but it still takes a number of days for him to open it enough to dump her into it. This time he doesn't bother to confront anyone messing with it. He's too tired.


Whenever?
Levi would gladly accept help tending/guarding the greenhouse at any time this month! Or you can try to get food by less friendly means. Feel free to hit me up with something else, we can plot here, at connectivetrick or nvrknwsbst @ discord!

all month (at the greenhouse)

[radiobroken]

[ooc: will try to keep the spoilers to a minimum if requested, let me know!]



A man approaches with shuffling steps, ones that are unused to both the snow and the cold. The left sleeve of his thick sweater is pinned up where his arm is missing, so the chilled air doesn't seep in through the the arm hole (an ironic term, considering), and the left side of his face is covered in half healed wounds.

But he's still standing.

He glances behind Levi to try and see what is being guarded, looking nervous. Ready to run at the slightest hint of confrontation, and his voice is quiet and meek when he speaks. "I heard you had vegetables here, maybe? Um, a greenhouse, I think was the word. Is that -- is that true?"

The Convict | Iron Lung | spoilers possible but marked

[radiobroken]

i. arrival (outskirts) mild spoilers, warnings for blood and mention of injuries

Damp, oppressive heat has been traded for a dry, bitter cold, and The Convict isn't sure he minds that. Honestly, after the hellhole deathtrap of that submarine, anything is a relief. Air is a relief, and he takes a deep breath, pulling as much oxygen as he can into his lungs.

He should move, he knows that. With his right arm still bleeding from the wounds on his forearm and his left arm missing halfway down his bicep, he should find a place to stop and tend to all this fucking blood. His face is a mess, too, with blisters and gashes struggling to heal. But his eyes keep darting from tree to tree and he can't in his life remember seeing so much green. Now, it starts to make sense what Eden was fighting for.

Find him on the edges of the town, staring out at the trees, and convince him that he should find shelter sooner rather than later. Especially with those growls that he seems so determined to ignore in favour of trying to drink in all the green he sees. Whatever fear the Darkwalker brings has already been sitting in his stomach long before he arrived here, and if it's shifted or worsened he's too numb to it to be able to tell.

ii. arrival (town hall) mild spoilers

That later does come, and he's finally sat inside. Not by the fire, fuck knows he doesn't need any more fire in his life, but he's at least in out of the snow. He'd heard some rumblings about a lack of feast, but the soup and meat is still more than the shitty tinned rations he's used to. The tea is what he's drawn to the most, actually, clutching a mug of it in his good hand.

Well. His only hand. At least someone was able to bandage his wrist and what was left of his left arm, the sleeve of his new sweater hanging half empty at his side. Maybe he'll find someone to knot the end of it, to keep the cold out. Find him lingering at the edges of the room, watching the exits like a caged animal, clinging to his mug of tea like someone might take it away from him.

iii. the eroding mild spoilers

The lack of food he's used to, that's fine. They've been running out of supplies for what was it now? Two thirds of his life, just about. Twenty-one years. It just doesn't seem fair that he get all the way to a new place that had food to watch it all start to rot away.

What's even more unfair is that after his entire life spent in a space station, he finally gets to be outside. But only for a short time before he starts to taste the all too familiar flavour of blood in his mouth, and each breath starts to burn. And so, cursing at whatever fate or god or strange dream woman put him here, he stumbles back into the Town Hall, sits in a chair, and he cries. He cries because it feels like every time he gets close to something good, it gets yanked just that much further out of his reach.

iv. wildcard!
[have an idea you don't see here? hit me with it! PM or message me at wherethefigslie for anything plotty, please let me know if you are okay with spoilers for the movie or not so i can proceed appropriately ♥ ]

i. arrival (outskirts) cw cannibalistic-ish thoughts but he won't actually act on them PROBABLY

[fidior]

He's alive. More alive than he can remember being in so long — not a ghost, not even a man anymore. Something else. Something more.

The darkness is for him. Where most of the population suffers in the dark, in the swirls of acerbic green fog, Edward thrives. The Darkwalker's curse that lives with him swallows everything else up. Every crippling loneliness, every damning weakness, every desire to die.

He's so hungry, but now he doesn't want to flinch from that horrific and cruel hunger. Now he wants to embrace it. And as he moves out there, part of him knows it's to hunt. Some part still resists, still insists that it isn't this, it can't be, he won't — but when he sees movement up ahead, his nostrils flare and his pupils swell with a surge of adrenaline. He breathes in as though tasting the air itself, waiting for what he wants.

...But no sensation comes back to him. The stranger doesn't have any of Enola's gifts and therefore doesn't call to that demon's hunger within Little. This is both a disappointment and a relief, and for a moment he's hit with both emotions at once, stunned, blinking. He doesn't want to hurt anybody. He wants nothing more than to do it.

He realises there's blood. A lot of it — the man is injured. This gets Edward moving again, heading quickly towards him, taking in the gruesome sight, the missing arm. He moves almost too fast, too silently, the way any predator does.

"Sir! You need assistance — I'm here!" Rip the rest of him apart, his own voice whispers in his own ear; he flinches against the sensation that slithers down his spine. See if you can make him taste good anyway.

"My god, what's happened to you?"

[ ooc — also just fine with spoilers! ]

Zoey Westen | Original Character

[pythianwoman]

The Erroding

Zoey might not be a seer anymore, but she doesn’t need to be. It was only a matter of time before things got worse. It’s been coming for a while now. They’ve been sitting on the edge of a precipice. This isn’t the first strange fog or supernatural weather that they’ve dealt with. She’s been here a LONG time. She’s used to fog that has it out for those who are caught out in it.

But she remembers the rune Enola had shared. Remembered what she’d said. So Zoey paints the rune in her own blood on the door of her home… And it works. The fog can’t seep its way inside.

Which is why Zoey sets off out into the fog, painting the rune wherever she can. Making sure houses are protected. She doesn’t know the range, but it can’t be very far. Little bubbles of protection are better than trying to protect everything. Sometimes she stays out just the slightest bit longer than she should, and she retreats back inside for a time, be it the community centre, her own home, or somewhere else, the taste of blood in her mouth a familiar one.

She touches up the runes every day. Keeps in touch with people and checks in with those she cares about. Keeps her eyes out.

[astrogator]

Arilanna Tayrey hasn't been seen much since these latest troubles began. Her advice, for anyone who would take it, was to stay inside. Stay safe. The fog, to her, is some unknown chemical weapon. Destroying food. Making people sick - and Tayrey, whose geneticist carefully designed her immune system to repel any attacker, had never been that sick before. When she tasted metal on her tongue and realised it was her own blood, her first reaction was to check herself over for physical injury. Bruising. Internal bleeding. She hadn't even finished before a wave of dizziness and nausea almost overwhelmed her.

Tayrey got back to her home that time. She didn't want to take another risk. Not with her health, and not with her carefully stockpiled supplies. So she's been mostly staying indoors, sealing up gaps and carefully rationing her food.

Until she hears someone outside. For all her concern about her own health, she's not going to leave someone to die outside her house. She's not a monster.

Her front door has been screened off with a heavy curtain. She pulls it aside and opens the door, her gaze darting around nervously. Her scarf is pulled up over her nose and mouth, as if she expects a wave of deadly fog at any moment.

Zoey painting on the outside wall in what looks very much like blood is a shocking sight. She recognises the other woman, as she'd recognise any of the little group of Interlopers, but they've never been close. Never gotten to know one another.

'What... what are you doing?' Tayrey stammers, bewildered. 'Are you sick?'