Singillatim OOC Comm

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-month.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.

'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'

It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.

These are the words of the Darkwalker, you’ll soon come to find. This ancient creature that sneers at you, who does not want you here. Your fellow Interlopers will fill you in on this being soon enough.

You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. This place has been ransacked, abandoned long ago. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you.

Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — you are completely alone.

The sun is bright, enclosed in light fog. It is a strange kind of twilight.

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 know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. You’ll find one soon enough. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, 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. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?

Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. 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”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!

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, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more.

Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a school-house of sorts, or some kind of community hall. Perhaps both. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.

The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face. He smiles warmly, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.

“Here we are, once again. This place continues to draw more souls in.” he nods gravely. “But I wonder for how much longer you turn up in this town. I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. This world has been long since changed by the lights. And more change is still to come, I feel. Come. Mother Nature has not been kind to you, but there are plenty here to help.”

The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.

There are canisters with hot herbal teas, mostly. But some coffee can be found. There’s also soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast for those who have battled the cold to come here.

Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks — aided by a handful of others in the Hall. Your fellow survivors, but those who have been here for some time now. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames.

He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but gesture to your fellow survivors. They will have better answers than him.

JUST A SONG

WHEN: The month of December.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural creatures; folklore-inspired creatures; skeletal beings (horses); pranks/mischief.

Sounds of revelry have been heard through the streets of Milton: music, singing, bells. You can hear them from your cabin, or even as you venture through the town. It really sounds like someone’s having a pretty good time. It’s actually kind of nice to hear it, all things considered. Interlopers often find themselves with little to be cheerful about with the long night, bitter cold and difficult daily life.

Going out to find the source of such festivities will come up with nothing, however, which is both disappointing and a little unnerving. Until one night you hear the noise right at your door, and there’s the sudden boom of a knock.

Opening the door will lead to silence, but instead stands a tall being that towers higher than the door frame. Slow to move, a skull moves into view and you find yourself staring at a horse skull, adorned with ribbons, bells and flowers, its ears flicking in curiosity. Its eyes glow white in the dark. The remainder of the being’s body is covered by a huge white shroud and while it appears as a rather frightening creature — it makes no move to attack you. Instead, it stands calmly, relaxed.

Its teeth chatter for a moment, and it bursts into song: slow and cheerful:

‘I am come, dear friend, at your door to sing.
I am come, dear friend, why won’t you let me in?

If I trespass, tell me then, why that I must go.
If I trespass, state in song, you should tell me so.’

You must tell the creature, in song, why they cannot come in. It’s… almost like a game—?

So you try, singing to the creature why it cannot enter your home. But the creature is clever, and can come up with plenty of ways in which it can argue for coming inside an Interloper’s home — returning its arguments in song. It starts off a back and forth, a debate in song. Eventually, you’ll fail to come up with reasons against the creature gaining entry and fail to argue back a reply. The creature jaw chatters cheerfully and ducks — charging forwards and passes right through you. As you turn to look back inside, you’ll see nothing there — the creature is nowhere to be seen.

However, you’ll soon find yourself falling victim to a… well, it’s almost a harmless prank if anything:

Altered Speech: Interlopers find themselves talking backwards, no matter how hard they try to not. Even Interlopers with Aurora Call will find their ‘mental voice’ speaking backwards, too.

Animal Ears: Interlopers find themselves with some kind of animal ears. While they certainly don’t get the benefits of said animal’s hearing — it does make wearing hats a bit of a pain.

Confetti: Everywhere you go, rainbow-coloured confetti will fall from your head. It can either be a constant stream, like a little raincloud above your head. Or maybe it comes out when you sneeze, or cough, or even just speak.

They See You: There’s googly eyes. All shapes and sizes. Everywhere. On the furniture. On your toothbrush. On your soup can. On you. No one knows where they come from, and if you take them away — they will come back.

Plastic Wrap: When you try to go through a door, you’ll be hit in the face with plastic wrap. It won’t be every door, though. And you’ll never know if a door’s been booby-trapped with it. But any door might be one that gets you.

They keep finding a random item in every drawer

These shenanigans will keep up for several days. However, on the morning of the day after the effects have passed, Interlopers will awaken to find everything back to normal. They’ll also find at the foot of their bed a small parcel. Inside, they’ll find a sweet treat of their choice: maybe a cake or candy they like the most, something they can’t otherwise get in the Northern Territories.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

THE ICE CAVES

WHEN: The month of December.
WHERE: Everywhere…?
CONTENT WARNINGS: animal attacks / wolf attacks; supernatural animals; potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.

You wake up cold, to the sound of a great beast breathing restlessly. The sound echoes, and it feels far away and incredibly close at the same time. The air is humid, which makes the cold even more biting and the ground feels wet beneath you. As you sit up, you realise why: there are patches of ice that make up the floor, which now melt beneath your warm body. The light is dim, but you can see well enough with the soft blue glow that encompasses the area around you. As you get up to examine this glow, you realise it’s greeted by bioluminescent fungi which creep around the walls, floor and ceiling.

It’s an ice cave, and you find yourself not alone. Another is here with you.

Taking a few moments to recollect yourselves and take in your surroundings, you decide to traverse the caves in hopes of finding an exit. What meets you is a labyrinth of tunnels and atriums: all covered in the very same bioluminescent fungi and ice. The ground is slippery to walk on, and care should be taken. Every so often, the walls tremble and quake — not enough to cause any kind of cave-in, but enough to keep you on your toes.

But it’s not just you two in this cave. Not just the mysterious beast’s troubled breathing either. Something else is here, too — something far more familiar.

And soon you’ll find out: wolves.

You’ll find three here. Their eyes glowing green in the dim light. The first wolf is distinguishable by its more fluffy coat, their scruff poofs up a great deal more — tinged with white. Its approach is more softer, hoping to catch Interlopers unaware in the caves.

The second wolf is recognised by its scruffy coat, looking mangier than the others — missing chunks of it in places. This wolf is far more noisy compared to the others and tends to run more, barrelling into the Interlopers headfirst.

The third wolf is bigger than the other two, but its behaviour could only be described as being… sketchy. This wolf is far more silent, and likes to hide and stalk Interlopers from afar — even waiting for them to pass before it sneaks up from behind.

The wolves can be fought, they can even be killed — but they won’t stay down for long. Eventually, even if you’re sure they’re dead, they’ll get back up again and resume the chase of you through the caves. It’s best to keep moving and find a way out of this maze of a cave system.

You’ll find the opening soon enough, and stepping through the cave’s mouth will bring you back into a random location: you could find yourself outside a random cave in the Milton wilds, suddenly entering a long-abandonned cabin in Lakeside, or stepping inside the Frozen Angler in Silverpoint (to a confused-looking Molly). There seems to be no rhyme or reason to where you end up, and you certainly can’t go back — just hope you’re somewhere you’d like to be.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-month.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.

'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'

It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.

These are the words of the Darkwalker, you’ll soon come to find.

You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. This place has been ransacked, abandoned long ago. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you.

Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — you are completely alone.

The sun is bright, enclosed in light fog. It is a strange kind of twilight.

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 know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. You’ll find one soon enough. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, 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. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?

Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. 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”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!

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, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more.

Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a school-house of sorts, or some kind of community hall. Perhaps both. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.

The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face. He smiles warmly, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.

“Ah. Once more, you poor souls come.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you, Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. You are not the only one, the lights are changing things. Come. Mother Nature has not been kind to you, but there are plenty here to help.”

The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.

There are canisters with hot herbal teas, mostly. But some coffee can be found. There’s also soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast for those who have battled the cold to come here.

Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks — aided by a handful of others in the Hall. Your fellow survivors, but those who have been here for some time now. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames.

He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but gesture to your fellow survivors. They will have better answers than him.

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

WHEN: The month of August.
WHERE: Everywhere…?
CONTENT WARNINGS: amnesia memory loss; skeletal remains of animals and humans; themes of honesty; themes of deep/thoughtful conversations/self-realisation; mention of eye-injury/body horror.

You do not remember falling asleep. You open your eyes to find yourself lying in the snowy undergrowth of a burned-out wood. The scent of charred trees hangs in the air, a little petrichor. The world is cold and empty and dead. The sky above you is a pale lavender-grey, a strange half-light gloom and a mist drifts around you. The stillness is not peaceful. Instead it feels like a sense of loss.

You do not remember your name. You do not know who you are.

There are only two things you do know: this is the ending of all things, and you must find out who you are.

When you look down, there are shapes in the snow and dead undergrowth. You reach for them, only to find the things you reach for— bones. Animal. Human. Scattered, half-bleached by the elements. You may be filled with horror, loud and jarring. You might be filled with sorrow. You might be filled with indignant and defiant rage. You might even be filled with something muted and quieter, something like resignation. Because, after all: this is the ending of all things.

You don’t recognise this place, nor do you know where you’re going but you still move forwards — picking any direction and hoping for the best. You trudge through the snow, looking for… answers. Even if you don’t know what those answers will be.

You find another, equally lost as you. Someone else who shares the same situation: not knowing they are and only knowing the same two things as you do. You walk for a while, trying to work it all out. But the woods are endless, and no matter which direction you head in, the burned and blackened trees never seem to thin.

Out of nowhere, a woman’s voice drifts through the trees: What kind of survivor are you?

The question settles on the air. You look at your companion, speechless for a moment. But if you take a little while, the words will come. The truth of yourself: what kind of survivor are you? And you’ll talk with your companion, talking about yourselves like it’s so new to you. You speak honestly. There are no lies here. You begin to remember a little more. A memory, an event, an instance. What kind of survivor you are. You will get your first answer.

Soon enough, another question will come: When you lost everything you knew and loved, how did you keep breathing?

Once again, the words will come. Between yourselves, you will answer and find the answer about yourself — speaking the words as if you are breathing life into your very existence. And more questions will come, giving you and your companion plenty to talk about.

The third question: Do you survive for yourself alone, revelling in the solitude? Or do you hunger for a connection, seeking out others?

The fourth: Do you settle into the silence, and embrace it? Or do you crawl into it whimpering and it crushes you?

The final question: Who are you and how will you face this Quiet Apocalypse?

You remember who you are now, don’t you? Your name. What kind of person you are, what shapes and guides you.

A woman stands before you in the woods. She is dressed in furs. She is gaunt, exhausted — her left side of her face is black and withered, her eye absent from the socket. Her other eye is blue and sad. She looks proud, and she smiles. This is Enola, the First Interloper.

“I see you.” she says softly.

With the blink of an eye, you are no longer in the woods but wherever you last remember being. Your companion is no longer with you, but you’ll find them again soon enough.

BEACHED

WHEN: The month of August
WHERE: Beaches/shorelines of The Coast, Silverpoint.
CONTENT WARNINGS:

The shorelines of the Northern Territories’ Coastal Region have been a boon to those who live there, thanks to the many opportunities for beachcombing and the occasional crates of random goods that will wash up on the shore from long-forgotten ships, along with regular fishing opportunities. However, in the month of August, there's a strange kind of emptiness to the beaches that even keeps some of the locals away. Interlopers who speak with Molly and Jace will be told that something about the beach creeps them out.

Jace in particular will mention that he has seen strange footprints in the sands made of tar. While he’ll point out where he’s seen them from a distance, he doesn't recommend Interlopers going to check it out. It’s bad vibes, and generally when that sort of thing goes down it’s best to stay away.

But he can't exactly stop anyone who wants to go see what the fuss is about.

Interlopers who go to explore the beaches will feel overcome with the strange sensation of hollowness; like something has clawed away at you from the inside. Some may describe it as a sense of sorrow or grief. Others might describe it as a strange kind of inner-disconnection. Some may describe it as a kind of stillness, the kind that comes after death, or standing in an empty room after someone has just left it.

The feeling is small at first but the longer an Interloper spends time on the beach, the bigger that feeling grows.

Interlopers who followed the footprints of tar in the sand after an extended period of time on the beach will notice that the footprints will actually be actively moving. You will see them being made in real time. Soon enough, the footprints will start to turn and walk towards the Interloper. They never hurry, but make a beeline at a steady pace — easy enough to outrun, but will catch the Interloper if they’re not careful enough. If the footprints catch up to them, they'll soon find out just exactly what is lurking within the sands.

Figures burst forth from the tar, writhing and scrambling towards you. A mass of several of them, a mob. The beings look human, but are twisted and distorted, and appear to be entirely made out of the tar. Their eyes are green and smoking, their hands are sharp and clawed. However, they’re extremely solid, as if they are a person after all. They hiss and shriek, trying to grab at you in hopes of pulling you down into the tar that pools and floods around them.

You can shake off one or two of them but let enough of them swamp you, and you’ll be dragged down into a tarry grave — never to be seen again.

The beings can be fought off — guns and bows can keep them back but won’t hurt them. Flames work well on them, too. If they manage to claw at you and draw blood, the blood itself will actually be harmful to them and they’ll cower away from even a few drops. Fighting them off will have them retreating back into the sands, leaving nothing but a pool of tar behind.

Leaving is also absolutely an option, if you can get off the sand itself and back onto land. The beings will not follow and seem to be stuck completely on the beaches.

But the experience will leave you feeling emotionally raw in the days that follow. Interlopers will be left feeling hollow, but spending time around others will have the feeling fading and you’ll feel like your usual self again.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-month.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.

'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'

It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.

These are the words of the Darkwalker, you’ll soon come to find.

You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. This place has been ransacked, abandoned long ago. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you.

Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — you are completely alone.

The sun is bright, enclosed in light fog. It is a strange kind of twilight.

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 know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. You’ll find one soon enough. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, 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. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?

Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. 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”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!

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, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more.

Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a school-house of sorts, or some kind of community hall. Perhaps both. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.

The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face. He smiles warmly, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.

“Ah. Once more, you poor souls come.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you, Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. You are not the only one, the lights are changing things. Come. Mother Nature has not been kind to you, but there are plenty here to help.”

The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.

There are canisters with hot herbal teas, mostly. But some coffee can be found. There’s also soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast for those who have battled the cold to come here.

Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks — aided by a handful of others in the Hall. Your fellow survivors, but those who have been here for some time now. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames.

He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but gesture to your fellow survivors. They will have better answers than him.

THE THING WITH FEATHERS

WHEN: Throughout the month.
WHERE: Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: animal attacks, altered wildlife, gore, possible character injury/death, possible animal injury/death.

It is no secret that nature has been warped here somehow. Interlopers discovered this in the very early days of their time in the Northern Territories, when packs of wolves descended upon Milton. A frightening and terrible thing to try and survive — plenty were injured in the attack, a few unlucky Interlopers even lost their lives during that time.

There have been other ways in which the world around them has become strange: extreme weather, shifts to the flora of the world, changes in native animal behaviour, supernatural creatures, beats from the world’s old stories—

It is hard to tell what may happen next.

The flocks of crows are common sight enough, soaring through the skies, and often the heralds of death: a body, human or animal is close by. But soon enough, the crows began to gather in large groups around Milton. They watch the Interlopers with interest, and seem less easily scared by the people around them. That is the start of things.

Over time, their behaviour grows… unsettling. Interlopers who attempt to chase, scare or even hunt the birds will be met with squawks and even attempts to divebomb. Crows are very intelligent creatures, after all. They recognise the fact that someone is trying to harm them. An Interloper might even kill a crow will be met with raucous anger with their fallen fellow crow. They Will Remember That.

But what is stranger still is to see the birds fighting amongst themselves whilst in flight.

It’s hard to tell why the crows fight one another, but it’s a startling sight to see: the birds tackling into one another, talons trying to rip one another to shreds as they swoop and rise in the chilly air. Some will die, too, and even if one misses such fights in the skies — it is common to find the bloodied remains in the snow, feathers strewn about.

Soon enough, Interlopers may find themselves jumping at the sudden sound of something quick slamming against a door, a window, a roof, a half-buried car in the ground. Investigating will find freshly-dead crows with broken necks, glass cracked where their beaks have struck glass, blood upon wood.

And in time, the birds will stop their assault against themselves. They will turn their attentions to those below: other animals, and to the Interlopers themselves — flocking in huge groups to divebomb the unsuspecting below.

To be set upon is to be met with beaks and claws: the birds are set upon tearing you to shreds, a fluttering fury whirling around you. The best you can do is to try and protect your body from the attack, or run. The birds will be kept back by flames, filling the air with burning feathers as they try to flee — but the best that can be done is Interlopers find somewhere indoors to hide. At the very least, these birds are no stronger than usual animals changed by the Aurora — but they will likely cause some damage to buildings, particularly windows, as they try to get themselves inside.

In time, they will give up their pursuit, finding something else to focus their attention on — whether it be another unfortunate Interloper or some other poor animal.

MISFIT

WHEN: Throughout the month of April.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: personality shifts; body-swapping; possible themes of body dysmorphia; potential body horror, of a sort.

In the month of April, Interlopers have days when they feel….. off. It’s in little ways, at first. Maybe you don’t feel as brave as you normally are, or feel a little more melancholy when your spirit is usually upbeat. Changes in your personality. Little things.

Or perhaps it’s particular habits you keep. Maybe you find yourself not liking your tea the usual way like it. Maybe you find yourself less of an early bird, or prefer to sleep in a different position that you usually do. Those sorts of things.

It is really all that strange, considering the circumstances? Far from friends, family? Stranded in an unfamiliar place, with little-to-no luxuries or even the most basic amenities? Cold and hungry and afraid? God forbid someone feel unlike themselves for existing in this place, just trying to survive.

Eventually, you realise, something is far more wrong than those little shifts in personality or in personal habits. One morning you wake up and you feel… physically different. The weight of you shifts differently, and as you pull yourself out of bed, your perspective is different. Your limbs don’t feel like your own, and as you look at yourself— it doesn’t look like you.

It’s only when you find yourself a mirror do you really realise: you aren’t you at all, you’re someone else.

You’re in someone else’s body.

How do you broach this new existence? Do you roll with it? Do you recognise who you’ve become? Do you feel shame, embarrassment, or an opportunity to cause a little chaos? Are you curious, or very much determined to put an end to this nonsense? Are you horrified? Feeling a deep and strange feeling of wrongness?

Go look, and you’ll…. Well, find yourself. Eventually, somewhere in town is the person whose body you’re currently stuck in, now stuck in yours.

Good luck dealing with that, Interloper.

It’s not permanent, though. Probably. Maybe.

What’s that old saying? Something about walking a mile in someone else’s shoes? That might have something to it.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-month.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.

'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'

It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words. You will later learn that these are the words of The Darkwalker, a malevolent being that exists in this world. It knows of your presence here, and you will be far worse off for it.

You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. You look around, it seems like no one has been here in several weeks, maybe longer. The fire is stone cold, the dishes in the sink are mouldy — it's possible the place has been ransacked, as if they've gone through the drawers and cupboards looking for something. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you. Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — 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 know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. Interlopers who arrive in the month of August will find that there is often disturbances and damage to the earth and roads — often similar to that found following quake activity. Care should be taken in finding your way.

Soon enough, you'll be able to find a path to town. A little more worse for wear, but alive. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused — battered from the journey. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, 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. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you smell it through the fog: the scent of smoke that seems to cling in the still air. Fire. Not just one, but several perhaps. Civilization...?

Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the foggy mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights, even if it may appear a little eerie in the half-light gloom: a small mining town tucked up in the valley. Battered, rusted road signs will direct to “MILTON, POP. 947”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!

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, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more. Some of them will direct you to the Community Hall, tell you to head there — you've been expected.

Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building where many people seem to gather: a community hall, by the looks of it. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Everyone looks as though they could faint from the cold at any second, damp and shivering.

The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face, but looks sad. He smiles warmly despite the sadness in him, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.

“As I suspected, another batch of poor souls from the wilds.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. The lights are changing things, bringing more of you here. Come, we must get you warm and fed. Mother Nature has not been kind.”

The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold.

Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables offering food, and drinks similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers. Newcomers will hear from others of Feasts held before, but the offering this month are… somewhat meagre. Newcomers will hear from others of Feasts held before, but the offering this month are… somewhat meagre. There are canisters with hot herbal teas and perhaps a rare canister of coffee. Soup and stew are on offer, but little in the way of charred/grilled meats. What little game Interlopers already here have caught has been used wisely to stretch it further. There is grilled fish, however. That is the most plentiful, it seems. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast.

The old man has been busy. And Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames. He is very troubled, thoughtful. Much has been happening. The others from town will eventually trail in too, to eat and warm themselves, and search among the new faces.

He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much. Methuselah seems exhausted. Life within the Northern Territories has been very difficult for all who dwell here. But perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.

TEA TIME

WHEN: Mid-month — end of the month.
WHERE: Milton area; Lakeside area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: altered/magical drinks; loss of inhibitions; physical age changes; body horror/animal attributes; memory sharing; possible fourth-wall breaking; future visions;



It is incredibly rare to come across others in the Northern Territories, but certainly not unheard of. Even if the town of Milton had lost what seems to be its entire population before the arrival of Interlopers, there are still others native to this place out in the world. Young Bill and Methuselah are proof of that, as are the Forest Talkers — who have a tense relationship with the Interlopers, to put it lightly. It wouldn’t be a stretch to think that there could be more.

The old woman appears to be one of them, wrapped in many layers of synthetic clothing and furs. You may come across her as she wanders through the world, or perhaps find her huddled around a campfire in the depths of the wilderness. If one were to hazard a guess, they’d assume she were some kind of nomad like Methuselah.

She’s friendly sort; that’s the first impression you make of her. It’s safe to conclude she isn’t with the Forest Talkers. She regards arrivals with wide eyes, beckoning Interlopers to come join her by the fire. Softly spoken, with a mumbling quiet voice. It might seem like she’s not all there, and seems harmless enough. Perhaps a little lonely. Who isn’t in this place? She is mostly curious about the Interlopers themselves and will be interested in hearing about them, asking them questions about their worlds and lives. She’s a very keen and attentive listener.

As conversation grows, she will boil some snow for water upon her fire. With all this talk, what better way than to add some tea to it? The weather is getting colder, too. Something hot will stave off the chill. Out of her rucksack, she will pull out a carved wooden box. It is something quite precious to her, and within it are several small metal tins. She will show it to the Interlopers, and inside there will be different blends of herbal tea. She will ask which of the teas you would like to drink.

The choice is yours, Interlopers. But drinking one of these teas will have… unexpected results.

BURDOCK TEA: An earthy and bittersweet tea, with a slightly nutty flavour. Drinking this tea will pull away any inhibitions and mental filters and make you more susceptible to speaking your mind and being more honest with those around you. Maybe you want to tell someone how much they suck, or maybe you want to confess your feelings to someone. Maybe you just really want to air out your grievances about your life or current situation. And they say alcohol will loosen tongues.

HERBAL TEA: This miscellaneous ‘herbal’ smells pretty fragrant, but you can’t quite tell what’s all in its blend. This tea will show you a random moment from your future. This might be something immediate within the Northern Territories, or it may be a moment of your future within your own world. The vision itself will only last for a few moments, and then fade into black.

ROSEHIP TEA: A sweet and floral tea with a tangy aftertaste. This tea will show you a moment of your past, replaying it out before you as if you are watching it like one watches a movie. It may be a happier time, a fond memory of sorts. Or perhaps it will be your worst memory ever: a failing, a wrong decision, a difficult or upsetting time in your life. What’s more, is that anyone drinking this very same tea with you will also experience this moment with you.

REISHI TEA: A bitter tea with a woody flavour. This tea will change your appearance physically in some way. It may be something small like changing your eye or hair colour. It may go even more extreme and temporarily give you some kind of animal features: ears, scaly skin or a tail.

BIRCH BARK TEA: A pleasant wintergreen drink that tastes faintly like rootbeer. Drinking this tea will change your physical age. You may revert to a younger version of yourself, or become an older version of yourself.

Once drinking the tea, you will find yourself alone. The fire is almost embers beside you. You will find that you will never come across the old woman again, no matter how hard you try to find her.

YOU LYING NEXT TO ME

WHEN: The month of August.
WHERE: Everywhere. And specifically: Milton Basin, ponds around Milton Outskirts; Lakeside Lake, misc. Water sources.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk; potential partial nudity.

There has been an instability in the earth as of late. Interlopers have been made aware of the fact that the Northern Territories have been victim to quakes in the past. But lately, there has been new seismic activity, which has not helped matters. In Lakeside, it is certainly more obvious to see: sections of the railway track that run through the area have buckled, roads are damaged and undrivable and the bridge that leads out towards the coast has crumbled away.

But the damage extends beyond the roads and railway tracks, something which Interlopers will, unfortunately, discover as they go out travelling or exploring the world.

It is hard to tell which part of the ground will give way, it often happens without warning. Interlopers will simply be out walking and the ground will suddenly collapse from beneath them into small pits and ravines. They’re easy enough to climb out of for the most part, but Interlopers are in danger of sprains and even broken bones if they don’t land right. But they may end up being completely submerged in the snow, leaving them not too worse for wear but very cold. They’ll certainly need to be dug out, and hopefully, they’re not left for too long, either. Hopefully some kind-hearted stranger may find them.


The most dangerous of all are the frozen lakes, ponds and streams. It feels like the Northern Territories have been a place of endless winter. The snow has never left, and the thick ice of almost all water sources remains. While certain smaller bodies of water have thawed enough for Interlopers to fish, most have remained in a permanent state of frozen solidity. Interlopers have been free to walk across the ice untroubled. But the quakes have… endangered the solidity of what seemed to be unmeltable ice.

What was once a rare safe bet will become no more. Unsuspecting Interlopers travelling or exploring these ‘frozen’ waters may find themselves in for a nasty surprise. Without warning, the ice will creak and groan beneath their feet — the sound echoing, a strange kind of sharp snap. Then, with a groan, the ice will give way: plummeting whichever poor soul stands upon it down into the frigid waters below.

Such cold water is dangerous no matter the depth, but some will be much luckier than others. Some of the smaller ponds within the Northern Territories will only reach waist or chest height, but the much deeper bodies of water like the Basin and Lakeside Lake will prove far deadlier. Getting victims out of the waters is half the battle, trying to do so risks yourself. Many may find themselves falling in with their companions — and although a way out can be achieved, the harder part is warmth.

Getting the poor souls who fall victim to falling into the water or trapped in the snow indoors and close to a fire is a good start. Building a fire takes time, though. It could be a while before a roaring fire is going. So alternate plans might need to be put into action. Let’s hope there are some dry blankets nearby, and it’d be a good idea to get out of any soaked clothes before they freeze on a person.

They do say that sharing body heat is also a good way of heating up a person who’s suffering from the cold. Hypothermia is deadly, after all. Skin-on-skin contact works best, wrapped up in blankets. Who has time for getting awkward about it? Getting cosy might just save someone’s life.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-month.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.

'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'

It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.

You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. You look around, it seems like no one has been here in several weeks, maybe longer. The fire is stone cold, the dishes in the sink are mouldy — it's possible the place has been ransacked, as if they've gone through the drawers and cupboards looking for something. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you. Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — 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 know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. Interlopers who arrive during the month of February will find themselves especially likely of falling foul to accidental injuries and the like. It's as if the bad luck of finding yourself in this place only gets much worse. Maybe you get yourself horrendously more lost than you mean to, maybe you end up with a sprained wrist or ankle after a fall, torn clothing from fighting through the thicker parts of the wilderness.

But soon enough, you'll be able to find a path to town. A little more worse for wear, but alive. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused — battered from the journey. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, 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. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?

Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. 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”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!

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, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more. Some of them will direct you to the Community Hall, tell you to head there — you've been expected.

There is a sombre mood to the town. Although you can't quite place why, maybe you should ask?

Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a community hall, by the looks of it. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.

The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face, but looks sad. He smiles warmly despite the sadness in him, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.

“Another batch of poor souls from the wilds.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. The lights are changing things, bringing more of you here. Come, we must get you warm and fed. Mother Nature has not been kind.”

The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.

There are canisters with hot herbal teas and perhaps a rare canister of coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish, instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast. The old man has been busy. And Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames. He is very troubled, thoughtful. Much has been happening. The others from town will eventually trail in too, to eat and warm themselves, and search among the new faces.

He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, his mood is... low, mournful. but perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.

This time, if he is approached, particularly by those who have been in Milton for some time, he will frown in thought. He is… considering something. Finally, he will speak:

“I had hoped that the secret cache I and your fellow Newcomers had found two months past would be enough until the spring comes.” He hesitates for a moment, his gaze moving to one of the many windows of the Community Hall. “If she ever arrives, that is.”

He doesn’t believe it will.

“More and more of you come. Life will continue to get harder with the numbers rising.” Methuselah explains. “Milton is but one town, and the way out to the south is blocked.”

He means the road out — the one that follows out of town, past the gas station and through the mountains. The tunneled road ends there, caved in with snow and stone. There is no way out that way. Methuselah is quiet for a few moments.

“... There must be another way out. For all of our sakes. It must be found."

OF FAIR FORTUNE

WHEN: The month of February.
WHERE: Milton Outskirts, Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: otherworldly animal;

The Interlopers have discovered that it is not best to trust the canines in this world. The wolves and volatile, aggressive — prone to attacking the town, people. There has even been an instance of a dog leading Interlopers off the beaten track some months ago, into trips and falls and all sorts of mischief. To come across any sort of dog these days would draw suspicion, perhaps even aggression from Interlopers.

And certainly, coming across this particular dog is enough to turn plenty around and start heading in the opposite direction.

There is something…. Otherworldly about this dog. In terms of breed, one might recognise it to look a great deal like an Old English Sheepdog — but far bigger and hardier. It almost looks as if moss and vines are matted in its long fur, which seems ridiculous — but it’s true enough. The dog does not bark, but instead will stop and look at you silently when you come across one another. If approached, it will not run off, but it does not want to be petted and prefers to keep a respectable distance between you and it.

Then, it will turn to look in one direction and begin heading that way. It looks as if it wants to take you somewhere, but it won’t run off for you to catch up. It keeps to your side, silent and steady as you head through the snow, the woods. Wherever you’re going, there seems to be no rush in getting there.

It’s a little unnerving: where did this dog come from? Why does it look so… strange? Where is it going? Where is it taking you? But even with these questions, it doesn’t seem like you’ll find much in terms of answers, not at first.

Soon enough, you’ll find it. It’s different for everyone, but it seems like it all has some recurring theme. Perhaps out in the cold wilds of the Northern Territories, you’re in desperate need of shelter or warmth — you and the dog will find yourselves facing an abandoned cabin, a place of safety from the cold, perhaps with warmer clothing within. Or perhaps the dog may lead you to some secret stash: a metal cache half-hidden in the snow, a small stone cairn — with vital loot hidden within: matches, flares, maybe even food. It may even lead you to foragable foods: mushrooms, berries or of the like — all safe to consume.

Whatever the strange dog leads you to, it is a fortune. A small one, but a fortune nonetheless. It seems as if it wanted to bring you to something to aid you in your time here. Upon finding whatever it is the dog leads you to, the dog disappears — never to be seen again.

BAD PICKINGS

WHEN: Mid-month onwards for a few weeks.
WHERE: The entirety of the Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: altered food/foraged foods; drugs/hallucinogens / negative hallucinogenic trips; severely altered/warped moods; temporary amnesia; personality switches; loss of senses

The Northern Territories may be harsh, difficult conditions to survive in, but certainly not impossible. There is an abundance of wildlife, hardy enough to withstand the weather — even in the extreme, unpredictable times such as these. Foraging will soon come to be a staple for those stuck here in this world, and is just as important as hunting down any deer or rabbit. Flora is not only useful in terms of sustenance, but in its use in medicines and tinctures.

Mushrooms can be found here and there in particular areas: taking advantage of the wet, rotten wood of downed trees, or nestled in the sheltered undergrowth of the more densely wooded areas where it’s a little more suitable for fungi to grow. But not even the flora of this world is safe following the recent Auroras. The world is changing, and for the next few weeks — foraged mushrooms will have some… interesting effects, when consumed.

Interlopers that come across these mushrooms in the wilds will find themselves compelled to pick and eat these mushrooms right away. They're perfectly fine to eat raw, just more enjoyable to eat once cooked.

The effects of the mushrooms will last between eight hours to a full day, depending on how much was consumed. Nothing can be done to alleviate symptoms. You will feel incredibly hungover the day after the effects have subsided, and feel completely fine after that. The Aurora’s influence on mushrooms is only temporary, and the mushrooms will cease their effects after a few weeks.

Reishi mushrooms This mushroom will temporarily take away one of your five senses: sight, touch, smell, taste or hearing. You may find yourself feeling completely numb to touch; or unable to hear or see anything.

Oyster mushrooms Eating one of these mushrooms will give you temporary amnesia. You may forget yourself, things about your life, even your own name. Or maybe you will forget those around you. Or perhaps both.

Black Morel Eating this mushroom will seem to switch your personality to its complete opposite. Introverted sorts will become extroverted, those prone to anger will become more calm and chilled out, cheerful sorts will become more morose — and vice-versa.

Chanterelles Your mood is lifted and you become more cheerful and affectionate with those around you. You may even become more enamoured with the next person you happen to meet, regardless of your feelings towards them previously or your own orientation/attractions.

Amethyst Laccaria There is nothing supernatural or strange that happens when this mushroom is consumed. You just have a super bad hallucinogenic trip of your own horrible making. This mushroom is literally a nightmare. Sorry about that.

ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST

WHEN: Mid-October.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.

'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'

It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.

You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. You look around, it seems like no one has been here in several weeks, maybe longer. The fire is stone cold, the dishes in the sink are mouldy — it's possible the place has been ransacked, as if they've gone through the drawers and cupboards looking for something. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you. Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — 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 know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. You’ll find one soon enough. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, 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. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?

Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. 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”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!

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, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more.

Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a school-house of sorts, or some kind of community hall. Perhaps both. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.

The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face. He smiles warmly, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.

“Ah, more of you have come.” he nods, just as he suspected you might. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. You are not the only one, the lights are changing things. Come. Mother Nature has not been kind to you, but there are plenty here to help.”

The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.

There are canisters with hot herbal teas and coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish, instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast. The old man has been busy. And Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames. He is troubled, thoughtful. The arrival of so many is not something that sits well with him. The others from town will eventually trail in too, to eat and warm themselves, and search amongst the new faces.

He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.

GUILTY PARTY

WHEN: Over the next month.
WHERE: Paradise Farm Outbuildings.
CONTENT WARNINGS: forced imprisonment; forced honesty; supernatural beings; confessional themes; threat of death; possible character death; possible death by throat injury.

You don’t remember how you came to be here. The air is cold and damp, the rot of wood is strong, and… blood. Why does it smell of so much blood? You can’t seem to see all that much in the gloom, but you think you’re in some kind of outbuilding of sorts. You find yourself chained to a chair, the metal is heavy and cold against you and no matter whatever you seem to do, you can’t seem to free yourself from them. No struggling can ease their hold, and there’s no lock to unpick or break. They weigh you down in your seat, you can't even seem to tip yourself over.

But you’re not the only one here. Across from you in the dark is someone else. One of your fellow Interlopers is trapped here with you, too. They too don’t remember anything either, they’re equally as confused and uncertain as you. Perhaps frightened. Not only this, they’re also sat chained up just as tightly. You have a little time to talk before you realise the two of you aren’t alone.

There's a glooming green light, the feeling of a presence. A huge figure steps into view, cloaked in black. It’s hard to tell whether it’s a man or a woman, and it’s difficult to make out much detail of them. Their face is obscured by a stone mask in the shape of a monstrous, horned and fanged Jackal. Green light glows from behind it, foreboding in the dark. It will not answer you if you try to speak with it.

“WICKEDNESS LIES WITHIN YOU.” The voice is a fierce chorus of whispers, but yet so loud. It sends a shiver down your spine. “I HAVE SEEN IT.”

... You can’t help but know it to be true. Something inside you knows what they speak of is true. Any misdeed or wrongdoing done by your hand, any cruel word you spoke, any life you took or heart you broke. You feel exposed, seen. The figure knows what you have done.

“CONFESS.” the figure demands. “UNBURDEN YOUR HEART AND BE FREE. BE SILENT AND CARRY IT TO THE GRAVE.”

The figure holds an item in its hand, something that glints in the light that glows from its mask. Now you realise why there’s so much blood in the air: it’s a sickle, dripping with blood. You are not the first to be brought here. You will not be the last.

Speak, unburden yourself, and if the figure is satisfied — you will, in fact, go free. Refuse, or not take the demand seriously, and the figure will deem you unworthy. They will move within the blink of an eye, striking you with the sickle in the neck — let it be a mercy that they kill you quickly.

OFF THE BEATEN TRACK

WHEN: Over the next month.
WHERE: Milton / Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural creature; trickster creature; themes of peril; possible character injury; possible dead body discoveries; potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk; possible character death.

The weather will continue to prove difficult for all who try to navigate this world, but with the current footfall in and around Milton, it’s at least helped to keep paths and roads somewhat clear despite the snow’s best efforts to cover up these walkways. Still, it’s a pain to get around, especially on particularly snowy days. Unfortunately, it’s sometimes necessary to go out on such days — survival doesn’t stop for the weather to pass.

And so journeys must be made, hunting must be done, forageables must be collected. You try to keep to the paths and trails, where the terrain yields before you for an easier journey.

… Until you hear barking through the trees, the sound of paws through the snow. Given the recent wolf activity of the last month, it’s understandable to be on edge. However, it isn’t a wolf that comes into view: it’s a large dog, bigger than any dog you’ve seen before. Coated in thick and shaggy black fur, this animal doesn’t seem to be like the wolves that have been found so far in this world. While the wildlife has certainly been altered, this dog remains very much like anyone would expect a dog to act in terms of behaviour. It’s playful with some, certainly friendly, constantly trying to play chase with you as it loops around in circles with a wagging tail.

However, there’s an insistence with this dog. It wants you to follow it. It will bark incessantly, trying to pull you from the path to go after it into the woods. It wants to show you something, take you somewhere. It will even try to gently pull at a coat-sleeve or trouser-leg to coax your forwards before heading off, keeping just in sight for you to go after it.

You’ll find it increasingly difficult to keep up, even if you pick up the pace as you head further into the woods. There’s less snow here, but the forest floor is filled with holes and tree roots that will trip you up. Falls are likely. But even worse is when before you know it, the ground simply gives way beneath you, sending you tumbling into a small valley or getting you stuck deep into soft, muddy earth. With it, perhaps, twisted ankles or worse. Or perhaps simply battered and bruised and unable to climb out of trench of earth. Maybe you come face to face with the body of some other poor Interloper who'd met their own end in similar manner — trapped and injured in the ditch.

Or worse still, the dog might just have you stumbling over a cliff face and tumbling into the Basin. Whatever fate befalls you, it’s as if the dog simply led you into it. And said dog, however, will be nowhere to be seen. It will have left you stuck, hurt, lost in the woods.

You’re sure you can hear some dark chuckling on the wind. Maybe it’s just the trees.