Deer Country Network

[sansa is once again on her couch with lady and her large direwolf-and-weirwood leaf tapestry. she wears a charcoal linen dress embroidered with ravens and her feathered collar with direwolf caps from madame generosity, her needle necklace tucked in the elaborate chatelaine hanging from her wide leather belt. lady wears a matching collar and stretches into sansa's lap, huffing reassuringly.]

Hallo, this is Sansa Stark. Many of you know by now Sasuke and Sakura have returned to the sea in the hopes of having children.

[they were very certain they were going back to their world, sansa thinks it's equally likely they'll end up hatching baby cephalopods.]

I promised them the Sanctuary will keep the Wellness Center in Darcmouth open. If anyone else should like to work there, we would be grateful for their assistance. I also intend to provide space for Night Walkers to provide different modes of therapy, such as talking and making art, that anyone of any age might find helpful.

[it's been largely down to word of mouth for local parents and young sleepers to find age-appropriate therapy, and sansa intends to provide a permanent location for night walkers to provide these services.]

We should have the Wellness Center back open within the fortnight. Of course it is difficult to do anything at all in Darcmouth with the lanterns as they are. I imagine it is Riteoir's influence preventing the patrons from repairing them, but if it persists I should be glad to speak to The Tower myself.

[she smiles faintly and sadly.]

Sasuke also wanted everyone to know that his dojo remains open to any that might like to use it.

private to Sanctuary and Painted Turtle Clinic staff

I thought it might be nice if we met to discuss our plans for the Wellness Center in its hot pools. If anyone doesn't have your waterproof robes from the Wakers, I should be glad to find you new ones.

private to Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen

Greetings, Lords Guangyao and Xichen, it is my honor to offer you the use of Sasuke's dojo for lessons in the cultivation and use of qi. I know that not everyone may achieve mastery by your methods, but there may be techniques that can aid them in learning to use their own magic more effectively. I hope that you and Li meimei are well, and I look forward to discussing this matter at your convenience.

So, as I'm sure you all noticed...the sun came up this morning.

I'm honestly at a loss. Under any other circumstance I would apologize for worrying everyone for nothing, but this...every book I read, every person I talked to, all agreed that Argonaut's month has been sunless since time immemorial. And now it's not.

I will be consulting Never Mind and Remina about this, as soon as I can get them to see me. After that...I suppose we'll see.

Stay safe out there, everyone.

[two brief messages appear on the network--the first one is unlocked and open to anyone with network access.]

Greetings.

I have recently come into possession of a small songbird and am seeking any verifiable information about how best to care for it. Releasing it is regrettably not an option.

[embedded below is a photograph of a small black bird characterized by a splash of orange colour on the underside of its tail feathers; in the picture, the little bird is perching on the back of a folding chair in what looks like a walled garden.]

After perusing the network I believe the species to be a black oriole (oriolus hosii).

I am most appreciative of any assistance you might be able to offer. This is a small matter, but an important one, for me.

Kind regards,

金光瑶
Jin Guangyao

[the second message is locked to a far smaller audience; the recipients are Lan Xichen, Shen Yuan, and Mike Enslin.]

I have confirmed with the staff of the Red that Huaisang is gone, and have been to his room to gather what possessions he left behind before he disappeared from Trench. The bird was his; it seems content enough in the siheyuan courtyard for the moment.

[text communicates remarkably little sentiment, for which he is grateful; he can't decide how he feels about this.]

( The feed opens up to a young man sitting on a bed in a dimly-lit bedroom. Dark circles blossom beneath his eyes like bruises. To say he seems nervous is an understatement. His general body language is tense and a bit withdrawn, and it isn't difficult to spot the way his hands literally tremble as he places them in his lap, or the way his voice shakes here and there at the edges. )

Hey there. I'm uh— not sure how many people might already know me, but I'm Peter. Peter Graham. I don't think I've ever like.... really introduced myself on this thing, but I've been here for a while. I was in Deerington, too.

( He gives a shy little smile that looks more like a wince, something almost apologetic. )

I'm not— I'm not too good at this kind of thing. But I wanted to ask something, something I've been thinking about for.... awhile. I guess this is going to sound kind of weird. ( An awkward pause, and then Peter's leaning to reach for a little sheet of paper, holding it in his hands. Yes, it seems that he's written down what beats to hit.... )

Got my notes. ( Another pained little smile, before the expression slowly sobers into a frown, and his eyes are dropping down to look at his paper. )

Does anyone have any experience with...... séances? Or any information about them in general? Um.... I know what they basically are, what they're meant to.... do. To open a door— a veil? To communicate with someone who's died.

( There's the softest flutter of Peter's eyelids, and a gentle exhale, before he continues. )

But is it possible that they can do... more than that? Maybe something else could get through the veil? Something that isn't.... the ghost that a person was trying to talk to. Something that maybe even isn't a ghost at all?

Is it possible that someone could make that happen.... intentionally?

( Peter has to take a few moments to breathe, heart pattering away anxiously in its ribcage. All of this is exceptionally difficult for him to address. )

....Whatever you might know, or could tell me. There are things that... happened, back in my own world, and I'm still.... trying to understand. I've been learning more about the uh... supernatural, from people here. But I figured I would open this up to the public, get as much information as I can.

It's okay if you don't wanna tell who you are though, if you'd rather go anonymous. I know this kind of stuff can be.... weird. Um, personal. ( The lump in his throat tightens, as he slowly reaches to end the message. )

Thanks for listening. I— I appreciate it.

Greetings sleepers!

[A soft warm voice belonging to a youthful face with a gentle smile appears on the network. With two fingers lightly placed on his temple, sitting on a tree stump looking just off center. His long white robes flow off camera, hiding the dirty bottom edges from sight. ] My name is Xie Lian. I've been here for the greater part of the winter season, and it's been quite [tilting his head and raising a single brow] the experience. [Managing a small wry smile at the loaded statement. ] But I'm afraid I'm still at a loss about a few things, and could use some clarification on two matters.

[With his free hand, he raises one finger up.] First off, how does one know who their patron is exactly? And what purpose do these patrons serve, or rather what purpose do we serve the patrons? [Quiet for a moment, mulling the thought over in his own mind before continuing. Another finger pops up. ]

And the second question is more general. [Honey brown eyes flash directly forward with an inquisitive gleam.] What do you all make of the pthumerians? Honestly I'm still trying to figure out my own thoughts, but getting different perspectives seems like a good place to start.

[OOC: I can adjust to prose or brackets!]

Is anybody else here older than 100?

Good morning, everyone. I hope your February was relatively pleasant and uneventful!

The purpose of this post is to share information about the climate and odd events that happened last March, in order to help newcomers better prepare for the coming month. If you believe the information contained herein is inaccurate or incomplete in any way, please let us know in the comments below. Thank you!

March is the first month in the Season of Tears, or the Trenchian Spring. Because of this we can expect a sudden and calamitous thaw in the first week of the month, where all or nearly all of the snow will disappear and be replaced by explosive plant growth. I was unable to find any references to a flood in network posts published during this period last year, but it seems prudent to be on our guard nonetheless. Outreach still has a few sandbags left over from managing the snow, so if you are concerned with keeping your home or place of business safe please contact us! Additionally the Pthumerian called Moon Presence is known to be active during this month, and it may be possible to hear her weeping or singing over the sound of water. As she is not known to be hostile to Sleepers, it's probably safe to ignore her, so long as you do so respectfully.

The same unfortunately cannot be said of the Moss King! This Patron Pthumerian is associated with the month of March, and his portfolio includes unconquered nature, prophecy, precognition, and games of chance. Because of this the people local to Trench honor him by holding carnival games on the boardwalk during March, but with a sadistic twist: last year new Sleepers were required to play these games in order to obtain their welcoming bags and other objects from home. It's also mentioned in A Survivor's Guide to the Unknowns of Trench (multiple authors, can be checked out from the Archive for further perusal) that these games are haunted by a female-presenting Pthumerian, dubbed "the Lady of Luck" by the authors, who is able to pull Sleepers into more difficult and frequently bloody challenges through the issuance of tarot cards. These challenges vary from to year to year, but as the Lady is most frequently encountered on the board week it seems possible that she might be avoided by likewise refusing to take part in these games. If anyone has more information on this topic I once again entreat them to leave a comment below.

The Moss King himself also took part in the "fun" last year: it seems that he either built or obtained a "summer home," and took it upon himself to invite Sleepers to visit him therein. These invitations took the form of enchanted letter bombs with caused instantaneous and complete immolation upon opening; networks posts written at the time are clear that this process was very painful, although it did end in teleportation to the grounds of the house instead of death. Sleepers who braved the house were able to obtain powerful items from their homeworlds; I leave it up to the individual to determine whether this process was worth the pain involved or not.

Finally, a number of Sleepers have reported violent and disturbing encounters with a boardgame called Jumanji; this game possesses reality-warping powers, and pulled Sleepers into a sort of "pocket dimension" where they were forced to pass various challenges in order to escape. The game is clearly labeled as such, and I must suggest in the strongest possible terms that any Sleepers who encounter it both avoid it carefully and report its location to the network. To those who are familiar with the movies: I know it sounds fake, but just because it's a piece of fiction in other worlds doesn't mean it's not dangerous here. If you have trouble believing that, then I suggest you take it up with the Pthumerians, or possibly the Jedi and Sith. I'd be very interested to learn how that goes for you.

[sometimes a garden of 'wow, this is happening' blossoms out of a small seed. the idea had been theme music for storytime, and that had become a sudden scrounge for things beyond humming - actual instruments instead! (which beyond a few harps, and spotting yeah that's a guitar ...mike doesn't really know much about.)

he can't play them, and he doesn't know how to read sheet music. though he's an enthusiastic supporter.

but at least three of the koz kids do, and the story was interrupted by pleas and cheers for a treasure hunt, which resulted in two recorders, a harmonica, a pair of maracas and a ...fart piano. his blood does not care if he wanted that last one, and it's only responsible for that one thing until three more recorders appear, along with a kazoo. it's all downhill from there.

the music that he can't read results in several selections. one of which those kids would like to play for you now with dedication, straight from mike's omni without him realizing that it's happening. his omen knows, though, and she waves into the screen, nodding her ratty little head along with tune.

(nothing is in tune.)

it's terrible. it's great. it's ...happening. he has rick rolled the network. (he probably isn't the first, but maybe he'll be the last?) and give him a break, the rick roll's new from his timeline.]

I would like to pose several questions regarding bloodstone gems.

Robby has had some luck in gathering information from Nevermind when discussing blood pollution and attempts to balance it. The pthumerian stated isolating specific abilities from the bloodtypes into gems could be an avenue. Darkblood comes to mind, the reality bending abilities used to warp the pollution or corruption directly from the environment.

I've done some initial testing with little success, hence this post. Does anyone have experience with making bloodgems they can share?

Are there bloodgem jewelers in the Trench you can recommend? Any information found in the Archives that can be useful?

For that matter anyone interested in the research is welcome to help or get involved, I am hardly an expert in blood magic itself, in truth. Donations of blood are welcome as well as we continue to look into this.

[ooc; here is the ooc plotting post for this player plot!]

[jin guangyao prefers to limit his engagement with the network, but occasionally needs must when the devil drives, or however that idiom goes. anyway here he is.]

Greetings. I am called Jin Guangyao.

[k off to a solid start, where u headed next]

I have come to understand that lockjoint is a seasonal malady that any of us may experience, though using one's unique blood powers may increase the likelihood of developing the condition. If I am interpreting the recommendations described in The Sleeper Condition correctly, while there is no cure for lockjoint, keeping warm nevertheless reduces the severity of mild to moderate symptoms.

As a cultivator, I am capable of creating paper talismans which, when activated by spiritual power, can generate warmth for a limited period of time. I have already had success modifying these talismans so that a Sleeper's blood capabilities should be a sufficient replacement for a cultivator's qi when activating the talismans. However, to be effective, a talisman's runes must be written either in cinnabar or blood. I am reluctant to make extensive use of the latter resource as, even if the risk posed by extensive bloodletting for this purpose was not high, blood is not an unlimited resource.

[because if you let blood from someone long enough, they'll run out of blood and die! hah hah! a little joke. anyway,]

I am willing to create a substantial number of these warming talismans for use by the residents of Trench in exchange for assistance sourcing cinnabar, or a functional alternative, in sufficient quantities to make the work sustainable. If you are willing to provide support, please respond to this post so that we may discuss the specifics in more detail.

[She’s been here for over a week now. Time to get the lay of the land. The video opens up to a particularly tall blonde woman with a golden skeletal arm and a smirk. She's here to cause problems on purpose.]

Greetings, hello, salutations. My name is Ianthe Naberius. I’m new in town, twenty two, a princess of Ida, unfortunately single and dreadfully bored!

Now, I come to you today, not only to introduce myself, but to ask something of all of you.

Who do you hate most in Trench and why? I’m trying to meet people, network, but it’s so hard and overwhelmingly positive! So consider this an open invitation. Warn me about that dangerous scoundrel who kicked your puppy, seethe about how much you despise me for whatever reason, tell me about your parasocial hateful fixation on one of the local divinity. It can be a minor slight you want to complain about, a friend of yours who owes you two perfectly intact human skulls, or it can be an actual danger to this lovely little community of ours.

Now, before you try to say “this is childish and stupid!” You’re absolutely right, but it is a necessary part of self care to allow oneself to be an absolute cunt once in a while. [Or all the time, if your name is Ianthe.] So let’s not make any grand claims to being above something like this, mm?

Feel free to use the anonymity feature. Or the privacy feature, I guess, if you’re shy or worried about being fileted like a fish.

[Good day, Trench, and welcome to... whatever this is going to be. Here is one Palamedes, sitting at his desk in what may be broadly recognizable as his office in the Sanctuary, whether or not one has been in it before (it has, these days, a distressing worm-on-a-string curtain in place of a door). Palamedes shuffles through some papers, tsks, and gets up to simply walk off screen, although this is not an accidental post, for he does call back:]

Damn my filing system! Hold on, don't look away.

[So now: the sounds of shuffling, and also, footsteps on a ladder? Then the eventual soft thump as he hops back down, and finally his several layered cardigans masquerading as a torso coming back into view, before he sits back down in the chair with a hearty squeak of rusty metal.

He has even more papers now. A small pile of notebooks, actually, which he folds his hands atop before properly regarding the camera.]

So! I wrote a book. Are any of you in the publishing business? Here, locally, or otherwise? My wheelhouse is firmly the academic, and literature— while a passion project— is a field I know far less about. As such: publishing. Any tips welcome.

I am also in the market for some cover art, I think. My artistic talents leave a lot to be desired, but I've produced some helpful mock-ups, somewhere around here...

[Just kidding they're right here ready and waiting, and so he holds them up side by side:

( cut for Incredible Artwork )

...So, yes. His handwriting is, of course, perfectly legible.]

Like I said: I'm an academic, not an artist. I'll pay you in whatever you like, blood or stone or- [and he leans briefly off camera again, to mutter, then he's back] -or scones! Good ones, for people into that kind of thing.

[Yahoo... Draw him a horny squidmance cover page... This is ordinary.]

Obviously, children need not apply.

Oh, and the working title is Ceasefire of the Senses: A Treatise on the Juxtaposition of Passion and Reason, unless you happen to be my cruelest critic and dearest spouse, love of my life, in which case "that title is ridiculous" and it's actually called "that story in your fifty notebooks." Regardless.

[He pats the pile of notebooks, like, his title is good actually? This might be a thinly veiled opinion poll about the title.]

And as it's the season, again, if anyone needs a professional hand with their lockjoint, come down to the Lumenarium- or Sanctuary- and ask for Palamedes. I'll take care of it with a silk touch; you get to keep the stones. Drawings of squids entirely voluntary for that one.

[The device that lets him communicate with people over long distances is interesting, but Trevor's seen magic achieve something similar before.

No, what holds his attention is the several different vessels of water available in houses. He's standing in a bathroom where the shower, sink and bath all have the water running.]

...I feel like an idiot talking to myself, but if this really works.

[He looks directly at the camera and then attempts to straighten it out (it isn't) before he clears his throat.]

So citizens of this fine shithole, what do we need this much running water inside for?

The well I get-- [He points at the toilet.] But this all seems a bit much.

[The video turns on and it's Maul, using his omen Venge to broadcast it. He looks serious like he's about to talk to Trench about a topic of great importance.]

For those unaware, this is the time of year when the Pthumerian or half-Pthumerian known as Santa Claus comes to Trench towards the end of the month. He can shift into many forms to fit into your home but most often looks like this.

[Venge, his Omen, turns to look at the picture that has been sketched of a fairly traditional 21st century Santa Maul has set up next to him. Yes, this presentation comes with pictures, all made by Maul himself]

Santa is one of the more benevolent Pthumerians though he is possessed of much stealth and cunning, making it difficult for people to interact with him. He is associated with deer as Sodder was but his chosen favored deer are reindeer. He uses his powers to make them fly.

[Another picture, this time showing the team of flying reindeer that looks like it was copied from an illustration of 'Twas The Night Before Christmas. This one is a little rougher, especially the reindeer, for drawing animals isn't Maul's forte.]

He loves the scent of pine and prefers if there are wreaths or full trees made of them left in the home when he visits. Those who leave him offerings of food and drink he will reward with presents. The offerings can be small such as this.

[Again, another picture showing a glass of milk and plate of cookies are shown with an equal sign followed by a small stack of presents underneath a Christmas tree that has been decorated rather....oddly with things like animal skulls and black ornaments on it.]

But he also accepts larger offerings if you wish for larger gifts. There appears to be no known way to prevent him from entering your homes but he doesn't appear to seem interested in causing harm to people, even those who fail to provide him hospitality. I have yet to run into him personally the past two years, but if anyone sees him, please let me know. I wish to test my fighting skills against him.

[.............Yes, Darth Maul just said he wants to fight Santa Claus. Will wonders never cease?]

( he doesn't typically make use of the network, content to read and stay within his own boundaries but he's feeling a little thoughtful today so.

so, here he is. )

if you had the choice, would you stay alive eternally and watch everyone you love eventually die or would you die young and miss out on a life lived?

--ecord!

[the omni obeys, but it's the unacknowledged omen that's the real mvp: the little rat has begun recording even before the words are out, and she's chosen video, her sleeper's username, and because she's very fast (and also immortal) she can book it with little difficulty. her eyes flick upward: mike runs just ahead of her, as if she's ushering him toward one thing and away from the other. she's zig zagging now, under his feet and coming out barely ahead.

it's nothing but a rising, humming roar, any words shouted over it incomprehensible as the view through the omen's eyes bends around a corner - and another. another.

another.

the roaring is both steady and staticky through the broadcast the suggestion of itself filling in the gaps in the noise - a dreadful ouroboros of a run that somehow ends with the appearance of an elevator, doors open wide to consume as mike dives inside, head down and eyes fixed on the button panel. a forceful push of one button that can't be seen until the camera tilts and the rat's in and up and up again - sitting on his shoulder.

DOOR CLOSE is where the finger's jabbed and holding, chest heaving but no sound that can rise above the roar of the thing that gives chase. the omen's eyes do rise just as the door closes, and she does what her sleeper will not: she looks at it.




j̵̢̡̨̡̘̻̤̱̹̟̗̝̻͖̠̞͚͔̰̼͇͚͎̭̺͔̰̱̘͈̺͇̹̲͍̘̖̭͔̼̄̈́̐̇̉͛̄̏́̅͂̆̍͋̀̆͌̈́̈̔͆͒̓̈̀̃͒̓̿͠͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅ ̴͓̲͓̝͕́́͒̋͊͑͝ự̸̲̣͙̺̪̼́̃̏͆̆͒͋̈͋̿͋͒͐̑́͆̋̽̆̔̚̕͘ ̶̧̨̧̛̛̥͚̯͈͓̭̹̙̝̺͚̹̺̺̬̹̻͔͚̱̮̭͙͍̼͕̙̭͇̬͈̙͎͉͌̂̊̇̑͊̀̎̅̄͆̊̈́̎͛̆͗̀̍̚͘̕͘̚͘͜͠͝͝͠s̷̨̨̩̼͓̲̥̠͖̼͓̳͍͙͖͓̝͉̜̭̗̠̳̻̟̫̞̘̖͚̯̹͕̘̗͓͍͚̙͖̣͍̦̟͐̂̍̇̽́̾́̂̍͂͐̏̓͛̔̑̋͒͛̃̾̇̚͝ ̵̢̧̢̲̥̦͈͖͙̯̩͚͉̜̞̤̠̙͕̠̫̊̃͌̎̇͝ṯ̴̡̨̛̘̞͔̙̹̘̪̥͇̹̳͕͎͙̹̮̝̗̤͙̥̥̠̬̞̗̔͂́͒́͗͂͐̉̌̇̾̔̋̏̑̈́̈́́̀̄̈́̀̆̀̂͂̽̀̔̂̕͘͘͜͜͝͝͠͝ ̶̛̛͙̂́͌̅̀͊͛͊́͐̉̿̅̾̔̎́̇̋͆̊̈́͑̂̓͘͘̕͘͝͝͠͝ ̵̨̨̧̱̪͎̫̯̰̫̱̜̙̪̪̻̬͔̠̤͕̟̠̟̖̘̳̟͈͖͎̜̠̯̹̥̖̄̇͋͛͆̓͆͛̓́̍̇̄͌̀̈́̔͑͌͂̾͒̋̇̈́̿͆͒̂̓͐̓̕͘͜͜͠͠ͅ ̷̢̡̧̢̢̛͖̮̠͓̞͔̥͈̺̟͇͚̮̫̹͙̺̲̬̬͑͋́̀̑̊́̓̂͛̈́̔͊́̎͒̂͆̾͋͂̓̄̉̆́̈̋̽̂͗͋̚̕͜͝͝ ̵̧̧̨̢̭͇͖̺̰̲̗͚̞̪͇͔̼͕̞̤̞͚̱̺̙̖͓͉̝̼̖̙̖͚͕̦͓̞̦̭̯̪̞̞̹̺̅̈͐̇͑̐̌̅͋̆̐̔̂̽̊̅͛̍̿̇̈́̚̕͘͜͝͝͝͠ͅͅd̷̨̢̛̛̛̦̗̝̘̙̩̰̫̙̥̰̥͔̳̳̘̠̊̈́̏̿̍̃̿̓͗͂͋͒̊̈̈͂̈́̌́̚̕̚͘̕̕͠͠ ̴̛̛͈̣̣͉͐̉̌͒͐̂̓̊̃̌̀̍̀̽́̓͗͆̌͛̃̕͘͠͝͝͝͠r̵͕̣̆͋͗͒̄̓̎̏͗͆͌̏̋̚̕ ̷̨̡̧̡̨̨̡̡̧̨̛̮̱͖̞̳͎̜̝̤̲͍̥̟̭̥̜͓̠̥͙̼̲̹̟̹̙̲̤̘̱͔̝͍͌́̀̄͑͂̈́̓̾́̋̋̀͗̈́̑̎̿̋͋͒͋̐̓͛̎̿̏̐̂̅̌͑͊̄͊̌́̈̽͘̚̚͜͝ͅͅͅͅȩ̵̢̨̡̧̢͚̗̘͚̩̣͇͎̺̲̮̰̤̜̠̪͓̳̮̠̗͈͖̟̙̣̿̽̅̈̑̽̀̎͆̀̈̈́́̂͌̋̋͜͠ ̶̧̡̡̨̡̡̦̼̫̣̥̙̣͉̰̗̲̬͔̰̝̭͖̼̥̼͉̞͉̂̀̍̀͐̽̓̈́̏̎̃̔̃̒͂̎̋̌͂̒̈̑̽̕̕͜͝a̷̧̮̺̗̜̲̭̗̤͔̎̅̈̏͒̉͗͊̔̏̀̾̚ͅ ̸̨̡̮̤̩͖͔̝͇͉̩̜͙̫͙̯̭͍̭̰͍̘͇̼͕͍̱͇̠̮̼̥͍̩̦̹̼͍̘̪̄͐̄̓̃̒̍͌̈̒̽̋͂͌̆̅́̊̓̐͗̎̌́͐̈́́̚͜͜͝͠͠ͅͅḑ̶̢̢̡̟͚̙̳͎̪̤̭̩̙̟̳͉͓͖̥̥͇̜̤̼̲̖̜͚̗̏̀̔͑͆̚ ̷̢̧̧̡̳̼͍̪̮̮̟̝̯̯͙̹̬͙͕̦͓̤̣̘͚̜̺̙̰̬̹̙͔͓̼̰͍̙͖̱̱̮̌̓͛͂̽̍͝͝͠ͅ ̵̛͈͖̞̳̞̠̗̗̼͈̱͗̈́̈́͆͒̔̐̑̈́̒̓̓͊͂̓̔̀̔̏̾͆̐̄̽̔͌̑̉̃͛͒̑̒̀̕͘͘͝͝͝a̴̧̡̰͎̫̬̙̥̖͎̯͇̖̩̲̻̰̟͖̜̖͉̓̒̊̄̉̈̇͌͋̽̐̑͑͌̂͌̎͗͊̊̈̾̓͑́̊̇̊̒̉̀̂̃̈́͗͛̍͑̊͘̚͝͠͠n̴̨͋́͗̎̏̌͑̓̾́̾́̊̐́̍͌̿̔͑̈́̏̂̈͘̕͝͝͝͝͠d̸̞͈̩̭͎̞̺̤̱̩̭̥̪̭͐̋̓͛͗́͐͜ ̶̨̨̨̧̛̛̛͇̹̥̲̗͉͕͕̩̤͕̭̭̩̥̬͇̻͍̼̞̪̲̩̩̱͔̮̺̞͓̼̠͖̓͑̀̄̇̆̉͋̾̒̔̅̀̀̓̎̎̂͌͛͗́͆͌̒͐̿͋̂̈̓͐͂̑͂̋̇̔̕͘͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅ ̸̨̢̨̛̭̰̱̲̼̮̘̻̱̺̫͙͉̘̦̞̹̖̤̯̫͓̯̰̱̦̜̱̞̗͍̻͈̙̟̗̫̼̇̊̿̀͐͗̿̏̃̉̏̎̍̊̈́̐̎̐̾̊͒͛̓̆̐̃̊̎͘̕͜͠͝͝͠ͅf̸̛̛̝̰̥͇̠̟̱̼̤̤̣̪͙̯̣̹͖̱͕̰̗̝̟̤̓̌́́̀̃̈́̏̒̄́͋͒̊̔̊̌̓͐͑̃̊͛͐̕̕͜͝͝͝ ̴̢̡̨̧̘̫͓̪͍͈̲̭̩͖̝̳͔̭͓̹̦͕͍̺̪̻̣͖̞̹̙͙̲̬̯̗͎̖̬̱͎̞̫͉̯̠̙̉̋͛̆̆͛̓̊̒̏̀̓̄̈́̀͐̈́͛͊͛͜ͅe̵̢̛͎̤͔͔̱͕̦̺͖͔͖̬͙͔͖̻̰̺̟̖̝͛͂̈́͑̌́̔̆̀̏̊́͆͊͛̈́͋̎̃̑̃̈́̒̽̏͑͝͝ ̵̛͉̭̬̽̆͆͐͐̀̈́́͌̇͐͑̋͑̔̅͑̀͆͐̒͑̈́͌̓́̃͒̅̐̈́̋̔̍͑̓͗̚̚͘͘͝͝a̸̛̰̭̲̦̥̲͉̠͈̒̏̆̑̉̃͂̽͑̀̽́͛̀͑̀͒̽̌͛̈̈́͒͂̌̀͋͆͌̆͑͌̈̊̓͑̆͊̐̽͗͒̈́̏͘͝͝͝ ̴̢̢̡̨̢̧̛̪͚͙̙͉̫̜̹̹͎͙͇̜̤̺̥͚̟̻̃̌͂͆͊͒̀̄̀̅͌̿̃̊͂͑̓̂̍̔̂̃̾̀̒͑͛̋̌͑̈́̅̕̕̕͜͝͠ͅͅŗ̴̢̨̛͉͇͎̱̜̩̮͙͈̥͓̣͍̥̘͉̠̥̠̦̼̭͔̳̩̫̟̳͓̤̺̲͖͙̾̎͆̾̋̿̊̾̑͑͊̔̈́͊̓̿̇́̽̃̍̒̏͌͒͂̏́̋̍̂͊͗̀̔̓̋̈́̓͘̕͘͘͜͜͝͠ͅ ̶̧̨̨̡̡̢̡̻̖̩̦̦̗̯͓̜̭͇͔͚̘̝̼̭̺̲͇̠̞͓̻̺̝͇̲͚̫̝̮̒̉͗͐͒̍͋̉̓͌͆̀̅̄͆̒͗͋̃̆͌̿̏͑̊̄̾͒̑̚̕͘͜͜͝͝͝ ̷̡̨̢̧̡̡͉̤̲̘̥̰̯̤̰̺̺͓̥̟̣͙̱͔̤͕̙̙͌͛̀̀͊̊́̈́̌̑̓͆̏̎͘͘͠ḩ̷̨̨̡̞̗̩̙͔̰̤̲̗̱͓̱͖͔̙̙̣̠̟̫̰̺̈͂̓̄̾͐͋̑̓́͂̋̓̒́͌̆̑̏́͛̔̓̅̽̂̈́̈́͘̚̕̕͜ ̵̧̨̟͙̰͔̳̮̬̪̱̝̠̟̬͕̯͔̤͈͉̥̦̙̺͇̻̳̾̅́͌̈́͋̿͜͠͠ͅȩ̸̛̦̰̖̻̲͚̩̗̯̖̜͍̼̠͎͈̦͕̖͇̦̩̞͈̤͎̺͎̭̪͖͋̂̾̎͋̏̇̈́̓̄̑͊̾͋͂̈̈͂̈́͂̊͋̽͘̚̚̚͘͜͜͝ ̸̡̢̨̛̛͔͉̦͎͓̤̥͔̖̪͈̲̯̪̞̬͖̤͙͓̦̠̙͖̏̒͌̽̽̃̀́̂́͗̒̊͠͝͝ͅr̸̙̙͔͕͍̤̼̜̺̩͍̭͚̬̤̘͍͓̤̹̿̔̊̉̃̍̋͐͋͆̄͌̌͆̏̔̌̓͒̈́̈̊̏̐̽͂̐̈́̿͂̃͌̌̒̈́̚̚̚͠ͅͅͅ ̶̡̘̝̻́̋̈́̔̔̾̂̓̀̀̂̆́̽̎̅̇͗́̌̔͂́̈́͆̓͋͠͠e̷̡̧̛͇̭̠̼̥̹̾͒̕




static and blackness and a series of sharp bangs - three - enough to shake the elevator and the makeshift omen camera - and a cutting in and out of view.


.̵̢̛̜̻̝͈̭̪͔̗̳́̒̋̓̒͊͘.̵͕̠̦̮͂́̏́͒͝.̴͍̱͍̎͋̇̒̽̓̈́̈́͆͋͐̊͌̇̚͝͝ ̴̧̛̯͔͙̰̭̺͎̄̓̏̔͋̾̀͌̆̅̒̋̐̓̀̈͘͝ͅ




.̵̡̧̢̨̬͉͉̪̫̱͎̮̎̈́̀̽́̎͋̀̏̀̏̎̋̀̐̇̽͠͝.̴̧̫͙̬̳͕̻̫̺͋͗͋̈́̋̿̾̂̈́̆͘͘͠ͅ.̴̢̧̛͉̙̗͔͕͉̬̞̭̫͙̦̻̤̦͕͚̋͋̿̌̆͆̇̈́̍̒̃̓̌͒͗̔̕̕͠͠ͅ.̸̡̢̬͎͈̟̥̠̹̖͔̼̼͔͙͔̘͔̻̺͚̒̈̿̎̓͜͝ͅ.̶̣̗̮̺̰̻͍̥̬͚͕̯́̓̈́͛͒͠.̸͉̹͕̲̦͓̱͍̲͕̤͇̣͚̣̝̟͙͍͔̅̒̆̃̐̓̌̈́̈͌̓͊̑̒̌̃̓͝.̷̢̛̛̛͙͙̰͇̳͕̩̈͑̾͊̔̂̔̎̆́̽̆̂̿̔̇͋̊̆̒.̴̙͔͙̹͇̫̠̟͔̏̚.̷̡͔̫͕̓̈́̊͐̒̓̑̿͛̽͊͐̽̇̉̌͝͝ͅ.̷̡̢̳̰͖͓̲̮̮̠̱̖̙̬̙̙̓͑̀̏̃́̅̐̈́̒͊͐͒̑̒̽̀̽͝͠͝͝.̴̢̺̝̟͔̦͉̞̮̳̘̻̳́͛͛͂͂͌.̸̢̙̲̻͍̠͍̺͎͕̰͉͔̯̞͇̬̒̀̈́̽̑̔̓̐̀̎̍̀̀̇͌͛͋̕͜͠.̷̧̯͔̭̻̦̹̪̹̰̥̌͗̈͐͗͛̿͂̀͠͝.̶̢̦̱͓̮͈͕͕̬̜͈̭̦͈̾͊͑͐̓͌̔̉̽͒̄̄̑̾͆͑͊͗͝͠.̷̛̩̗̫̀̀͑̑͊͊̇̍͛̀̈̓̾̆̕̚





.̵̨͖̝̯̩̀̉̋̊̕.̵̜͉̎̍̈́̀̚͝.̶̤̰͖̣̩̎̇̔͠


a quick blip of a hall before it gives into static before smoothing out into darkness and small bits of roving light from the omen's eyes.

a slightly out of breath whisper, and it's shadows and shapes; and if you've been in these vents (or any vents) it might be familiar. it's cramped. it's taken a while for him to stop hyperventilating - now he's just ...winded.]

Didn't get the first bit, but that's ---ah, that's probably why I'm up here and able to get this. Whatever that was, it's not up here.

[he's moving through, letting out a long exhale and trying not to think about the last time he was in a vent. so far, so good, no rushing sounds, no clickety clacking, nothing following him but the rat. the rat's not rattled. not really.]

Not a clue how I got there, but there wasn't where I am now. The short version is 'I was leaving a bookstore, and then I wasn't. Ended up in enemy territory, and if not for the sudden appearance of an elevator, ...outlook not so good.

So. Live from the air ducts of what looks to be an empty hospital with bunch of locked doors and no staff, we have a man with no plan other than to try and get the fuck out of here. Hall was was useless. Seemed like a bit of a stretch [HA] to try this shit again, but why not---

Do you hear that?

[there are indeed voices up ahead - and the closer he moves, the closer the omen moves - the easier they are to hear. (though none of it's easy to listen to.)]

░ąçɾìƒìçҽʂ ░░░░ ҍҽ ʍąժҽ be ░

էհҽ ░░░░░░░░ ìʂ ժҽçąվìղց

ҍҽƒօɾҽ ìէ ցҽէʂ ░░░ ░░ ░░░░


[the slow, careful shuffle of movement and then a steady fast advance of the camera, and a quick pan down through the grate for a rats' eye view of a woman with a badly mutilated throat and two ...monstrous companions. to anyone that has seen them before, they are recognizable as zealots. none of them look correct, and the woman looks sharply up - lips and teeth in her throat moving to form words that are hard to decipher - even through the omen:

░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ I̵̡͊t̶̻̔ ̷̞̈́s̶̝̏ĕ̴̘ę̵̎m̷̬̒s̴͑ͅ ̷̩̄ẗ̷̖h̴̡͑e̷̱̍ ̶̺̅p̴̳͗r̶̭̔o̶̹͆b̸̲͂l̵̻̉e̶̬̕m̸͕̎ ̷̜͊ḩ̴͑a̵̱͘s̶̜͊ ̷͚̂░░░░░░░░░░░░.̵̫͘ ̴͕̈́W̸̹͌ḙ̵̐ ̴̧̛w̷͇͌i̷̼̊ļ̸͘l̸̠͠ ̸͇̔n̶̪͂e̵̜͝e̶͎͝d̵̝̒ ̶̱͋ẗ̸̹́o̶̦̽ ̴͚͑
░░░░░░░░░░░ ̷̀͜s̶̘̚e̶̖̕ċ̷̠u̶͈̍r̸̕ͅi̷̱̓t̸̰̅y̵̼̓░░░░ ░░░░░░░░ ░░░░

[she reaches up and out and grasps what seems to be the air itself - a shimmer and a flash of light, a rush of dark smoke and the sounds of grinding, screaming metal, or a screaming man as the video cuts.

moments later:]


This.

This is familiar.

I know this one, but it's not where I started, or where I was headed.


[video again, a quick pan of the area around the gate from a very low view. the rat will stand on her hind legs to get a better angle before cutting the recording and scurrying into the shadows, and finally back into her sleeper.]

It begins with a private apology. Three days precisely after his argument with Jin Guangyao, Shen Yuan wakes up in his little screened-off section of the barracks to a worn and crumpled fox mask falling off his face. He stares at it. Turns white as his sheets. Rolls over and buries his head under his pillow.

Eventually he reaches for his omni and initiates a voice recording.]

Bro, I -- [No, not that. He didn't have the right to call Jin Guangyao that before and he definitely doesn't have the right now. He starts over.]

Jin-gongzi, I -- this is Shen Yuan. I'm contacting you to apologize for my behavior three days ago. It was beyond inappropriate. Thank you for trying to cure me. I apologize for my actions with regards to that, too.

[Please don't give up on me, he doesn't say. Instead he opens the field for a public text post.]

peerless_hobo writes --

So, I've got good news for anyone who was struggling with the blood price to cure a transformation brought on by an enchanted mask. It appears that after three days, the mask will fall off on its own, and the person it affected will return to normal. Unfortunately the memories of the things they did while transformed will remain indelibly etched in their and others' minds forever. ♡૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა💢

[And finally, to Duty he writes,]

Boss, it's Shen Yuan. I can't go to work today. Or ever. I'm going to stay in bed and put all my efforts into transforming into a dried-up little pillbug instead.

[The video opens up on Adaine, stood in front of a board with a map on it. The map is of Trench, but it's old and worn and brown. Still, she has helpfully marked the part of interest with a red X, over a temple in the Trenchwood.]

I think it's been a rough couple of months for us. We've had local assholes stabbing the ocean, we've had the ocean being really mad about that and blaming all of Trench for it because she's kind of an asshole too, there were a lot of murders, houses burned down, uh, been tossed into alternate universes where everything sucks - [She's maybe regretting her choices to bring that all up.] Anyway. One positive thing is that we've established a lot of good things in the last six months or so too. The Sanctuary, the Outpost, now the Academy.

I - and a few others - have a similar venture in mind. An archive where we can research and compile information about Trench, so that even if people disappear into the ocean it's not, you know, lost forever. To start with however...

[She points at the map, tapping on the location in question and bringing the Omni closer.]

A while ago - back in April - there was an expedition into a temple called 'The Temple of the Forgotten Mother'. We didn't get far, barely cleared out the entrance before we had to leave. But I've done a bit of research and there's a giant labyrinth of dungeons beneath it, and beyond that, it was the domain of a cult older than Trench as we know it that worshipped Mother Superior. [And, because she's a dramatic bitch, she smirks for emphasis.] Which brings me to the point.

We're going to put the archives - our archives - The Sleeper's Archives, right on the top level of her system of dungeons. [Objectively an insane idea BUT, consider... it would also be cool as hell.]

So basically, all I need is people who are interested in helping with research, clearing the top level of monsters and traps and treasures and warding away any influence from the lower levels. We'll be going deeper, but it'll take some time, so for now I'm only asking for help with the top level. We need excavators, people who are good at bringing others back from corruption, fighters, architects, investigators, seers, healers... If you think you can help, just let me know and we'll figure something out.

[ The feed opens to show two men in the Archives. Martin is tall, and stout, with a friendly if not slightly nervous expression as though he might be a little camera shy. Beside him, Jon Sims looks like an underfed wraith of a man: he's gaunt and exhausted, but at least he holds himself at ease for the first time in months. Those who spend time in the Archives have likely seen him in passing, and it's a shock to see him smiling.

He clears his throat and leans forward to address the camera. The feed speckles into static with the movement, distorting briefly around his eyes. ]

Hello. My name is Jonathan Sims, and I am joined by Martin Blackwood.

Hello! [ Martin lifts a hand to give a small wave to the camera. ]

We were both residents of Deerington, though our memories of the experience are... incomplete.

So we're asking people to come forward with their memories - either Deerington, or Trench, or even at home. Anything weird or supernatural that might help us get a better understanding of what’s happening here - or what might happen, I guess. And how to deal with it? There's a lot to be learned from our own experiences. And - and sometimes it just helps to talk about it?

[ This all sounds well and good, but Jon looks uneasy, frowning down at the sheaf of papers in his hands. He clears his throat and continues, more steadily: ]

Additionally, I have a warning to issue. There have been instances of... unusual books and artifacts being found throughout Trench.

They will probably have a weird effect on you, or the people around you, if you read them, or mess with them or anything. You might even know as soon as you see one that there’s something kind of... off about them?

If you encounter anything which strikes you as [ there's a twist of exasperation at this gross oversimplification: ] cursed, please alert myself or Martin immediately.

We've seen these kinds of things at home before, so we have loads of experience dealing with them. We can help. Just let us know and we'll be right there.

[ Jon looks directly at the camera again, and for a moment visual distortion swallows the feed: there is a shivering bloom of static and an uncanny intensity to his eyes, as though he is truly seeing you, the viewer, from the other side of town. You can make out Martin's nervous smile, and then it clicks off. ]

(( Permissions and info if you'd like to provide a spooky memory! Statements given via the network will not invoke the consequences described. It's safe... for now. ))

[The video opens to Lance with cat ears (again), a tail swishes behind him. There's the sound of painful squelching as Keith off screen goes through some more gruesome transforming and he winces, looking over at him. It seems to have been mild this time at least, and Lance goes for the rambling jokes because that's how you deal with someone you care about going through that, right?]

Okay, soooo who here's never done the horizontal tango? Made the beast with two backs, knocked some boots, jumped some bones- [there is the sound of shifting of bone and he hums, rethinking] Forget that last one, but by now if you don't know what I mean, here's a few more for you: a little afternoon delight-

[Keith groaned a bit, his teeth audibly clenched as he scolded a, "LANCE!" from the background, though that didn't seem to deter the Blue Paladin from continuing.]

-pounded the punani pavement, shook the sheets, the old in-out, shot the meat rocket into the sausage hole, bam-bam in the ham, rolled in the hay, boppin' squiddles, cattle-prodding the oyster ditch with the lap rocket. Fucking hell, made whoopee!

Seriously, I could keep going, but if your answer is 'never done that, what are you even talking about', some guy in Gaze told me your blood cures this whole- [he gestures at himself and then glances off camera at the sound of a grunt from Keith.] mess. Noooot that I wanna cure myself, I can take it, but some people I know need it and aren't gonna ask because their heads are nothing but dumb hair and no brains.

[A bit of an unhinged laugh to himself/some internal conversation as he looks down and to the side. There's a growl from the background, possibly from Keith? (Definitely from Keith.) Then he jerks himself back.] Yeah, anyway, if you fit the bill call me before my idiot b-teammate turns into something that eats my face. I'm too pretty for that.

[There may have been a time when Lance knew virgin blood was blood that hadn't been used in a ritual, but the draugr's fucked with his already recently fucked memory. So enjoy.]