EVENT 021

[sticksandbonesmods]

Feeding from the Ocean

Solitary Voyage

The first light of dawn does not come this morning. The moonlight outside continues to cast its muted glow over the Grove, still high in the sky. No matter how long you wait, no matter how many minutes or hours slip by, the darkness remains, and the silvery sentinel refuses to yield to the sun. It also appears bigger than usual, its surface etched with shadows that seem to pulse with a life of their own, and you swear there weren't this many stars peppering the night sky last night.

Despite the oppressive night that looms above, there’s an odd sense of calm. No werewolves prowl the streets, no ominous howls echo through the trees, or other dangers that usually seem to threaten the Grove. In fact, it's not making it more cold than usual, either. The ice on the river, once a solid barrier, begins to chip away, revealing glimmers of water beneath, giving new life to the creatures that call it home. A handful of the baby Seaborn even flop out of the water to explore the world, as if it's entirely new to them and hasn't only been a month since they've been unable to be on solid ground.

The only thing that the perpetual night seems to be affecting is the local wildlife. Disoriented and confused, they flit about in a daze, their natural rhythms thrown into chaos. The diurnal creatures now wander aimlessly with their instincts dulled. Someone should probably feed these poor critters before they forget how to forage for themselves.

The Grove also seems to be sans one sea jelly. Hope no one booked their therapy appointment this month.

The Reef is Immortal

It was the loud creaking that caught your attention first, a sound that reverberated through the ground like the groan of a ship caught in a storm. There's a... tree? Or, wait, no. That can't be right. It's colossal, easily taller than the supposed "limit" of the sky barrier, but it's also... blue? There's a smattering of bioluminescent patches that give a white glow, especially under the pale moonlight. The "branches" swayed unnaturally, each one moving independently, like a thousand skeletal fingers reaching for the heavens.

With the coming of this "tree" also comes something some of you may be familiar with - the Nethersea Brand. It's a blue, web-like membrane that more resembles flesh than what anyone would like to admit. Contact with the membrane is not recommended as it invokes a creeping dread that gnaws at the edges of your mind and locks your muscles and bones. It wears off... eventually, but if you don't get out of it in time it'll continue to chew at your nervous system.

It is not localized like it was last time, either. It spreads and expands to cover all of the Grove more and more with each moment, every hour swallowing more and more land, with just a few exceptions. One, the Inn's lobby, which is protected by the Inquistion's Fireplace inside. And two... surprisingly, the River and its banks, where the Guardians (and the Behemoth) seem to be taking solace from the threat.

The baby Seaborn are not aware of many things, but they are at least cognizant that some of you don't seem to do well in the Brand, with some control over what it covers. If you're by the river, they seem to be able to control the brand just enough to free you, chirping in an innocent manner. You do not know what they are saying, but you can imagine it's something along the lines of "Hi! What doing!" There's less of them in the river currently, but the few that are around are nesting on Moder or following Sinann around. They do not sense the distress. They are just babies.

The Mass of Sorrow

The sensation of being trapped in the web-like brand is suffocating, a foreign sensation of the boundaries that have been blurred between your identity and the collective consciousness of others. Each time you succumb to the nervous impairment, it feels like you’re slipping through a veil, where the lines between your thoughts and those of others dissolve into a swirling mass of emotions and memories.

You can’t shake the feeling of grief that lingers in your chest, a weight that seems to grow heavier with each passing moment. It’s as if you’re mourning something you can’t quite grasp—perhaps the remnants of your own past, or the fragments of lives that are not your own. When you finally come to again, rising up from the brand to attempt to move again, you'll notice you have tear stains against your face you don't remember crying.

It's not easy to escape the brand, either. Between the rough terrain flesh-y webs make and the way it slowly neutralizes your nerves, it's a wonder you can keep moving at all. But more than that, there's this... voice...

"Embrace... Our Warmth..."

In short moments of clarity, you remember... dreaming? Remembering? Commiserating...? Something. Whatever the case, you were in someone's mind. Maybe your own. Maybe someone else's. Maybe even something from the forest - the brand is taking all prisoner, after all.

Best hope We Many doesn't share anything you don't want anyone to see, because it doesn't seem like you get much of a choice.

Elegy of the Outliers

Those holed up inside are not entirely forgotten. While the warmth of the fireplace and the kin of the river may keep the brand at bay, the persistent weight of grief and sadness still reaches those within. It is the curse of an ancient being long gone, a sorrow that lingers like a scar. Yet, this sorrow can be softened by the company of those around you. Distractions, warmth, and togetherness serve as reminders that collaboration is, as always, the answer.

Gazing out at the brand, one will notice shadows moving along the fleshy web—shadows that seem hauntingly familiar. Loved ones move through the Grove as if it has come alive again, as if the threat of an obsessed, fallen deity has vanished, and things have reached some form of normalcy once again.

Upon closer inspection, the observant may discern that these are not true apparitions, but rather the brand's way of storing memories within We Many's consciousness. It is a surreal experience, reliving moments through the Seaborn that drift freely about. This phenomenon is both unsettling and captivating—perhaps it could even make for compelling television while you remain trapped inside. Yet, the sight of a loved one, even as a mere shadow, may also be overwhelming, pulling you away from your current sanctuary.

Be careful out there.

Spark Notes

summary

Solitary Voyage is this moon's journey. The expected dawn fails to arrive, leaving the Grove shrouded in an unusual, persistent moonlight. While the darkness disrupts the local wildlife, causing confusion and disorientation, it also brings life to the river as baby Seaborn venture out.

The Reef is Immortal, bringing forth a colossal, bioluminescent "tree" in the Grove, accompanied by the spreading menace of the Nethersea Brand, a blue, web-like membrane that induces paralysis upon contact. While the Brand expands across the land, the Inn's lobby remains safe, and the baby Seaborn near the river seem to possess a surprising ability to help free those ensnared by the Brand, blissfully unaware of the surrounding danger.

The Mass of Sorrow is the experience of being ensnared in the Nethersea Brand. Personal identity blurs with the collective consciousness, leading to overwhelming grief and confusion as emotions and memories intertwine.

Elegy of the Outliers, or those sheltered from the Nethersea Brand, still feel the Arbor's weight of grief and sadness, a lingering curse that can be eased by the warmth and companionship of others. As shadows resembling loved ones move through the brand, it becomes clear that these are not true apparitions but memories stored within We Many's consciousness.

out of character

This month's event has been written entirely by Rubie! Please be nice and say thank you Rubie! Enjoy your memory shares and your eldritch horrors, and remember that questions asked should be asked in public channels and not DMs if they're related to this month's event. Have fun!

updates

Any potential updates, such as characters damaging something important or whatever else, will be put here.

submissions

❖ Questions
❖ February Plotting
❖ Past Life Plotting (Closed to Game Members)
❖ Investigations

code

Comments

[charlastan]

[The time travel part sounds like bullshit, but the rest actually snaps him right back into the moment. The lucidity is pulled out from under his feet and he sighs and rolls his eyes. On the upside, he believes Ford enough that he's not grabbing the bat again, and he isn't seeing the inconsistencies anymore.

...On the downside, he isn't seeing the inconsistencies anymore.]

Right. Should've figured you'd never come here on purpose.

[It's not fair exactly - a day ago Stan never would have guessed Ford even knew where he lived.]

Was the postcard not on purpose either or did you actually need me for something?

[cryptograms]

[ Oh.

Ford visibly deflates at that comment, but he can't exactly argue with it, can he? Stan's not exactly wrong; Ford really wouldn't have come here, to this specific time, on purpose. ]

It was on purpose, and I did need you for something.

[ Past tense because Ford, as he is in this moment, isn't the one who sent the postcard. The Ford that is in Stan's moment did.

Ford offers the postcard out to Stan. ]

I needed someone I knew I could rely on.

[charlastan]

[Stan hesitates, but ultimately takes the postcard. He even sets the bat down completely, so he can hold it in both hands.]

Really? ...And you still wrote me?

[The biting sarcasm is gone, leaving behind only awed disbelief. It sounds wrong. Despite everything, he can't imagine Ford ever wanting to rely on him again, even when the proof is literally in his hands. Why would Ford trust the guy who ruined everything for him?

Maybe Stan didn't ruin things as bad as he thought. Maybe there's still a chance.]

...Whatever it is, I'll do it. I mean it! Anything you need, I'm gonna be there! Well, except money. Wait, no, even money - I'll figure it out, maybe rob a bank or something!

[He's full of energy now. Maybe this will work out! Ford could still rely on him. Ford still counts on him and needs him, so he has to go and...well, he has to go!

He shoves his way through the flames to one pile of questionable clothes and starts pulling on whatever counts as half-decent layers - worn out jeans, a couple pairs of socks. A grungy shirt and an old red hoodie. The look is probably familiar.]

I'm gonna get up there and prove you right! I'll prove you right and Dad wrong, and-- and I won't screw it up! You'll see!

[Despite talking to Ford, Stan sounds more like he's talking to himself as he chucks unidentified fiery things into that old duffel bag and zips it closed. Hyping himself up, the way he tends to do when he's alone.]

[cryptograms]

[ Wait, hold on. Hold on, this is actually worse than the resignation from a moment ago. Ford lifts up a hand, half reaching out to stop Stan, but ultimately he can only watch with steadily mounting... unease isn't a strong enough word. Maybe horror is what he's feeling as he watches Stan run around the motel room, buzzing with energy and determination. He's already acknowledged that he can't actually change the past, but suddenly it's bothering him a lot more than before.

He hates this fake time travel stuff. At least Julia gave him the opportunity to punch his dad in the face.

And, again, it's not like Stan is wrong. ]

... I know you will. Just...

[ What else can he say at this point? Anything else would be a lie, and trying to talk Stan back out of it will just upset him even more. What advice could he actually give to Stan at this point even if it would make a difference. ]

... There's a man in Gravity Falls called Fiddleford McGucket. If you find him and explain why you're in town, he might be able to help.

[charlastan]

[Stan is hoisting the bag up on his shoulder when Ford tries to halt him. Just what? He doesn't have time to "just" whatever, does he? But he still gives pause, in case it's some important tip.

And it is! ...But, not one he was expecting.]

Fiddleford McGucket?

[It's hard to blame him for sounding a little incredulous. What the hell kind of name is that? It just conjures images of banjos and racoons, and...

...wait.]

...Old Man McGucket?

[He frowns, and glances down and to the side while the pieces try to arrange themselves correctly. His lucidity is clawing its way back into this memory, bit by bit.]

...It didn't happen like this, did it.

[It's not a question.]

[cryptograms]

[ And there it is. With these little journeys into someone's memory it's always hard to tell what the exact mechanics are. You could end up watching the memory unchanging, be forced to play a role in it, meddle with it freely, or meddle with it but get called out if things change too much.

Apparently this one is the last sort, and apparently Ford has found the boundaries of how far he can push things before it falls apart completely. ]

No, it didn't.

[charlastan]

[In the flames, muddled voices rise up from his memory - Ford and Stan, both as young as Stan looks now, bickering about who ruined whose life. A scream of pain and a hurried apology. A whirr of machinery that surely haunts both of them, even now.

Given how Stan took other parts of this conversation, Ford might expect a lot of anger and hurt as he re-remembers it all over again. But...it doesn't come. Stan doesn't change in appearance, but something changes in the way he carries himself. Understanding settles in.

Some of those voices speaking through the flames are from much later, and much clearer than the rest. New, fresher memories overlapping the old. Quieter, confused questions. Sincere apologies. One brother trying to make amends to the other with any piece of visual evidence he can scrounge up, anything he can use to bring him brother back. The sound of ocean waves and laughter.

Stan was glancing toward the floor when this started, but now he's looking right at Ford, weighing it all.]

...But we're alright now.

[The weight is heavy, but it isn't one either of them carry alone anymore so Stan tentatively opens his arms as an invitation for a hug, if Ford's the one who needs it now.]

[cryptograms]

[ Ford is expecting the anger and the hurt—or at the very least, the sort of tired resignation he's feeling. Their relationship is better now, sure, but some things feel like they're impossible to ever really leave behind.

But the anger and hurt don't come. That tired resignation doesn't even come. Ford stares at Stan as the memories fade in and out round them, not quite daring to hope that he knows where this is going. But then Stan looks up and speaks, and Ford's expression melts into one of affection and relief. He doesn't bother with a verbal response to Stan's assertion. Instead he just steps forward, closing the gap between them and throwing his arms around Stan. ]

I missed you, Stanley.

[ Yeah, Ford really needed that hug. ]

[charlastan]

[Sure, they can't leave some things behind. Some stuff doesn't ever really go away, but that doesn't mean they can't move past it. They get stronger, strong enough to carry the weight together.

Stan squeezes Ford tight - a rare sincere sibling hug.]

Yeah. Missed you too, bro.

[It feels right to echo it when they're standing in a memory where Stan missed Ford so much that he dropped everything to come help him, just for a small chance to fix things. He didn't say it then, so he's saying it now and that will have to be enough.]

[cryptograms]

I don't just mean...

[ He takes a step back and gestures, like somehow indicating the memory of the motel room might somehow encompass the entirety of the their time apart in their home dimension. ]

When you and the kids left Trench I knew you would come back one day. But...

[ He shakes his head, sighing. ]

I wasn't sure if it would be days, weeks, or centuries before that happened.

[charlastan]

[Stan sighs too, letting his shoulders fall.]

Yeah. I get it. Hell, it could've been another thirty years!

[Thirty years feels so much longer than centuries, and they both know why. But it's proof that Stan knows this feeling better than anyone.]

I didn't wanna go, y'know. I never would've. I mean we got what, two years? After everything?!

[Just like thirty years is an eternity, two years is barely anything. He's so frustrated thinking about it, and on his younger face he looks the way he did right before he'd fly off the handle. ...but, he doesn't.]

You wound up by yourself again. ...Guess we're really outta practice with the whole "Wherever we go, we go together!" thing, huh?

[cryptograms]

I know you didn't.

[ And then, in a more amused tone: ]

You wouldn't have willingly passed up on the chance to drag us all out to sea with you.

[ Stan could never stand to sit still, even as a kid, but he stayed in Gravity Falls for thirty years trying to get Ford's stupid portal to work again. He could have just left—he probably should have just left—and he didn't. There was no way he was going to leave Trench without him.

And not dragging them along for adventures actually in the ocean, and not just on it? Forget it. No, obviously some other force compelled Stan to leave. But speaking of being by himself again... ]

I... wasn't by myself, actually. It wasn't the same without the three of you, of course, not even when Fiddleford showed up. But...

[ Oh, Ford has no idea what exactly he's trying to say here. He switches tactics, hoping maybe an example will make it clear. ]

After I told our friends you had left, do you know what the first thing Ruby did was?

She invited me down to the boardwalk to counter-scam the rigged festival games one last time in your honor.

[charlastan]

[It helps to hear that Ford knew he didn't ditch on purpose. He's had this talk with Dipper before too, and after a lifetime of having people assume the worst of him, it's always a nice surprise when someone doesn't.]

Ha! Too bad I couldn't've come up as a Kraken and dragged you all under with me!

[He twiddles his fingers like this is some spooky thing, but he laughs too - they would have all been fine.

As Ford goes on he listens though, giving him the time to spit out what's on his mind. The example's perfect though, and Stan looks touched. Ruby's a good kid - he thinks of her every time he wields his Red Herring.]

She did? Really?

[His eyes aren't watering! It's all the fire in here! He rubs at them anyway though and grins.]

Heh. Hope you two conned those carnie crooks out of every prize they had!