sticksandbones | EVENT 021

Entry tags:

EVENT 021

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This month only, if your investigation relates to the subject matter of the event, Rubie will answer them. Since Rubie is running another questline on the side also related to the event, please be patient and keep your investigations short & to the point.

Please use the following form for investigations:

Character(s):
Location:
Action: What are they looking for? What are they doing?

Character(s): Shadow Milk Cookie and Pure Vanilla Cookie
Location: Around the Grove
Action: SM got a fun little hint about his past life from Heimr and is going to look into it. He's dragging PV with him because he has separation anxiety-

No, between the two of them, they will be able to discern lots of info, including hidden shit, and he is hoping that if this is truly a previous him, he will be able to pick up a familiar sense of either magic or otherwise to lead him to what he's looking for.

A familiar feeling is all they'll need- if it's Shadow Milk's magic or a forbidden stench not unlike that of the locked inn rooms is the question. But maybe they go hand in hand. Shadow Milk would know best, right?

The feeling is stark to both of them, and leads them to a crumbled house. Part of it still stands, but not all- was it the attack, or simply time? It's hard to tell. Claw marks dig into old wood, and something burned long, long ago.

It feels like home.

Oh, yes, what a fascinating feeling. This familiar magic, this darkness, and while he is sure he doesn't know it, he also knows that he does. There also ...some longing there. His magic has been locked up tight and he misses it. It's who he is, and its so frustratingly out of reach.

He plants his feet on the ground for a moment, looking at the ruins. It calls to him in a way that makes his black little heart ache.

"...and the plot thickens," He mutters, oddly quiet, as he starts to head in, gripping PV's hand possessively.

He's scanning everything over carefully, looking for any intact books or writing. Maybe a desk? Anything that definitely looks like it could be his.

And Pure Vanilla squeezes Shadow Milks hand gently, fingers folded in against his warmly, offering support and understanding. The ruins make him ache as well, as he thinks about the ruined head board, clawed. He knows the feeling of coming across something that resonates and hurts.

He keeps his eyes open as he looks around as well, looking for anything that may be hidden, anything that may whisper of Shadow Milk.

"Are you all right?" His question is soft, as he steps forward a little to investigate a bit more.

Oh, there's many books! Tomes of magic, history, almanacs, mathematics, and more, as well as theater scripts and famous novels of yore, journals...

There's a lot to search.

Several rooms have desks, but you get the feeling these are for students rather than himself. His personal desk would be in his study, but is he going straight there? Is he starting in the lounge? The bedroom?

Magic pulls from so many ways.

To his question he scoffs quietly,

"Vanilly, please, you don't think a smoldering ruin would be enough to unnerve me, do you?" but of course there is much more to this than that, right? That goes unsaid. He is unnerved in a way he is searching to understand and that propels him forward.

There is also a sinking curiosity, too, that comes with this feeling. A blossoming desire to understand and learn that feels crisp and new, underneath the soft apprehension of what they might find here.

"It is Truth, to some extent, isn't it? What's here," Because it did definitely cross his mind that this entire set up, this whole place could have been an elaborate Deceit. A stage in which they are puppets strung along in. Memories are so easy to distort after all.

He will start with whatever appears most personal first, so let's take a look at the lounge.

That goes unanswered but he does squeeze Shadow Milks hand again, tight. The question makes him sigh and he nods. Letting Shadow Milk lead them along, his eyes turning left and right to the ruins around them. What happened here?

"It's the Truth," he responds, voice soft as they head for the lounge. Or what should have been the lounge. "This is.. yours. It's you. The whispers are yours."

But he will be on the lookout for anything that seems false. For anything that seems out of place. But he's here mostly for moral support. It's so strange, he's been too scared to investigate further on his own for things, but it feels good? to be there for Shadow Milk.

Well, the lounge seems to double as a general reading room- there's also the lab slash study but we can hit the rest up later, and as such this is where more of the recreational books are.

"Recreational" for a professor seeking every ounce of knowledge that can be found, that is. If it's his own works he's looking for, it won't be found here- but neither will the falsities. After all, it's just a lounge. If anything, it's the diversion from everything else.

... There's portraits, as well. Past students and colleagues that look familiar- old allies and enemies alike, but something gentler, softer. Kinder.

... There's also himself as a younger man, and two schoolmates. One with soft blonde hair and a gentle smile. And one with a long white braid. They look so happy. A note is pinned to the corner.

For them.

A good place to start, it seems like. They can work their way up to the bigger, more startling stuff. Anyway, as he looks around, he almost misses the portraits, going straight for any books. Wanting to pour over their secrets, their insight. He finds them most just ...casual things. Periodicals, fiction, things one reads for leisure. With a frown he turns and comes face to face with the pictures and goes dead still

He does not have to wonder who he is looking at. He's both seen that ghoul haunting him, and of course, the other two, they are far more familiar. Far more recognizable. Here they are, like old friends.

For Them.

Is this a life they all shared? Has he been tied to their story all this time? Was there really never any separating him from Vanilla? Did he reach out, because something deeper than the Soul Jam spoke to him? And the Guardian, there she is too.

There is something deeply tumultuous rising up in him, and he has to quickly let go of Vanilla to pick up the picture frame- but rather than destroy it, he shoves it at Vanilla and takes a few steps away to simmer down. The jealousy of a life that was once his, is a frightening thing to behold, and he was not prepared for it. He often tries not to look back on who he was before he became a Cookie of Deceit, finding that cookie foolish, naive. A puppet to his own purpose, but there is something different about this he can't put his finger on.

"These story decisions feel a little too convenient, don't you think?" Show him the Truth, Vanilla. Confirm it for him so he doesn't lose it.

"They always do."

He's studies the portrait in his hands after it's thrust there with a soft smile. There were letters he had found amongst the ones he had discovered that he had always wondered about. And now he understands who they're from. The friendship in them, a soft rivalry that never grew antagonistic.

He doesn't need to look to see if it's real or not, if it's True. Because he knows it is. It's the reality of this place. He gently touches their expressions as they smile up at him, then glance to the note.

For them.

Is it Lily's handwriting? The same as the note he found in the book, waiting for him?

"It's real," his voice is gentle, soft, as he turns the portrait to look to see if there's anything hidden behind it, stuffed in it's backing, "and it does not surprise me. I will show you letters after this, if you'd like. I now recognize your handwriting."

Seamus.

It is Seamus's handwriting. Closer inspection reveals multiple stains on the note as well. Tears and dried blood.

It's his. He knows his own handwriting, and so now he has to think about that. What that means. It's easy to accept a Truth where maybe he and Vanilla have been tied together for multiple lives, but that extending out to others...? That is the thing he is struggling with, especially the person who is responsible for locking him back up in that tree. What a comedy this is truly turning out to be! Hahaha...

"Letters, did I write to you like some pining maiden, Vanilly? Somehow I don't think the Guardian would be happy to hear I was hoooooomewrecking, heheh."

He has to make silly jokes about this or he will have another tantrum. Look, he is working on managing his emotions okay, he didn't come in here thinking something would set him off right out the gate, this is getting really frustrating. Why is every step he takes in this place catered to torment him so well? ~~Why does that visage keep haunting him, even when he has no reflection to look back at him~~.

"Time to move on! This room is getting boring, let's see if there's some real meat to be found," He will head off into the next room, perhaps a bedroom? That looks niiice and intimate. He will not wait for Vanilla to follow him, and its certainly not that he needs to breathe for a moment.

Oh... The tears and blood hurt him so badly, and he gently lifts the letter off the portrait, setting that down again to be collected later. He let's Shadow Milk put distance between them, and flips the note over to check as he follows at a slower pace.

He doesn't respond to the commentary but he will give Shadow Milk a little slip of warmth through the shared soul jam. Like a squeeze, before backing away to let the other have a moment to himself.

The Bedroom is comforting. A large, plush bed with a decent amount of pillows and a star-patterned canopy for colder nights. A fire place. A smaller desk, for letters and diaries. More bookshelves, goodness!

A giant puddle of wine-dark blood and claw marks staining and cutting the rug before the fireplace.

The window's been broken, so the area around that is worn, weathered and rotted, cold and snowy. Any paper over there is long since ruined. Thankfully, that does not include the desk.

More portraits of his friends and family litter the shelves, the walls, the desk. His love is an all-consuming thing, even at it's healthiest. A shame you can't accept when it's given anymore.

The Note is torn from something else. When Pure Vanilla inspects it, he'll find it's been torn from a letter. He'll be forgiven if he doesn't initially recognize his own handwriting- it's shaky, tear-stained and frenzied.

My dear Seamus, I write to you
a poison has infected her mind an
I cannot understand the things you h

...

He'll need to find the whole letter, if he wants answers. Or maybe he already knows.

It gives him a moment to settle down at least. Change of room, change of scene, the specter will take a moment to catch up to him. He feels that soft influx of warmth and it's shameful how well it works in settling him down. He sighs and decides to try again, to look around. Now he knows what to expect. ~~More reminders of a life he could have had~~.

...

What's the blood taste like.

He knows. He doesn't need the rest to know. He knows. An old man on his knees in the basement, drawing symbols, words on the wall, pouring over papers and books. He knows. He will find the other half of the letter anyways, he needs to see how bad it got.

Morbid curiosity, maybe.

Which is gone in a flash the moment he steps into the room after Shadow Milk and sees him...... licking the dried blood. For a moment he's just absolutely gobsmacked. Just stands there and watches, letter clutched in his hand.

"Really?"

... Really?

Were the narration a person, it might bonk him.

It tastes like rotten copper and dust. He's going to get sick later.

COOL. No regrets. This is better than dealing with emotions.

He looks right at Pure Vanilla as he walks in, tongue out, long and forked like a snake and grins at him. Then he stands up!! dusts his hands off!!

"Human blood is gross! Man, what are these people eating, hahaha!"

Anyways. Let's go take a look at that little writing desk so he can give himself some psychic damage.

Lily, he's sorry, he regrets it all. He sighs hard and puts the half of the letter in his inner robe pockets for now, then moves to stand aside and let Shadow Milk scour the room, his eyes looking around slowly as he does.

Well.

There's a set of diaries, a collection of letters, and student reports.

Where do you want to start?

He feels your regret and all Vanilla gets back is deranged amusement. ~~To smother the worry and apprehension~~.

We will go in order of: Student reports, collection of letters, and then diaries.

The first of it is a familiar rabbit- Mafuyu Asahina.

She has full marks in everything, but her mother keeps insisting that she can do better, must do better, are you sure this is everything you can teach her blahblahblah blah BLAH, good GODS woman. Your daughter's an exceptional student of remarkable talent and rather than nurturing that spark of light you're smothering it in oil! (Note to self, slip more wisteria into her tea next consultation.) Honestly though, when she's allowed time to herself she seems more artistic... which makes her academic achievements even better. Still, she indulges his games and theatrics, and when she does show curiosity it's a beast to behold.

And Cassie! Full marks again, can you believe that she almost didn't get an education? Girl's going to revolutionize the world, he can see it! Her mathematics and magical formulas are especially impressive, and he hopes once they can escape the forest that she can really come into bloom. ... Kinda terrifying when you look at her already packed schedule though. Take a NAP now and then, jeeze.

There's more, all with sass and comments in stride. But those students haven't been confirmed yet. So shhh. There's also a note that one of the local teacher's kid is going to be a sponge for knowledge as he gets older- better strike while the iron's hot!

The Letters are... more complex. And plentiful by far. Percival and playful banter- except from the sounds of it, life in the Grove is getting... worrisome, and there's a distinct feeling that some letters have been hidden away elsewhere. Then Lily, affectionate and playful and exchanging notes on their current research topics. It's warm. Both of those letter sets are warm. Lily includes flowers and Percy includes bundles of herbs. Percy also writes more often, and with multiple pages- there's so much love in every swirl of ink, and he goes on about the children they look after, the wedding invitation reiterated in multiple letters, the description of the local Guardians- and that statue on the beach!

Best friends. Confidants. The gaps between letters can only be from when he himself was present too.

Other letters include ministers encouraging him to return to the capitol, we can't have our greatest teacher yet in some hick town. Colleagues asking about living in fae woods, and a Salem Strode or a Birûsk Shula reaching out now and then. Wonder who those could be.

There's half of a very passive-aggressive back and forth with a rival scholar who has CLEARLY never actually read other research papers in the field of enchantments. Something about looking at it is incredibly annoying...

...

And then there's the Journals.

The most recent is probably the most important, but he can read his boyhood days in school, neck and neck with Lily in the class rankings with Percy right behind, their friendship and a mutual loneliness- Lily doesn't like to go home during the breaks for a reason. Salem and Birûsk enter his life, as do others- a M.F and an Eleanor Shirin. Breakthroughs and love and success, so much success.

Too much success. Maybe do not try and break into the forbidden so much, you keep getting, uh, strongly worded letters from the church. Thank goodness your reputation and prowess protects you.

The last though...

Percy sent for help, and who was he if he didn't answer? ... Lily is deranged, caged like a broken animal who knows her death is coming because it whispers in her ears that it's coming for her and Percy can't help her. Seamus is reluctant to admit it, but he's... also not sure. But what is this knowledge for if not to be used? And if he must break reality, so be it.

But Aldric's condition is also worsening, and people are disappearing more and more by the day. He teaches to give a sense of normalcy to the students, and then researches throughout the night.

It's not enough. It may never be enough.

...

His notes on the research are not here.

It's easy to focus on the report cards, honestly. There's nothing particularly damning in them, and they are interesting besides. The little rabbit, yes, this seems to inform some things doesn't it? His curiosity over her grows. Ah, and this must be what Heihei had meant about poisoning her. It really does sound like him, like he used to be, he remembers briefly, the spark of joy that came from watching students blossom. ~~His time as headmaster really had been a happy one, hadn't it? What happened, what happened-~~

More letters ... More letters and he still suspects things to be missing. He hones in on some of those dates, some of those gaps, the way some letters leave off while the next begin strangely with missing context. He reads them all, piecing together more and more of this ironic tragedy.

The diaries take some time to read through, though he is very fast comparatively. A former fount of knowledge would be well versed in speed-reading, after all. The names he takes note of, piecing together possibilities of who they could be. It strikes him how strange it is that so much can cross lives, if he is right, and he's pretty sure he is. He wants to learn more about them... the other beasts. Had their lives, too, enjoyed some kind of paradise here? Were they also fated for their downfall on Earthbread? Who put this into motion? Was it the creature? The entity in the woods? Is that who he has to direct his newfound blackened fury towards?

Though his emotions on everything dip and rise depending on what he's reading, he manages to keep himself together, fueled instead by the maddening desire to learn and understand. There is a mystery here, pieces of a puzzle, there is a grand finale that they don't have the script to, and he needs to find it. If he doesn't, he feels like he will lose some missing piece of himself he hadn't realized was gone.

The research isn't here, so it must be elsewhere. He has more rooms to search. When he looks up, he looks at Pure Vanilla and there is ...a complicated expression on his face. Like he isn't quite sure who he is right now, all he knows is he needs to move forward or the lack of answers will eat him alive. He wordlessly hands PV the journals before heading out of the room.

He knows what he is looking for now. Where is the lab, he's certain there must be one.

Watching Shadow Milk is... like watching Lily. The fervor in which he devours the material presented him, the manic way he shuts the rest of the world out around him as he does. The expression on his face when he finally lifts his head and their eyes meet. The need to keep going, to learn more, himself be damned by whatever he finds.

Which raises the question in him again. Why was he chosen to be the opposite for Knowledge, when White Lily would have been so much the wiser choice? He looks at two and sees the similarities far easier than he sees his own. Both were Knowledge, are Knowledge. Doubt chews at his core, and he narrows the growing connection so Shadow Milk doesn't feel it.

He takes the journals when they're handed to him and turns to follow Shadow Milk at a distance, opening the journals to read a little here or there. Ah, he thought so. It matches the broken half of the letter. He closes the journals again without reading much and merely holds them tight.

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