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

[cryopathy]

[the child on their hands and knees freezes. that voice is that of a stranger's, but still... familiar, somehow, like something out of a recurrent dream. their gut tells them to take comfort in it, but they're nonetheless filled with terror by its presence here.

on the other hand, the empress doesn't seem fazed in the slightest, not sparing luca so much as a glance. though at the wave of her hand, the soldier releases their grip on the child.]

Now, what is it that will you do about this?

[there's a tense pause, in which the child swallows blood and fights back a grimace at the taste. their gaze travels up to the silhouette of the man defending them, and their breath catches at the color of his wild hair. that same feeling overtakes them; they belong with him, but he does not belong here.

regardless of whether or not luca responds to the empress, they speak again from behind him, quiet but resolute.]

... I will never again take for granted what you provide.

[unheiring]

[At first, the Empress ignoring him fills Luca with more rage. The heat that radiates off of him grows, and he thinks to release the flame at her, simply for her indignation. Something stops him, a whisper within his head that perhaps things aren't as they should be.

Instead, he drops the flame to the ground, casting a line in the sand between himself and the ghastly woman. It's protection, he reasons, keeping him safe as he turns his attention to the child.]

You don't have to listen to her. You don't have to follow her.

[cryopathy]

[from her throne, the empress laughs once under her breath -- whether at the child's response, or luca's wall of fire, he can decide for himself. when her eyes leave the child, they seem to lock with his, gold icy cold compared to his molten. it's an uncaring chokehold of a stare, one that luca saw kiera channel upon his return to renova.]

I grow tired of you and your brat.

[but also like before, the person she addresses is in the past. a human man with hair and eyes the perfect match of kiera's steps forward from behind them, hauling the child back up. as he starts to drag them out of the throne room, the memory flickers, a translucent version of the child pulled by their scowling father and his barely contained rage and humiliation. the rest of those present slowly fade as well, empress included, until luca and the young kiera are left alone in the soft glow of the castillan rainforest.

blood still smeared on their face, they look up at him, fear and confusion in their gold and indigo eyes, unchanged by any glamour, not hidden by any patch. when they find their voice, it's nothing like when they addressed her. it trembles, and comes out so softly that luca wouldn't be able to hear if it weren't for the dead silence.]

... I didn't have a choice.

[unheiring]

[There's a moment where Luca moves to follow, before he realizes that the vision has split. The world shifts around them, until he finds himself in a familiar, yet still alien, environment. He doesn't startle at this change, though. His focus, instead, goes to the child on the ground.

He kneels beside them before they can even speak. He doesn't reach out just yet, for fear of startling them, but he waits patiently. Their voice is soft just like he remembers, and yet it hurts to hear it so. It had been ages since Kiera had sounded just like this, since Luca swore to protect his new sibling at all costs.

That didn't, wouldn't change, even here in the past.]

I know you didn't. Not where you were born, nor with what you were forced to do. No one could ever hold that against you.

[He extends his hand, palm up.]

No matter what you did, you always have a home with me. That will never change.

[cryopathy]

[they search him for a long moment, as they struggle with themself. struggle to give in to the warmth in his gaze, to recognize the wine-colored waves of hair, the ruff of crimson feathers...

all at once, their eyes widen and (forget the hand) they throw themself against him, arms tight around him, face buried in his shoulder. they haven't clung to him like this since they were almost so young. they haven't cried so hard, either.]

Luca! [there's relief at first, comfort, but it gives way back to fear quickly. despite remembering, they're still as a child. the child they never had the chance to be.] Luc, you -- you shouldn't be here. You should never be here. She'll hurt you. She'll take you away from me.

[unheiring]

[This is far better than he could have hoped for. Both arms quickly wrap around Kiera, holding them close. He doesn't give a damn about the blood they're stained with (it's only an illusion after all) and only a fraction of a damn at how small they feel in his arms (it's an illusion, but damn the bitch to hell for making them feel this way.]

She won't hurt me. Or you. I won't let her. [He isn't just talking a big game. Loath as he is to lean away from their embrace, he does so just enough to show them a flame cupped within his hand.] Castilla's always hated me for the risk I posed, right? Might as well make them recognize it for what it's worth.

[But that can come later. He goes right back to holding them, flame gone completely.]

You're safe. I'm not leaving you alone. Not again.

[cryopathy]

[as much as they should fear fire, they remember learning to embrace luca's flames. the hearth. safety. family. kiera doesn't flinch away, but they also aren't entirely comforted.]

I'll never be safe. No matter how far I go, or -- or how much I hide. You can't fight her, Luca, she'll kill you. Promise me you won't. Promise.

[unheiring]

I have no intention of seeking her out. [He can't bring himself to promise it outright. If the woman were to come back, to try to snatch Kiera away, there was no guaranteeing he wouldn't lift his blade.]

I have to protect you. I've done a shit job of it the last few years, I know, but...

[He squeezes them as careful as they can. He remembers the late nights. The nightmares. They didn't have to share a bed, but they did more often than not because Luca wanted them to know they were safe.] I'm your big brother. I swore I'd keep you safe.

[cryopathy]

[luca's in luck -- in the child-brain, they don't fully register the lack of a true promise. they just cling to him, trying to hold on to that sense of safety. but it's hard, here.]

I don't want you to protect me. I don't want you to get hurt for me. I just -- want to go home.

[unheiring]

Don't worry, I'll get you home. Warm and safe by the hearth, with Giselle and Father to tend to you.

[It hurts his heart to say, knowing that none of that is possible. But perhaps, as long as they find themselves within this dream, it would be easier to believe. Kiera seems lost enough in the illusion, at least. And with nothing more to do, he's scooping them up. It's the first time he's ever been able to do this. They've always either been the same height, or Kiera far taller than him.]

[cryopathy]

[ironically, this reminds them of cyrus, and not simply because luca just mentions him. though their father was never physically fit enough to carry her like this, a close snuggle in bed following one of those nightmares or on the sofa as a family wasn't too far off. the window in which kiera allowed it back then was so narrow; by the time she was comfortable enough to consider the aureliuses her true family, she was soon to be too big for such childlike things.

they know enough to understand that luca's words are a lie; there is no father, no home to return to. but maybe, at least just for the time being, they can let themself pretend. let herself imagine the warmth of their father's presence, picture his face, as he was both when they were children and on the verge of adulthood, not knowing at the time that one of those days would be the last she saw him alive.]