the clock tower

[groundrules]

Happy Hallow-elevator! The clock tower event lasts between 22 October and 8 November. ICly, the tower incursion stretches around a week, and you’re welcome to have your character investigate something else, if they finish early!

THE CLOCK TOWER

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ALL IS AS ALL WAS| TRIAL & NO ERRORS | THE TOWER

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ALL IS AS ALL WAS

Play it cool, as Serthica’s customs officers pore over your passport papers, before grudgingly allowing you overground. Minaras, you hear, is hunting a delinquent.

Both it and Eidris fare well, with no sign of the damage that preceded the Unwinding. Locals no longer behave eerily, dragons and clockwork droids roam freely, and everyone hates taxes.

Yet perfect strangers insist they know you. Your assigned address leads to a different house. The roads, buildings and architecture look ‘lived in,’ but changed.

No one remembers the Unwinding.

■ Burlap mannequins sometimes watch from mirrors, windows and reflecting surfaces.

■ You might hear shifting and scratching in Eidris walls.

■ Minaras has doubled its bounty for a man not unlike Leonard McCoy.

■ Black fungal spores are found on the increasingly voluminous experiment vials, specimens and supplies thrown out by Minaras medical facilities.

■ Frail and confused, Ellethia survivor Zenobius finally awakens. A short thread is up for RNG grabs.

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TRIALS & NO ERRORS

The guard troops that Eidris and Minaras assign to the Neutral Zone now protect King Thivar and High Councillor Arabella during the annual Sanctuary Reckoning trials. Both adjudicate cases that violate the ceasefire.

Prolonging the trials buys time for your companions in the clock tower.

■ Create a distraction — flood the judgement hall rooms? Fire? Illusions?

■ Pose as trial participants: perhaps you are of Eidris, and you caught this wicked Minaraian raiding your home? Mayhap this wretched man of Eidris stole your girlfriend? Wait, you’re a Minaraian who wants to kill King Thivar?

■ …organise breakouts, if Thivar or Arabella have your jailed. You are first imprisoned in makeshift Sanctuary cells — all but poorly locked, glorified closets. Get a trial sentence!

■ Thivar and Arabella treat the trials as a box-ticking exercise.

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THE TOWER

As Eidris and Minaras play court, you can infiltrate the Neutral Zone clock tower of Vassarizhia.

■ Only token security remains. The door is unlocked.

■ Karsa supplies paper talismans that must be burned in the watch fire at the tower’s top level.

■ Each burned talisman amplifies the reveal spell that Karsa activates. Link a finished burning thread by 8 November to help the cause.

■ A November mod post will describe how much of Serthica’s ‘undeath’ characters can see.

■ Placing Magnus’ dragon eye before the tower’s telescope will allow characters to always see Serthica’s undeath, moving forward.

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✘ ELEVATOR ETIQUETTE

Imperfect stillness dominates Vassarizhia: your footsteps do not click, words die in your mouth. The tower’s rickety gear slither silently. Your heartbeat aligns with the clock’s tick… tock.
You have the growing, gnarly certainty that you have invaded something ancient and alive.

The tower’s entryway level is large, deserted, stacked with gears. At its core is a dilapidated open elevator shaft.

A large sign says to find and pull the floor lever, if elevators stop.

■ There are two elevators. Each narrow lift can hold up to four people, crammed. The upper half of the carriage is chain-link fence, while the floors contain hatches that sometimes open mid-travel for 30 seconds. Hold on to ceiling-bound leather straps.

■ The ropes holding the elevators are thick, but tattered.

■ The elevator’s creaking squeals can awaken swarms of 1m-tall bats and bat wyverns. They rattle the lift, but ultimately withdraw.

■ The elevator can stop at as many levels as you want (or none!).

■ Beyond the second level, you feel intensely paranoid and see your companions as the persons you most hate/fear for five to 10 minutes. Reaching the top, you are tempted to cut the lift ropes of those who follow. (The ropes and elevators recover, after crashing to the bottom. )

■ On each floor, as you exit the elevator, a nearby wall shows a different scratched instruction, signed by DAVID.

LEVEL I: THE LABYRINTH| LEVEL II: THE ANCESTOR | LEVEL III: TAG! YOU’RE IT
LEVEL IV: THE ROOM WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS | LEVEL V: IT’S RAINING (AGAIN)

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LEVEL I: THE LABYRINTH
CONTENT WARNING: MINOTAUR, BODY HORROR

Step into a jail maze, flooded to knee level. Confusing corridors narrow, widen and contort, while wall torches dim.

Intermittent howling reveals you’re not alone. Hiding, you see child-like chalk drawings of forest animals on walls — and a great minotaur. Keep silent.

■ David S P’s wall scrawl says, IT RUNS IN THE FAMILY.

■ Collect some of the many discarded daggers or axes. Rope bundles float in water — use them to paralyse your captive or briefly force them under your control.

■ Don’t linger in one place: rotting, bodiless hands surface to restrain you.

■ Bad news, if you swallow water when the minotaur or dead hands try to drown you: your skin stretches and bursts, while your bones pop and extend. You mutate into a half human, half woodland creature, all bloodlust. ( Inspiration, anyone? ) Your companions should still recognise you; between hazy memories and constant pain, you might struggle to remember them and even attack.

■ Morphed characters can (painfully) return to normal within minutes of re-entering the elevator.

■ A smaller and distressed three-headed minotaur also roams the labyrinth. Two of its heads sob, while the third urges you to hide with it when brother approaches. It tries to throttle you with a noose to make brother happy, if you follow. David did say.

■ The minotaur and its sibling have poor sight. They cannot enter a corridor where you’ve drawn or laid down a line.

■ Pull the lever, and a straight corridor leads you to the elevator.

TOP | LEVEL II | LEVEL III | LEVEL IV | LEVEL V

LEVEL II: THE ANCESTOR
CONTENT WARNING: GIANT SKELETON, BLOOD DRINKING

Here, only barren stone and thin rivulets of fresh water pouring from wall fountains with sharp-tipped ornaments — your spilled blood quickly infects the basins. Knives, pins and bowls have been abandoned nearby.

High pressure and vertigo overwhelm you. Follow a rhythmic heaving to where the upper half of an enormous skeleton — the Ancestor — has broken through a wall. White, silk thread fetters it. Dried blood rims its cracked mouth. Before it, the stone floor has been tarnished, up to a 5m radius.

The Ancestor appears dormant, a crown of iron thorns on its head. It clutches the lever tightly in its right hand. Above it, an engraving urges, SPILL WINE FOR YOUR ANCESTOR.

■ David S P’s elevator scrawl says, WATER TO WINE.

■ Dally staring and you feel dizzy, nauseous, depressed and compelled to share your close-death encounters. Before you know it, you are stepping into the Ancestor’s radius…

■ …where it plunges for you, if you don’t bear a filled cup. The silk ropes keep the Ancestor from reaching beyond 5m.

■ Two carvings under his fists read HONOUR THY FATHER and DISHONOUR THY MOTHER.

■ Quickly distract the Ancestor from crumbling his captives, tearing their arms or attempting to eat them.

■ The Ancestor is instinct-driven, consumed by thirst. It cannot see or smell, and only remembers taste. Sounds divert it.

■ Improvise: there is no actual wine here. Infuse water, spill blood, or vocally pretend you are delivering wine, and the Ancestor might spare you.

■ If sated, the Ancestor releases the lever.

TOP | LEVEL I | LEVEL III | LEVEL IV | LEVEL V

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LEVEL III: TAG! YOU’RE IT
CONTENT WARNING: SCARECROW, SKINNED CREATURES

Enjoy pitch dark, dread and bile spreading in your gut. Take a candle from near the elevator and roam through small, unlocked rooms that feature tattered beds, strips of tanning leather and blood or wax spilled on the floor.

■ David S P’s wall scrawl says, O CATCHES IT.

■ Ahead, you see candle-bearing mannequins that dance a hora to the same song played by Jim Kirk’s music box: “Up the mountain, in the grove, hand in hand to Ke-Waihu, fresh harvest’s a treasure trove, each fall we feast anew.”

■ The creatures are patched abominations of wax, skinned flesh and burlap. In the middle of the hora is a wiry scarecrow, eyes blazing with candle fire as it points a large cleaver. In certain lights, the scarecrow’s face briefly contorts into that of your mother. It wears priestly robes that Arc III survivors may recognise from the House of Ravens.

■ As the dance finishes, you notice the lever in the middle of the circle, where flame spells out TAKE THEM, NOT ME. The game begins.

■ The abominations run, gleefully manic and screaming TAAAA~AAAAAG. YOU’RE IT! The scarecrow unflinchingly cuts them down while pursuing you. Hide in the abandoned rooms, or risk snuffing your candle to avoid detection.

■ Some abominations slap you, hold you, or alert the scarecrow. Others offer shelter. A few peel off wax skins from their limbs — showing black fungi beneath. They murmur, IT NEVER GOES AWAY.

■ Parchment strips fall from the scarecrow’s sleeves, reading, HAPPY NAME DAY, MOTHER KNOWS BEST, THE SIN RAN DEEPER THAN SKIN, IF YOU CAN BEAR IT, IT’S A GAME.

■ Bless David: draw the scarecrow into a drawn or makeshift circle to trap it.

■ Intense, paralysing fear arrests you, if the scarecrow catches you. The wax abominations chant, TAKE THEM, NOT ME. One might even take pity and move your numbed mouth to utter the words. Say them — and the scarecrow lands deep cuts on your arms, then pursues your companion.

■ If you betray someone, the abominations take the appearance of your worst version: whether physically mutated, with a temper that amplifies your worst features, or both.

TOP | LEVEL I | LEVEL II | LEVEL IV | LEVEL V

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LEVEL IV: THE ROOM WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS
CONTENT WARNING: MANIPULATION, MENTAL COERCION

You enter a quiet room. The lever sits on a table, beside rope and a dagger. As you approach, your surroundings transform: perhaps your dearest dead appear to warmly welcome you. Crowds of your doubters celebrate your success. Or you are in a calm oasis, where nothing hurts.

■ David S P’s wall scrawl says, THIS DREAM IS A NIGHTMARE.

■ Whatever your deepest wishes, the room’s vivid illusions provide. With time, your beautiful dreams deteriorate into horror. Sometimes, you hear whispers of, Make a wish.

■ The room increasingly drains your life force. Within half an hour, you have gaunt flesh, brittle bones and a hunched back. Or you might feel compelled to harm yourself, clawing your arms and face, or pulling your hair out.

■ The damage comes undone minutes after reaching the elevator.

■ The room focuses on one person: if someone joins you, they see fainter echoes of what the room shows you, but they are not enthralled. They must coax or drag you away.

■ If you are under the room’s influence, it forces you to make any later intruders stay.

TOP | LEVEL I | LEVEL II | LEVEL III | LEVEL V

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LEVEL V: IT’S RAINING (AGAIN)
CONTENT WARNING: PLAGUE, THE CHILD

At the tower’s open-sky top, fire crackles from a small stone pit, shielded by a familiar, immovable blood-spattered white umbrella. Nearby, discover an immense rusted telescope and other discarded astronomy tools.

You trip on rain-battered yellowed bones at every step. One skeletal hand holds a watch piece, engraved for Mr. David Sebastian Pumpkins.

■ David S P’s has only scrawled his signature.

■ You might reach the flame easily, or be overwhelmed by sickness, black fungal spores blooming on your fingers, while you cough blood and experience intense fever. The symptoms wane once you reach the fire.

■ Burn paper talismans and link finished threads to help Karsa’s spell.

■ The child with a fox mask from the Unwinding could appear. Sign up for one of three short threads, which must finalise by 3 November.

NOTES

■ Some of the bigger plot clues have been emphasised, to help navigate through the horror details.

■ You can hit up some NPCs during the trials.

■ Check out plotting posts for last-minute team-ups.

■ Back to the top.

QUESTIONS

Comments

[flatly]

Alright, that's not usually the half of his name that people have an issue with, generic as it is—Lightwood is the part that tends to piss people off. (Not without reason, considering his family's sordid recent history.) The look Alec shoots John this time is a baffled little squint, like he has no idea where John is coming from or going with this.

"I have no idea who that is," he says, a touch of suspicion coloring his tone, like he's not sure if John is attempting to mock him or not. Is it a pop culture reference? It certainly has the setup of one, but Alec wouldn't know the name even if it was. Nephilim society is way too far up its own ass to know the first thing about human popular media, and frankly at this point Alec stays away from it just to avoid terrifying possibly actually having something to talk about with his newer, more annoying friends (sorry not sorry, Simon & Clary.) Either way, he stops bothering to think about that and flexes his tacky, blood-covered fingers, before carefully pulling his bow back off his shoulder. He really doesn't trust how easy this whole room was (of course he'd think that, he's not the one getting his life-force eaten by it), but they still haven't... moved, yet. He casts an uneasy look at the half-finished spellwork on the table.

"Can you make it back?" If John is not very careful, he's going to get fireman-carried to the elevator.

[strewth]

"Doctor John Dee? Elizabethan bloke, either invented or discovered Enochian, dependin' on who you ask. One of the most famous magic men in history. When we get out of here, you need to catch your tattoo artist up on some wikipedia."

Off his game, unbalanced, bleeding, emotionally distressed-- John ignores all of it, in favor of being flagrantly condescending. That's safer, endlessly safer, and so much more comfortable.

The blood on the table, though, that requires some consideration. If John had more time, he'd be more elaborate. For now, he just runs his hand through it, smearing half-dried blood into something ugly and incomprehensible.

"Right, then," he says, "onward'n upward. Don't think I'm letting you off on your own, now; need to know about them tattoos."

But he doesn't walk ahead of Alec, letting the lad go first with his bloody bow and arrow. Still, John does keep pace.

[flatly]

Well, that's galling. Only a lifetime of experience squabbling with his siblings while in the middle of battle keeps Alec on task instead of turning to stare at John like he's grown another head or three as he shambles along towards the elevator. But he dearly wants to, because: "A warlock?" You know, if he's a famous magic man. "A warlock is saying he invented these runes?" That's gotta be some sort of blasphemy, surely. Alec doesn't buy into most of the sanctimonious angel bullshit that he was raised on, doesn't even pretend to anymore after getting kicked forcefully out of the closet, but that idea feels like a step too far.

He is, frankly, shocked that nobody has come down to smite the guy running around apparently laying claim to the language of angels enough that John expected him to know his name. John's world must be an extremely weird one.

When they reach the elevator doors Alec pulls them open with the hand not gripping his weapon, wincing at the heinously loud screech that the old, dilapidated metal hinges give out. Only now, so close to safety, does Alec let himself throw another glance over his shoulder at the magician. "They're not tattoos." If he sounds a touch indignant, no he doesn't. Mind your business. "I want to know what you were trying to do, there." So, you know, it's mutual! The mix of blood and Enochian is not something Alec sees often, he doesn't think it could possibly have been good news. They just need to get back to Magnus, stick that eye of his at the top of the tower, and then hopefully portal back out because this elevator clearly sucks and if he can avoid the return trip that would be lovely.

And then he can grill the hell out of... wait, "you never said your name."

[strewth]

John peers at the elevator with distaste, shuffling from one foot to the other. He doesn't want to go back in there. He has to go back in there. Something like a snarl begins to curl his expression.

"John," he says. "And you weren't listening. He said he discovered it- Christ, just google it."

He is stalling. It feels painfully transparent, standing there before the elevator, teeth grit into an ugly line. "That ain't your business, lad."

[flatly]

"Google doesn't work here," Alec says slowly like he's cottoning onto the fact that John is trying to stall, though it makes no sense to him. Alec is maybe not the most compassionate person in the world, but it's still a little disturbing to watch the life get actively sucked out of someone, even if neither of them realize that's what's actually happening.

So, his patience is wearing thin. Sue him.

"Right, but my runes are yours?" He scoffs, gesturing sharply through the open door of the elevator with a nod, as his hands are occupied. He figures that there's no way he doesn't have more of a claim on Enochian than this incredibly scruffy... warlock. Or whatever John is. "Just get in." Based on everything happening on the other levels, Alec thinks getting away from the floor itself might be enough to help him. If not, Magnus will probably know what to do about whatever it is he's got going on. "And stop calling me lad."

[strewth]

Nearly pacing, John is lost in thought. His mind's eye catches on his sister's face. It wasn't as she was, when she died. She was younger, then-- she looked like it was still the nineties, when he was with Kit, when his sister still talked to him. He remembers those days, when he was dying, when he was most alive, raking at the gates of Hell.

John's eyes refocus. What was he doing, staring at nothing? He looks at Alec with a frown. "You first. In you go, then."

Better to make it seem like an overabundance of caution, rather than fear.

[flatly]

Alec's immediate instinct is to say no, and haul John kicking and screaming to the exit if necessary.

But he's really trying not to be That Shadowhunter anymore, so he blows out a breath and rolls his eyes to the ceiling, which might not make it look like he's making an effort to reign himself in, but he is. "Fine." He doesn't have a good enough reason on hand to refuse, but if anything that makes him more annoyed about it. He gets the feeling John is about to make this harder than it needs to be, but it's not like he's disagreeing outright, so.

Alec takes a step onto the shitty elevator, and it creaks and groans ominously in protest, like it has every single time he's jumped on so far. "Well? Let's go, before you fall over."

[strewth]

There's the urge to bolt. He wants to see his sister's face again, unclouded by doubt or fear. He wants to fix it, once and for all, and- he can't.

Just fucking accept it.

He lets out a sigh through his teeth, but makes his way forward, shuffling into the elevator. His expression is grim; he feels ghastly.
Closing his eyes and talking about something else seems a heavenly idea, especially if it can annoy the man next to him.

"True sight, hmm?"

[flatly]

Good news, Alec is easy to annoy.

Once they're off the fourth floor itself, the tense line of Alec's shoulders start to loosen up a little. Not that the elevator doesn't have its own dangers, but there's something about waiting for an unknown shoe to drop that feels somehow worse. He shoots John another glare a his question, hauling the elevator's gate closed so they can start their upward trajectory again.

"Yes. The rune does what it says it does," he settles on confirming, though it sorta feels like letting John win to do so. "Whatever you were seeing in there was just an illusion." He flexes his fingers around the grip of his bow, and shoots a look up at the dark elevator shaft as they begin to ascend with a tortured squeal of the ill-kept metal. "What ritual were you trying to perform with the angel's language?" An answer earns him a question of his own, surely. Even if it smarts to reveal a weakness and admit that he couldn't even begin to recognize what John had been doing, regardless of whatever other familiarity he clearly has with the language.

[strewth]

"Nothing classic, not like your tattoos," John murmurs, staring out into the black beyond the elevator. "Not trying to call down an angel, neither; that don't help no one."

He knew she was dead, even then, and he knew any spell wouldn't work. But just because someone's dead, doesn't mean they're gone, and in that moment of pain, it seemed the best option. He can feel the stupidity in retrospect, understand he was manipulated, but some part of him will always think he's right. Cheryl doesn't deserve to be dead.

A long sigh, and he feels a bit of the pain leave him, the further the elevator creaks upward. "Were a... pact. Adeptus Minor system, with some chess embellishments. Ah... Sealing a ghost."

have a preference for who gets sick?

[flatly]

Ironically, despite not trying, he'd technically succeeded in summoning an angel. Half of one, anyway. Alec squints at that don't help no one, but reluctantly lets it go without comment.

Luckily the wyverns and bats don't swoop in between the fourth and fifth levels: though Alec has been through the whole cage rattling rigamarole on lower floors, he trusts the lift less and less with each inch they ascend. He might not get turned into a wet splat on the ground if the elevator gets shaken hard enough to drop them all the way down (thank you, combat runes), but John is only just starting to look less like death warmed over and Alec wouldn't necessarily trust ability to survive a stiff breeze at the moment.

Not that he actually knows what John can or can't do. His explanation for the ritual seems so haphazard, but whatever stubborn pride Alec has, he can still acknowledge that he doesn't know the first thing about magic theory crafting. Maybe all spells are secretly that much of a mish-mash, and Magnus just somehow manages to make them look graceful and deliberate?

Probably not, but you know. Maybe. "Okay," he acquiesces after a moment, and opens his mouth to interrogate further, but suddenly the sky opens up above them and it turns out that the weather is rainy. They've reached the top. "Finally," he interrupts himself to mutter, but then the elevator door finishes opening up to a sea of yellow, water-logged bones. That's... probably not good. "What the hell?" He shoots John a look like he expects the man to be able to explain, for some reason.

i'm fine with either!

[strewth]

John sees the bodies, and his gorge rises. It's not anything he can't march through, though. John is old hat at trudging through the gates, whatever gates they may be. He has a fleeting memory of Eden in the desert, Cain's people hidden in the sand. The sound of those fucking wings...

This is worse. Angela isn't here, for one.

"Dead bodies, mate," John says, casual despite his internal misgivings. "Ever seen one?"