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

[makemeasong]

[ The voice sounds young but everything is deceiving, she doesn't know what to believe. She swallows, shaking her head before nodding, then giving up and using her words. ]

I can see you. I think I've seen you before with someone else, but I don't know you, I'm sorry. Are you in danger, do you need help?

[ They all need help, she thinks, but this child is right in front of her. ]

[sansdoute]

If you see me... but you don't know me...

( He seems, fleetingly, to think — head tipping, mouth rushing with something negotiating its existence between choked sound and breezy hum. The mask shutters him. )

Then... seeing. Isn't knowing.

( And so, unspoken: What is it you want to do? )

[makemeasong]

[ She wants to reach out, give the child relief from the mask, get him shoes. But instead, she asks another question in an attempt to know more about him, about Serthica, about what the hell is happening. ]

Then how do we know? How do we see and understand what to do?

[ These don't feel like questions a child should know the answer to, but nothing about a single second of what she went through in the tower felt real, either. ]

[sansdoute]

( ...oh. She's — sad? Scared? Sad-scared, he supposes, and there's something like sympathy dripping from him, when he leans in with his freed hand to pat her hair — stopping just short of touch first, to check she won't bite.

Animals do, after all. You're not supposed to just touch them. )

I ask my parents. ( He's helping, you see. )

[makemeasong]

[ Clara doesn't move except for a soft smile, as warm as she can manage it. She'd seen her mother back there; instead of being a comfort it hurt, and so she is sad though it's not the only reason. But his statement encourages her forward, gives her an idea. She remembers the note the child lies from the Unwinding, and so she tries to be careful. She's now in what she calls 'teacher mode' with a kind voice and encouraging eyes. ]

I'm separated from my parents. Since yours are really good at helping you, do you think they could help me?

[sansdoute]

( She's near again, for all she's not quite dear, but he's generous enough to tip the umbrella once more towards her — and with it, the full extent of his strength.

Don't trust strangers, but how else can they come friends? )

My father can help anyone. ( Up close, the ends of his mask show their paint has dully chipped. His mask clatters in chatter. )

...except you. No one can help you. I'm sorry.

[makemeasong]

[ When he shelters her again with his umbrella, she smiles at him again, this time with a dimple. She thanks him, then listens. First, hope. Then less so. Biting the inside of her bottom lip, Clara studies the mask, the sound of him speaking clacking in her mind. Her smile has faded, but she's no less gentle. ]

Your father sounds pretty powerful. Did he decide I'm not anyone because I don't know enough to see?

[sansdoute]

( He's silent far longer than any child has a right to be, as if the art of it is a nefarious compromise. Then, tipping his head: )

You're very sick. ( He pauses, seeming to consider — or simply to stare, thoughts gathered like beads on a string. ) Were you always sick?

[makemeasong]

[ Before Clara can answer, there's motion in her peripheral vision, and she sees a very large wolf. She's never seen a real wolf before; she has no idea if she is now. Over her time in the tower she's seen so much that wasn't really there, or doesn't exist anymore — hasn't and won't again. She can't be sure, but Clara doesn't react much, tilting her head to the side as it sits close. Not quite beside her, but between her and the Child.

Blinking slowly, her gaze drifts back to the Child. ]

Being in this place made me sick. How do I get well?

[ Clara glances at the wolf once again, tentatively reaching out a hand because it seems...calm. ]

[sansdoute]

( The wolf startles him enough to nudge him another few steps back now, again and another few more. The umbrella struggles to cover the distance, before the child approaches again, hand hesitant, when he reaches out to pet the creature —

...then thinks better of it at the very last moment, drawing back. )

I like your dog. He's very big. ( And pleasantly: ) May I have your dog, if you die? Being so sick.

[makemeasong]

He isn't mine. [ She doesn't bother to correct from 'dog' to 'wolf' because she isn't sure it matters. As the umbrella moves away she feels worse, but she swallows heavily and closes her eyes, trying to think. ]

But I think he's friendly. Probably. He doesn't seem very bitey. And I don't think he belongs to anyone.

[ Even though she's sure there are teeth. All the better to eat you with, my dear. ]

Why are you here, in a place that's so dangerous? What if you get hurt or sick?

[sansdoute]

( And then he's back again, umbrella alongside him, trickling close like the rain he seems to have — for now — eluded. He reaches again, and nearly touches, but withholds once more.

The dog-wolf isn't for petting today.

And he remembers, fleetingly, to spread his umbrella over Clara's head. )

I won't. I make things sick.

[makemeasong]

[ The relief of the umbrella. It makes her feel better and she looks up at it, then at the child with his mask. ]

If I could pick, I would rather make people better. They'd be happy with me all the time. Probably never run out of friends.

[ Clara doesn't want to upset him by interrogating him, so instead she gives a small shrug as if she's asking a casual question. ]

Don't you think that would be better?

[sansdoute]

( It's the dog he wants to touch, the one he keeps turning to, the clatter of his fox mask's lower jaw suggesting perhaps he keeps opening, then shutting his mouth.

It is such a big an handsome dog — and he retires his hand behind his back hastily, no sooner than the girl's done speaking. )

I think you're going to die. Because that's all you know to do. ( He looks away. ) You should just leave me your dog. I'd look after him.

[makemeasong]

[ Alright, you little terrorist. ]

Not a dog, not mine. [ His words are rolling around in her slow mind, trying to make a connection that's tickling at the back of her mind. Is this a general 'you' or specific? She thinks of her echoes, of all of them dying one by one across time and space. But then she thinks of everyone in Serthica, of McCoy's sickness. ]

Why do we all have to get sick and die? I want to learn how to help.

[ There's a desperate quality to her voice now, the teacher softness strained. ]

[sansdoute]

( It startles him — she has the gift — and at the next turn, his umbrella's dropped down, tumbling towards her in a cautious sway. He lets it, both his hands jumping to the muzzle of his mask. )

I'm sorry. I'm very sorry. I didn't mean it, I didn't. I don't mean it. I don't want you to die. It just — it just happens. I never wanted you to die. I don't know how to stop you from dying.

( But he kicks the umbrella close, closer, just enough so that she might still benefit from its healing advantages. ) If you just stopped, it would be nice. Wouldn't it?

[makemeasong]

[ The umbrella falls, and Clara grabs it not by the handle, but by the shaft in the middle. She has it now, and she holds it over her own head thinking about the Child's words. She dies and she dies, but she dies for someone every time. Jumping was worth it. ]

Would be.

[ She twirls the umbrella just a little, but her grip is as tight as she can make it. ]

I think you know something, kiddo. Something you're not telling me about why people are sick and how to help them.

[sansdoute]

You're wrong.

( There's an edge to it, cutting. Mean, petulant, as if the child feels wronged — blatant in the sudden, stiff tautness of his spine, in how he stomps close and firmly sets his hand on his umbrella's stick.

He does not tug for it, yet, but the possessive intent is there. )

You're sick, because sickness doesn't choose to hurt you. It just... is. It can't control itself. No one can. You came to where the sickness is.

[makemeasong]

[ Her hand is just below the Child's, and she locks eyes with the mask. Her grip tightens, challenging, voice firm. She's been through some shit today, and she wants to know why. ]

I also didn't choose to be in this place. Why are you here?

[sansdoute]

( ...well, then. It's a tug of war, and he's hardly supernaturally enhanced in his grip. It seems at least to amuse him, the back and forth and the pull of the umbrella. )

It's where the big ship dropped me off. It's pretty. It's got flying lizards, and they're called dragons, and they're big. They could eat you. They could eat anyone at all. The biggest person you could think of! They could eat him! I'm sure of it. I'm staying to play with them.

[makemeasong]

[ Clara's head tilts to one side. ]

They could eat you. Have to spit out your mask though, might not go down well. You seem to be very sure they'll want to play with you. What if they don't?

[sansdoute]

( Well. Well, she isn't kind at all. And so he does put his shoulder in, and he tugs fiercely on the umbrella this time, maybe a little vicious. Shows her who's wrong and who's right.)

Why wouldn't they? I play very well with everyone. I'm even playing with you, and you're... not very nice.

[makemeasong]

I've been nice, and now I'm tired, alright? I'm tired, and I hurt, and I want you to tell me something that matters.

[ Clara can't keep her voice from cracking on the last word; her emotions feel scrubbed raw, heart raked over the coals. Others have had their souls exposed against their will, demons manipulating their thoughts. Then there's the sickness. Always, the sickness.

Tired as she is, her hand stays firm on the umbrella and she tugs just a little toward her. Not hard, and not meant to actually move him. Her eyes stay on the Child's, and this time when she speaks, her voice is quiet once more, the furrow between her brows softening. ]

Please?

[sansdoute]

( Tired, hurt, wanting something. Things. They always want —

He lets go of the umbrella again, giving it a gentle push towards her in the end, for his final concession. It might not be what she needs, but he can give it. )

I'm — ...I'm being good. I've always been good. I don't... what matters? I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know why you're sick, I don't know why I'm not sick, I don't know how to make you better. He does, but he isn't here now. He just... left.

( It seems to distress the child intensely. ) He made my dollhouse, and he left me to play with it. I'm just... it's all a game. We're just playing.

[makemeasong]

[ Clara didn't expect to feel truth coming from the kid, but she's been around children long enough to tell the difference. This was genuine, and she looks at the umbrella, given up to her in his upset. Almost immediately, her voice softens to a hushed tone again. ]

Thank you. [ Without knowing whether or not she'll regret it, she hands back the umbrella, holding it out to the child. She can't keep his things, won't take from him. She does think of the Unwinding, though. ]

This isn't mine, it's yours. Did your dollhouse have a pretty greenhouse? Or maybe a garden? Mine did, when I was little.