the sunken | part i

[groundrules]

THE SUNKEN

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Welcome to the first log of Arc VI: the Sunken, which covers 15 May – 2 June and doubles as a test drive meme.

Back/forward date as needed! The calendar date suggestions are indicative.

The TDM is open to everyone! If you decide to apply to the game, you can get an invite from current players or the upcoming enabling meme — or participate in the test drive meme and get in touch @ groundrules to chat things over. We currently have 13 slots available for new players.

Test drivers can use this post for logs and network posts — old timers, please make your network posts at eastbound.

LOST AT SEA | TEST DRIVE TOURISTS

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You wake, gasping, in a stormy sea, your thoughts slowed to a confused trickle. Skill, floating wood or a kindly stranger — who you can’t understand — help you to reach shore.

Villagers discover you collapsed on sand and provide critical (if rickety) communication and translation devices. They say you are in Sunken Yancai, a fishing village progressively overtaken by waters and cursed by the secretive ‘ladies of the lake’ to transit through time.

■ Rescuers group newcomers and supply questionable village couture, warm meals and accommodations in abandoned, half-flooded homes or spare small boats anchored in Yancai’s waterways. Huddle up, recover your strength and don’t think too hard on why your memories are hazy over the next three days.

■ Come morning, you visit village leader Quanze Tsaymien, then the sorceress Karsa — who explains you are otherworlders summoned into Akhuras by undead lords who wish to weaponise you in their battle against humans and one another. Karsa is an associate of the Merchant, who leads otherworlders towards ancient transport beacons east.

■ One such beacon rests dormant in Yancai. The group must infiltrate the village and wait a few weeks until it shifts to a point back in time when the beacon was active.

■ Newcomers are handed passport papers with their new identities in Yancai, where they may be known as a bankrupt merchant, perpetually drunk sailor, whale hunter, raft surveyor, mermaid who has just gained their legs, crab collector... feel free to invent a dutifully hilarious apt role for their seaside sojourn.

OLD TIMERS | THE DRIFTING

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You dragged yourself here in a haze. You arrived long ago, as if in a dream. You were born and bred in this village. In truth, your memories of reaching lively Yancai feel nebulous and alarmingly inconsequential.

Characters are facilitated new identities and dwellings by the Merchant, or believe they have had them all along.

■ A weary Karsa warns to say nothing to party members with altered memories, until the sorcery that affects them runs its course.

■ Memory-altered characters progressively regain their memories within three to five days (by 20 May). They have their memories partially or fully back at night ( midnight to 5 a.m.). Throughout the day, memory regains can trigger migraines, eerie confusion and paranoia.

■ Hauntings begin once characters have fully regained their memories.

■ Once everyone is ‘back to normal,’ Karsa explains that Yancai periodically transits through time. The memory alterations are a magical solution endorsed by the village council, which ensures locals mentally weather these shifts. Villagers continue to blithely accept you as part of the community.

(DON'T) HOLD YOUR BREATH

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Karsa reunites the existing party and newcomers, issuing first assignments. The Merchants’s information suggests the beacon of Yancai will be online once the village travels in time within weeks. A dubious Karsa asks the party to check on the beacon, located in the former House of Commerce of the largely inundated merchants’ district. Reach it by rowing boat.

■ Villagers say the Master of Commerce, a famous musician, took precautions against intruders.

■ All ground and lower floor entryways of the palatial House were boarded to restrict flooding. To enter, pick locks or climb the putrid stairwell towards upper balconies.

■ Inside, the hissing of running water — and, in the lower levels, of thin, slippery leeches whose bite numbs your limbs, while they attempt to feed. You seem to experience pronounced vertigo when entering any decaying rooms covered in black mould.

■ The beacon is located on a dais in the basement vault room, where water rises near 1 meter. Only a few scattered scrolls and golden decorations remain among decorations, while a large ceiling carving writes, greed deafens man to the cries of his conscience; music sets him free.

■ Some tiles of the marbled floor stand out as you wade — step on one, and all doors abruptly slam shut, while dozens of obscured holes in the wall start to rapidly spill water, threatening to fill the room to the ceiling within the hour. You hear the tinny, waning sound of a village song played from a hidden source.

■ To stop the pouring water and open the doors, sing the song you hear, or find the music box that produces it amid debris on the water-covered floors. Wind it, and it plays its song in reverse, revealing the voice of a laughing elderly man who says, Depressingly, Anurr was right to worry.

■ Don’t forget to check the beacon — and report back to Karsa that it looks structurally untarnished.

THEY SLEEP

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After surprising revelations at previous citadels, Karsa tasks you to investigate just how… permanent death is in Yancai. Villagers share that their dead are buried in a strange rite at sea — part of which will take place within days.

■ The dead are ‘entombed’ in one-man sarcophagi ships with carved and chained lids that depict their likeness. These burial boats are set at sea on the first day of each season and return three months later.

■ Join the harbours around 22 May, when mourners gather to receive the burial boats. Characters must pretend to be greatly anguished relatives, acquaintances or debt collectors to join the grieving.

■ The boats float towards you, seemingly of their own volition. Gaze afar and spot a boat carrying a man in black — the same who haunts some characters — who observes until the last burial ship has reached the piers, before he disappears.

■ Sailors draw up the boats and unpeel the untouched chains and lids, to reveal… no corpses. Peer closer and find neither biological signs (stench, liquids) of discomposure, nor the magical chillness of spaces where cadavers have lingered long. Scratch marks litter the inside of some boat lids.

■ Mourners seem grateful that the waters have ‘accepted’ the bodies. Some say that their relatives whose boats have yet to return must have been stolen by the ‘ladies of the lake,’ a villainous witch coven. Speak to mourners or sailors for clues.

■ Linger long near opened burial boats, and you feel tempted to throw yourself into the sea, slowly losing consciousness — until someone rescues you.

AMONG US

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On 25 May, village leader Quanze Tsaymien drags the chained and half feral mistress Miang-si to households and Yancai’s largest market square.

The young woman, he says, was seduced by the ladies of the lake — the furtive witch coven that condemned Yancai to time travel. Luckily, the village elders have… coaxed Miang-si back onto the righteous path.

■ Miang-si is brought door-to-door to point out her 'accomplices.' Ill at ease, villagers whisper of similar witch hunts leading to false accusations and blood-curdling repercussions.

■ Both men and women are suspected and brought before Miang-si. Perhaps she takes an eerie interest in you, getting especially close to catch your scent, touch or remark on (in)visible hurts, or even dotingly kiss you. If you whisper quickly while she’s near, you might be able to ask one question.

■ If you are patient and kind to Miang-si, she briefly squeezes your hand as she withdraws. Within the hour, you find blood writ on your palm that warns, Our fat moon rises red.

■ If you are agitated, or if Quanze rushes her during your visit, Miang-si erupts into sudden, side-splitting cackling — while you find yourself croaking like a toad, or transforming into one and retaining human speech. The spell dissolves after eight hours.

■ Quanze’s long-suffering men say this sorcery breaks faster if you kiss one of the curmudgeonly emerald toads that hide in some of Yancai’s lakes. Catch one such delightful, slime-spitting creature or barter it from merchants at a costly premium.

ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT

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A full moon is set to rise within days of Miang-si’s visit, on 27 May — just as Yancai shows signs of time shifting. Villagers are prone to stilling and staring askance, seeming lost or adrift.

The village itself evolves: one moment, the same house appears freshly new, then drowned, while waterways overfill with water, then seem barren. Overall, the village deteriorates.

■ That day, the sun suffers a midday eclipse, while droves of black birds circle the woods and village outskirts, attacking those who come close.

■ The waters increasingly thicken and darken, preventing boats from entering certain waterways.

■ An exceedingly bright moon and a diffuse lunar replica rise with nightfall. Come midnight, the village is alive with the sounds of ripping, structural collapse and shrieks. Tar-covered corpses emerge from the waters, clawing on and climbing up piers. They swarm, drawing passers-by into waters to drown them. Help them — and foremost, yourself.

■ Light and fire keep the dead at bay. On some waterways, wildfire now spells, WHAT IS WET WAS WRONGED

■ Weaker alone, fresh corpses climb into your rowing boat, pretending they are innocents who seek shelter. They betray themselves by speaking very slowly, struggling to keep track of the conversation or obliviously peppering it with details of their death. They stubbornly ask questions about you, repeating your answers, and become violent if you say they are dead. Push them into the water at first opportunity.

■ Quanze Tsaymien and other men of the village take arms, urging villagers to barricade in the nearest home, harbour or warehouse and weather the night. They advise to be silent and beware the dead who imitate living voices, warning not to touch any black mould or water that suddenly appear in your home — which alert the dead of your presence within.

■ Some dead try to tear you apart, while others seek to feed you a disgusting, tar-like black mould. A small taste of it makes you sluggish and feeble for two-three hours, while an entire fistful can kill.

■ If the undead infiltrate your house, hold your breath, do not move and keep from screaming. The dead have weak sight and olfactory senses and might pass you by, as long as you stay silent. It can be more efficient to fool than kill the dead.

■ By 5 a.m., houses start to replenish themselves, gaining a new appearance, while water and mould retreat. The dead withdraw into waterways. Outside doors have been marked with blood: vertical lines tell how many living people remain inside; horizontal ones count how many within died overnight.

■ You step to seize a brave new day — while Yancai enters a new time period (further details due in the next plot update).

NOTES

■ The game enabling meme goes up on 25 May.

■ Hit up available NPCs here or in their new inbox!

■ QUESTIONS.

Comments

[pathologise]

I... think I agree with you.

( when her head's clear, when her memories are what they should be adrienne would agree with him. she doesn't trust herself much of the time nor her head. it's a shit situation to agree with )

I thought nightmares were the worst of what could fuck it up.

( nightmares, grief and the rest of the deal )

[aprescoup]

"The lake's big enough for one... it's big enough for ten!" He says amiably, in between more spells of laughter, as he waves the man on over. The pier's long, the boats are generous. Plenty of fish in this nearby sea.

With a gentle hand, he points out the additional rods and bait available. "Y'know how, do you? How can I help?"

[downswing]

( He sees her point, her angling — that a master would wish to see the fruit of his labour at work, that no such man of craft or clergy shows face in these parts freely. Pauses, nod tentative and as he scans the horizon, landing with inevitability —

...on the spectre who waits, dark like a night's span, abyssal. He seems affixed in the distance, at once critical to the proceedings and entirely separate. )

They have a keeper. ( There, where the man in black sets and whirls his oar, and waters crash, more caskets floating. ) Unreachable.

[nachocheese]

"I was hoping you could teach me to fish. Seems like you're good at it..." Nacho gives him a small shrug, and whatever passes, for Nacho, for a sheepish smile.

Then he goes on, "I was hoping you might have a good story for me, too. Seems like people tell you a lot of them. But nobody ever wants to tell the tax collector." Oh, woe, woe is he.

[downswing]

( Sickly, strained. She looks like a rag squeezed, spilling mildew. Threadbare, and he does not question the way or the reason of it, only interceding to offer his arm, his time, his safekeeping.

Then, she asks, and he is gutted, blood and bile in his belly like swill and the aches of his head building thunderously, riotous. He feels as he is: bloodless, faint. Why does he not —

It's nearly punched out of him: )

...I do not remember. ( Fear should gut him, irreverent. Does not. He only accepts the inevitability of his amnesia, surrenders to it. ) May I carry you?

( You are not well. )

[weifinder]

Wei Wuxian doesn't examine that he feels soothed, at the press of lips to his head in a far more likely consuming than the playful pretense moments earlier. Nor is he any less soothed by the distaste on Lan Zhan's face as he pulls away, looming impossibly large over him, features distorted by sheer size, a mountain that peers down upon the climber of its feet. Heavy as Mount Tai, they both have lived and will live, and Lan Zhan is the weight of that in politics divorced from this world, but aptly relevant on their own.

He does not anticipate the pull to chest, the tucking away against his husband's skin, or close enough to it that the warmth of him is a succor of its own. Wei Wuxian huddles himself small and contained, surrounded in soft whites of filtered light through fabric, of moments caught in silent blizzard, isolated in the fringes of a deadly storm.

He closes his eyes, listens to the improbably heady sound of an earthquake, steady and rolling, underneath his feet, his chest, his belly. Lan Zhan's heartbeat is a dragon coiling and shifting in the earth of his flesh, and Wei Wuxian tucks closer, listening. A pulsing sound, the paired thumps and the inhalation that lifts him up with the flesh and bone and connective tissues of Lan Zhan's body, with the encasing silks and the indelible vivacity of life that surrounds him, lowers in the next seconds with an exhalation. He sits next to a cacophony of noises he usually hears only when they rest at night, Lan Zhan slumbering, hands over chest, on his back and insensate to the world around them. Moments where Wei Wuxian steals closer, tucks himself in close, and closes his eyes to the reassurance of a heartbeat, a breath, not his own.

No darkness consumes as much as one in silence. He knows that, knows the sound of his own heart, his own breath, his own relentless mind far too well. Lan Zhan is a balm he cannot articulate, if even he tried.

"I would not," he says, a beat late, toad eyes opening in their multitude of lids, resolving the image of glacial safety he's ensconced in courtesy of his soulmate, his husband, his partner. He tucks his chin down even lower, resting on feet and toes pulled into neat lines, lulled by the tidal ebb and flow of Lan Zhan's inhalations. "I can only stand four shichen in a handsome shape. Or an especially cute one. Why couldn't she have cursed me into a rabbit? You'd like that better, I'd like that better, I could still fit in your robes..."

The heavy, theatrical sigh of a man of Lan Zhan's size, coming from the diminutive form of the toad hunkered down at his chest. How unfair, and his mind already turns, with his husband a man of action and attentive to the moment, to what he'd heard from the young woman before her chains had been pulled tight, her terrible laughter pulled into the harsh light of day and dishonour and injustice.

They have more to fight against here, he knows it.

"She said they don't move the dead. Bitter, against the accusations the village levels at the women of the waters."

[a_silent_due]

( His eyes slant, feline and dangerous, hand strengthening its grip on Mugen, while he thinks first to turn the sword on the man — then, tentatively, to protect him while he tames the water. )

...what are you doing? ( Hissed, harsh. Unnecessary. Whatever. It's working. ) Do it again.

( As if the man ever stopped.

The hell's your name? ( Possibly, he's heard before. Probably, he should have retained it. Inevitably, he didn't. )

[downswing]

( He hesitates, choosing his words if not his moment, caution finally lacquering his voice. )

You shall know her. ( When the time is ripe and the stakes thin, when they are not given chase by the dead, Lan Wangji's footing feeble. He does not slip, for all his balance briefly falters. )

When the dead do not spill. ( ...perhaps, within a few shichen. )

[lanclan]

[ Fair enough, the dead are somewhat more pressing a matter than Sizhui's first crush. But only slightly. ]

We need to get inside, how far is it to this place you spoke of?

[ Xichen is good for another day or so before he will need to sleep properly, although a short rest couldn't hurt. ]

[aprescoup]

He starts the process of it, the winding of the thread, the choosing of the bait from a series of deadened things displayed out. He seems to stay away from worms, choosing a shiny grasshopper and putting it on for Nacho, showcasing the steps along the way.

"Yes, yes... let me about sheep? About worms? What do you want to hear about?"

For an amused little old man, he seems to have his cunning. "Be clear."

[weifinder]

One day the two of them might exchange the specifics of the moments they arrived from, simply by having nothing to say: they were not noteworthy moments, but their arrivals here, those were jarring indeed.

"A holy cave," he says, lips curling into a wry grin. "No cold springs, apologies."

Lifting an arm, he gestures in the general direction of where he, Lan Zhan, Vanessa, and Yelena all share cavern space, where the unholy hours are the holy times for cleaning, and all his sleep debt is starting to accumulate once more.

"I've repelling seals around the entrance, difficult to miss. No barrier — easier to press back than to selectively allow the living in when the dead can register as alive."

To overall detriment.

[traumatology]

Used to nightmares.

( unfortunately.

these were just a different breed, memories that he has but he can't really...recall making? it's hard to describe what it feels like.

he doesn't like it. )

Think someone's messed with us?

[pathologise]

( she pauses, a quieter energy to her and the haunted feeling that adrienne often feels might slip now into her words )

I've never seen a ghost before.

( physically. she's got plenty of emotional ghosts, the nightmares and triggers that haunt her but the child that had appeared in her bed, that she physically felt was new. different. worse )

Yeah. Someone's doing it.

[downswing]

Perhaps twenty li.

( Less than half a shichen's run, if Xichen is not yet so reduced, so feeble. He appears in tolerable health, holding, if bloodied. Weighed down by bloodshed, stench corrosive. Lan Wangji, no better, disdains the offer before he makes it, forever hesitant to stain Bichen's blade, yet — )

Can you yet fly?

( Perhaps not so, if Xichen's qi has exhausted itself beneath two watchful moons, while hellspawn wander. )

ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT

[yeahmagnets]

Jesse Pinkman doesn't have superpowers. He's not even as powerful as the rumors that spread about him back home that he'd crushed some guy's head in with an ATM machine for stealing drugs from him. No--that had been the guy's wife; another addict--and Jesse had told her to stop; not to do it. But it was of no use, and then it was done. He ran from the home, but not before rescuing their neglected child, calling the police at risk of being caught himself and leaving him shrouded in a blanket on the porch for the authorities to find. All that being said, he does hold some heroic qualities in spite of what he may think of himself.

Powers, though? No. He doesn't even have any of his weapons from home. He is however, armed with an arsenal of candles and a lighter, and so he tries to avoid the tar-covered corpses while also trying to hand out the candles. Fire and light keep the creatures at bay, so he'll do his best to help others. He's armed with a lantern himself as he weaves his way through the crowd, holding the lantern out to ward away any corpses headed his way. An arrow whizzes by his shoulder and Jesse ducks down, eyes narrowed as he looks behind him for its source.

"A little help here?" Jesse calls out towards the archer. He's being surrounded by corpses and even as he wards off one after another with his lantern in one hand and a lit candle in the other, there's only so much he can do when they seem to be coming from all angles.

[nachocheese]

Nacho watches the steps intently, genuinely intrigued and interested. He's never felt the need to go fishing before. It's not like there's a ton of opportunities for it in New Mexico, and anyway, even if there were, he's always associated it with old people. The man he's sitting beside does little to dissuade this notion, but it doesn't matter, because Nacho has always enjoyed watching someone do something simple with care and attention.

"May I?" he asks, holding out his hands, to try it for himself.

When asked what kind of story he wants to hear about, Nacho takes a deep breath. "Witches," he says. Quickly, he adds, "Doesn't have to be true. It could just be a scary story."

[fiercechains]

[ That seemed like a long time to be in a strange place. It made him wonder if Sizhui, his sister, and the others had been there that long too. ]

What sort of strange powers? Or did you and the others not find the source of these powers?

[beautifullies]

Thank you, though if you're truly going to eat that very sad sandwich, I'll wait. I always did dislike it when people smoked while I was trying to enjoy food.

[ Claire's smile is small, exhausted, and quite sad, but it's still warm somehow, reaching her eyes faintly. ]

I'm Claire Fraser. At least some version of her, anyway. If I weren't running on the strength of this cigarette, I'd offer to buy us both something to eat.

[ She reaches out while introducing herself, wondering if her company is experiencing something similar. Does she have ghosts that visit? Does she have a life filled with memories of living here, but not? The disadvantage to being new (now that she knows she is) has been navigating so much of this alone. She'd thought she was done feeling that way when she'd gone back to Jamie, but here she is again. ]

are you really tagging with the doctor if it isn't weird??

[makemeasong]

[ That voice. She knows that voice, and she doesn't like that she knows that voice. In fact, she thought it would be a long, long time before she heard that voice again. And she a hundred percent didn't expect to hear it coming out of a toad. ]

Get out of my hair!

[ Now she's actually reaching out to hold onto the frog. Him. ]

Regeneration's getting a little out of hand, is this what happens when you get old?

[matermali]

[ Her hand drops from her temple again at the familiar voice, and she lets out a raspy sigh. The breeze isn't as comforting as she had hoped it would be. ]

The man in the boat. Do you not remember? ...And the dead.

[ A shadowed gaze is cast over her shoulder, once again pinned on Caitlyn. The recognition is better forming, and she edges closer to the water with barely a glance where she's stepping. She may even sway. ]

They are...still out there.

[makemeasong]

Didn't say I own it. And I'm here because I wanted to help people who need it.

[ She's looking a little nervous, eying some of the undead and deciding not to take any chances. pulling the sopping, sagging rose with its two gold-gilded petals, she holds it out to him. ]

Pluck one, it'll turn you invisible for half an hour. It'll be enough to get us to the villa if we're quiet and fast. I don't think I'm good enough with my sword yet, so this'll have to do.

[ She's really been living a life here, learning how to survive this stupid planet. ]

[clavesregni]

[The man in the boat... Yes, there's something in the notebook about a man in a boat. A man who asked her what she most wished for. Caitlyn eagerly flips through the pages until she finds it. Her cramped scribbles are circled and a line is drawn to another page reference, something about a man in white.]

Is this who you're talking about?

[She holds the notebook out to the woman, prepared to hand it to her, only to immediately yank it back when she remembers the very personal message written only few pages later. Even if she doesn't know who it's written to or why she'd write such a thing, it's not something she wants anybody else to accidentally see while going through the notebook.]

Is. Um. [She tears out the offending page, folds it quickly but very neatly, and holds out the notebook again.] Is it him?

[matermali]

[ Fortunate, isn't it? A curious interaction with a stranger is enough to put a smile on her face on its own, but then there's the peculiar sensation that he isn't a stranger. If she doesn't catch herself staring at him now, it's only because his attempt at weaving a tale has temporarily captivated her more.

Something brilliant? What could she have to add to its story? ]

Something in Yancai. She seeks a secret? Something dark.

[ The lotus struggles on, and Vanessa straightens to follow it for a step or two, wrapping her arms around herself in contemplation, getting swept away before she can even think of how she must sound. ]

Sent by an old witch. In truth, however...with her own secret, she seeks a key to break the spell. No, a curse. She can't return to the sea until she finds the key.

[ Her smile for the village falls away, leaving only the sad smile for the sea creature trapped in the waterways; for it, and for all the lost creatures. ]

The lotus is her disguise.

[matermali]

Vanessa Ives.

[ Of which there should only ever be one version, but Yancai has dared to test what it shouldn't.

Claire Fraser seems the type to speak her mind, and Vanessa can only appreciate and honor that with her own admission. It is, after all, a pitiful sandwich indeed. She wasn't paying much attention to it, but that should be quite clear. She certainly has fallen far from her time in high society. ]

I am not the most adept at following my time when preoccupied. This was intended for...earlier.

[ Though, she already has her own cigarette lit, so she certainly isn't stopping just to eat. If someone hadn't been watching, she might have attempted both at once in a terribly unladylike fashion, so it's a good thing someone came along and stopped her.

She'll be certain to light a match for the heroine, of course. ]

I do promise that I eat far more than very sad sandwiches.

[downswing]

"Innocents, accused." They know this tune, its sharp and scathing crescendos, until a man or a woman or a witch climbs a rooftop, and —

He travels, shadow-like, slippery. They say, find a fellow toad, and there are waters close, silvered and thickly, nearly wet filth. They will make do to capture Wei Ying a companion, for all Lan Wangji finds himself restless, piqued. It is not the kiss — for once, jealousy does not claw him into ribbons and string, not with a frog as his contender.

Only the implication of sorcery drawn between two living things that are not soulmates and kin — how will it break or bind them? Will Wei Ying's qi chain itself to the toad? Will the toad gain sway over the known world's foremost necromancer? A difficult exercise of hypotheticals, reduced to ridicule by the species involved. But not unmerited.

Now and then, at sharp leap, he cups a worn hand over his chest to serve Wei Ying a perch, to ensconce him. Stumbling over gravel, feet catching between weeds, the creak of pier planks underfoot. A fine day for it, at least, even as humidity climbs and grazes their skin, thick and syrupy. The sun scorches, ruinous.

"You yet believe Miang-Si?"

Between them, Wei Ying's pulses of justice often ring too acute and true to allow him fair awareness of the world that surrounds him. But he tries, he does so try.