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

[lanclan]

"Don't strain yourself, it's okay. You've told me a lot."

He doesn't want Jiang Cheng to get a fever, he's awfully flustered after just a few questions under Xichen's direct attention. He gives him a little space, stepping back, and shakes his head dismissively to the worried musings.

"Wangji is well. I've heard that time works without a linear point here, I may be from further ahead than you. There's no need to concern yourself with any of it." It's a horrid business. He hitches up a smile, eyes soft as they blink down at Jiang Cheng's frown. "I'm quite well too, I keep to Cloud Recesses these days."

There is no need for him elsewhere.

[consignation]

'Quite well' and 'seclusion' are hardly words that belong together, but Jiang Cheng feels out of his depth here. Emotional intelligence has never been one of his strengths, of that even he is well aware. Jiangs distill every emotion into bitterness and anger, and of that tradition Jiang Cheng inherited every drop. Yanli and Wei Wuxian found other ways or perhaps knew better from the start, but Jiang Cheng remains his mother's son.

"I must be dead," Jiang Cheng remarks stiffly, glancing away, his hands folding behind his back for better posture as his chin raises high. As his mother taught him. No weakness of carriage, bluff when the truth will not serve, and when that too fails, then lie. Walk as someone who has never known fear, or doubt, or hesitation. Jiang Cheng is not a capable man, but he acts well enough that anyone outside of his own household can hardly tell the difference.

"For you to keep only your own company, undisturbed. What a sorry way to hear there is no longer a Yunmeng Jiang."

He doesn't mean it, of course. Doesn't believe it for a second. He'd be far more upset if he did. What Jiang Cheng is trying to say is that surely he would visit, will visit, and if not then he has some very serious words for himself.

[lanclan]

At first he's alarmed, then realisation sinks in at the sentiment and his surprised Pikachu face melts into a fond, touched look as his gaze rests on that stiff posture. Such melodrama! Encore.

"Yunmeng Jiang does not visit Cloud Recesses often," he gently admits, "though the invitation has ever been open and I do not leave."

This would be a more serious conversation if ... ah, well, that strident pose with shoulders back and hips locked is very ... open. Inviting to the gaze? Oh, dear. Xichen ducks his chin askance for a moment as he gets his twitching lips under control and then inclines his head politely.

"Forgive me. Permit this transgression, you would do it for me —"

The thick, well-made blue-grey robe he wears atop the rest is shrugged off and promptly, without ceremony, swirled around Jiang Cheng to sit on his shoulders, draping to skim the ground. It is large enough to hide both bare legs and what lies above under a thin, sodden silk robe (namely, a lack of shame).

So as to displace any embarrassment that might be ignited over the discreet acknowledgment of something, he lightly says, "You may return it after the discovery of your clothes."

[consignation]

Though Jiang Cheng is a little slow on the uptake for this, unable to comprehend what is happening to process it with any efficiency. Out of the corner of his eye he tracks as Lan Xichen removes his outer robe, the heavy fabric as light and effortless as smoke in Xichen's hands, so much so that the weight of it landing upon Jiang Cheng's shoulders causes him to start. It settles over him so quickly that it still bears Xichen's lingering warmth, smells of wood and wilderness and faintly of incense.

Like home, Jiang Cheng's mind supplies, unbidden. Not home in the physical sense, as it smells nothing of Lotus Pier, but Lan Xichen is newly arrived and thus their world, the place where Jiang Cheng was born and raised, is almost tangible on the familiar fragrance of Gusu Lan's ancestral lands.

By the time Jiang Cheng's mind catches up to his homesick heart and he realizes with growing horror the sheer impropriety of it all—of Xichen disrobing on his behalf, of having the other man's robe placed upon him, of his own sorry state of dress in front of someone so proper, so well respected, everything, all of it—there's nothing he can do but squawk in distress. Caught between trying to return the robe, which is already damp from being on Jiang Cheng's wet person, and trying to clutch it over his... specific indignities.

"I— I'm— I—" he splutters, looking around frantically as though considering escape by water. Finally, he hangs his head and succumbs to Xichen's generosity.

"...it's really not necessary, as I spend most of my time in the water. But. ...thank you for your thoughtfulness, and, ah. ...I apologize if you saw anything disagreeable."

He clears his throat.

"I... happen to know exactly where my clothes are, so. You will have to take my outer robe until I'm able to launder and return this one."

[lanclan]

Keeping a placid expression is one of his utmost strengths and he does so as realisation sinks into Jiang Cheng like a leaden weight, not wanting him to feel worse. He shakes his head dismissively, hoping the other man isn't too embarrassed.

"Nothing disagreeable to me," he says smoothly, arching a playful brow, "but there are many young women around and I suspect the majority have local fathers."

Xichen gives a grateful nod to the offer of borrowing Jiang Cheng's outer robe until his own is dry.

"I do wish I had the opportunity to wear more lilac, sometimes. Purple will be an interesting change. Shall we pick up your clothes now? And, out of curiosity," he has to ask, "how often are you in the water?"

[consignation]

Jiang Cheng gestures in the direction he left his clothes neatly folded on a pier near where he starts his patrols in the morning and then immediately heads off that way as though he can physically leave behind his crippling embarrassment. His entire face is still aflame, close to feverish, and he can't tell if Xichen is trying spare what little is left of his dignity (if he ever had any to begin with, Lan Wangji might contest) or if he actually means any of the words he says.

"Most of the day. It seems as though every few hours there is someone in need of rescue." Which is definitely strange for such a place, as it's geographically very similar to Yunmeng and yet Jiang Cheng's childhood memories are not plagued with constant near drownings. However, Jiang Cheng doesn't seem to be dwelling on that bit of trivia, too smitten with the notion of being needed.

[lanclan]

Xichen would spare Jiang Cheng any embarrassment if he could, although it is quite the fun distraction from their immediately kidnapped predicament to watch his robe dragging a little too low behind bare ankles.

"These people can't swim, I take it?"

Even Xichen can swim, useless as the skill is up a mountain. It's odd the residents are constantly in need of rescue, even if it seems to give Jiang Cheng some verve.

He wonders how badly the other is in need of purpose.

[consignation]

"They can, it's just, ah, there are— There are roots to get caught on in the water, sometimes invisible currents..." But Jiang Cheng is frowning as he speaks because he's starting to realize that it really is a little unusual that he's kept so busy in a village of people who definitely know how to swim.

"...at any rate, I can hardly ignore people asking for my help regardless of whether or not I find it foolish of them to have gotten into trouble to begin with. And it keeps me busy, so. There are worse things," he goes on, seeming satisfied with his own reasoning as it comes to him. He keeps leading the way, soon coming up to where he disrobed for the day. His clothes are largely undisturbed, but someone has left several freshly picked flowers on top of the pile.

Clearing his throat, Jiang Cheng carefully moves the flowers aside, shakes out his outer robe, and—perhaps letting the villagers' behavior get to his head—he drapes it over Xichen's shoulders in turn rather than offering it to the man to put on himself.

[lanclan]

"Naturally you couldn't ignore them," he amiably agrees on the walk over. "Having the ability to help and doing nothing would have been wrong, but that never even crossed Jiang Wanyin's mind, as I thought."

With the warmth of his compliments hopefully helping to ease any lingering awkwardness on his fellow sect leader's part, his lips twitch to see a pile of flowers waiting for Jiang Cheng's return (he was right about the local daughters!). So interested is he in trying to discern the types of blooms collected for the express purpose of courting in this land, he's already a little stooped when that purple robe is swirled around his shoulders; Xichen schools his delighted surprise as he straightens, sliding his other sleeves inside while standing closer as Jiang Cheng's hands fall away. It's shorter than his own robe, true, but not by much. Perhaps the colour difference makes it more noticeable.

"Thank you." The feel of it is different, of course, and his fingers pet over a cuff just for the interesting sensory memory it makes as he smiles down at Jiang Cheng. "I can hold your flowers while you dress, so they don't get dirty."

[consignation]

At least present company is far too polite to point out the somewhat slack-jawed look on Jiang Cheng's face as the full impact of the elder Twin Jade dressed in his own robe sends Jiang Cheng's ability to form a full sentence sailing clear into next week. Surely the fact that the sect leader is also rather slow on the uptake right now will also be overlooked in Lan Xichen's infinite patience and grace. Jiang Cheng is too out of sorts to notice it himself, and while he had no previous intention of getting dressed again here on the pier with his wet underthings and Xichen's borrowed robe over his shoulders, he automatically reaches for his clothes because, well, Xichen prompted him to so of course that's right.

But then he pauses as he manages to get tangled up in the fact Xichen just referred to these random gifts as 'his flowers'. That seems... embarrassing, somehow? Don't ask why. Just the idea that these flowers that were left on Jiang Cheng's clothes somehow makes them his, which in turn means that Jiang Cheng is in possession of flowers, hence 'his flowers' rankles Jiang Cheng terribly for reasons he can't begin to describe, and it sets him off on a disgruntled tirade.

"They're just flowers left about. Could be anyone's flowers. Here, they're your flowers now, so— Hold your own flowers!" And then Jiang Cheng gathers them up to thrust at Xichen like a schoolboy with a crush.

[lanclan]

Seclusion is much the same every day. Congee, clothes, music, painting, Wangji, food, sleep. Rinse, repeat. Everything is controlled and orderly so as to promote mental stability. Even here, in this new realm where everything is so strange, it has elements of familiarity. No one has ever shoved a bouquet of flowers at Xichen before, at home or here. A froth of colour and sweet scents hasn't been offered his way since ... no, not even as a teenager. Perhaps when he was a little boy, and he and Wangji picked snowdrops? He can't recall. Can't remember if he ever had this many different blooms in the hanshi, though he strongly suspects not, it's very tepidly hued in there.

"Oh," he manages in surprise, holding onto them carefully as he arranges their stems so they don't crease. He looks mildly confused for a moment, then accepts them with graceful resignation. "If they aren't yours and you don't like them ..."

Then, that seems okay? He can't think why anyone would accidentally leave flowers on Jiang Cheng's clothing if they didn't want him to keep them as a token of affection, but it would be a shame to waste them all the same. Xichen inclines his head gratefully, taking a delicate sniff and smiling as a result. It's the nicest thing that has happened to him since he awoke gagging in unknown waters.

"Thank you, Jiang Wanyin, they're beautiful."

Enough to permanently upgrade a name in fondness.

[consignation]

Jiang Wanyin is presently staring again. Openly, and open-mouthed. Has it been this long since he last saw Lan Xichen? The years since Wei Wuxian's death have been a blur between all of the loss and grief and raising his nephew and running his sect. He does distantly remember spending more time than expected with Xichen when they were young, their brothers often running off together for atrocious stretches of time. One particular occasion he recalls Wei Wuxian volunteered to room with Lan Wangji before anyone else could get a word in edgewise which left the other room's occupancy to, well.

Jiang Cheng can't really recall what the actual stay was like, probably because it was so awkward he tried to block it out completely. Still, between that and the time they spent together during their studies in Gusu, he's been well aware of Xichen's above average looks, his irreproachable decorum, his kindness, his insightfulness, his intelligence. Jiang Cheng failed to remember him possessing quite this much grace. That the very act of pausing to take in the fragrance of such a haphazard bouquet can prove to transfixing, and then Xichen speaks to him again and Jiang Cheng is possessed of the notion that he needs to jump into the water right now and swim away before he somehow embarrasses himself in answer. He's able to resist, but only because he feels locked into place, looking after Xichen wide-eyed in what might be a familiar, boyish awe.

"I find them quite ugly," he manages with a self-conscious sniff, answering as only Jiang Wanyin can. "But perhaps you are right and it's simply unfair of me to judge how they look compared to the person holding them."

[lanclan]

The way he blinks in mild astonishment, replaying the compliment in his head so as to be sure he didn't mis-hear, happens as a blush builds in his ears and spreads high on his cheeks. A breath of a laugh leaves him as he ducks his head to gather some semblance of an appropriate expression that isn't unexpectedly flattered to the point of briefly stealing his words. The flowers are gathered and regathered in his hands as he settles them in place for something to do, before Xichen finally manages to meet Jiang Cheng's gaze.

His own is bright and fond, dusted in a shyness he works past with the help of manners.

"I understand now why Wanyin has won such favour with the locals," teasing him with a steady look, "even, perhaps, when fully dressed."