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

[blackscales]

Wrathion watches her go, turns back to the heating water and takes a step closer. Absently, he reaches out a hand to heat the water faster. Not that he's in any particular hurry, but patience has never been a strength of his.

He looks up at the sound of her returning, moves to take the water off the heat.

"Alem, then? Do you have everything caught up before that? I believe we made notes up until Ke-Waihu, before."

The ships, after that, he doesn't know a huge amount of detail about. He remembers a few names, recalls one or two things about spirits and undead and dark water and the wretched tongue. Not as much detail, perhaps, as other locations given he'd spend some time on the voyage caring for Anduin. Then after that, of course, they were in Serthica.

[reparo]

Luckily, as she walks back, she's already turning the last few pages of her notebook.

"Ah, no - I haven't written much since Serthica, to be honest. So we'll need to start there."

She joins him again, pleased to see the tea is ready. "Don't burn your hand," she says, force of habit.

With a head shake, she sits down. "You know, I met a man when I was still... Afflicted by whatever messed with our memories here, and I gave him my notes." A frown. "He didn't seem impressed by them. To newcomers these must just look like insane ramblings, but..." A smile here, leaning in.

"It's all a bit exciting, isn't it? Like we're solving a mystery."

[blackscales]

Solving a mystery.

He moves the teapot to the small table, doubling back for cups and saucers.

"Certainly there is a mystery. I only wonder what will happen when we reach the end of it."

He sets out two cups and saucers, eases himself into a chair and thinks. The mystery is, of course, appealing. Yet sometimes it fills him with a sense of dread, too. So much death. So much more death to come, he's sure.

"If you encountered Matthias, the White Wanderer, what would you do?"

Kamala had, had spoken to him free of all the groups little theories and asked her own questions. What would Hermione do? Ask him questions? What questions?

[reparo]

She has been doing this - running with this group - far longer than she hunted for Horcruxes with Harry, and it is beginning to feel as hopeless. There is no end beacon in sight, to her knowledge; only a few scattered through each city or country they visit, but they always have to earn it. And every time, Hermione witnesses more reasons for her to stay behind, for people to keep trying to help.

It's very hard to be a hero.

She lets out a quiet exhale, thinking about that loaded question. "In an ideal world, I'd have a vial of veritaserum ready and invite him to a cup of tea. That's a truth potion, it forces someone to speak the truth to every question, and I would have questions."

A bit grimly, as she picks up the cup. "Realistically, I think I would end up provoking a fight."

[blackscales]

Wrathion nods in understanding, picking up his own cup.

"I feel the same. There are many questions I believe only he can answer, but... I fear my patience for those answers is waning."

He tires of these games. Tires of the drawn out creep of information, of chasing ghosts. Sometimes, a pitched battle is just more satisfying. Sometimes solving things with violence is just the way it must be. A final victory, no more questions. Something simple, for once.

Wrathion is a creature built for tactics, for battle. Infiltration and execution. Sitting in a house drinking tea and matchmaking he feels... tamed. It frustrates him.

[reparo]

"I hear you on that," she murmurs, with a waning smile. "It's not like I am prone to violence, but I would love a victory we could claim without so much senseless loss, and all the subterfuge."

She's absolutely prone to violence, but we move on from that.

"Every new location comes with a new secret identity forged for me, and I'm beginning to forget who it is that I am here."

[blackscales]

Ah, secret identities! That, briefly, fades his frustration in favour of a lightly amused smile. He sips his tea, which is in fact far too hot for most people but fine since he is a dragon. Hopefully Hermione checks before copying him.

"Did I tell you the first identity I was assigned here?" he prompts. "I was assigned to Macaluso's household. My cover was that I was a legal pioneer, diplomat and master orator, whose impassioned five-minute improvised speech once convinced 4,000 men to turn their swords against their wretched commander."

The specifics of this are entertaining to him every time he recalls them, even if he didn't really have time to enjoy the role when he first arrived. His entry into Taravast was... difficult. Unpleasant would be an understatement.

[reparo]

Hermione's learned by now that he runs hotter than most people (how did she ever not suspect him of being non-human?) so she's not picking up her cup yet, comfortable with letting it warm her hands instead for now.

"Ah, Taravast. What a proper mess that was - you arrived late to the party, or I would've had to tell you about the chastity belt I'd come to the city to sell," she says, with a little grin. "In hindsight, your first identity isn't as far off from who you are - I do think you make a fine diplomat and orator."

She definitely did not make a great modiste. She's wearing clothes that he made, after all, not her own. If anyone should've had that identity...

"These secret identities feel like the Merchant and Karsa are just bored and trying to outwit each other at our expense. Bloody author of a book on manners - me?"

[blackscales]

The compliment warms him. There are plenty of people who would question Wrathion's diplomatic prowess, but the problem historically has really been misuse. He's perfectly capable of being persuasive, he's just backed the wrong causes.

"You mentioned an enchanted codpiece before," he says, because he does remember that. When they were all sat in a cave, in Ke-Waihu --

(he remembers Anduin's bright laughter, his gentle disapproval, the warmth of him leaning into his side)

-- and he threw a meat bun at her. He frowns in thought, tilts his head.

"Perhaps you could sell it here, if you still have it. Advertise it to young men who want to prove themselves in the eyes of the matchmaker."

The matchmaker being him, of course.

[reparo]

She lets out a sudden laugh at that, slapping her hand over her mouth quickly. There are other people in the house - and just because the two of them have come down for tea (nevermind that Wrathion was busy being haunted by ghosts outside, Anduin's specifically) doesn't mean the others haven't found a way to pass the night.

"Aren't you the matchmaker?" She's amused, not judgemental of this specific potential prank. Hasn't been part of a prank in forever, and honestly some people here may deserve it a little.

"I don't know, the mechanism that makes it scream intrigues me, I wonder if I could take it apart and use it for something else."

[blackscales]

The way he lofts an eyebrow says he doesn't quite understand the protest in her prompt. Yes, he is the matchmaker. So what? He can still be impressed or unimpressed.

Still, she moves on, and he frowns in thought. Use it for something else? Wrathion takes a slow sip of his tea again, considering. What else could you use something that screams when it encounters impure thoughts for? It's a somewhat... niche situation.

"If you could adjust the trigger, it could make a useful alarm." He reaches for her notebook, gentle fingers drawing it over slowly enough that she can protest before he begins examining it and how far they'd gotten.

[reparo]

She lets him take the notebook without protest. Ever since they'd poured over her notes on the train here, she's learned her lesson: include nothing personal in notes if you're planning to show them to others. Her lists and bigger conspiracy theories, her journal if you will, is in a different notebook.

Best case scenario, maybe this will make them fall asleep again. The dining area chairs are not so comfortable - not as comfortable as his first class cabin had been - but they can deal with backpain tomorrow if it happens.

To whit: "Yes, I was thinking about an alarm specifically. You know, I made some coind for Wrath when we were in Alem, that he said proved useful to alert others when to push and when to pull back."

She bites the inside of her cheek, looking at Wrathion for a moment, quiet. No tea being sipped. "I could make them again. Give you one." He has her full attention now, and whilst she's not speaking of what she witnessed in the yard directly, she isn't exactly ignoring it. "You can use it if you're ever in distress, and it'll send me a signal to know that I need to come help."

[blackscales]

If he's ever in distress.

His eyes lift to her, thoughtful. He'd given Anduin something similar, after all. A way to reach out to him if he was ever in distress.

( It works both ways, of course. I will be wearing the jewel, but if you should need to contact me in any emergency situation... You will, yes?

There is no-one else I would contact. )

It had been mostly true, then. Is it still true now? He's not used to calling for help, exactly. Sometimes help does arrive, if it was his plan to include people, but he never... calls for it. Black dragons don't need help, after all.

Aside from when they do.

"I'd be curious to see how that works," he offers, and drops his eyes back to the page. A non-committal answer. "You didn't write much about our ship excursion, I see."

Oh look, a different topic, one that isn't if he'd ever ask for help!

[reparo]

Everyone needs help sometime, Hermione would point out. Even she has needed help, on occasion. But she will make a note to show him the Protean charm and how it works.

Something ostentatious, she thinks. Not a coin, not for Wrathion. Maybe one of his gems, maybe a ring. The charm works the same way regardless of the object that is enchanted, but the coins were better in terms of a flat surface. Perhaps she'll make it exactly like in Hogwarts, able to send a time and place via the coin, rather than just to make it run hot or cold.

Either way.

"I spent most of that journey in a jail cell, what was there for me to write? Please feel free to add notes if you had time to investigate around." It was either time spent in the brig, or accidentally Seeing Some Shit.

[blackscales]

He reaches out for a pen, slides it towards himself and tilts his head in thought.

"The basics, at least, may be a start. We travelled aboard the Pariah, with sea captain Samuel Vane -- also known as Quicksilver Sam. Our newer members boarded the Queen Zanyra, captained by Caladan Kreil. We were pursued by the ship Concord, a battle ship belonging to the Dawns' Reach Trade Company captained by Maximilian Hawk."

He pauses, leaning back and frowning in thought at Hermione.

"The reason I thought it worth starting here is I have noticed Dawn's Reach Trading Company docking in Yancai. If we are potentially to deal with them again it is worth doing so informed. Vane, for example, still travels with us. He used to work with Dawn's Reach, and owed them money and supplies having abandoned his job to go rogue. It would be beneficial to make sure there is no... altercation should he cross paths with them here."

[reparo]

"Great," she mutters, then nods. "Yes, add those notes." It'll be good for her to keep them as well.

"I did share the notes with someone - Wangji's brother if you'll believe! - but he didn't seem all that impressed by my ramblings..."

Can you believe?

[blackscales]

Hmm. Wrathion leans to begin writing, neat and curled as usual.

"Perhaps," he offers, "he did not have enough context for why the information was important."

It is usual information, after all. Yet for someone new, it may be a lot to take in and perhaps confusing. Something that only begins to coalesce once things have been encountered repeatedly and the pattern is visible.

Nothing to do with the quality of their note taking, he is sure.