westwhere | the sunken

the sunken | part i

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.

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the drifting: days 1-3 ( ota, please be aware natasha will not have her memories back yet! feel free to pick one of the vaguer prompts in bold and riff, or assume they’ve come to visit her. )

( it’s a boring existence, these days.

an endless parade of the same people natasha has known all her life showing up on her doorstep, some kind of offering in hand — bread, fish, a trinket for the home. and always, the pity: how are you holding up, then? or a murmured you must be devastated. the wrongness of it strikes her each and every time. a husband, taken too early. no children, an empty house other than the interlopers who lay in wait for the inheritance that ought to be hers. she chafes at the absurdity of it, the idea that she might be falling to pieces over the death of a man who’s face she can barely picture (should she feel guilty for that? she doesn’t), a wedding that lingers just quite out of arms reach.

she does what widows in yancai do — visits the market and does her best to escape a well-meaning busybody (knocking quite firmly into someone in the process, oops!); endless rounds of housework including airing the rugs out back and beating them with a surprising amount of strength for a housewife. surely they can’t protest at her visiting old friends; she trespasses on more than one person’s kindness, begging for any snippet of gossip.

oh, and accepts casseroles. that seems endless here. )

Any more food and we’ll be fed for the rest of our lives. ( a quiet grumble, as she stares at her icebox and narrows her eyes. )

the drifting: day 4 ( here there be memories coming back! )

( the headache is blinding. it creeps up behind her eyes and feels like a fishing hook to her frontal lobe, vision blurring. ordinarily she wouldn’t be awake this late; but the pain had woken her and the pitter patter of little feet had driven her from the house altogether, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders as she stumbles into the moonlight clutching her head.

it’s as though two personas war in her head — the one that insists she ought to go inside, that yancai is too small for her to act like a mad person without anyone noticing… and the other that wants to know where the hell is yancai? and why this place feels familiar when she’s never been here before. above all, there’s a sense of danger. something is wrong, danger lurks around any corner, and as she gets to her footing on the empty street, natasha feels panic grip her throat.

it’s no wonder that when a stick breaks behind her, the sure sign of footsteps and hair on the back of her neck goes up — she responds with a swing of her fist, reflexes entirely too sharp for someone who’s spent her entire life in a fishing village the size of yancai. )

[ Unfortunately for both of them, the Doctor is a bit...distracted as he makes his way slowly back towards the lighthouse he's been quartered in. He won't be there long—a few hours at most—before he wanders again. There are far too many mysteries here to solve for him to waste even more time being idle. And he's never been patient, far less so now.

His thoughts whirl and twirl at hyperspeed and he scratches his head, talking out loud to himself, just under his breath. The crack of the stick he steps on only barely registers before his left cheek is met with a fist, and he staggers back, holding a hand up to his face. It won't leave a mark and it only barely stings, at least. But that won't stop him from being briefly dramatic. ]

Oh! Ow! Yes, that's...an interesting way to say hello! Enthusiastic, which I appreciate, but not friendly, if we're being honest. Still, not the worst greeting I've ever had. Tell me you're still perfecting your technique because if you're not, it does need work.

[ He understands he surprised her, in the midst of his rambling, so he does pivot at last. ]

Sorry! Suppose I was a bit startling myself. Completely unintentional, promise! You okay?

( it's ... well, it's kind of a miracle the man is still standing, let alone babbling at her. she hadn't known she had a punch like that in her, not really, and his enthusiastic response has her startled out of her personal existential crisis. halfway through following with a second punch, she catches it at the last moment and stares, slightly open-mouthed — an interesting way to say hello. guilt floods in, and dropping her arm, she pulls back. )

I... ( natasha feels the opposite of okay. she feels ... shattered. like she's two different people at the same time. the natasha that knows yancai like the back of her hand is embarassed, annoyed, shocked — and maybe other natasha isn't so different, but there's something else there that she can't quite parse out. a sense of wrongness that a punch won't fix.

the pain in her head flares, and she clasps both hands to her temples. )

Sorry. I don't know what I was... ( another stumble. she shouldn't care, really. but that other her, the one at war in her head, growls at the implication she can't stay standing on her own. ) Have we met?

[ The shock of being rather abruptly punched wears off quickly for the Doctor. She's strong, certainly, and he hopes never to be on this side of her fist again, but to be fair, he did startle her. Can't exactly fault her for reacting that way.

Particularly with everything going on in Yancai since they've arrived.

And now the fog clears from his mind and he can focus on her a bit closer. Immediately, of course, he's drawn to the way she clutches at her head, her hands near her temples. He's seen that before, too, with those whose memories have been altered. ]

Pity we haven't yet, actually, but we've rectified that in a memorable way, I'd say. [ His voice is gentler now, an edge of worry there. ]

I'm the Doctor. Can I help? Your head's giving you trouble?

Sorry. ( she mumbles again — and doesn’t find herself feeling guilty, not much longer. it’s hard to feel much of anything around the pain in her temples, and she stumbles again, catching herself by grabbing the man by the arm.

he says he’s a doctor. the doctor, technically, if she’s being more accurate, and she picks up on the distinction in a way that even an observant widow from yancai woudln’t. it just brings the war back to the forefront.

she’s a widow. she’s from yancai. she’s from russia (what is russia?). she’s a ballet dancer. she’s … )

I don’t know what’s happening. ( a mumble, eyes tortured as she looks up at him. ) My head. It’s .. something is wrong.

You're right, something is wrong. [ As much as he can try to rescue her from what's been done to her mind without her consent, he will. ]

Don't be alarmed. I'm here to help now.

[ Gripping her arm to keep her steady, the Doctor glances over his shoulder for a moment. He could lead her back inside as she seems to be near her residence, but he is a stranger to her, after all. He mostly worries about her balance and he doesn't much care to leave her alone right now.

A...stone jutting from the ground? Better than nothing to sit on. So he starts to guide her that way, if she'll allow. ]

Sit and rest for a moment, let me have a look. And tell me your name? We've got our first punch out of the way, should be on a first name basis, I'd wager.

( his grip on her arm isn’t tight and it does’t hurt — but she still flinches, though she doesn’t push him away. his face is twisted with concern, brows furrowed. he’d said he’d help her, did he mean it? could he help her?

no one can help you. you have no place in the world. it’s a voice, but not hers, in a language she improbably understands. not a language from yancai, not the sort of thing a widow would know.

(at least, not this sort of widow.) )

Natasha. ( as he guides her to the rock, she rests a hand on top of his, allows herself to be led. she knows her name is natasha. that much she knows. natasha sits, carding her hands through her hair again, glancing over at him. )

My head… It’s killing me.*

[ The shove, abrupt and unfocused, catches him briefly off guard - it's not enough to knock him truly off balance, but it's certainly enough to nudge him against the wooden plank of a nearby railing whose merciful presence spares him the indignity of a sudden plunge into bracing waters.

It's with raised brow and arms full of thick, coiled rope that Stephen turns his gaze toward whoever just knocked into him... ah. The widow woman. He's seen her before, inevitable in a village this size, but considerably less inevitable has been the depth of his sympathy for her. They're not close, they've barely really spoken - he's even lost track of her family name - but all the same and especially now in such close quarters he feels a responsibility for her, for her grief, that clenches uncomfortably in his chest.

That softens whatever his reaction might have been. He hefts his rope into a firmer hold, leans himself away from the plank that saved him a plunge and - after a quick glance out to notice the likely cause of their collision - nods backwards over his shoulder. ]

This way. There's a vendor route to the harbour that'll cut you back into the market from another angle.

[ And he half-turns, looking back at her, ready and waiting to lead the way. ]

( she’d been expecting a gruff, watch where you’re going, or even a shock back in return — yancai isn’t an unfriendly place, but the market is busy and she ought to have been watching where she was going. the fact that she receives neither gives her pause, eyes flicking from the coiled rope in the man’s hands to his face. she knows him, sort of. a rope seller in the village, the one that the older women whisper about.

the busybody is still approaching, and she tosses a worried glance over her shoulder — no time to worry about where he’s going. )

Show me. ( she snaps, following him without question. it’s not as if she’s truly at risk. she knows yancai like the back of her hand. and there’s just … something about the rope seller. something that makes her feel like he’ll help, in addition to just being kind to her. ) I can’t stand another casserole.

[ He waits on her reaction, waits for the looming of the casserole dish to finally push her over the edge, and nods his compliance with a tiny tick of a smirk. Yeah, that checks out. People really do love to smother when you're grieving, if that's the kind of community you find yourself in.

So he turns fully away and starts out, leading her in a quick slalom around a few stacks of fishing cages that shield their abrupt left turn down a narrower outcrop of walkway, hopefully enough to throw any follower off their scent. He doesn't slow yet though, stepping across from the narrower path onto a pier with firmer planks once they've gone far enough to reach it and only then taking the chance to glance back over his shoulder and past her to check if the coast, for now, is clear.

It seems to be. But you never know with the oppressively well-meaning types, they're tenacious. ]

Okay. Lost them. Do you want to try doubling back, or shall I take you the rest of the route?

( it’s not a route she would have taken on her own — well-off wives don’t go wandering through fish cages and alleyways, or narrow paths. they strut through the market, spreading their largesse and being seen. well-off widows, it seems, have a different view of things. and once they’re behind the stacks of fish, natasha checks to make sure they’re not being followed, keeping close enough to him that he won’t lose her.

there’s something about his shoulders, the line of his back. something that feels … familiar but she can’t place it. a pang of an ugly feeling, something that tastes to her like desolation — he must remind me of my husband. )

You know, I think I’ve done all I need to do at the market today. ( she says, slowly, tucking her basket under her arm. it’s only half full but… she can’t stomach going back there. ) How much further is the rest of the way? I’m sure you have .. rope to get back to.

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the sunken | part i

🕸 the drifting

the drifting: day 4

oh no poor doctor!

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time is made up, SO sorry for the delay here ;; lmk if i should edit!

🕸 the drifting - markets.

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