IC Roleplay Logs

STATEMENT BEGINS

Statement of the Entire Town of Pumpkin Hollow, Recorded October 18th, 16:55

{ CONTENT WARNINGS: All of them. In seriousness, this event covers almost all major human fears, so please be sure to avoid the names of Fears that would affect major squicks/triggers, and check the CWs of each prompt on the first line of the drop-down sections! }

Like so many of these terrible times, it all starts on a normal day. The gala was a night to remember, certainly. A welcome reprieve for most, considering the general lack of horrors. Not for everyone, of course, but no party is perfect.

However, during her visit in September, a little spider managed to get into the ear of the Crawling Chaos. She wove a clever tale of a terrible fate that consumed the world, creating a factory farm for pain, chaos, and fear. She told an awful story of skin-stealing clowns and an endless war, of worms in the dirt and in the skin, of unraveling flesh and twisting minds and an all-consuming darkness. Puppets and colossal beasts, sprawling oceans and crushing earth, wolves that prowl the woods in human skin and hungry fire. She painted the Father of Bats a wicked picture that would only require the use of that little fissure down in Paradesium to realize. And he and she, both in their human disguises, shook hands.

Of course we’ll probably just pin it on Jon Sims again. He seems to be the source of a lot of trouble, doesn’t he? It would only make sense. After all, those in the know will recall that this whole scene looks awfully familiar.

You are carrying out some normal activity. You are mid conversation. You are on the trolley home. You are anywhere you might be on any day. And then suddenly, between two breaths, you are not. There is no fanfare, no creeping dread. You simply blink, and find yourself in hell.

Happy Halloween, Pumpkin Hollow. This one won’t be any more forgiving than the last two.

Southern Coast

THE LONELY | Jack's Marina and the Bluffs

Also called "The Forsaken" or "The One Alone." This is the fear of isolation, either due to being separated from others by tangible barriers or social/emotional ones. The fear of having no one to reach out to, of abandonment, of being unloved or unwanted, of being cut off from society.

CWs: isolation, solitary confinement, memory loss.

The Tundra, a mighty vessel of a freighter ship, pitches and sways lazily in the waves just beyond Jack's Marina.

Workers bustle to and fro on the deck of the ship, but for all the quiet that hangs heavy like a shroud, you almost wouldn't know it. Your work is mundane, menial, repetitive. Isolating, above all else--- there are no tasks that would require any more than two sets of hands. Your voice and face betray you in equal parts, leaving you as cold and still as the waters that stretch between you and Pumpkin Hollow. You may look at your crew-mates, but you are a world away from them, and they the same to you. Should you try to find a way to close those distances and get caught, punishments are swift, harsh, and show you that you can become yet more alone, when you're abandoned in the brig.

Complaints go to the feedback box only. Your captain won't be seeing you any time soon. Best that you sort things out on your own.

Should you not be fit to work, you'll instead find yourself on the beaches of Marrow Isle, or on the sloping cliffs of the Bluffs. Here, you can speak, you can cry out, you can do anything that you like - but why would you bother? You're alone. You can't even properly keep yourself company, with the way your memories of everything at all wash in and out, like waves that lap against the shore. You may think that, once, you were someone. But maybe you never really were anyone at all. Maybe you've always been destined for this. Maybe things are better this way.

It hurts, but it's comfortable. You were made for this. It's something you've always known, but never wanted to admit, isn't it?

You were destined to be alone.

THE END | Fall's Promise Cemetery

Also called "Terminus" or just "Death". Represents the fear of dying, especially painfully, as well as the fear of what comes after (or lack thereof, in some cases). Its victims and its servants alike tend to be those who have had close calls or near-death experiences, if they survive at all.

CWs: existential dread, mortality in general - specific CWs will vary per prompt.

Falling flat on your back, you hit cold earth. The scent of grave dirt fills your nostrils. Looking up, you see a gray and dreary sky, and six feet of sheer earthen walls.

You’re in Fall’s Promise Cemetery, in a grave marked for you. It’s awkward, but easier than you expected to get free and climb up onto the graveyard lawn. All around you, you see headstones over open graves, bearing the names of your friends, your neighbors.

Leave the cemetery. There’s nothing stopping you but the fence, but it’s easy enough to hop. Suspiciously so, in fact. Except the moment your feet hit the ground on the other side, you find yourself somewhere new.

What is it about death that scares you the most? Not the temporary deaths within the barrier, per se, but true death? Is it the pain, the suffering, the feeling of your life slipping away? A certain scene, perhaps, the idea of dying in a particular way. Gunned down, drowned, burned alive, torn to pieces in some strange, inexplicable way, or the helplessness of simply fading away in a hospital bed. Some fear less death itself, but what comes after. Eternal punishment, the unknown, or nothing at all--- a complete cessation of existence. Even if you believe in paradise, there’s always everything you leave behind to think about. Or maybe it’s just time. The memory of you, and all that you were, fading into obscurity, until no one remembers your name or your face.

Whatever it is, the scenario you wander into is tailored specifically to the source of that terror. Illness, violence, oblivion, a legacy left unmade, the mourning of your loved ones, the End has dreamed up a way for you to live through it--- and die through it. Sometimes these scenes will mutate, fuse with that of your neighbor, creating a mode of mutual destruction designed to creep into your soul, pry loose your deepest terror, and then end your life… for now. It only takes a few hours before you live once more, a gift that you can keep if and only if you manage to escape. But rest assured, it will not be easy, and it will not happen on your first time through this domain. Your life comes to its sordid end, and you fade into a dark and dreadful silence.

Falling flat on your back, you hit cold earth. The scent of grave dirt fills your nostrils. Looking up, you see a gray and dreary sky, and six feet of sheer earthen walls.

You’re in Fall’s Promise Cemetery, in a grave marked for you.

DOWNTOWN HOLLOW

THE STRANGER | Greater Downtown Hollow

Also called "I Do Not Know You". The fear of the uncanny valley, things that are almost human but not quite, perversions of the human form, and existential dread regarding identity and selfhood.

CWs: mutilation, dismemberment, body horror, depersonalization, unreality.

The streets of Downtown Hollow are bustling, just as before. Festival banners flutter in the breeze and carnival barkers shout on every corner, peddling their wares. But something has changed. Something doesn’t feel right. Everything feels wrong.

Were people’s eyes always that dark? Were their limbs always that long? Were their voices always that stilted? Surely these buildings weren’t always made of plaster. These doors opened once. But then again, how can you be sure you’re even opening it right? Are you even sure of what a door handle is supposed to look like? Are you sure that’s your hand reaching for it?

On the wind, you can hear the shrieking sound of a steam organ. And you don’t know why, but it fills you with the deepest dread.

Shambling mannequins, grotesque automatons, wax figures, and sawdust-stuffed dolls haunt the streets of Downtown Hollow, wearing faces that don’t belong to them and don’t fit them right. It’s hard for your eyes to perceive the faces of other real people correctly as well, with those that you come across looking distorted to you somehow. And all the shops are selling the same sort of things--- parts of people. Skin, and faces especially, names, memories, personalities, even souls. How does one buy a soul? Why, simply trade yours in. This one’s an antique. Or maybe it’s shiny and new. What’s in a name, anyway? Maybe you even spot something for sale that belongs to someone you know. Or knew. Your mother’s name at a booth, your ex lover’s heart in a glass case, the face of a friend who died long ago hung on a wire like a piece of drying meat.

If you’re unlucky, you might even see something you’re sure was once yours.

Was it, though? It’s hard to tell. The creatures wandering the street are prone to grabbing people at random, dragging them screaming off the streets and peeling away flesh and identity and reason until you’re as stripped bare of identity as they are. Can you even remember your name? Is the face you have the one you started with? It’s oh so hard to be sure. But surely someone now, aren’t you?

If you don’t have a “you” to trade for something new, that’s alright. Find a knife, a razor, a shard of glass. Carve yourself a new self at the pumpkin-carving station, or assert yourself in the pecking order. You’re just as capable of taking what you want, just as surely as any silly clown doll, aren’t you?

THE WEB | Greymare Library and Town Hall

Sometimes called "The Spider" or "The Mother of Puppets". This in part the fear of spiders themselves, but also the fear of being caught in someone else's web. The fear of being manipulated by someone else or having your actions controlled, being part of someone's master plan.

CWs: manipulation, loss of bodily autonomy, public humiliation.

The Mother of Puppets thrives on the illusion of choice. And as such, her domain features two charming venues for your perusal.

The first is the Black Widow Library. Greymare? No, you must be mistaken. This expansive institution is filled to the brim with tomes. But you feel particularly drawn to one, your hand lifting to take it almost instinctually. As you hold it in your hands, you feel a dread you cannot explain. What’s there to be afraid of? It’s just a book. Open it. Despite the way your stomach knots, and terror floods your brain so acutely that you feel lightheaded, you crack apart the cover, and read.

This is a story about you.

Your eyes pour over the text, absorbing information voraciously as some sordid tale featuring you as the protagonist spills out over the page. A knife raised in anger. A relapse into a toxic habit. An act of violence upon your own person. Whatever the tale is, you frantically scan the page, unable to stop until you know what happens next. When you finally lift your eyes from the page and snap back to reality, you find that the dreadful story has come to pass. Except for the last line of the book. ”Our hero, seeking solace from the terrible tragedy, reaches up to select a book from the library shelf…”

If you’re not in the mood to read, perhaps some bureaucracy in action will prove more interesting. You are in Town Hall, which is utterly packed today, knowing that today is the deadline to get your papers done. What papers? What are they for? It doesn’t matter. You need them. Otherwise, there could be consequences. What are they? Maybe a fine, or jail time, or worse. You’d rather not imagine what “worse” could mean.

The lines are insanely long, and the stress you feel is immense. How long will this take? Will you even have time to get your papers done today? Maybe you should come back. No, no, the lines could be longer if you do that. You have to stay and stick this out. You cannot afford to be late on this.

At last, you reach the front of the line. Your legs are weary as the disinterested receptionist listens to your request, produces a form, asks you a series of increasingly invasive questions. You feel like you could have written all this in yourself, but you can’t say anything. What if you can’t get any help because you protested? You answer the questions under duress, but you answer them all the same. Your stomach tightens. The receptionist hands you the form and instructs you to go to another room. You helplessly move on to a waiting room, taking a number and sitting again for hours, weighing the misery of being here against the anxiety of not knowing what might be next, or whether it’s worse than whatever punishment you might face for not having your papers done.

You spend an impossibly long amount of time being shuffled from room to room, queue to queue, asked to do increasingly ridiculous, inane, or degrading things in order to get yet another bit of documentation before being sent somewhere else. Sometimes you’re told you did something wrong, and you have to go back, and wasted all that time waiting. Each time, you feel utterly obligated to comply. What choice have you got? The instructions only continue to escalate, from humiliating and violating to repugnant and cruel. The longer it goes on, the clearer it becomes that this place and these people can do whatever they want to you. And there is nothing you can do to stop them.

THE CORRUPTION | All Pumpkin Hollow Clinics

Also known as "The Crawling Rot", "The Flesh Hive," or sometimes simply "Filth." This represents the fear of corruption of bodies and spaces via disease, rot, insects, mold, and other things evoking feelings of deep disgust. The fear of unsanitary or revolting things. While this fear is almost always extremely literal, it can sometimes also manifest as toxic love.

CWs: parasitism, illness (recoverable and terminal), allusions to hospice abuse, medical abuse, trypophobia, insects (dead and alive + swarms), unsanitary conditions, body horror, disease, rot and decay.

The small clinics of Pumpkin Hollow have been linked together intrinsically by the crawling contagion, forming the labyrinthine halls of what has become Pumpkin Hollow's very own Jane's Grace Medical Center.

Each smaller facility has become a wing of this hospital, and all the patients are very, very ill. Diseases the likes of which have never been seen on the island have their hooks in any person unfortunate enough to have encountered someone contagious, and even still, they spread like wildfire, clashing together inside ailing bodies on hospital beds to create new, stronger plagues to stand the test of time. The sick wards are filled with those ailing, stretchers lining the halls outside of wards too full to accommodate them; patients weep, groan, scream in their agonies, while weeping rashes spread, sores bleed, wounds infect, and the stench of decay and death permeate every hall.

Doctors, some familiar faces, others covered by far too many medical masks to reveal any discernible features, will do their very best to see to it that they're able to treat these poor people. Contaminated implements, with normal sterilization procedures proving impossible, will simply have to do.

The lucky ones among the patients are simply sick. Some even more fortunate than that are delirious with illness, barely able to understand what is happening to them. Those with less luck are so very aware, or worse yet, become infested with any of the crawling, skittering masses that squirm their way between bedposts and tools alike. Skin bulges with scabies, pinholes spread as strange worms find new homes, and bedbugs chew beneath the bed-ridden bodies of those too ill to leave them.

The most unfortunate ones, deemed incurable, are placed where the hopeful few can't see their fate. A hospice wing for those "terminal" few, where any who know them are assured they will rest easy for the last of their scant few days.

Deathless as this place is, the dying do not die. Instead, their festering, weak bodies are piled into beds together, and they are forgotten. No matter how the rot takes them--- skin sloughing away, organs failing, joints collapsing--- they will never truly die.

There is an abundance of suffering to go around, but one question yet remains: are you a doctor, or a patient?

THE SPIRAL | The Oak & Iron

Also called "It Is Not What It Is" or "The Twisting Deceit." It is the fear of madness, losing one's grip on reality, being gaslit, deception of the mind and the senses. Manifests as hallucinations or illusions and can cause victims to improperly perceive time. A common appearance is that of a door that should not be where it is and impossible spaces, as well as fractal images.

CWs: unreality, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, gaps in memory, madness, self injury (mild).

Welcome to the Oak & Iron! Finally, someplace familiar. The lovely timber, stucco, and steel building where you spent your earliest days and coldest nights in Pumpkin Hollow. The cozy interior welcomes you warmly. An unfamiliar receptionist works the counter--- a woman with the curliest hair you’ve ever seen in your life, dizzying amber eyes, and a dazzling smile.

You’ve lost your home in a terrible apocalypse again? Oh no, how dreadful. You poor dear. Well don’t worry, we’ve got you covered. Room and board is on town hall again, don’t you fret. Here’s your key. Your room is just down the hall. Go and get settled, love, you’re going to be just fine.

Everything is going to be fine.

You wander down the hallway. Then another, and another, and another. You’re sure the building didn’t used to be this big. Where is your room? You look at your key again, and it seems like somehow you missed it, even though you’re sure you were checking each number. You double back. This hallway seems different. Did you go the wrong way? No, it can’t be, you just came from this door. But this can’t be right. You turn around again, and the door you’d just come through is gone.

Okay, well, clearly you just got turned around. It’s okay. It’s fine. You keep going, looking for another door. You check your key again. The number isn’t what you remember it being. When did your fingernails get so messed up? It almost looks like you were… digging, at one of the doors. When did that happen?

Somehow, you end up back at the front desk. The woman there offers to help you find your room and you are just so incredibly grateful--- but as you’re looking, you accidentally become separated from her. How could you be so careless? Where did she go? She was right behind you. Where is this goddamn room?!

You find the woman again, frantic now and exhausted from wandering. She calms you down, gets you some water, assures you it’s all going to be okay. You must just be so tired. “Don’t worry, darling. We’ll find it together.”

THE DESOLATION | Larkin Estate

Also called "The Lightless Flame," "The Blackened Earth," or "Asag." This is the fear of pain, agony, random destruction, loss, and burning. It often manifests in the form of destructive fire and things associated with it. Forest or house fires, destruction of potential, loss of loved ones, sabotage of success, and severe burn wounds are common. Its victims tend to lose the things they love most or die before realizing their potential, as well as come to harm by literal fire.

CWs: burning, suffocation, potential animal endangerment, entrapment, unreality, the potential for loss and grief.

Smoke sears your throats and stings at your eyes as you stumble your way through the Larkin Estate, granted the elegance it once had, only with intention to take it away again.

Tonight is the night that the estate burned, collapsing in on itself, bright and burning, like a dying star. You are dressed to the nines in formal-wear that hardly befits you, and regardless of where you find yourself--- guest rooms, servant's quarters, the grand dining room--- you can hear the fire roaring just down the hall, growing ever-closer with every passing moment. None of the windows will open, not even enough to let some of the smoke pour out of the burning home. Impact shatters them, but by the time you move to climb out of it, the glass has returned. The doorknob sears the flesh of your palm when you try to open it to escape.

Worse yet, over the flames, you hear them.

People you know, people you love, perhaps even people who shouldn't be here, scream in the distant manor, begging for help, calling out to you. They're always just out of reach, should you brave the flames that destroy your flesh down to the bone; no matter how you try, you'll hear them consumed by fire, over and over again, just as you are. You do not know if your pets or Pokémon are here, just as you are, or if they're hidden away in the home, but the unknown in that makes it all the worse. Everything you know, everything you've worked for, everything you love, ends here. Your future and everything it could have held is cut off, here and now, in an uncaring, hungry inferno.

But perhaps you escape from your room, and the flames aren't able to catch you before you flee from them. Maybe you're able to find a part of the estate that's yet to catch fire, and your burns have time to begin to heal. Maybe you find other survivors in the calamity.

Peace is granted to be taken away. Collapsing beams will separate you, and the fire spreads relentlessly, seeming to only burn hotter and more viciously the second a piece of hope enters your mind.

All will be consumed by desolation until nothing but ash remains.

THE EYE | Pumpkin Hollow Clock Tower and Surrounding Area

Also known as "The Beholding" or "Ceaseless Watcher". The fear of being watched, stalked, followed, or exposed. Fear of a lack of privacy, fear of judgement from others. Fear of knowledge that could destroy you, and obsession with knowing. Manifests in the form of any eye, either real or symbolic. This can include drawings or photos of eyes, mirror images, camera lenses, and more. Its victims usually have experiences related to being watched intently, followed by unseen eyes, or other similar experiences.

CWs: scopophobia, stalking, paranoia, invasions of privacy, feelings of being watched or spied on, aggressive surveillance, maiming.

The heavy gears of the Pumpkin Hollow clock tower tick heavily, but remain unseen, in this monument of scrutiny.

Each level, once largely empty aside from scaffolding and staircases, is now a maze. Towering marble, austere and polished to perfection, is woven together with clear glass to create tight corridors. Cameras, befittingly old but strange no less, are perched in every corner of the room - and as soon as one becomes visible, the dreadful sensation that they know everything about you begins to sink in. These cameras not only watch your efforts, but they know you, all the way down to your core. Every foul thought, every cruel secret, every lie; everything is catalogued by some unseen force, one that will gladly expose what you truly are to the world.

The only way to escape this is to find your way out of the maze. The glass walls of the tower offer no suggestions, no hints, and the watchful eyes of the crowds below have nothing to give you, just the same. The only thing they cast your way is judgement for any single movement.

You aren't alone in this tower, no matter how high up you climb. Be it through one of the many glass panels in the maze, or finding someone in your corridor, you may find a fellow detainee. You may be able to help one another to escape this place faster with two brains, two sets of eyes...

Except, of course, that this person will learn your darkest secret the second you meet each other's gaze.

Those who are outside the tower fair no better. Searching spotlights will find you just as you feel as though you've managed to hide from them, drawing the attention of the watchful crowds that fill this place, full of shrouded figures who's only discernible feature are their bright, watchful eyes of countless numbers. Those closer to escape, reaching the outskirts that lead to other domains, will find these crowds thinned, will find a new threat: cameras, boxy and clumsy, skitter along on clattering tripods, roving in packs. Should they spot you, they will descend upon you, their sharp stands maiming you in their attempts to drag you back, and their lenses pressed close to your face, shutters snapping loudly as they drink in every moment of your terror.

Don't count on escaping without being seen. Your hope is better placed in hoping that whoever sees you will be trying to avoid your attention, just the same.

Northwest Hollow

THE SLAUGHTER | The Farmlands

Fear of random, unpredictable outbursts of violence, pain, and death. Its most common manifestation is that of war and combat. However, it can apply to any form of random or mass violence.

CWs: war, gunfights, torture, harm of civilians in a war-zone, gore, loss of bodily autonomy, fits of unprovoked violence, military brutality, hypnosis.

The heartbeat in your ears thunders like the drums of war as you rush into the fields of battle, the weapon in your hand now a cruel extension of your own body.

Gunfire rains down upon you and your brethren, but no matter how many times you are mowed down, no matter how many bullet holes sear through your flesh and organs, you continue to rise to the occasion, over and over and over again. Your enemies have found you again, and they will see nothing short of your new home torn to pieces or burned to the ground. The only thing standing between your comrades and total destruction is your tools and your will to cut them down without reservation.

The sidelines of battle host only an illusion of being any safer than the battles themselves. Little farmhouses can only offer so much safety in the wake of stray bullets or carelessly-tossed explosives. Worse yet, they often become a target; how long will it take until the enemies set their sights upon one, to beat those inside within an inch of their lives, or shove a weapon into their hands, forcing them to take up arms against their own friends, neighbors, family?

Should the war drums in their chest be overwhelmed by the sounds of beating drums from the battlefield, maybe the weapon in their hands will no longer be an unwelcome addition.

The war is eternal, and your desire for blood to be spilled is insatiable.

THE VAST | Ripjaw Falls and the Black Jade Sea

Also known as the "Falling Titan" or simply "Vertigo". It is the fear of heights, falling, endlessness, and the existential dread associated with inconceivably large spaces like the open sky, the depths of the sea, and the entirety of the universe. It also addresses the fear and despair surrounding being very small in comparison with grander things so as to be pointless or infinitesimal.

CWs: megalophobia, thalassophobia, heights, very large open spaces, existential dread, infinitesimality, natural disasters.

Occupying a section of sea that looks far greater than it is and the bluffs which overlook it is the domain of the Vast. Stone to your back and toes hanging off the edge, whipping wind steals your breath as you try to inhale. Don’t panic, don’t scream, don’t look down, lest you tumble in to meet your fate on the rocks below. You’ve never seen Ripjaw Falls this close up before, have you?

The dreamlike quality of this miniature apocalypse tricks your mind, lengthening the drop. Below you, jagged rocks that ache upwards, entreating you to break your body, or a deep and dark sea. Above you, a ravenous, cloudless sky. Stand on the ledge until your legs fail you or bite the bullet and leap right in--- you can fall into either. Fall up forever into the endless blue or down, down into unfathomable ocean depths where air is always just out of reach.

If you wander into this domain from elsewhere, don’t worry; your helpful host Avatar will make sure you end up where you’re meant to. Maybe if you’re particularly unfortunate, you’ll be present when she brings about the collision of Concorde with her own Dark Planet--- a colossal rogue planet with a churning surface of hungry black and phthalo blue, consuming the entire sky until it leans in close to kiss the surface of the Earth on which you stand. There is nowhere to run. The collision is imminent. You have no choice but to be consumed by the inky surface, and find yourself afloat in the immense vacuum of space. Stars burn impossibly far away. You could float for a thousand years and never find solid ground, and you have never felt so small.

If you’re lucky, you’ll find someone to float with you in any of these spaces. It offers little solace. Pray that the endless expanse doesn’t see fit to rip you apart.

Northern Wilds

THE HUNT | Hatchet Lake and Surrounding Woodlands

Another fear born from that of animals, this is the fear of being prey or being chased by a relentless, violent pursuer. Manifests as predatory animals and monsters, animalistic tendencies and characteristics, and hunting of all sorts.

(CWs: violent pursuit, predatory behavior, animalistic urges, betrayal, violence with intent to kill, may include use of weaponry including knives and guns.)

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit,

Run, run, run!

It does not matter if you've been dropped in the woodlands behind Leeds Estate alone, or if you've been dropped with comrades. There are glaring truths that rule this place, and as soon as dead leaves crunch beneath your shoes, you know them implicitly.

One: You are being pursued.

Two: Everything that chases you is faster than you, stronger than you, smarter than you.

Three: You have done something wrong, and this misstep has not gone unnoticed.

Monsters in strange shapes and human forms alike prowl these woods, and running among them, you may find yourself changing, just the same. Rustling foliage and glimpses of bright eyes catching moonlight prevent you from ever truly being able to take a break, and every moment has the capability to be a fight for your life.

The options before anyone trapped here are laid out clearly: stay and fight, show anything that would dare challenge you that you are the apex predator here, or run, and save your fight for another day. Hunting or running in a pair or a pack poses it's own challenges; after all, won't the people nearest to you be able to see your weaknesses? Won't they kill you when they get the chance, to bolster their own chances? This, of course, is if you don't try to kill them first.

If the worst comes to pass, and something incapacitates you, don't worry. You won't go to waste. The Flesh Domain you'll be dragged to will see to it that no part goes unused, and once they're done, you'll be right back to play hide and seek all over again.

THE FLESH | Leeds Estate

Also occasionally referred to as "Viscera". This is a strange Fear that is primarily born of livestock animals and their fear of butchery. However, this also has expanded into human fears such as the existential dread of just being electrified meat, gore, body horror, and other more subtle fears and discomforts with one's body or physicality in general.

(CWs: body horror, gore, cannibalism, meat processing, dismemberment, torture, force-feeding, disordered eating.)

The stench of iron invades your nostrils as soon as you register your surroundings. Whether this is where you originally came to, or you were dragged into the belly of Leeds Estate from the Hunting Grounds out back, the first thought is always the same--- it reeks here. The second thing you register is the screaming, and the buzzing of sawblades.

Normally, Leeds Estate is immune to these types of horrors somehow, and serves as a safehouse in the event of emergency. This time, however, is different. After all, how could the House of the Dark Feast not entertain such a kindred guest as the Flesh?

The basement, which once held a lavish wine cellar, now is home to masked butchers and mechanical meat saws. Livestock are strapped to tables or suspended on hooks, where toothy rotary blades, bone saws, and wicked cleavers carve them apart, all while they are still alive. Layers of flesh are peeled back from bone, organs discarded, hunks of meat chopped into bite sized chunks, all while the livestock are awake, aware, and screaming. And in between cuts, the butchers sort the cuts of meat, critiquing them aloud, pointing out all manner of flaws. But these livestock are not cattle or sheep--- they’re people. And you’re next.

Once you’re stripped sufficiently bare, you’re set aside, body hurled into a “resting room” where you and countless others like you lie in a heap, waiting for your spent bodies to slowly, painfully regenerate. Maybe if you’re particularly unfortunate, your body will heal wrong, and fuse with that of your neighbor into some unholy abomination. It’s also possible that instead of the resting room, you’re merely discarded out the back door, where a Hunt domain offers new horrors that may very well land you right back here.

If you don’t end up as livestock, there’s a chance you are condemned to another fate--- one that is a different flavor of awful, emphasis on “flavor.” Upstairs, there is a dinner party being hosted by one Olivia Fleischmann, a Flesh Avatar and Infernal Servant of Aster. Gathered around the dinner table in evening-wear, goggle-eyed diners eagerly await plates full of meat, fresh from the butchers downstairs. They sit around Olivia’s table, speechless, shoveling their food into their mouths. Unable to stop themselves, and unable to ever shake that gnawing, aching hunger in their bellies, they inhale meal after meal after meal. You can be one of the insatiable few invited up to the dinner table as well, if that would suit you better. It’ll surely be a dining experience that you will never forget.

THE DARK | Lockwood Forest

An extremely old and deep fear of darkness, the unknown, and things that lurk out of sight in the darkness. Also sometimes called "Mr. Pitch" or "The Forever Blind". Often manifests as profound, endless darkness, shadowy figures, monsters that hide in shadow, deep and dark bodies of water and blindness.

(CWs: unreality, extreme darkness, hallucination.)

Once upon a time, there was a forest, dark and deep. The pine trees were as tall as a hundred men and covered the rolling hills and mountains with thousands of angry green teeth that cursed the sky and shrouded the land. And, most notably, it was laid with a blanket of eternal night. It was a cursed land, where the sun never rose and moons hid their faces.

This is where you find yourself now.

When you open your eyes, you almost can’t trust that you actually did so until you blink a few times. It is impossibly dark. So dark, and so sudden, that you feel alarm rising in your throat immediately. How did this happen?

You stumble in any direction and reach out, trying to get your bearings. Leaves and brush crunch beneath your feet, and your hands find their way to something--- a rough, cylindrical surface. A tree?

You look around, but to no avail. You still can’t see anything, it’s just an impulse. If you continue stumbling, you’ll find more trees. More brush, low lying plants, things of the like. Take care not to trip over rocks. It’s not hard to suss out that this is Lockwood Forest. But why is it so dark? Tipping your head up, you find that you can’t see the stars, or any of Concorde’s three moons. How could this happen?

Something snaps behind you. A broken twig. What was that? Far off in another direction, you could swear you hear a growl. The longer you try to see, the more your eyes play tricks. This is distinct from the simplistic, comfortable darkness of closed or even damaged eyes. This is the infinite, wide-eyed, disorienting blackness of the Forever Dark. And in that awful dark, your eyes begin tricking themselves into seeing shapes. Movements. And the sounds do not help. You need to get out of here.

Stumbling through the shadows, you go on and on, becoming wearier and more disoriented. Any time you stop to rest, you have no more than a few minutes before you hear something else. Breathing. A heartbeat. The sound of jaws opening. The crunch of leaves underfoot. Is it a person? Is it a beast? You can’t tell. You can’t leave it to chance. But as time trudges on you begin to feel a dread settle over you. One that says you could wander these blackened woods for a century and then ten more and never, ever find your way out. Surely it’s been hours now. Days, maybe. And yet, the dawn never breaks.

Every so often, you think you catch just the faintest glimpse of light. A shred of moonlight or the flicker of a candle flame. The first time you see it, it comes as a relief. An allusion to progress or rescue, perhaps. But once you see what it is the light catches, you are sure you were far better off without. There are things in these woods that want to harm you. You can only dream up what they might look like as a whole, but what you’ve seen can mean nothing good. You need to get out.

Good luck with that, though.

THE BURIED | Crane's Ridge Caverns

Also known as "Choke" or "Too Close I Cannot Breathe". Claustrophobia, the fear of being trapped without enough space, suffocation, being buried alive or drowning, or otherwise being crushed.

(CWs: claustrophobia, limited air, possible mutilation by crushing, intense hopelessness and despair.)

The caves of Crane's Ridge, though once thought to be almost entirely known known, now stretch eternally into the darkest recesses of Concorde.

This far below the surface of the world, you can feel it. How the planet breathes, like the rising and falling of a chest, an eternal rhythm unseen by the rest of the world. In these tight, ever-narrowing passages, the world's inhale crushes you, pinning you into place. Bones bend, fracture, break, circulation cuts off. You are in a snare of stone, mud, and soil, of dust and debris that threaten to fill your throat and eyes, suffocating and eternal. And yet, every time you begin to lose hope for finding your freedom, the world exhales at last. The walls grant you small freedoms. You are able to squirm, crawl, sink nails into hard soil and drag yourself, given these fleeting hopes of escape. For some, maybe they will find themselves in a new cavern, wide enough to stand, air scarce and stale. For those less fortunate, maybe they're only granted enough time to reposition themselves.

Whatever the case may be, the world will find a way to bear down upon all beneath its surface again with merciless force. If the stone, dirt, and mud are not able to crush you, the burdens of the world above that you cannot escape from will feel that much more present, and threaten to smother you under their weight just the same.

Perhaps you're one of the fortunate few who seems to have found a light at the end of the tunnel. Whether it be a fellow victim in this inescapable place, or a literal light at the end of the tunnel, maybe you've found some glimpse of freedom. All silver linings come with a catch, however; mudslides and earthquakes will drag you back down into the darkest recesses that you'd just managed to claw your way out of, and other people, desperate to attempt to escape with you, may pull you back in just the same, like crabs in a bucket.

You are stranded, Forever Deep Below Creation, and the longer you are here, the more the sun and the sky begin to feel like nothing more than a distant dream.

THE EXTINCTION | The Train

Also referred to as "The Future Without Us". This is a relatively new Fear that plays off of several others, but has begun to establish itself as unique as environmental issues and weapons of mass destruction become more of a pressing issue. It is the fear of apocalypse, of a mass extinction event created by human hands through violence or negligence.

(CWs: apocalypse, environmental destruction due to human behavior, human extermination, existential dread.)

There is a place where you can be safe from all this terror. You’ve seen the smoke signals, the flares up on the mountain’s peak. Emergency signals. Safety.

But how to get up there? The mountain itself is a domain until right near the peak. One owned by an entity that threatens to suck you beneath Cranes Ridge if you try to travel through it. So, you must take the train. Probably for the best--- no matter where you are in town, the journey to the South Station where the Hunt and Stranger domains meet was most assuredly a long and dangerous one.

There is someone already here, finding himself in the very front of the train---- Edgar, one of the young fellows from Baker Ranch. It is still, and seems unimpacted by whatever it is that’s going on. Maybe it’s an extension of the safe zone? It seems like the only thing amiss here is that it’s surprisingly full of garbage. Far more of it is plastic than seems appropriate for the location, and there seems to be some foul smelling liquid on the ground in a few cars. Oil? How odd. But it is otherwise empty, and cold.

After some fiddling with the controls however, it almost seems like the train might be non-functional. Until, of course, Edgar tries his hand. For some reason, the train will only run for him. But that could mean nothing.

Of course, it doesn’t. As soon as the train leaves the station, a belch of unruly, stinking smoke coughs out of the stack, followed by an excessive billowing forth of black and choking smog. Coal burns angrily within the engine, and the windows of each car begin to display visions of a terrible future. One where the land decays, burns, and freezes over with endless snow. Where oil and smoke and chemicals poison the land and kill everything in sight. Trash piles take human forms and attack passengers, spilled oil bubbles, smog rushes in through cracked windows to choke those inside. Riders are overcome with the feeling that this train and everyone on it are personally responsible for the death of the world. And none feel this more deeply than Edgar himself.

As soon as the train stops, however, the visions do as well. That’s a relief. It seems as though the Extinction’s youth as a Fear makes it less effective as some of its siblings. However, it does remain the only somewhat-safe way up to the top of the mountain. And it can only be run by one person--- the person most deeply impacted by the onset of the Extinction’s terror.

It seems as though the Future Without Us will make itself an Avatar yet.

THE SAFE ZONE

Regardless of if your freedom was hard-fought by trying to escape from the grasp of the Fears, or if you were plucked by an unseen hand and brought here for your own good, there is safety at the summit of Crane's Ridge.

It's a small foothold near the peak of the mountain, only enough for a small collection of people, but here, the terror that has swallowed the rest of the island cannot reach you. Wounds can begin to truly heal, both mental and physical, and the sky is clear, dotted with glimmering stars. All three of Concorde's moons shine above; with the way so many of the domains obscure the sky, this is the first time you've been able to see it clearly. It's difficult to enjoy such a beautiful night with the sounds of torment echoing out down below, of course. But at least, for the moment, you are safe.

Survival is no given here, as well; fires are lit and tended to keep people warm, and supplies to tend wounds are scarce. Survivalism skills here are more valuable than ever before.

Fortunately, with some reach there, Celestine, who admits to being the one who plucked certain unfortunate souls out of the start of the fray, can aid with the worst of it. But with the Barrier trapping the Fears inside as much as it prevents her reach fully inside, there's only so much she can offer to the few who have escaped towards her safety towards the sky.

Even with the hardships, though, the peak of this mountain holds a glimmer of hope. With any luck yet, together, those free from the Fears' grasp can keep each other alive until the calamity ends.

General OOC Information

Life Within the Fear Domains

It is important to note that the Fifteen Fears are derived from primal, existential, universal things that all living creatures have wired into their brain to some degree, as a matter of survival. They are based on not only the fears of human adults, but animals, and even children. As such, they are adaptable. They are capable of flexing and adapting to suit your terror. They don’t just feed on fear. They are fear. And as such, they know exactly what shape to take in order to cut to the heart of your terror.

That said, you must put your character in a situation they are meaningfully afraid of, or opt out. It’s not feasible to spend this entire event completely unafraid and in control of the situation, nor is it canon-compliant to TMA. (Avatars may be partially exempt from this, but it’s complicated---- see the Avatar section for details.) No-sells, moments of personal triumph, overcoming the Fears in their own domain, or avoiding a character’s personal terrors wholesale are not suitable for this event, and the event itself may not be suitable for certain characters as a result. If that’s something you want for the future, let’s do a rain check! But in this specific situation, fear is the goal. Opted out characters do play an important role in assisting and caring for new arrivals to the safe-zone and will be prioritized for interactions with Celestine, so please let me know if this is your plan!

Because of the dreamlike quality of the Fears and how that interacts with the barrier, for the duration of this event, (almost) no one is capable of completely dying. Instead, you will be able to sustain impossibly grave injuries and remain alive, allowed to slowly regenerate if you remain at rest long enough, keep going as normal despite the damage, or even simply reset to hale and whole in a blink, all in the name of reliving the torment. The only exception is the End.

Those who find themselves in the End and have it as a key source of their terror will be offered the opportunity for a rare ability--- to respawn from death in as little as three hours for the duration of the barrier. However, because this is a very generous gift, it comes with a high cost. Each cycle through the End’s gauntlet of deadly visions will be a chance to escape, but leaves victims with a new, carried-over injury. Players MUST roll a 17 or higher on a D20, or repeat the cycle. There are no modifiers--- the End adjusts to meet you at your level. You don’t necessarily have to write out every cycle, provided that you thread out at least a little bit, but you should make some narrative decisions as to injuries, scars, and exciting new traumas your character sustained during each cycle. You do not have to try for the bonus if the dice rolls are kicking your ass, but you do have to keep every attempt that you make canon. Additionally, it should be noted that this is NOT the same as becoming an End Avatar, although they can be linked. Characters who receive the bonus do get to keep it until the barrier goes down, but will feel a persistent, creeping anxiety about the barrier’s fall and the possibility of death returning, culminating in a profound terror when the barrier does indeed go down. The Fears don’t do anything to help anyone without a cost, after all.

Becoming an Avatar

Something that is possible within the Magnus Archives universe is becoming an Avatar of one of the Fears. This is when a person makes an agreement with one of these entities, accepting power from that Fear’s domain and becoming an extension of it, which can happen after prolonged supernatural exposure. It typically only happens to those with a strong predisposition towards it for one reason or another. Examples include things like aligning with one Fear that feels “safer” in order to protect oneself from another, or developing a relationship with a Fear that thrills you rather than being solely frightening, makes you feel important or powerful, or has a symbolic connection to you and your personal history.

This is effectively a deal with the devil--- accepting it does make you much more difficult to kill, and gives you thematically appropriate powers that often have a lot of utility, but it also means becoming an extension of that Fear and abandoning your humanity. In the podcast, Avatars have a biological obligation to feed terror to their patron by terrorizing people deliberately, and this remains true of Avatars that are present or created during this event. Once the incursion ends, it won’t be a requirement, but the temptation will be incredibly pressing, and you will find yourself handsomely rewarded for feeding what feeds you. Those who serve their patrons even in their absence will find their powers expanding, their physical strength increased, and their mood lifted. It’s amazing what a good meal can do for you!

In order to become an Avatar, there’s a few things that one should consider. It’s possible to functionally have an Avatar role over the course of the event, but shed it when the Fears leave. However, if you decide to carry it with you into the rest of the game, it is not reversible after this point. Additionally, becoming an Avatar is always consensual. Even if you don’t fully understand the gravity of what is happening or how it will impact you going forward, Avatarhood is always a deliberate choice. It involves a death of the self, whether that is a “death” of the body that marks the moment of transition or whether it is an ego death, this plot beat is a requirement in TMA canon, and thus is required here. Becoming an Avatar leaves you forever changed. And lastly, it should be thematically appropriate. It’s important to consider that you are becoming an embodiment of fear--- Desolation Avatars aren’t fire itself, but the fear of fire and everything that goes with it, for example. Even if something seems symbolically connected to an aspect of your character, it’s important to consider that terror is ultimately the linchpin of being an Avatar, which may be in conflict with other aspects of your character. Someone with a relationship with Mortanne, for instance, and an avatar of the End would find that they have little in common despite the shared motifs. If you’re not sure, reach out! Talk to a canon-familiar mod today to see if becoming an Avatar is right for you!

And lastly, becoming an Avatar isn’t an immediate given. It’s usually a process. In this case it’s expedited by the intensity of the miniature apocalypse, but it should still be something that one grows into with key character moments. As such, we’re asking that the change not be hand waved--- please make sure you write something out! Incorporating it into a thread is strongly preferred, but a solo writing piece such as a top-level feature may also be appropriate depending on the situation. Have fun experimenting with evil powers!

The Aftermath

Since the incursion is mostly an overlaying of dream logic with reality, townsfolk will find their environment has mostly gone back to a surprising degree of normal when the switch abruptly flips off at midnight on Halloween. However, everyone will reappear wherever they were the moment the incursion started, but in whatever physical condition the incident left them. This may result in a large amount of very abrupt deaths, so have fun with that! Those in the safe zone will be able to visibly see the change revert back from their vantage point on Crane’s Ridge.

Additionally, the train will also go back to normal, except when it is being driven by Edgar. That certainly can’t mean anything bad or scary at all.

Happy Halloween!

SEEMINGLY'S REVENGE

Places, places, everyone

There is always a tension that lingers over the town when there’s been a long period of peace. A cursed island never truly is peaceful, of course. Horrors will always lurk in hidden corners, hiding in the darkness, waiting for easy prey. But it’s been too long since something truly dreadful has happened. The fae circus hardly counts --- with its games and treats and displays of wonder, having a few wicked frights and cruel illusions was just balance. No, the eerie silence from the Infernal Realm since the fall of Efrain cannot mean anything good. Soon, something will have to give.

And at last, one day, it does.

{ Canonically, this event is four weeks long, with a new part launching each Saturday. Each will have separate rules and content warnings. Please consider your thread count appropriately and read each rule set carefully. }
{ Stay safe out there. }

Thank You, Places

It’d be hard to notice, at first. Little brass pieces of clockwork mechanisms appear throughout the town, lying on the cobblestone in the summer sun. Sometimes they clink along the pavement as they roll, subtly at first, towards the center of Pumpkin Hollow. Then they begin to skitter, as if pulled by invisible strings. Maybe you can even see them, if you tilt your head and squint… They gather, at last, in the center of town. From broken fragments, they assemble themselves, erecting a large mechanism in the center of town. Something round, on a rotating plate, like a carousel but tiny, as if it is only intended for two. An aggressor, and its prey. Finally, the device is assembled. Large metal plates melt their way out of the ground and fold upwards to close up the decorative outer shell. Five panels and a dome top in reddish brown, painted with uncanny cherubs and golden filigree. Four of them have keyholes. The fifth has a center of clear glass, and several rotating rings within with metal decorations attached, to create a diorama. At the forefront, a golden mask, shaped into a harsh frown, surrounded by rays of gilded sunlight. It begins to play a little music box tune and tick softly, and the rings rotate along with it, extremely slowly. Upon closer examination, one might be able to spot the sliver of another mask waiting in the wings.

Despite its ominous presence, the curious music box seems to do little else, and experimentation will reveal that the music box is quite indestructible. This leaves the denizens of the town with little choice but to go about their day. They regard it with suspicion, feeling a sense of dread quietly begin to rise…

Hey, does it feel like it’s getting hotter out?

--------

Seemingly, a member of the now-fallen Court of Fools, is one of the demon nobles that once served under Prince Mendel and who escaped after his death last September. For those unfamiliar, Seemingly is a clockwork doll with a rotating head that bears four masks (pictured above). Because Seemingly represents (in part) the concept of disguise and false identity, each of these masks has its own name, voice, pronouns, and mood. They are as follows:

• WRATH | pictured on the left, enraged and violent, distorted androgynous voice, they/them
• TWIST | pictured in the center, coy and teasing, low feminine voice, she/her
• GLEE | pictured on right, giddy and joyfully malicious, high masculine voice, he/him
• HOLLOW |
pictured held in hands, cold and detached, harsh whispering voice, it/its

Each week, a new prompt will be added to this post, with a weather event modeled after one of these four masks. Every new installment will include terrifying surprises--- the natural disasters all feature supernatural additions based on the tenants of the Court of Fools. Trickery, madness, unreality, and deception.

Seemingly has longstanding beef with Jonathan Sims, one of our long-time player characters. Jon also has the ability to see through illusions, making him the perfect candidate to lead the charge! Check out Harvey's plotting post toplevel to get involved with the efforts to defeat this demon menace! This will involve finding the four keys that unlock the panels on the music box.

We recommend that, in order to keep things organized as the event updates, you post a blank header TL and then add new prompts beneath it each time a new part becomes available. However, you can do it however you'd like. Backdating, as always, is perfectly fine and encouraged. Please label questions with the part of the event they pertain to. Have fun!

Burning Wrath

August 9th - August 15th | Content Warnings: extreme body horror, exposed organs, delirium and difficulty perceiving reality

Warm summer days are no surprise to Marrow Isle, nor the greater Emerald Isles; the blazing sun above warms the earth below, drying out any of the dampness in the land from the stormy seasons just before and driving Hollowites down the sandy shores and to their local beaches.

Since the arrival of the strange music box, however, the sunshine bearing down upon the island seems to have become... relentless.

The temperatures continue to rise without any sign of stopping. The sound of thermometers snapping and popping as they reach their limits only becomes more and more common as the first round of oppressive heat chokes the air of Pumpkin Hollow; the crunching of dried, dead grass beneath shoes quickly joins the chorus of ceaseless drought. Dust, no longer tethered to the ground with moisture, kicks off the ground at the slightest disturbance. The forest grows brittle, and animals begin to hide away, in hopes that dark holes in the earth will make the heat even a bit more bearable. Wide, sprawling, cloudless skies stretch on, and no meaningful breezes carry through the town, offering no temporary respite from the sun's wrath.

For anyone brave enough to venture outside, to try to continue their daily motions in spite of the scorching temperatures, skin burns quickly, and metal becomes untouchable just as fast.

If only the town could be so lucky as simply enduring that much; the Infernal never do allow these things to be too easy to ride out.

With the addition of dreadful humidity that clings to one's skin those who venture outside will feel like they're practically wading through the air around them -- yet the worsening stickiness will seem like the least of their worries as delirium sets in. With so much focus having to go into remembering how to move one foot in front of the other, to recall where they're going, flesh and muscle slipping away from bones, melting like wax down a forgotten candle, becomes a trivial matter.

Even when the heat-afflicted are left as nothing but ambling skeletons--- their hearts standing alone in their pursuit to keep their owners alive, arteries magically inclined to tangle bones together and propel them along like muscles--- all they may be aware of is that they aren't feeling well, and that something is very, very wrong.

Delirous from the heat and only really aware that they're feeling under the weather, the shambling skeletal remains of your neighbors may try to find their way into familiar places; shared homes, local businesses, anywhere they might find loved ones, all with the intention of reaching out to find a helping hand. Should they continue to trudge through the blazing heat for too long, their hearts are no safer from the heat than the rest of their bodies were, and will easily cook and cease being able to propel them along, leaving their bones to bleach in the sun. If they are able to find their way inside to get "help", this is no more survivable - but it will grant them a short time to be reassured by (or to traumatize) those they've managed to find in their death throes. However, slender veins were never meant to hold a person together, and eventually the lingering terrible magic runs its course. What remains of the victim will begin to collapse, dropping limb by limb until at last their cursed heart gives up as well. Additionally, the bones do not vanish when unsupervised as they normally would, which can only mean that something, somewhere, is still watching.

Pumpkin Hollow's non-organic denizens are not spared from the cruelty of the burning heat, either - bolts, screws, connective wire, and other materials will begin to melt away first, causing machinery to collapse and fall apart. The invisible inferno seeks to consume what it can, and even if the approach differs from drawing organic material into the ground, it will find any weak point it can get to burn away those in the heat, bit by bit.

There are small mercies, however - though the heat bleeds through buildings, the danger of melting seems to fade in the darkness and shade of slightly-more-tolerable temperatures. The basements of homes, so often colder than might be pleasant, offer a wonderful respite from the uncomfortable outdoors. Additionally, the heat doesn't bear down consistently; one may find a break in the suffocation to be more like standard-fare summer temperatures, and may find a good opportunity to seek cooling activities, or even just a brief splash in Jack's Marina to take the edge off.

Be mindful, though. All it takes is a moment just a bit too far from home, just enough off guard, for the heatwave to see its opportunity to strike once more.

--------

Over the course of the week, the heatwave will have a range of temperatures from a standardly-hot 85F/29C to an unbearable 215F/102C, with intermittent periods of both humid and dry heat. While it's impossible to count exact minutes in a thread (and we wouldn't expect you to try to!), here's some vague approximations for tolerance to the extreme heat before the melting process begins:

Standard time before melting (organic beings): 30-45 minutes
Standard time before melting (inorganic beings): 45 minutes - 1 hour
Faster time due to weakness to heat (ice resistance, poor temperature control, etc): 10-15 minutes
Slower time due to resistance to heat (fire resistance, immortality, etc): 1 hour 30 minutes - 2 hours
General melting time from start to finish: approximately 45 minutes to 1 hour for the standard human. Resistances to heat/fire would slow this process. Survivability of melting depends on progress.

Those indoors or in shaded areas, even if miserably hot, are fully immune to any effects of melting.

Any organic beings who made it inside in the midst of the process of melting (such as being ushered in by someone they're with) will suffer mortal wounds as well, due to the failure of half-melted organs and irreversible damage. Any non-organic beings who had bolts or fastenings melt can survive this, and will simply need to be rebuilt/have their fastenings fixed!

Bones left outside of those who succumb to the sun do not disappear for the duration of Seemingly's Revenge, and have a waxy residue left on them. The heart will eventually be reduced to ash, and cannot be kept intact. (Theoretically you could gather the ashes, but they, too, would disappear after the event ends.)

Twisting Wind

August 16th - August 22nd | Content Warnings: tornadoes, dust storms, home loss, hypnosis

Throughout the hottest week in Pumpkin Hollow on record, the angry golden mask has ticked slowly, slowly out of the glass panel on the front of the music box. Slowly, slowly, a new mask comes into view. This one is half white, half gold, as if the mask itself is wearing a mask of its own, lips painted into a ghost of a wry smile. Along with it, the rays of sunlight framing the first mask are replaced by coiling silver lines that look like gusts of air.

Finally, on the eighth day, the new mask clicks into place. And the heat breaks. Overnight, the grueling temperatures fade to a comfortable range, even reaching a point that one might ostensibly call “cool” for mid-August. The relief is palpable. Most people in Pumpkin Hollow sleep better than they have all week, maybe in months, the night the heatwave finally dies. But it is far too soon to rejoice.

At first, the wind is just a little bit strong. Enough to bluster you around while you walk, trying to return to your business. It can almost be explained. A sudden drop in temperature would surely cause air currents to act strangely, right? But the music box is still there, still playing, and its tune has changed. Something terrible is brewing.

Soon, cloud cover bathes the entire island in a strange, yellow-green light, and the wind begins to howl mightily through the streets of town. Dust from the sun-baked earth picks up in some places, shifting the landscape of the town or caking structures in dirt, as small dust storms kick up in places without foliage or grass to pin it down.

There are many times when it isn’t too bad, where a person can walk from place to place and, with a bit of effort, get from one place to another without getting a mouthful of dust or a hunk of debris to the head. But there’s always a risk, isn’t there? Always a risk that any moment, the weather might grow just a bit more foul. Unlike the heat, not even the night offers any salvation. And in the distance, it sometimes feels like the wind is calling to you… Maybe if you listen, you can make out what it says. Even from indoors.

Every so often, the clouds above will begin to churn, and the wind will turn from a howl to a roar. Look above! The hungry sky stirs like some brew in a witch’s cauldron. The hairs on your arms begin to stand on end as you can feel that something is changing, something awe-inspiring and terrible, something that sinks your gut into your shoes as just the finest little funnel, like spun sugar forming little threads on a paper cone, reaches for the ground.

It’s growing. It’s hunting. It’s singing. It sings of deliverance, of freedom, of calling your soul up into the sky. You almost can’t hear it roar like a speeding train over the beautiful song.

Will you sing too?

And all the while, the music box stands stalwart, ticking away, a new scene slowly inching its way into the frame.

--------

This week, there will be strong winds ranging from roughly 50MPH to a whopping 200MPH. Compared to the heatwave, this week’s weather will be much less consistently dangerous, but will be more prone to turning abruptly destructive and deadly at a moment’s notice. And, as before, it will feature some delightfully maddening paranormal aspects!

On a mundane level, the wind will be capable of causing minor to severe structural damage. This will not create a financial expense for characters to repair on an OOC level, just a task, so feel free to have your shit get wrecked if you’d like to for the drama or if you’d like a half-price full home reno after the event! (This is only available to characters whose homes faced extreme destruction.) Dust storms, flying debris, and other hazards are also available to encounter.

However, you will also be able to hear voices in the wind, including from indoors. These voices may belong to strangers, friends, locals, or people from your homeworld. They will whisper intrusive thoughts, guilty consciences, or dark secrets (which may be false), or they may simply attempt to lure you into danger. Full-sized tornadoes, in addition to all the mundane dangers of a proper tornado, will also call out to you in a chorus of voices, hypnotically offering you freedom, paradise, unconditional love, and salvation, if only you join them. (Get it? Tornado sirens. Haha.) However, contrary to what the tornado claims, this will certainly kill you.

Safest locations are going to be basements and other underground, as before. Leeds Estate is particularly protected due to elevation and will continue to serve as an opt out, but Dahlia herself will be less available for rescue because it’s hard to fly like this. Baker Ranch’s protection from demonic forces via Serranai will also make it safe from damage, but challenging to reach due to its location in open farmland. Neil will also be leading efforts to reach Paradesium, which is completely wind-proof and still has Action Park.

Good luck, everybody!

Gleeful Tidings

August 23rd - August 29th | Content Warnings: flash flooding, entrapment, drowning, suffocation, rip currents

Screaming winds do nothing to slow the ticking of the massive music box, the turning of the mask, and by the morning of the next week, the wry smile of the former mask is replaced. Pure gold is framed by sapphire waves, lining playful eyes and wicked grin. And, at last, the raging gale settles into a slow, stirring breeze, before it finally draws to a halt altogether. For a moment, Marrow Isle is allowed to take its reprieve, assess the damage, and reach out to neighbors.

The thick clouds over the island roll along the horizon, but no blue of the sky above ever peeks through. Instead, they seem to only grow darker and darker. The burning sun that scorched the island couldn't feel further away; the gentle breezes seem to even carry a chill now. After the first false moment of seeming relief, the town knows better than to take it for granted that the weather has calmed at last.

For just a few mere hours, it feels as though the entire world is holding its breath.

And then, all at once, it exhales, and the sky opens up.

The rain that falls is little more than a regular summer shower at first, but you've learned by now. This is no normal rain. You can feel it in the ache in your joints, the shortness of breath that comes with watching the downpour. Drizzle turns to pour turns to torrential downpour, gutters quickly overflowing, pouring small waterfalls onto the drenched cobblestone below. Dark puddles, like black glass, form in the grooves of the roads, in any divot of the earth; it is no darkness of mud or debris, but it almost looks like depth. Like a puddle that is no greater than the width of someone's leg could drop them into unseen darkness at a moment's notice.

Puddles and flooding streets, for a short time, seem a trifling concern compared to the leaky roofs and water getting into homes damaged by the windstorms. Panicked calls from the homes along the Paring River begin to pour into Town Hall, the radio station, to anyone they can think to tell as dark water fills their basements and covers their floors.

The river, placid until one reaches its falls, has begun to race. And worse than that, at a slow-yet-unwavering pace, it has begun to rise.

There's little time to prepare before the river breaches its banks, spilling over the shores, rising ever-further while sweeping away whatever it can snare in the rapids. Farmlands are swallowed first, and with each passing minute, more and more of Downtown Hollow disappears beneath the rushing water. People are pulled beneath the vicious tide in what almost looks like an instant: there one moment, in the waist-deep waters, gone the next, lost beneath the glassy surface of the water. Paradesium is worse, flooding nearly to the ceiling of the caverns in some places. Stalactites, air pocket, and raised caves provide some reprieve to those trapped there, but getting completely out will prove dangerous and challenging for all but the most accomplished of cavers.

Eventually, the rains do slow, and with it, the raging path of the water ceases its motion. But with one problem eliminated for a time, there always comes another.

Any who dare to try to step into the still water, to push through the shallows and try to navigate the town, may find themselves falling deeper than the puddle should seem to go. Shallow puddles will suddenly drop someone stepping across them in waist-deep water, and deeper stretches of water may seem to swallow someone whole, vanishing them into impossibly dark, cold water. Sometimes, the standing water will be exactly as deep as it appears, but with a different secret beneath the surface: the second travelers set foot into it, they are dragged beneath the surface by invisible, clutching hands, dragging them further and further below the surface.

The rain does not slow for long, coming and going and making the floods surge in at staggering speeds. Whether the waters are moving or still, they risk being dangerous, but it is impossible to tell just how dangerous by sight alone. If you’re looking to get around town, you had better be a strong swimmer. Or a good climber. It’s going to be a tough week. And all the while, the half-sunk music box in the center of town tick-tick-ticks away to your next fate…

-----

This week’s weather features torrential downpours and flash flooding! Daily heavy rains in various lengths and volumes will cause the Paring River, which separates town from the forest, to overflow and rush through town towards Tawny Beach. The rain will never completely stop, but will fluctuate between extreme downpours and heavy thunderstorms down to light drizzles. During the heavier rain periods, flood waters will be fast-moving and have rip currents hiding under the surface. These high-speed waters won’t be destructive on their own, necessarily, but will take advantage of damage caused by the wind or plain bad luck to flood buildings, especially the basements you’ve all gotten used to taking refuge in!

When the water is standing still, it plays tricks on you. It’s very dark and could be deceptively deep or deceptively shallow. It could contain anything from slashing claws, grasping hands, rip currents, lurking predators, visions of underwater cities, and more. Rafts are by and large an effective way to move around town, but there can be large marine creatures in the water, so it’s not a completely safe option.

Paradesium is also fully flooded, with only pockets of air up towards the top of the cave roof. Escaping will involve reaching some of the uppermost mine tunnels, which will be extremely challenging, but the top of Crane’s Ridge is probably one of the safest places on the island. Additionally, Leeds Estate is elevated enough that it avoids a lot of the rain damage, so Dahlia’s home (and toplevel) continue to be a viable opt-out. However, her wine cellar is a bit damp, so you’ll want to come upstairs now. Additionally, after the flood last year, the Greymare Library has been heavily waterproofed, so while you will likely be stuck there (opening the door would not be wise), it is safe.

Hollow Chill

August 30th - September 5th | Content Warnings: freezing, entrapment, loss of autonomy, famine.

When the rain stops, it is more terrifying than a relief. It goes from violent pouring to fully stopped on a dime. Abrupt silence, warning of what will come next.

The town exhales rainwater. Much of it gradually drains away, until the wet cobblestone and sodden plant life below can be seen once more. Everything is soaked, but at least it’s possible to get around without wings or a boat. The music box remains undamaged, ticking away and playing a quiet tune as if nothing is amiss.

Four keyholes. Three weeks. Three changes in weather. This must be the last one. And sure enough, a mask of a cold, disinterested face centers itself on the glass panel, surrounded by an array of snowflakes. And just as surely, as the next week begins, a strange cold begins to overtake the island. Frost begins to creep up window panes like climbing ivy, icy fingers finding their way into any crack or crevice to bring a shiver to your spine. And then, where once there was rain, there is snow. Piles of it. Not enough to snow anyone in, at least not at first, but enough to make travelling hard. Those who arrived to the island in warmer months will find themselves ill-prepared, with town hall buying up winter jackets and cold weather clothes in bulk. They’re distributed to anyone who needs one without cost, though Mayor Poe does request voluntary donations of firewood or help with shovelling from anyone who is able.

Thanks to farmers with greenhouses, dedicated ranchers, and those with plant-growing magic, it will be possible to restore crops enough once this is over that townsfolk won’t starve when winter truly comes around. But in the meantime, the rapid changes in weather have been disastrous for farmers, and food will be especially lean this week.

For a good while, one might be convinced that this, for once, is all there is to the week. It would certainly be enough all on its own, wouldn’t it? Freezing temperatures and intermittent snow right in the final days of summer, turning the remaining water on the ground to slick, dangerous black ice. But as temperatures continue to drop, it becomes clear within a few days that this is far from the only trick up Seemingly’s sleeve.

The landscape is hardly a winter wonderland, bleak and terrifying under a constantly slate-grey sky. It’s coldest late at night, and in the early morning, but sometimes temperatures will plummet even lower throughout the day. And it’s in these moments of extreme cold that you may begin to feel your limbs lock up. It’s almost funny, how it mirrors the melting during that week of horrible heat, which now feels a lifetime away. You feel icy tendrils crawling up your veins, holding you in place, starting with your legs and then climbing up slowly until no muscle can move… except your eyes. You find yourself slowly encased in a tomb of ice, awake and aware, unable to move, to sleep, to die. All you can do is watch, eyes wide open. And then, you see yourself, returning your gaze.

Free from the ice and looking back at you smugly, your own face stands before you. A doppelganger. One with sinister intent. To kill, to lure, to sabotage? It varies from copy to copy, but none of them want anything good. They may even hide you or obscure your frozen form to aid in their illusion before they run off to torment your loved ones. You remain aware and able to see as they go, however. Through your own eyes, yes, at times. But also through theirs.

The week creeps by, with one more key to be found, the music box standing vigil in town square as always. It ticks along, playing its little tune, and as the week goes on you start to see a familiar mask peek out of the corner, framed by rays of sun that make your stomach sink with dread. It is as if the demon within is taunting you. ”I can do this forever. Over, and over, and over. As many times as it takes. The question is…”

“Can you?”

-----

Welcome to the final week of Seemingly’s Revenge! At the end of this week, I’ll be posting a simple epilogue that doesn’t necessarily need any threading unless you want to, but for now let’s focus on our grand finale! This week features temperature drops well into the Fahrenheit negatives, heavy snow, famine, and more. Roads will be extremely slippery, even when they’re shovelled. Snow will be intermittent, and it is possible to get around in it, but by late in the week it will be likely that some homes in Northwest Hollow will be snowed in. And of course, during periods of extreme cold (which are not terribly frequent but tend to be very sudden), those caught outside will be encased in ice and replaced by a doppelganger. (Let it be known that sometimes you can also just freeze to death the regular way.)

As stated above, characters may be forced to watch their copy’s actions through said copy’s eyes rather than their own. In this experience, they are passive, watching something with their face and voice manipulate or harm their neighbors like it’s a movie. Players, of course, have full control over the copycats, so please feel free to get evil with it.

So how does one get their character out of the ice if they cannot move, speak, or die? There are a few ways. The first and most straightforward way is to have someone else kill your doppelganger for you. This also kills your own character, however, so that is something to be aware of.

The second method is for someone to find the original and break them out of the ice, which will cause the copy to make a break for it or allow the original to kill the copy themselves, neither of which harms the original. However, your assistant in this scenario risks being killed by the discovered doppelganger or worse--- frozen themselves. High risk, high reward.

And lastly, the body cannot remain this way extensively even under magical circumstances, and the frozen person will eventually die on their own after 24 hours and respawn as normal. However, this will leave the copy intact until the original returns, meaning that your doppelganger will be unattended during the interim.

While the music box does threaten the cast with another week of heat, which should definitely inspire IC terror, we will OOCly handwave that all four keys are located and ready to use by next Saturday, regardless of where the key groups are in their threads. The event will end on schedule. My advice would be that all groups try to get as far as they can with these threads before the gala event launches at the middle-end of the month, as that’ll be another busy one for very different reasons!

Have fun, and stay frosty!

Aftermath

September 6th and onward

The keys find their way into the frozen music box, just before the Wrath mask clicks back into place. A final standoff between old enemies is at last resolved. The Court of Fools draws its final breath as both the music box and Seemingly itself fall to clockwork pieces on the pavement.

It takes some time for the ice to melt. Maybe an afternoon. But what is left behind is a beautiful, warm September day, with skies so clear and spotless blue that you can gaze in any direction and never see a single cloud. Summer is on her way to bed, but passes her baton gracefully to Autumn, even if the trees are a little confused by the rapid weather change and turning golden at the bottom a little bit early. Thanks to the help of your brave neighbors (and perhaps you as well!), you are just in time to enjoy it.

Reconstruction won't be easy, but it will be more bearable with the help of your community. The handful of druids around town can give new crops a boost to catch up in time for true winter, and a little love from Celestine will help as well. Life slowly returns to normal, and good weather awaits.

Speaking of which, for those whose radios are still on after serving them dutifully these four weeks, a pair of familiar voices can be heard finally ending their long broadcast.

"I'm Melanie King..."
"And I'm Phil Connors..."
"And we’re your hosts, bringing you the latest of Pumpkin Hollow."
"Thank you, everybody, for your service and diligence, and in case we don’t see ya— good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight.”

Long Nights,
Bright Lights

All Manner of Celebrations

Winter is hard for everyone, but none more so than the residents of an island that has been isolated by the cruel hands of fate. Where the rest of the Emerald Isles is able to rely on imports from other nations in warmer places, Marrow Isle has no resources but her own. All the while, her mettle continues to be tested against the horrors brought on by the curse.

It is for this reason that among all the holidays celebrated by the Mothers' children, Givingstide is particularly beloved. A warm and cozy festival based around wishing each other prosperity and love in the new year, the lengthening of days, embracing generosity even in the lean times, and celebrating the fact that the darkest part of the year is coming to an end. Set on the Winter Solstice, this gathering marks final day of darkening skies. While some observe the day in family homes, it's customary to join together in communal spaces.

Then, the following week, Mourner's Night is hosted in Fall's Promise Cemetery. A holiday dedicated to mourning the dead can feel a bit strange on an island where residents no longer die, but the tradition is kept up for all manner of reasons. Mourning those who died before the barrier, mourning the loss of offworld lives, and even mourning oneself are all entirely valid reasons one might attend. This year, as well, it is projected that there may be a special guest...

And of course, this year there are a number of festivities being hosted by the island's newly booming interfaith community. Chief among them, Hanukkah and several variations of Christmas will be celebrated around the same time. The Temple and the interfaith community encourage offworlders and locals alike to share and enjoy their festivities with the island in this most sacred time of year.

By Candlelight We Go

Check out the various festivities below!

Givingstide

The fireplace is lit at the Oak & Iron. A wreath of pine boughs hangs over the merry blaze, paper horses and snowflakes decorate the walls, and a table in the center of the room has been done up to look like a silver sleigh. As people file in, hot food and warm drinks begin coming out of the kitchen and bar, and gifts begin piling up on the sleigh table. (Ultimately, a fair amount of them end up on the floor around it.) Everyone greets each other warmly with hearty handshakes, firm hugs, and wishes of a blessed Givingstide. Perhaps if you have a clever eye, you may even see a horned figure drinking hot cocoa in the corner harmlessly, enjoying the atmosphere of good will and keeping watch over the party to prevent any troublemakers. And for once, just once, for the first time in so long on this frightful, forsaken island, there is true peace.

The tavern is warm. Orange firelight flickers, as if dancing with the shadows. Decorations of shimmering silver and hunter green, the colors of Givingstide, adorn the dark wood decor of the Oak & Iron. The stucco and timber walls of the dining hall safeguard those within from the bitter wind and snow. It's no Leeds gala--- the food is simple, but it is beautifully made. Roasted chicken, potatoes, onion soup, and fresh-baked bread. Slices of pumpkin pie are passed around for dessert. Hot cider with or without alcohol, mulled wine, coffee, and spiced tea are served with the meal. It isn't glamorous, but it's made with love and tastes like coming home somehow.

As dinner carries on, music begins to be played from the tavern stage, and Mayor Poe has Yorick assist her in doling out the gifts from the table. They read the tags and summon the recipients to the table to recieve them. You can open yours right there or at your table, and decide for yourself whether you care to announce the name of the giver to the room.

Once the gifts are distributed, the partygoers are left to their own devices, allowed time to laugh with friends, dance to music, drink to their hearts' content, sneak off to while away a private moment in one of the inn's sitting rooms, or head home for an early night. Regardless of your choice, let it be with a loved one. A friend, a partner, a member of your newfound family. Blessed Givingstide, and may your lantern ever stay lit.

Mourner's Night [cw: grief]

As the early dark of high winter begins to fall, people begin to gather on the streets. A somewhat odd sight, but this isn’t the first time that people have come together under lantern light for an event that is in defiance of the danger posed by darkness. They are bundled tightly, wearing mostly black if it is available in clothes warm enough, and many people have donned veils which cover their faces with black lace.

From the streets, there is an informal procession. At intervals, there are men in uniform black military peacoats and black caps carrying tall poles with bright lanterns on top, swaying in the frigid air. Their faces are painted to look like skulls. Yorick is among them, as are Father Mulcahy and Darcy. The rest of the townsfolk are asked to follow along as they please, each bearing a long white candle stuck into a paper cup meant to catch its wax. The candles are in no danger of blowing out— the wind is eerily still.

The procession is largely silent. The people who do speak do so only in whispers. It winds through the streets of the town, converging on one of the main roads. Once it is clear of buildings, the front of the solemn parade becomes visible. A black funeral carriage, like one that may have once conveyed caskets, bearing lanterns at each corner. The two black horses are marked with skeletons using white chalk on their fur, and it is driven by a woman in black garb representative of deepest mourning. This is Fever, playing the role of Mortanne.

It has been a long time, what feels like ages, since the people of this town have had a funeral procession outside the context of Mourner's Night. But they remember well their traditions and follow them with reverence. This, for you outsiders, is a unique glimpse at something you might not otherwise see due to the effects of the barrier. Each and every person in town follows the trail left by carriage wheels in the fresh snow and arrives at Fall's Promise Cemetery.

Beyond the wrought iron gate, there is more silence. Locals gather around the graves of their friends and loved ones, saying silent prayers and spending time in contemplative remembrance. You see Dahlia stand outside the central mausoleum, looking grimly up at her own name carved into the stone.

LEEDS

Degas has made his way over to a grave. He is here as himself, not as a reverend, and he does not leave the side of the headstone he gravitated toward. Melly Clayton.

Meanwhile, Dr. West is loitering at the back near a gargoyle. For once even he is present. And far off in the shadows, a small figure looms outside the fringes of lantern light, looking off into the sea. Cherry red hairs catch the light occasionally. Elsie.

The candlelight vigil remains silent for a long time as people recall and honor their loved ones. Any sound of shuffling or movement is dampened further by soft, fluffy snow, creating a deep and heavy hush that is almost loud in its soundlessness. Perhaps, deep in the Season of Spirits, the presence of the fallen can be felt in the quiet dark.

Your mind drifts as the somber reverence beckons your mind to your memories. Who do you honor? A lost lover, a passed parent, someone you left behind in your life before? Or perhaps you honor yourself. You did die to get here, after all. And it’s probable that you aren’t the only one to think so.

In the distance, the bell tower chimes. Then, rising up from the snow, soft at first and then louder, a song. The locals are beginning to sing a hymn about Mortanne sharing carriage rides with passengers, reminiscing about their lives as her carriage drives them to the afterlife. Did you learn it from a local before the festival? Do you sing, hum, or remain silent?

As the song finally comes to a close, all at once the locals blow out their candles, leaving the graveyard in darkness aside from the lantern poles. The silence now broken, people shuffle along, meeting up to mingle and hug or heading home for an early night. Some of them are crying.

Throughout the festival, lingering at the outskirts, shrouded in both the deepest darkness and layers of mourner's black, is a woman whose pale hair occasionally catches light even under her elaborate lace veil. If you are someone with a special connection to death, or to winter, you may feel her eyes upon you.

Interfaith Holidays

On the 24th and 25th of December, touches of red and gold are added to the traditional Givingstide green and silver, and images of angels and stars take their place alongside horses and snowflakes. On the left side of the main congregation space, a table has been set up to give a wooden Nativity set and an advent wreath pride of place. A little book, kindly crafted by Pinhole Printing and Binding, has been put together for those unfamiliar to read the story of Christmas.

From December 25th to January 2nd, the majority of interfaith space is decked out in blue and silver, handmade Stars of David hung in each window, in celebration of Hanukkah. On the right side of the temple's congregation space, another helpful storybook by Pinhole rests alongside a brand new menorah, as the evenings have the space reserved for candle-lighting and gathering. Additionally, a frying booth for latkes and sufganiyot can be found at the Winter Market, typically manned by Cecil (though Gerry is almost certainly there as well).

And for those that celebrate the pagan Yuletide, an outdoor altar can be found on the town's festival gazebo, protected from the elements but still amid nature. Plenty of places for indoor merriment can be found for those who observe it--- the Oak & Iron has discounted drinks from the Solstice till New Years! Skål!