Today's Document
Cosimo Galluzzi
cherry valley forever
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
YOU ARE THE REASON
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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AnasAbdin
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ellievsbear
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Product Placement
Mike Driver
Show & Tell
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Discoholic 🪩
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@chronoflow
From across Fantasy, handwritten* letters have begun to be cast off to the wind, handed to birds and sent tumbling down the river in hopes of reaching the distant shores of Mirrored Ember.
But while one bird may carry one author's letter far, many birds with many authors will travel even further...
(letters by @kingandcommoner and @und3rscorenumb3rs, respectively)
I AM THE MESSENGER AT THE HARBOR I SEEK THE MEMORIES OF ARTHUR OH CHRONOFLOW, I BESEECH YOU DISPATCH THEIR LOST VESSEL TO ME
Derringer Pianowire, House Detective
Part of being a great House Detective was spotting when just one detail was different than the rest. People were predictable like that. If you followed the places they went, the sights they saw, and the web of connections they built, you'd eventually spot their weak points. The locations they didn't dare revisit. The letters they filed just a little differently. The people they only spoke to in hushed tones.
That's how Derringer tracked the Glaive-Guisarme brothers to their secret hiding spot. That's how Derringer learned what happened to his partner. And that's how, after he got his revenge, and after he called the Eye, he ensured no one would be able to do the same to him.
Because he hid their bodies right along his usual walking route.
Moonlight: May I have the Mysterious Letter?
Shoot us a message, hit us with the password, and we'll talk
I AM THE MESSENGER AT THE HARBOR I SEEK THE MEMORIES OF PINNY MUDBUG OH CHRONOFLOW, I BESEECH YOU DISPATCH THEIR LOST VESSEL TO ME
Arlo Broadbrush, Painter
No matter what they did, no matter where they went, at the end of every chapter of their story, there it was: The Painted Mountain. The object of their ultimate envy.
They moved across the world, opened a studio, made a new life... and then the World's Breath blew, and suddenly there it was in front of them.
They threw themselves into their work. Completed their "masterpiece." And the day they unveiled it, Smazoney unveiled a new color of paint on the rock wall.
It was the scourge of their existence, the source of their misery, always waiting until they were at their peak to flip them backwards and send them tumbling back to furious jealousy.
Where they went, it didn't matter. Eventually, if they waited, the Painted Mountain would appear, and they'd know. This chapter of their story was over. Soon jealousy would take over and they'd be reduced to nothing once more.
Unless, they forgot about the existence of the Painted Mountain altogether...
I AM THE MESSENGER AT THE HARBOR
I SEEK THE MEMORIES OF NYMPHAEA LACUS AND LUMINA DAWNSPEAR
OH CHRONOFLOW, I BESEECH YOU
DISPATCH THEIR LOST VESSEL TO ME
A memory lost, all parties returned to the Leylines, adrift in the waters of time. A message in a bottle, set adrift in eternity.
But as a messenger waits, so shall what was lost return to harbor.
Cast your mind to the aether and in due time, you shall hear the words of the waters of time.
knock knock knock, ive got a singing telegram here for one dusk seabreeze, dusk seabreeze, anybody here by that name
Oculum Matchstick, Spy
Honestly, she was just sick of it. The lifestyle.
First, obviously, there's the paranoia. Having to painstakingly track the source of every telegram and package you receive. Always looking over your shoulder, retracing your steps.
But also, it was just tedious. Having to keep seventeen different code variations in mind? Obnoxious. A code you use when speaking to your bosses, a code you use when speaking to your friends. Normal people don't use ANY code when they speak. They just... talk to each other.
Oculum was done. Oculum was tired. And honestly, with all she had done... she was ready to forget. To start over. She might have questions about the source of her shoulder injury, but... everyone has a mystery or two about them.
Tarkanian Miller, Miller
Had Tarkanian listened to his mentors, he would've known how dangerous grain silos can be. He would've kept his silo up to code. He would've kept the lanterns away from it. One stray ember, that's all it took. One single stray ember.
Everyone in Dough Valley would know the source of the fire. They'd know it was him in an instant. Unless he took desperate measures. Unless...
Are there any more secrets in the letter,
Sir Lestrum Armada, "Adventurer"
"Leave the past behind. Take this warning as an act of kindness, and value it as the treasure it is, for such things are all too rare in my Circus of Misery."
"I will not, Shao Klown. You bested me once, but I will not let your reign of terror commence. By the blade of the great adventurer Lestrum Armada, by the code of Haxatar, you shall--"
"Once? Once? Ha ha hahahaha ha-ha-ha-ha, ha ha hahahaha ha-ha-ha-ha. How many times do you think you have delivered that cliched hero's monologue? Ask yourself. If your defeat came only once. Then why do you feel the repeated pits in your stomach of repeatedly having sought out The Eye?"
"... You're lying."
Shao Klown was not.
Tell me about a Queen
Spark Queensgrove, Glub-Glub Player
A great game of Glub-Glub is all about repetition. The way to truly learn about a player is to study every one of their games, identify the things they always come back to.
That was where great players emerged. You had to look past the coincidences, to the things the player came back to every single time. It was there you'd find the source of their strength, and their weaknesses. Then, once you crack the code, you use it to work with them--or to crush them.
Spark knew that. And yet, when they were assigned to play alongside Crush Hammerfall... they cut corners. They coasted. And it showed.
No one could be allowed to remember that disastrous championship game.
where did lumina dawnspear and nymphaea lacus go?
Aleister Chalk, Art Critic
"What do these pieces all have in common?"
"What unexpected patterns emerge when we view them together?"
"What do we suppose is the source of the artist's inspiration?"
It was as though Fillibuster Farnheim had cracked the code on how to deliver a mediocre art lecture without actually... saying anything. Aleister hated Fillibuster, the kind of burning hate you have for someone who once inspired you to greatness, only to settle into comfort and apathy.
Aleister wanted Fillibuster's spot so badly. To be leading the lecture, asking the questions to illuminate a piece, not just prattle on about it.
Aleister would do anything to claim that spot. Including, it seemed, drawing the circle and calling The Eye.
Can you tell me something specific?
Tell me about a Warrior.
Aurum Constellar, Ship's Bard
Despite his best efforts, Aurum became obsessed with the source of the strange new light in the sky. They drew new constellation maps, wrote new songs to try and explain its glory. It drew them away from their work. It consumed their entire being.
It was after the shipwreck of the Bronzed Broadsword Held Aloft by a Warrior Virtuous and True that they called for the eye. After all, no source of obsession would be worth breaking the code of the bard: to protect the ship you sailed upon, no matter what.
Who or what is this? Is someone behind this or is it simply automatic?
Adair Electrum, Assassin for Hire
Adair had spent months seeking the source of the leaks within her organization. Someone talked, and whether it was a power play, a case of loose lips, or the result of outside coercion, the code had been broken. And the first thing she was taught when she entered the profession was "how to handle someone who broke the code."
Those months of digging, of hunting, of searching brought her here. A body at her feet. A traitor sent back to the leylines. And though she knew she would have to summon the Eye, and make this moment go away... she hoped he would let her keep the feeling of satisfaction.
Chance Mahal, Political Organizer
Part of the risk of tying your town’s mayoral election to a pyre building contest was… well, exactly this. Matchstick McClemons was not mayoral material. Everyone knew Ember Illumination was the right fit. But the pyres, you couldn’t deny the pyres.
Unless… unless everyone in Pitch merely forgot they already had the competition. No one could remember the results, no one could remember the winner. Chance wouldn’t overtake the election. That would be a violation of the code he swore to honor.
Just… give it a do-over. Perhaps put a little gasoline on Ember’s fire this time.
Dremond Glaive-Guisarme, House Detective
It was a successful job. Dremond and Lucien loaded the body off of the cart, tied the rocks to the hands and ankles, and threw it in the water, as they had many times before.
“You thinking dinner after this?” Lucien crunched on a carrot.
“Yeah… yeah. Sure, yeah, sorry, distracted.” Dremond splashed a handful of river water onto his face.
“C’mon now, kid. We’ve done this many times. You know the code.”
“Yeah, it’s just… ugh, it feels weird. Always get a little queasy.”
“Would you feel better remembering where the body was hidden?” Lucien threw the stump of the carrot into the muck.
“Oh fuck no. Call the Unseen Eye.”
Julienne Fillet, 5-Star Chef
The scallops were overdone. The souffles collapsed. The chocolate pudding was chalky. There were thumbprints in the dusting on the mousse plates. Soggy bottoms on the quiches. Not enough sprouts for everyone. There was that… smell, and she still didn’t know what the source of it was. The waiter spilled the chowder all over the floor. There were rude customers, no-shows, health code violations… This was one for the record books.
This night was a disaster. The kind that ruins a career. No one could be allowed to remember it. The decision was easy.
“Hot-hand” Crimmins, Professional Slice Player
By any measure, “Hot-hand” Crimmins should have won. Ze cracked the code. Ze learned the tricks. Ze had the right draws at the right times in the right order. The odds of failure were less than 1% (and believe zem, ze ran the numbers).
So then how the holy hell did Lester “Three Card” Dooley take home the regional championship!? They were no lifetime player. He was a hobbyist. They didn’t deserve this like Hot-hand did.
And as the Unseen Eye appeared before zem, ready to snatch the moment away forever to linger in the Chronoflow, Hot-hand knew. If ze couldn’t have the moment of celebration ze deserved… then no one would.
Razorhammer Fangfist, Adventurer
Why in the high hell did she bring a crew of reporters? She didn’t do the research. She assumed the tomb of the skeleton wrangler would be full of… y’know, treasures and monsters and cool shit for a badass adventurer to slaughter and steal. By Hexatar, this was supposed to be a “get rich and be a star” moment, one of those “code of the warrior” type deals that puts you on easy street after you ransack a tomb or two.
She wasn’t going to let one empty tomb and some well-taxidermied-but-harmless skeletons make her out to be a chump. That’s not how adventurers operate. Everyone would have to just… forget about this trip and join her for the next one.
