A soft RPG from the perspective of a tree in the forest. Began late November 2023. Written by @netherworldpost and polls. Pinned admin post coming soon. Cross-posted to AO3 weekly-ish.
TreeRPG is written by @netherworldpost with the occasional reblog of forests, moss, glades, and other such places from around the ol' Tumblr.
The structure is simple: the thoughts, dreams, scares, wonders of a single tree. Meetings and partings, friends and enemies, seasons, days, nights, inbetweens.
The first post began when the tree was but a seed, freshly planted, fresh to the world, on November 27, 2023, in the evening.
The plot is unplanned: updates are offered, occasionally polls are conducted on Tumblr, the results guide what happens next. Normal plot pieces are handled via a day-long poll, big plot shifts are handled via a week-long poll.
CAST OF CHARACTERS:
Tree, yet named: The first-person (plant?) narrator.
Sarsaparilla, the Caretaker: A dryad who first planted the tree and is protecting it form the encroaching winter. Her level of magic and motives are not known.
Worm-friend: A worm whom has befriended the tree and is tutoring it about the world.
There is no ending, or end-date, in mind.
This is an experimental art piece.
I hope you find it enjoyable.
Biweekly-ish, the posts will be gathered from Tumblr and put into AO3, edited (if necessary) to make a coherent non-social-media-dashboard-style.
Yours in Bark & Dreams,
Atticus Q. Redghost
Netherworld Post Office
Please note: This blog is permanently ended. This is a reaction to Tumblr selling user data to AI bots.
You don’t need to waste your time investigating whether they are a bot or a psy-op or a misinformed rube. It doesn’t matter. Either way, they add no value to your dashboard. Block and move on.
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Tree RPG will be moving to a new, undetermined home, given Tumblr's AI scraping
Good afternoon everyone.
I want to first thank you for following this experiment on storytelling, it started in late November 2023 as a writing exercise -- literally as a whim, "wouldn't this be fun" and has been
Tree-mendously fun.
One last pun for the road I guess.
As you may, or may not, have heard, Automattic, current owners of Tumblr, is beginning to sell data to AI companies.
Here is a terrifying article that opens up far more questions than @staff has answered:
It’s been rumored on Tumblr for days.
"Tree RPG" is, in my opinion, the precise kind of content that would make a great AI bot. It's soft, short, simple, follows specific patterns, doesn't have a shelf-life.
Trees grow in warm times, rest in cold times.
Without an end point, the story can just keep going as long as people are interested in reading it.
You get the point.
This project immediately sprouted from "haha a tree that's neat" to "oh I can tell LOTS of stories about the tree maturing, growing to care for it's caretaker, making friends -- and -- exploring the Netherworld, an entire dimension of realms I write and make art for, and have since 2012 as @evilsupplyco"
I have an extreme, unflinching, negative view over AI bots scraping art content without agreement of the authors and artists.
I have a lot of complicated feelings about AI.
None of that is relevant beyond "if the seeds of the work are part of the discussion, it's not my business. But since I'm being forced into being a seed with minimal protection and no voice, then I'm going to React. A Lot. Loudly."
I can't delete this blog.
The data is still there.
If I delete it, things will probably just get marked "-deactivated" and then I have less than the paper thin control I do now.
I have no idea of it has already been vacuumed up or not.
I don't know if it's worth anything to these companies or not.
I don't know if my happen-to-notice the toggle switch, which defaulted "on" and I turned "off" means anything.
I don't know if I turn it off and someone reblogs it if that gives AI bots the greenlight to use it.
I don't know what they would use it for.
The list of "I don't knows" is.
Well.
A forest.
:)
TreeRPG, from Tumblr, is leaving because of Tumblr's new, extremely opaque, policy to sell data to AI companies with (at best) minimal prote
I made a Google doc if you want to receive a one-time notification in 6-12 months when I figure out a new plan.
If you sign up, you'll get 1 email, "Here is the new home." Then the list is sealed and then destroyed.
You will not be contacted on any other projects. Your information will be kept private, it will not be sold or traded or gifted or shared etc.
It will be used once.
Something to the effect of "TreeRPG is now at yaddayadda, enjoy! Your information has been purged from this list, it will be deleted on XYZ date."
Sorry.
This is a lot of words.
I'm sad and angry and have a lot of work to do suddenly now that I have to move Tree and Sarsaparilla and Worm Friend and everyone else.
Thank you for a great three months.
More someday.
Promise.
Never let the bastards keep you down.
This will be the last post of TreeRPG. The singular exception will be if my Tumblr account still exists when I find a new place, I'll pop in here once and say "Hey! We're over here now!" as one-final catch-all.
I'm so sad.
I'm sorry.
The tags in notes and the comments I've received have made it clear that a lot of people really enjoyed this project.
I'll keep going, I'll make a new plan, that's what I do.
Okay. Ending ramble.
here's the signup link one last time: https://forms.gle/j3Fvvo1bekoi1FhD9
Caretaker has awoken me, a bit after Sun Opening, with a surprise.
“This is a lemon,” she offers, carving into two a yellow fruit. Intense color, beautiful, a blessing.
She squeezes half and juice falls onto the soil surrounding my base. I have learned to welcome new flavors and am excited for this gift.
I am at a loss for words for several breezes.
“The flavor is tart,” she offers, providing a new word to this new sensation, a bit hesitant as I vibrate anew.
“Is this for the Royals, as you have described?” I gasp. I am a tree. I have learned to talk more in the Cold Times, in my quiet study, as the days creep longer and the night recedes. “Surely this is for Those That Jewel on Heads and Fingers?” I ask, solemnly, expecting Lemon to be expensive, rare, a jewel itself.
The dryad, my Caretaker, smiles, teeth, broad Joy.
“Would you like more?”
“I could not, you must Lemon, Caretaker, this is a blessing.”
The dryad shsssshsssshes with her lips, a soft sound, a ward against worry, and then squeezes the second half of the lemon around my trunk, whispering in the tongues of magic, green and yellow the energy, infusing the juice with protection spells, growth spells, and love for her tree.
I am a tree.
I am her tree.
I infuse the lemon.
The Caretaker slices the rind and pulp and buries it around my trunk so I may drink deep and bring to my furthest leaf and root this blessing.
I awake briefly as the Caretaker touches my trunk and whispers a Kindness in her language. I now understand it, she speaks to me in the tongues of Dryad and Tree.
I am a tree.
I now speak Dryad.
There are more languages.
I lifted many new branches to encircle Caretaker, I am not strong enough to lift her Into the Air, but I am stronger now than I was before.
I do not fear the Cold Times.
Caretaker made a bell sound when I lifted her a bit. I know this to be laughter. The sound warms me like Green Energy at the sun’s highest.
I can feel the Caretaker’s potions strengthening my trunk, making my roots grow deep. I enjoy this feeling, roots digging into the soil, grasping and searching.
I am growing rapidly, thanks to the Caretaker's magical protection against the Blue Energy times. It is cold when I stretch my branches outside the bubble of her protection.
It is good to explore.
The Caretaker is name Sarsaparilla, she is a dryad, I am a tree. She is telling me of grocery stores, about her day. I love hearing about her day.
The Caretaker's Love-Heart is a pixie, Caretaker refers to her often and grows flush when she does so. When Sarsaparilla talks of her wife, it is as if the High Sun has arisen and lights only her cheeks.
I do not know what a pixie is.
Caretaker says I am growing well, a sapling, I shall be a mighty tree by summer.
The land's magics are allowing me to grow quickly, root deeply.
I wish to go to the grocery store with Caretaker and the pixie that makes her cheeks rosy as if it were High Sun.
“Grew about three or four new tracts this season, oh and you would be so proud of the acidbone trees! Finally getting along with the withering willows. Only took, what has it been now, twenty years? And most of the Purple Wisps attention — that’s the group of dryads that live by Death’s Grip creek. Gentle as the dawn, those lovelies…” Autumn’s Lost Wood continued well into the twilight.
Through wind and storm, forests talk to each other, sharing news on expansions or losses of territory, who and what is moving in and out, and general gossip. They share information about health and magic flows, they request and trade energies back and forth.
The Sylvan Graveyard, a petrified forest on the other side of the Netherworld, listened to its friend. “Oh you gorgeous thing! Very proud of you. I’ve been working on filling out inside, so growth of territory has been slow but I have managed to set up more saplings. Will wait a pile of decades before having the gorgons change them to stone. Had a delightful lava wash just the other day — old Mount Dragon Springs blasted out after getting all riled up. The gorgons had a field day, lounging and swimming in the molten rock. How are you set for ash, beloved? I’ve tons to spare, if it would be helpful?”
Autumn’s Lost thought it over for a few days before accepting the offer. At this point in the year, more ash would be welcome to help keep the air chill and the resident undead comfortable. “You really don’t mind?”
“Not in the slightest,” the Graveyard called back. “I’ll send a flight of will-o-wisps over tomorrow night. Would you be able to spare a few of hawhtorn fireflies in return?” Autumn’s Lost Wood readily agreed.
I awake briefly as the Caretaker touches my trunk and whispers a Kindness in her language. I now understand it, she speaks to me in the tongues of Dryad and Tree.
I am a tree.
I now speak Dryad.
There are more languages.
I lifted many new branches to encircle Caretaker, I am not strong enough to lift her Into the Air, but I am stronger now than I was before.
I do not fear the Cold Times.
Caretaker made a bell sound when I lifted her a bit. I know this to be laughter. The sound warms me like Green Energy at the sun’s highest.
I can feel the Caretaker’s potions strengthening my trunk, making my roots grow deep. I enjoy this feeling, roots digging into the soil, grasping and searching.
Worm-friend has taught me to make a letter out of the discarded caps of mushrooms. I am a tree.
I am writing a letter to Caretaker, whom is preparing her Home for the coming cold times. Caretaker lives in a cottage and not outside. This is confusing.
I shall write to her so she will not forget Outside.
The ravens have returned. I am writing to the Caretaker to discuss their play: they are diving after each other, hiding in shadows, darting out and pecking tail feathers.
The ravens are making a loud, raucous sound. It reminds me of Caretaker’s musical sound after a rabbit, determined to eat a bit of fireberry, ran away after a single bite.
The sounds are pleasing.
I am a tree.
The wind is growing colder.
Worm-friend will soon be digging deep into the soil, the cold times are coming.
I wish for bravery on the morning’s sunlight breakfast.
“I am the forest, I am ancient. I treasure the stag, I treasure the deer. I shelter you from storm, I shelter you from snow. I resist the frost, I keep the source. I nurse the earth, I am always there. I build your house, I kindle your hearth. Therefore, you people, hold me dear.”
— Inscription found in a 17th century forester’s house in Lower Saxony, Germany
