So I'd love for people who aren't playing my SBURB game to be able to see what we've been up to and follow along, but since roll20 doesn't allow easy spectating, i'm just gonna dump everything here after the fact. Logs are unedited and include side-chatter and dice rolling. I'm going to spoiler each section of the logs with a brief summary at the top. Trigger warnings will go there too if they come up. If non-players want to discuss or draw fanart or anything, do that in this thread too! DRAMATIS PERSONAE THE LANDS (in entry order) (these descriptions were all written by a super talented rl friend of mine) Spoiler: LOFAC - Lemi Malloy There’s light, but only a little of it. It may be better in fact if here were no light about all, because without the light there would be no shadows. But without the tiny lick of light from each candle, the shapes casting the shadows would be invisible. The things that cast the twisting, sharp-edged shadows would still be there, but unseen and waiting to entangle the unaware. This land is dangerous. Too dangerous to forgo a light and escape the shadows. The ground is cracked and crevasse, a wounded landscape of deep red rocks. Everything is still, you tell yourself. Nothing out there is moving, no matter how much the—what was that? No. Nothing is moving. It is just the unreliability of flame. Only the light source has flickered. The pointed shapes, all dark and angled, are stationary. Only the shadows move with the light. You can believe that. You tell yourself that nothing is coming to get you. You have a harder time believing that. At least it’s warm. If you were somewhere else, the temperature would relax you, loosening your shoulders as you stretch out under the sun, or by the fireplace. Here, the warmth comes from the ground. The deep red—no, admit it. The blood red stone radiates heat as if, as if it were alive. You expected it to give when you touched it. For it to be sticky and smell metallic and all too human. It felt like smooth warm rock, with a bit of sand on it. All that stuff about it being alive? Ptffff, you didn’t really think that. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You have the urge to turn on all the lights in your house, but they all stopped working when you entered. Only the glow of your computer screen remains; so you suppress that urge. Instead, you pick up a candle, and light it. It’s time to go. Welcome, Rogue of Hope. Spoiler: LORAM - Leon Gaspar You enter, and the air changes. It's cool now, a bit damp. The kind of chill that would promise a hot day ahead, if Sburb made or kept any promises. No, there are no days or nights here, only counted hours under an eternal sunrise. The sky, decked in pale orange and pink with wisps of clouds catching purple was reflected in the still water. There is water everywhere. A delicate lace mist hovers just above the surface, a moment away from dissipating. Yet it remains, framing concrete pilings and sinking ruins that are the only things that emerge from the water's surface. Once, there was a flood, and what had been before is now hidden by the stilled waters. What there was, before only a great, twisting highway became the only thing visible, is smashed or waterlogged. The water had not always been still. Once, it was a tumult. Rushing, it sprayed cold droplets as it lept. It dashed buildings to pieces, hiding the past. It had been the definition of sublimity: beautiful and terrifying. Now, in this false morning, it rests. Welcome, Seer of Time Spoiler: LOPAB - Sera Whittle The land is as if someone had finally admitted defeat against their mother and grumpily made their bed by bunching up all the blankets and then laying a quilt on top and then began the hopeless business of trying to make it flat. Not to say that the land is defeated, grumpy, or hopeless, but rather that it is very much like lumpy quilt. Patchwork hills in innumerable colors roll out in roll out in front of you. The ground is a soft but comact sod, springy and plush with life. Your own house sits, mysteriously transported, in the middle of a field of royal blue flowers. Golden afternoon light streams down from the blue sky. A nice, normally colored sky, although it lacks a sun. The whole land seems perfectly lovely, with the warmth and the gentle buzzing of the bees. It feels homelike, and then a bell tolls. Not that the sound of a ringing bell would be a problem, of course. The presence of bells spotting the land changes nothing about how beautiful and amazingly bed-like the land looks. In fact, it means it's exactly like home. Exactly. Like. Home. Yup! The blue flowers hang from their stems. Their petals are fused and fold down so that they too resemble bells. But when a breeze causes them to sway or a bee alights and shakes the plant in search of nectar, they do no ring. Welcome, Page of Heart Spoiler: LODAF - Moss Kaplan In front of you, above you, and all around you, everything was grey. Grey and brown in uncountable textures. The sky was covered in clouds heavy with rain, but bright from a light that shined behind them. The air was hot and dry; it was waiting for something. The whole land was hot and dry and waiting. The ground was dust. Brown earth dried to grey, it’s last color taken away by the light that filtered down. Coated in the dust, even the colorful, dehydrated frogs abandoned their hue. This land wasn’t always dry like this, it’s easy to tell. Everywhere, there were twisted trees, stunted with their bark peeling. Browned creepers and vines crumbled. As you watched, a breeze pulled one of the few remaining leaves on a tree near you away. It floated for a moment, then dove down into a swirl of dust. It looked like a miniature tornado—a dust-devil, you remembered the name suddenly. Already you felt thirsty. Soon, your lips would dry out, cracking like the ground. Your skin would grow rough like the knurled and bleached trees. You could feel that if you got lost in this hostile world you too would dry out and become one of the frogs. This land seemed so empty, so dead, so hostile, but with the next slow, hot breeze, you smelt something different. You couldn’t quite name what it was, but in that moment you knew it to be the smell of freedom. Welcome, Knight of Space. Spoiler: LOSAS - Ilmatar Nordwind All the colors that shine through in an oil spill, or on the back of a CD When you tip it just so, Muted to be cousins of chrome by the grey light. They form Stepped mountains that poke their heads above the clouds. You are above the clouds On a rainbow ziggurat you find yourself, Breath stolen from your lungs by the Grandeur Strangeness Noise. Breathe in the sounds of the storm that rolls beneath your feet. Lightning arcs between clouds and thunder booms at the same moment. Ringing. And when your ears ring less you can hear the rain again, Rushing beneath you, Pouring down the twisting stairs and Pooling As the irregular steps change to form geometric basins. But for all the geometry we hold as human, Bismuth crystals grow. Bismuth crystals twist, They form stairways that lead in all directions. They are indiscriminate They have love affairs with all sorts of angles until Their shapes coalesce into tiered mountain ranges that are nothing but islands surrounded by storms. The clouds roll. They move like waves, Not driven by wind but by some need for undulation, Shifting forwards and back. Crashing with a welcome silence against the cliff, Spraying tendrils of mist Up Up to where you are now. They do not reach all the way to you, but you follow their path. Look up, hero. The sky is only void. There are four planets now, orbiting the Source of all creation, The home of the battlefield. A dark planet, One of many colors, One that glints of water, One of few colors, And now you are with them. Welcome, Mage of Breath Spoiler: LOWAW - Myrtha Oscurr The sound. Like the ocean. No, the ocean crashes and if you get close to it the water gurgles and the foam hisses and pops. Like the wind then, not when it howls but when it’s a susurrus. When the wind moves through the grass, causing the stalks to rattle and hit each other. Like that, yes, but more human, and still completely inhuman. That was the sound. An endless rise and fall of whispered voices traveling incomprehensibly through wires. The messages came from places unknown, and travel onwards to destinations unknown. Or perhaps they have always been there, and always will be. It is entirely possible that they are meaningless murmurs of no origin and no purpose. It is also possible that the sounds of this land will be the most important thing in your life. What they are, to you, is currently unknowable. But what is known is how the whispers travel. This land is forested, but with strange trees. Great trunks of telephone poles with criss-crossing canopies of wires. As you approach these “leaves”—or should you call them “branches”?—the voices get louder, clearer, but not clear enough to be understood. Perhaps it’s just an optical illusion, but these forests do not seem to be lit from above. The sky is dark, pure midnight blue uninterrupted by clouds or stars. Instead, the light seems to come from the ground. A gentle blue luminescence. A river flows silently; it’s waters dark—darker than the sky. It empties into a sea, just as dark and just as silent. Your own breathing is too loud, your pulse out of place. But there is no ringing in your ears, only mysterious voices. Welcome, Witch of Void.