journalkeeper | Memory Plot 2017

These are HEADCANON based on canon - and I've included transcript snippets for canon context.

The Year Alone
Griffin: And over the next few days she tells you about this year that she had, her constant pursuit by the officers of this court, the marauders in these outlying villages that tried to take the ship away from her, of all these forces that constantly threatened to end her and permanently end your escape from The Hunger for good. And you’ve all had difficulties on this journey, but you’ve never been alone before, not like this. You never knew that weight. And Lucretia lived with it, along with all the other challenges that this world threw at her every day for a year.

You're alone.

You're in a big silver ship flying through the sky, and you're alone. You're trying to fly the ship the best you can, but it's damaged and you don't know how. You're not the usual pilot.

On the world below, you see a canyon. A hiding spot, after almost 24 hours at the helm and you know you need to take that chance. So you manage to get the ship down to land in it, though it's a tight squeeze and the ship definitely scratches against the rocks on one side in a screeching sound that's terrifying, but you do manage to land safely.

You do a check around the ship, though you know the others are gone. You look into rooms - some tidy, some not, one filled with plants, the kitchen, the deck. There's damage and things have fallen over, and you confirm that yes, you're alone.

Finally you go to check your room but before you enter the door, you step in something wet. You stare at the ground. "What...? Oh no, Fisher."

Opening the door, you enter your room. The normally neat and tidy space has a slightly rumbled look, like it'd gone through an earthquake. On your desk your journals are fine, though one of the inkwells had fallen over and spilled all over the floor, but the floor itself is covered with water.

Half your room is taken up by a massive tank that has a large crack in it.

In the tank is what looks like a jellyfish, but it's big with thousands of tendrils. It's huge. Inside the jellyfish are what look like swirling nebulas of stars and constellations.

Fisher makes a worried sounding trill.

"It - it'll be okay, Fisher. They're gone, but they'll be back. I - I just have to make it through the year. They'll be back, I promise."

You furiously brush tears from your face.

Wonderland
(( cw for injury, implied body horror / suffering idk how to warn for Wonderland honestly ))

The Director: My journey through Wonderland was hell, boys. I faced foes the likes of which I’ve never seen outside of those walls, and psychological terrors that to this day leave me shaken. I abandoned my delve into Wonderland, but only after losing a wager that cost me dearly.

Griffin: With her back to you, she is facing that portrait in the back of the room, the one that I guess-- I think it was Taako who thought it had some kind of arcane energy around it, and with a wave of her white oak staff, that image in the portrait changes, and the Lucretia that you see - she’s about a 50 year old woman - disappears, and there is a young woman, in the portrait, with the same light hair and dark skin that the Director has, but she looks a couple of decades younger than the Director that you know today. And the Director rotates her chair to face you and says:

The Director: That was me, not that long ago. I wagered 20 years of my life in a game of chess in Wonderland... and I lost. I’m not a vain woman. I don’t care about losing the beauty of my youth, but 20 years is lot of life to have pulled out from under you.

It’s dark.

Despite this, aside from yourself, a person man is visible. He's a sorcerer wearing forest green robes with one of the sleeves lying loose, the arm not filling it. It’s not tied up, and he keeps reaching for it with his other hand as if to feel something there but his fingers just close on fabric. There are no bloodstains or anything to indicate that the arm had been torn off. It’s just... gone.

While there’s no bloodstains on that sleeve, you're both a fucking mess otherwise. Both you and the man have scratches on your face and hands, you have a "bandage" ripped the bottom of your robes to make a bandage around your stomach, which is soaked through, and the man’s footprints leave blood in their wake. You're exhausted, he's exhausted, you're both injured and... missing things.

You speak up first. “Cam, I’m so sorry that last fight was – – it was... hard.” A wisp of black smoke escapes your mouth when you say that.

He laughs nervously. “Haha, yeah, kinda difficult without an arm. But I’ll be okay, boss. Well, no, I don’t think either of us are gonna be okay, but... we just gotta keep going.”

“I’m sorry for getting you into this, I never – I didn’t know how hard this would be.”

Suddenly from above come two disembodied voices, clearly audible but from no apparent direction or source.

“Well now, you survived quite beautifully!” says one.

“You’ve earned yourselves another round of Wits and Wagers!” says the other.

A light blinks on, and two game wheels appear: one is decorated with pictograph images of various types of games, and the other has pictograph images of a hand, an eye, a skull, a brain and the like.

One of the voices asks, “Who shall spin the wheels?”

You step forward. "Cam took the spin last time, it's only fair if I do so." Your voice shakes.

From above the voices giggle. “I love it!” and “Spin it, Darling.”

You put your hands on the first wheel and give it a spin. Clack clack clack clack clack. When it finally stops it’s landed on a picture of a chess piece. Immediately a spotlight turns on in the middle of the room and there is a small table with an elaborate chessboard. All the pieces are tiny dolls wearing glamorous clothes, intricately detailed. There are two chairs and one of them has a fancily dressed mannequin occupying it.

You give a little sigh. It’s not the worst outcome, but it’s not the best. But then again, there are no good outcomes in this place. You walk over the second wheel and spin it. It whirls. Clack clack clack clack clack. When it lands it stops on a small picture of a clock.

“Ooooo, the clock!”

“Can you guess what the clock represents?”

You look up at the ceiling where you think the voices are coming from and answer, “Time. I think it’s time.”

“Bing bing bing! What a clever girl.”

“That’s right, this little clock will take some time from you if you lose the game. Let’s see... You’ve been in the game for some time now, haven’t you? This round is going to be a little bit more serious. Hm, hm! How much time should we take from her?”

“Oh, let’s say about… twenty years?”

“Twenty years should do it! What do you say?”

You glance back at Cam who gestures to his arm. Could be worse, seems to be the message.

"Last time one of us took the penalty, we had to spin the wheel again and take whatever we got without playing the game.”

“That’s right!”

“I’ll play,” you say, keeping the fear from your voice. And without prompting, you walk forward and sit next to the mannequin. “White goes first.”

You play. You're quite good. But whatever entity that is puppetting the mannequin is better.

Eventually, you lose.

And you feel yourself getting older. You were in your early twenties. Now you're in your early forties, and you can tell.

From above, the voices cackle in glee. "Now wasn't that fun? Time for the next round!"