RETURN JOURNEY

June 25th, 2022 – July 4th, 2022
Something's gone wrong.

On June 25th, the Navarch makes an announcement — not over the CommLinks, but the ship's PA system. It might surprise you to find the ship has a PA system, but her tone is brisk, businesslike.

She announces that the Peregrine is making an emergency landing, on the nearby planet of Pugreo. And in under half an hour, the ship lands heavily — crashes, it might be more accurate to say — in the middle of an abandoned amusement park. Or, well, at least a closed amusement park.

The full OOC write-up for the event is here. If you have any questions about the event, please ask here.




Even if you miss the announcement, you won't miss the alarms. They blare down the halls, lights flickering as the ship reroutes power to its forward shields, bracing for too-quick entry into the atmosphere. The message is clear: find somewhere to hunker down and ready yourself as well as you can for impact.

The ship hits the ground at 8:07 A.M., Peregrine standard time, hard enough to disrupt its built-in gravity and tear through a small shed like paper. The crash indiscriminately bounces wardens and inmates off the floor, along with anything else not nailed down. Anyone in the open-air areas — or, worse, near a hull breach — will find themselves thrown overboard. The rest of you, well, hopefully you find yourself with nothing more serious than some cuts or bruises.

Passengers will exit the ship to find it's already evening on the planet of Pugreo, but the locals who come to investigate are friendly and attentive. A few of them make casual mention of an upcoming holiday and the Peregrine's fortuitous timing, but fail to elaborate on specifics.



All passengers are asked to secure resources and guard the Peregrine, though those with the means to assist in other ways won't be refused. Wardens especially are expected to keep close tabs on inmates; circumstances make it much harder to tell who is or isn't sneaking around.

There are members of the maintenance crew around, investigating the hull breach and organizing bots. While most of them are too busy for conversation, you might be able to catch one of them here.

The amusement park is quiet, almost desolate without a crowd coming and going, and it's recommended everyone travel in pairs. While the locals have been polite and the park mercifully closed in anticipation of the holidays, the Peregrine staff didn't have time to research Pugreo. And without humans as a steady deterrent, there are wild animals to consider.



A day or so after the Peregrine crashes, the Deathbed Blossoms bloom — and the Purge officially begins. The aggression of the locals is sudden, but calculated; the ones who show up in the night, to loot the Peregrine and strip it for parts, are well-practiced and familiar with violence. There is little discrimination in their targets.

Not all of the locals participate in the violence, however — or at least not willingly, under the influence of the Deathbed Blossom's pollen. A few people take refuge in the tunnels or use them to flee the city; some seek out the forest-dwellings, reputedly high enough in the trees that the worst of the pollen doesn't reach them.

The pollen will wear off after a while, so long as you aren't constantly exposed to it. It isn't the worst idea to wrestle the badly affected back aboard the ship or even into solitary, whether they're a warden or inmate. The ship's shields keep out the worst of the pollen...so long as no one contaminates the area some other way.



Finally, the ship is space-worthy and ready for takeoff. It isn't back up to 100% after possible sabotage, but the maintenance crew can at least guarantee it's safe.

This time, Archimedes sends a brief ping to everyone's CommLinks. It's time to get back aboard as quickly as possible, lest you be left behind. And after the mimics, the last thing the Peregrine needs are more stowaways, so you'll want to lose any pursuers — and quickly.

May 28th – June 1st, 2022
The Peregrine recently stopped in Bhujerba and took on a whole bunch of new supplies, courtesy of the ship's crew. The transport bots are now positioning those massive pallets of supplies in the storage facility, and wardens (and sneaking inmates!) won't have trouble noticing them: unlike the smooth metal and glass cases that make up the bulk of the storage facility's freight, these were packaged in Bhujerba. They look like great black-and-gold amphoras with matching legs. Practical? Certainly not. Nicer to look at? Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but it sure breaks up all this minimalist shit.

And then one morning, the passengers will discover that some of the amphoras have been moved, and no one really seems to know by who (though Archimedes has ideas).

This event takes player submissions for what will be found in the amphoras, which you can find on the OOC post here. If you have any questions about the event, please ask here.




They're gone.

One day there were dozens of amphoras, lined up in neat rows on a metal pallet, and now their numbers are halved. The storage facility is supposed to be off-limits to inmates, but it doesn't stop them from walking in anyway to poke around. Thieves, perhaps? Stored goods don't just get up and walk away on their own.



The amphoras show up all on their own a few days later, tucked into corners in odd rooms, between rows of plants in the greenhouse, under a desk in the resource library... Anywhere a door wouldn't stop them and, even then, they occasionally sneak in. A sharp eye might notice the slightest variation in color, or question how they got in at all, but a curious cat will find the answer quickest.

When touched, the amphoras come to life, their stands unfolding into four spider-like legs, the body pivoting parallel to the ground. The lid becomes a terrible eye. It may look like a machine, but its thick carapace makes it an insectoid.

What it wants, unfortunately, is to feast on sentient brains.

Good luck!



Destroying the mimics yields loot: a dropped cache of goods. The problem is there's no way to tell what belongs to who...and finding the intended owner means knowing what that person might want.

Please respond here if you'd like your character to find any items; just remember, it's their job to figure out who it rightfully belongs to! (There's a cheat sheet here with what items are intended for who, but it's always fun to consider who your character would think would want that item...if only to play keep-away.)

May 4th, 2022 – May 11th, 2022
Welcome, bhadra, to the city-state of Bhujerba! The Peregrine touches down on May 4th, in a proper port — airships are the only way on and off the city, so the Aerodrome is a busy and bustling place. As a sky-city built on a mountainous structure floating ten thousand feet above the ground, it has little in the way of wilderness, but it has a sprawling city with deep mines stretching down beneath it. Look down past the railings when the thick clouds part and you'll see the world below; look up and you'll see great blue crystalline structures, a mark of the deep magicks that keep the city in the sky.

The full OOC write-up for the port is here. If you have any questions about the event, please ask here.




It's been months since the ship made port, but whether it's been days or months, it's always exciting to see somewhere new. The Aerodrome is thriving with people, passenger ships and merchant ships and military ships alike making berth in the docks, all contributing to the rivers of people pouring in and out of the building. The sounds of the crowd bounce around the vaulted ceilings, humid tropical air hotter still for the press of bodies everywhere. Navigating the crowds takes a certain confidence, lest you get knocked aside by a burly creature carrying a crate on his back, or separated from your companions by a throng of chattering flight stewardesses.

Of course, not everyone will disembark. Inmates cannot leave the ship without a warden as escort, and wardens are responsible for inmates in port — they don't have to be glued to each others' sides, of course, but it's harder to make trouble under a watchful eye.



Thanks to the Navarch, there are rooms booked in the Cloudborne for passengers who do not want to trek back and forth from the Peregrine. Staying above a busy and bustling tavern isn't always the most restful affair, of course, given there isn't really a closing hour, but it certainly makes for a life experience.

The tavern below is full of colourful characters, drawn by the ludicrously cheap pints. It isn't uncommon for people to get soundly drunk, but a watchful Seeq keeps an eye out on the place: get too rowdy or violent and you might find yourself thrown out on your ass.



Though the mines are closed, there's plenty to do in the labyrinthine tunnels winding deep into the mountain.

The Paling — Talk with the locals in the taverns and on the streets and you might notice a frequent topic of conversation: the paling's fall. The paling was a Crystal used to create a magick barrier that kept fiends at bay in the mines, so that the miners could work safely. However, something — or someone — has stripped the paling of its magickal energy, and now the fiends have overrun the abandoned tunnels. Sometimes they even make their way out and attack the locals. It is imperative that some brave hero makes their way deep into the tunnels, finds the paling, and recharges its magick power. But so far no one has been up to the task...

Hunting Marks — A bulletin board in the Cloudborne has posters for bounties, seeking hunters willing to deal with the fiends that spill out of the mines. Many are for looking for materials, such as bat fangs fresh from the jaws of the massive, four-winged bats, or bone fragments from the undead skeletons. Or, for the particularly ambitious: the mighty Nidhogg, a colossal snake with a highly venomous tail spike. A prize awaits the first to return with its skin!

Filthy Pirates! — Not everyone ventures in to mop up trouble for the locals: the mines are a considerable draw to those who are happy to risk the fiends for the chance to loot the goods left behind. Many people have fallen in these attempts, leaving gil, armor, weaponry and other goods strewn through the depths. Be careful, though: not all treasure is as it seems.



The marketplace is as busy as the Aerodrome, with massive crowds clustered around covered tents, wooden booths, and humble cloths laid out on the stone floor, all bearing incredible wares. The atmosphere is raucous: people haggling boisterously, children scampering between adults' legs, people hollering for others to move, move, as they shove their way through with carts of purchases or goods for sale.

Food is plentiful: turnips and onions are particularly popular, given the season, and tomatoes fetch a high price. Street food vendors sell stewed cockatrice (chicken-esque!), chunks of moist cactus, flank steaks on sticks, and something aptly called "bacon bread".

And, given the war going on and fiends loose in the world, there is no short supply of weaponry and armor. Swords, pikes, bows, axes, daggers, even a small number of rudimentary firearms, all available to those with ample coin. Armor is popular too, with artisans prepared to make it custom within a day or two — leather is affordable, but the price of metal could feed a laborer for a year.

Beware of pickpockets. Happy shopping!

"I felt in that moment as if it were all a dream—the training, my former life, the world I had left behind. None of that mattered anymore. Only this place mattered, only this moment, and not because the psychologist had hypnotized me. In the grip of that powerful emotion, I stared out toward the coast, through the jagged narrow spaces between the trees. There, a greater darkness gathered, the confluence of the night, the clouds, and the sea. Somewhere beyond, another border."

― Jeff VanderMeer, Annihilation

April 1st – April 7th, 2022
Welcome to the event log for the "Another Border" simulation.

Twenty years ago, a strange phenomena overtook an undisclosed area of Florida coastline. It manifested as a metaphysical border, visible only as a shimmering halo. Animals, humans, vehicles, radio signals, internet, waves — anything that crosses the border is lost. As far as anyone knows, nothing has ever returned, but year by year, the border creeps forward, engulfing more and more of the land. It could be decades before it reaches the nearest city, but considering it has eluded all understanding thus far, it feels like time is running tight.

Every few years, the government sends new recon parties into "Area X", hoping this team will find the source of the phenomena, return, or simply establish communication from within. And it's time to send in another crew.

If you have any questions about the event, please ask here. You can familiarize yourself with simulation basics on our events page.




Security is tight. There are military checkpoints, final psychological and physical exams, gear to be inventoried and mounted. The plastic sheeting and polished steel, and the air smells of gasoline from the generators and the faintest whiff of rubbing alcohol. Sterile. A world away from the untamed wilds ahead of them.

There's a cold finality to it all: it is very likely that none of these explorers will come back. Is there a glimmer of hope that they will this time, or is it all just rote, we go because we must, because we've been ordered to, because the idea that something more will make the difference? It's hard to say. Someone passes around beers. Some prattle. Some just sit with their thoughts. We all prepare in different ways. Does any of it change the first steps through the shimmering halo of Area X?

Or perhaps you've evaded security entirely — the borders of Area X are ever-growing, and ever harder to police. There is very little beyond common sense preventing people from wading through swamps, boating out just past the coastline, or simply creeping through the vast miles of forest under cover of darkness.



The world is full of strange and wonderful things, especially so in a place where the basic building blocks of life intermingle freely and without judgement.

In this way, the strange can become familiar. Millennia ago, before civilization and industry and the written word, a human could wander the forest in the purest state of nature, no different from other animals. That can be true here, too. People have come here in flak jackets and rip-stop and nylon, and the world around them asks them to consider a life without, a world where saplings sprout from deer skulls and you can come home. The roofs of the buildings in an ancient town have collapsed, as nothing here needs a roof over its head. One can press their palms into the earth and feel sustenance without a single morsel passing their lips. You can belong here.

And in another way, the wonderful can become terrifying. Maybe it's the way plants grow into facsimiles of human forms with boughed arms, and if you dare to touch them, they reach to touch you. Maybe it's finding the corpses of past explorers subsumed in fungal growth, human arms wrapped around mushroom and mushroom sprouting from skin. Maybe it's some animal, an alligator possessing human eyes and fingers, birds capable of speech, a manatee that splits open to reveal human organs.

What cannot come along is your damage. It doesn't — shouldn't — matter here, but humans are often too sentimental to let it go. That may be the strangest and most wonderful challenge at all.

"That which dies shall still know life in death for all that decays is not forgotten and reanimated it shall walk the world in the bliss of not-knowing. And then there shall be a fire that knows the naming of you, and in the presence of the strangling fruit, its dark flame shall acquire every part of you that remains."

― Jeff VanderMeer, Annihilation

There are countless ways to die in Area X. Even if you evade the refracted wildlife, avoid merging with the flora, or survive encounters with other explorers, you fragment with every step. What's left of you when you're broken down into the base parts of yourself? What can you let go?

It's a truth you'll have to confront, or lose your sense of self to the world around you, yet another explorer swallowed by the wilds beyond the shimmering barrier.



There is no peaceful waking up. Post-death or post-change, awakening is a weightlessness shattered by a hard and sudden connection with the ground.

You wake in your bed or your bunk and, in that first instant, everything is as real as if you're still there. And then, at your own pace, there's a coming down to earth: this is you, these are your memories, and they're different from the ones that have flooded your mind for the past few days. It was real, if only in a dream.

The ship is quiet. The light are dimmed, swelling to life only when someone passes through the area and settling back into darkness on their heels. Many are still asleep in their beds. Their eyes twitch beneath their eyelids, and they move occasionally, shivering, mumbling. They will wake for nothing, not until they've completed their task, as you have.

March 9th, 2022
Tasked with picking up some emergency botanical supplies, the Peregrine stopped in Meodriotope in February and is now making haste towards another ship, for a rendezvous and hand-off of the supplies. In late morning, the view out of the windows on one side of the Peregrine will be blocked almost entirely by another ship — the Feather, also from the Admiralty's fleet. The hand-off will take place here, between two ships.

In the afternoon (local Peregrine time), a mini transport from the other ship docks in the Peregrine's loading bay. Three passengers disembark to assist in the loading, have some brief conversations, and then be on their way.

If you have any questions about the event, please ask here.




The Feather is one of the oldest ships in the Admiralty's fleet, a fact that is perhaps less known than intuited, simply by looking at it. While the Peregrine's sleek helices and centre spire move through space like some deep-sea organism, the Feather is a great drifting whale, its broad and boxy body speckled with simple portholes. The sides are painted with murals — abstract swirls of colour, flowers the size of houses, massive birds flitting between them. There's text that must have taken quite the ladder to paint: "Hope is a thing with feathers!" The murals are patchy and worn, but there's a lot of love there.

But despite how massive it is, it floats weightless in space. It comes so close to the Peregrine's side that it almost seems like they could brush, and the ships' respective force-fields thrum as they "merge", blending into one large bubble. In the distance, one can see quite a number of passengers on an outside deck, gathered at the railings to watch. Too far to shout across, but certainly close enough to see tiny limbs waving hello!

In the observatory, the computer monologues:

"The Feather. Currently on the 18th year of its current mission. Current population consists of 295 wardens, 306 inmates, 5 graduates in-transition and 53 supporting staff. Most passengers are from Earth Variants. The Feather is currently headed by Navarch Margaret "Old Lady" Lloyd, a Navarch with 45 years of experience..."



Want to lend a hand? The more the merrier. The crates of Lover's Kiss must be brought to the loading bay, checked and then loaded into the waiting transport ship. Caution is a must; we can't have the flowers crushed or damaged when they're sorely needed for medicines at their final destination.

Helping, of course, are the representatives from the Feather: two wardens and an inmate. (They'll have their own top levels below!)



Passengers identified to the Navarch as having assisted in the gathering efforts will have a delivery bot stop by with a clear plastic container fogged over by steam. The container is warm to the touch, and opening it reveals a lusciously greasy cheeseburger with all the fixings, a mound of thick-cut salted french fries, and the fattest, cheesiest, richest-looking slice of pizza known to mankind. The food is cradled by red food-wrapping sheets with a white PIZZA PLANET logo. Enjoy!

(Or kill someone for a french fry after weeks or months of eating processed food substitutes. You do you.)



So there was that thing the Navarch said — the flowers are fragile and must be handled with care, as they are only useful intact. And sure enough, on the surface of Meodriotope, dutiful flower-pickers had discovered that if you plucked them too roughly, they'd explode, leaving red stains that take weeks to wear off skin, even with dutiful scrubbing. It's been weeks and they're just starting to fade, fortunately, but there's a second phase.

Passengers stained red might discover they're having trouble sleeping. The redder they are, the longer their minds refuse to rest. In severe cases, this results full-blown insomnia. In mild cases, the body may shut down while the mind remains completely alert. These effects could last anywhere between a few days to a full week.

Good luck!