Your name: Bee
Your pronouns: They/them
Contact: gothbarbies | itsabee @ discord
🐝 I live in chronic illness land, my activity can be up and down. Backtags are my lifeblood.
🐝 I will be out town next weekend.

Are you planning to create a log this month? I probably will because even if I commit to tag outs, it personally helps me to write my version of the prompt so I have a baseline headspace to work on.

Character name: Sokta | cynomorpha
General ideas or plans for the month:
💀 Loading up on knives.
💀 Trying not to go crazy about trying to find some kind of cipher in the nonsense texts. I might give him a memory of decoding ancient language to nudge him. Paranoia increased.

Event ideas:

THE URGE
💀 The worst version of Creeby out there will just kill you, no questions asked. Do you want to die? Do you want to kill him defending yourself? Do you just want to kill him and be done with it? I am here for you and all your needs.

THE CATACOMBS
💀 He can feel the die. Being in these spaces of high Death Energy makes him feel very strangely. And it's because he's on the death frequency as the avatar of the Ghost Dog. He's definitely not dead. He's definitely not fully alive. It feels kind of like floating in water to him.
💀 He said he'd look and try to help with the cistern, so here he is.
💀 He's definitely the asshole who will wander around the maze alone.

Character name: India McCray | sightstosee
Psychic child permissions: Link
General ideas or plans for the month:
👁️ Glaring back at the sheriff
👁️ Scared by everything shaking apart.

Event ideas:

✨ She has a couple solid memories I can attach to either of these sections, I'll see what strikes my fancy as I go.

THE URGE cw: she's like 14
👁️ Spreads hands. I know child murder is not anyone's favorite topic, but it's not like she's equipped to really defend herself. I am ok with it if that's the flavor of angst you are looking for. Wow what a CR accelerator.
👁️ If you want to skip playing out the aforementioned child murder, I am also perfectly chill to handwave it and just pick up again in the catacombs.
👁️ We can also do a little slasher movie where someone saves her.
👁️ Should that strike no one's fancy, she could at least go after that damn sheriff who has wronged her so. That's what he gets for treating her like a stupid little girl. Huff.

✨ India raised the cleaver swiftly, and brought it down squarely between Marian Savage's neck and shoulder. No blood but only more sand, pure and purely white, sprayed out. Marian Savage jerked and fell over. India wrested the cleaver out and plunged it deep into the woman's belly, cutting through her blue shift [...] A geyser of sand spewed up from the heart of the dead woman, sand that was wet and foul.

THE CATACOMBS
👁️ If you want to explore, you can take India as your extra set of eyes and psychic senses. She will want to help, it just means taking a child with you into a dark underground labyrinth.
👁️ She will probably go explore on her own even if you don't take her woops, she's stubborn like that.

✨ There is a memory I am interested in giving her that may cause her to wander around the many Staywells trying to find a specific room that she is not going to find. Maybe someone should have her sit down and drink a glass of water....

Barefoot, India attained the top of the dune. She would have slid down again but that she grabbed hold of one of the carved fleurs-de-lis that friezed the second floor of the house. She pulled herself up straight before the casement and stared down through the window into a room that was structurally identical to her own. She was never sure afterward what she had expected, but whatever that expectation had been, it was not fulfilled by what she saw.

The chamber, which perfectly resembled her own in the matter of proportion, woodwork, and ornamentation, was furnished in a style she recognized as late Victorian. There was a mahogany bedstead with four high posts with carved pineapples for finials; a wardrobe, dresser, and dressing table of the same wood were carved in the same style. Rush matting had been laid over the floor and the walls were covered in a striped paper of green and black. From a picture molding hung a number of dark-framed prints, only slightly askew on their triangled wires. On a table beside the bed was a ruby-glass carafe with a ruby-glass tumbler inverted over the mouth. India could see that it still held water. On the dressing table was a jumble of brushes, and an opened box with a mirror that she suspected was a shaving kit.

The sun shone directly through the window, illuminating a portion of the room brilliantly, and leaving the rest obscure. India’s own black shadow of curiosity stretched across the floor, like a startled residue of the room’s last inhabitant.