Upon the River: August 17, 1921 [English Eerie] [One-Shot] [In-Line]
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| "Morning Mist Clearing off the Hills" by James Docharty |
About Upon the River
August 1921: Carlston Dale takes his dying fiance on a trip down a idyllic river so they can have the honeymoon they never had. Only things go wrong when they wash up upon a riverbank where the rules have changed and things move in the fog that always blocks the horizon.
Content Warnings: Mild tobacco use, mild drinking, some cosmic dread...
Upon the River is played using English Eerie scenario "The Lost River" (heavily inspired by Algernon Blackwood's "The Willows," as will be obvious). No additional oracles or tools are used. It will be played in one-day-per-day style format.
Any errors in geography, history, or language are all mine. I do my best.
This "one-shot" will be played In-Line style.
CARLSTON DALE
6 Spirit :: 4 Resolve
The son of shop owners in Bicester, moved to London after a war injury involving a landmine occurred in the very final days of battle. Became an undertaker and got engaged to Julia "Jules" Harcourt. She has been diagnosed with an incurable heart condition and is not expected to live past the end of year. She refuses to marry Carlston, now, so instead they take a trip with two of his friends—Mary Jones and Geoffrey Rose—as well Mary's friend Ivy Prairie. Meant to be a chaste honeymoon and likely Jules's last outing.
Distinguishing Features: Red hair, deep scars on right arm, walks with a notable limp.
Fears: Silence, Deep Water, and Being Trapped.
August 17, 1921. Evening.
My dear Jules bought me this journal to record my thoughts and I am loath to admit that the idea never felt right with me. The unspoken words were “write these words to remember these times after I am gone.” She fears for me.
I should be better at this. Handling death. I am an undertaker. Junior, at least. I am used to death and making it pretty but the trick of being an undertaker is that I never had to deal with the forwardness of death. Everything dies in its time but Jules, Miss Julia Harcourt, surely is not out of time. Alas, the doctors disagree.
We were to be wed this December. Her twentieth birthday. We have been courting since she was seventeen but since I was only twenty, I was not yet established. “Wait for me,” I said and she said, “Of course.” It felt like we had so much time. The Great War was over. Progress was rampant in all the sciences. I was good at my job and she was young and full of energy.
Now, we can wait no longer. The doctor says her heart is nearly done. She might not even survive through October. I pleaded with Jules to marry me outright but she said no. She did not want to make a widower out of me. Let my next wife be the first true love.
There will be no next wife. When Jules is gone I will focus on my work. Carlston the Undertaker, confirmed bachelor.
Mary is the one who recommended this trip, Mary Jones that is, one of my oldest and closest friends. As a way to get out and have a chaste honeymoon before Jules’s passing. Mary perhaps was not all that worried about chaste, being honest. A gentle trip down the River Eden. Jules was a fan of the water. Wanted a cruise down into the tropics but I am afraid of deep water and could never stomach being above the ocean. Being above those miles of quiet. This will have to do.
Coming with us was Geoffrey Rose. Geoff and I had spent the last year of the war together. Two scared young me acting tough with the lads. Always on the way to combat, never quite seeing it. This did not stop me from stepping on a landmine while trying to gather some supplies, though. Three weeks later was armistice. Just three weeks and I could have been left a whole man. Geoff got me to safety but to this day I walk with a limp and a scar along my right arm marks me as injured. Jules never minded. How could any else love such a man as I?
Ivy Prairie is the last of our party of five. Mary’s friend. American. I do not know her and Mary's story but there have been rumors around London. On the second day, Jules made a comment that it is good she is too weak to stay up too late so they can have privacy. I have known Mary too long to pry and realizes that bringing Ivy along represents a sign of trust. Geoff has made a few comments but I mostly mind my own business.
Two canoes with a third tied behind to carry supplies. Geoff handles the canoe with myself and Jules to compensate for her heart and my arm. Mary and Ivy would row together and pull the supplies.
We set out on a sunny Saturday afternoon, August 13, from Mallerstang. The destination is Carlisle. The days were nice. We would row a few miles. Eat some lunch. Row some more. Eat some dinner. Spend the rests walking through the warm, wet grass. Make camp at night with two cozy, snug tents and a campire.
Mary forbade anyone from talking too much about the past or the future. We were only allowed to talk about fun things like cricket matches and how beautiful the trees looked. Her and Ivy and Geoff partake of gin and smoke downwind of us. Jules cannot tolerate either tobacco or alcohol so I abstain of either.
Sometimes Mary and Ivy would go on ahead. Sometimes they would dawdle behind. Never for long. Just a few minutes here or there out of sight of another person. There's a part of me that wishes Ivy would give me a chance to get to know her.
Yesterday, lunch was cut a bit short by a small spot of rain. Then, the afternoon grew increasingly misty and visibility was nearly nil. Geoff finally made the call after a brief consultation with Mary. We would set up for a night a bit early. All of us had taken a full two weeks for this trip and Mary's careful consideration had packed for three so we had ample time.
With bad visibility and the weather suddenly chilly and cold, we did not talk about much. My teeth chattered not due to the damp but because of the silence surrounding our small group and our meagre few feet past the camping stove (too dangerous to gather wood until the morning light). How I wished for music or lights, to be part of some great festival. The river had a strange timbre and there were no birds singing. Once, I heard a sound not unlike a tree falling but it felt more fauna than flora. The great exhalation of some genus loci.
Morning Card: Clue.
The sound of rain when none can be seen.
This brings us to this morning. I awoke slightly before the dawn's first light to the sound of rain. I could distinctly hear it upon the tent. I could hear the splatter upon the river. However, wrapping a tarp about myself and unsealing the tent to go outside and look I was surprised to see not a drop.
I briefly feared some psychotic break brought about the long silence of the night before. Then I heard Ivy shout and giggle and I realized she could hear it, too. Soon, all of us were out of the tents and standing in the morning damp sand of our temporary camp.
We all agreed that we could hear the sound of rain. Quite loud. Yet, none could be seen. Like we were hearing a phonograph recording of some storm while standing dry. It was extraordinary.
Ivy and Geoff started to debate if this was some sort of new phenemona, maybe caused by the fog. The fog, by the way, had not lifted. It was still there. Thinner, though. We could see as far as the trees behind us and just make out the distant bank in front of us. At the time, I felt the river was different than the River Eden but I am prone to fits of fancy and have learned to mostly keep quiet.
When Mary shouted from down by the shore we all went down to see.
Our canoes, all three, were smashed. While we had unloaded much of them, the supplies we had left in the the third canoe were scattered. A few were visibile further down stream but some seemed lost.
"Was it a wild animal?," Jules asked.
"In this stretch of Cumbria?," Geoff scoffed, fairly rudely, "How silly! It must have been the wind while we slept." He seemed to realize the rudeness of his tone and mollified it a little to soothe Jules.
"Why don't you and Carl go and get a nice fire started and the rest of us will gather up what we can, access the damage?"
I pulled her with me and made some light jokes and about how maybe we can name this ghost rain after her. I regretted the term "ghost rain" almost immediately. Jules never had a stomach for spooky stories though Mary and I used to tell the kind of macabre tales that would make old soldiers shiver.
One thing I knew right away. It was no wind or spook-rain that did that to the canoes. If wild animals are out as explanation, then it almost had to be deliberate. Either some stranger had smashed our boats or one of us had done it in the night.
Afternoon Card: Evironmental Obstacle (6).
An actual heavy storm descends. Carlston gets a 1 and fails the roll. Takes 1 Spirit in damage.
I think something of a mistake was made, then. The other three are treating this as something of a vacation for Jules and myself and are all prone to letting us rest a lot and have privacy. Still, I should have helped to gather supplies.
Within half an hour of pulling the husks of our canoes further onto the sandy bank and going to find the scattered food and fuel that had been washed away, the rain we had been hearing all morning showed up for real. And for the wait it had collected interest.
A great downpour erupted with much thunder and lightning. I prefer such sounds to silence so I was in nearly a better mood while everyone else's mood soured further. We gathered in the girl's tent, the larger of the two, and tried to keep spirits up but it was clear that we had lost a day.
I chided myself for not helping earlier because even a lame hand might have gotten enough gathered to help us be better prepared.
Ivy and Geoff got into another argument. Apparently Geoff had studied the meteorological reports from the Royal Society and saw no indication than any such storm was predicted during the ten or so days of our trip. Mary made a joke about Geoff being no good at reading a chart and he snapped back at her. Ivy got involved and the two slung verbal bars at each other in such a way that any attempt by Jules and myself to try and return to lighter conversation were doomed to fail.
Eventually, earlier than expected, darkness descended and we made do with some cold crackers and sliced cheese.
Geoff, Mary, and Ivy deemed the night needed a smoke and a drink and went to Geoff and mine's tent, leaving Jules free of the smells. It was a deep consideration that for which I am thankful.
Jules and I spent the next hour holding hands and talking about sunnier days. Mary would have shushed us talking about the future but for the first time in some days we did just that. We told each other stories about our future house and our future children and how we would go to Rome in our middle-age to be typical English tourists. She then cried for half an hour and was exhausted. She fell asleep dressed, but dry, and I tucked her into bed.
I got to my own tent and it was filled with smoke. The three of them had lapsed into silence. Mary had her head on Ivy's shoulders and Geoff seemed to be in a mood. I suspect he had a thing for Mary that some of his gruffness was an inability to express.
We fanned the tent flaps to clear out some of the smoke and Mary and Ivy went back to their tent. Geoff and I played cards for a bit and then he said he was tired and turned in.
In my sleeping roll, I listened to the rain. I could not sleep. Besides silence and deep waters, the other thing I fear is being held against my will. The doctors think it stems from the bandages I was so tightly wrapped in after the incident. I think it might be older than that. Something more primal. I remembered this journal and took to it. Geoff was quite drunk and so relighting the lamp did not wake him.
I have put off using this journal for some time but as I am sitting here, the words just poured forth and I have already used up several pages. I only brought the one pen so I should be more considerate of my ink.
It is nearing midnight by my watch so I am about to head to bed and hope for a better tomorrow, quite literally. Only
Yes, I did hear it. That same sound as before. Maybe closer. Like some beast from a lost continent sighing. Coughing. Barking. Laughing. I do not know. And from behind me, across the river, an answering sound.
The rain has stopped so I will sleep.
DOUG'S COMMENTARY
I have had English Eerie for a bit in PDF. Never played. The kind of semi-journal, [semi-set-number-of-]prompt-based solo games are not quite my forte (I am more more geared towards more traditional games played with oracles/emulators) but it is December IRL and a good time to play out a story from the Jamesian or Blackwoodian school. "The Lost River" scenario is the first one that popped out at me and so I went for it.
The biggest danger, of course, is that I just end up copying Blackwood's "The Willows" rather than tell my own story. I think I will start with a few deep nods and then let my natural Doug-ness take over and go off somewhere, quite possibly right back into "The Willows." I will refrain from reading that story—it has been at least five-years—until after to avoid even more copy-catting.
The addition of a dying fiance just popped in my head. The other characters are sort of as written in the scenario. For the first few days I will use the clues and prompts as written. As things develop, it will likely branch out from the scenario. That feels like what is intended.
At first, I was going to write a short paragraph per prompt after a quick few sentences to set the mood. As I started writing I realized it was kind of fun to dive a bit deeper. As things get worse, and they will undoubtedly get worse, the entries will thin a good deal. Carlston is in a mood, right now. I also intended this to be a "lunch break" game but as I contemplated expanding it into a proper short story length I realized it could be fun to do it day by day. Each day I will post the next diary entry for Carlston. It is still a "one-shot" despite all this, purposefully kept to 10-15 minute bursts of writing the first things that come to mind in what I call the "in-line" format. Not giving myself to make sense of it is how I turn my brain into the prime oracle.
Once the one-shot is finished, I might gather them all into one place minus the notes for those that would rather just see it in a go.
MUSIC SHOUT OUT: The music played during this was Lustmord's Much Unseen Is also Here. It might stay the soundtrack of this entire one-shot. It is a damned good blend of moods and drones and notes and has been on fairly heavy rotation for a bit since my purchase. I love Lustmord's take on dark ambient and this album hits a darkly joyous spot for me. It is great music to set the mood for cosmic solo play.
CREDITS
Upon the River is played using only Scott Malthouse's English Eerie, Second Edition and a regular deck of cards built in the instructed manner. For this playthrough, no other oracles or tables will be used.
The painting at the top which unlike some choices I have used is probably pretty close to what is actually being seen is "Morning Mist Clearing off the Hills" by James Docharty by way of ArtUK and the Aberdeen Art Gallery & Museums. The River Eden is a real place and while Carlston and Co are somewhere else I might try and work in a few photos from the actual locations as we go.
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