CC-2: There Are More Gardens

cover by taylor b. (edited from public domain art)

a delirious evening for Mark of the Odd games
made collaboratively by the Carousing Collective & friends

In the Gardens

You walk into the courtyard. The smoke is so heavy it makes your head spin. "Another drink?" Your vision spirals. You walk into the courtyard. What day is it? Someone's throwing up in the bushes. You walk into the courtyard. A man in a mask like a rose bloom caresses his own doppelgänger. You've seen him before, you think, dead in the stairwell, five floors up. You walk into the courtyard. A sweating mass of hands grasps tight and draws you near. You should keep going- oh, what the hell. You walk into the courtyard. Someone's still throwing up in the bushes. And there's the stairwell down, like clockwork. Heaving bodies paint each step, exhausted. You check just in case, but nope: they only go down. "Another drink?" Yes, please. Down you go.

You walk into the courtyard.

Intro

The party at Omni Gardens has been raging for three years.

Noise complaints were useless, so the neighbors bailed. The city ceased litter pickup after year one; detritus and old vomit pile on the perimeter. Last time someone walked in and demanded to see the owner, they stumbled out a week later so drunk they didn't know their own name. They still don't. The city's last and best hope came a month ago when a platoon of guards, armed to the teeth, stormed in with one mission: stop the party or burn it all down. They never came back.

Local nobility are throwing up their hands. They don't care about the guards, but they'd at least like their property value back. Posters crop up around the city, promising rewards to whomever can kill this rager: 5,000 gold and ownership of the Estate (pending tax payments, lawyer fees, and good old city bureaucracy). The goal is simple: just find the owner and make them call it off.

The rumor mill's in full swing. Adventurers of all sorts are closing in, hoping to secure their bag. Nobody's crashed the party yet, but it can't be that hard.

Right?

Notoriety

The adventurers' stated goal is to find the owner in order to end the party, but they won't talk to any old drunk. When the group enters Omni Gardens, draw a clock with six segments. Certain areas and events increase notoriety, filling in one segment each time.

Broadly, these actions increase notoriety:
- performing any action that gets the crowd yelling your name (keg stands, winning a fist fight, insane dances, etc.)
- impressing someone who looks like they might own the place

Broadly, these actions decrease notoriety:
- moving through the house without interacting with anything / generally ignoring people
- walking around without a mask
- looking like a cop

At max notoriety, you feel a tap on the shoulder and hot breath on your neck. Someone's guiding you gently to a quiet hallway. Has that door always been there?

The Owner

Omni Gardens' owner is shrouded in rumor. In this sea of masks, they could be anyone. Everyone's sure they saw them just a few rooms down. The party's delirium is fertile soil for lies and gossip, but a few seeds of truth grow through the chaff.

1d6 rumors circulating the crowd
1. This Owner killed the previous one, inheriting the house and party both. They wear a mask honed to a knife's edge.
2. The Owner's true home lies far, far away. How far? "In space," they reply, "or time?" They wear a mask of all-consuming black velvet.
3. The Owner grew from the gardens, nourished by death over the estate's many years. They wear a mask of briar fashioned from their own hair.
4. There are as many Owners as there are rooms in the house. You can always tell them by their masks of polished mirror.
5. The Owner's life connects intimately to the beating heart of the party. If one dies, the other dies too. They wear a mask like a cratered moon.
6. The Owner looks just like you. Yes, you! Hey everyone, they're over here!

Depthcrawl Procedure

Omni Gardens is explored as a depthcrawl, used to represent the estate as a shifting, hard-to-map space. You start at depth zero and increase depth as you explore the property. Occasionally the house loops, or recurses. When this happens, what you assume is normal begins to fray. Reset depth to zero, increase recursion by one, and bring a new effect from the recursion table into play.

Basic moves:
- Go Deeper: create a new location at depth+1.
- Go Back: return to a previous room.

When creating a new location:
- roll 1d6+depth on the location table.
- roll 1d8+depth+recursion on the detail and people tables.

Adventurers can always go back and find a new path deeper at the cost of -1 notoriety for being a snoop.

The House

True to its name, the Omni Gardens estate pulses with flora. The space is built like a winding greenhouse: stark silver walls, tall angled ceilings, tons of windows for natural light. Thin vines veil each door while hungry ivy twists around your ankles. Hanging pots dangle from the ceiling, blessing partygoers below with fallen petals. Shy leaves curl between cracks in the tile. Who's tending this stuff?

Getting in is easy. There's only one requirement: bring a mask and don't take it off. Full head coverage plays better with the crowd, but even a domino mask will do.

Locations

Roll 1d6 + Depth

Distinct areas to explore. Rolls over 10 always lead to the Stairwell. When going deeper from the Stairwell, the house recurses: reset depth to zero, increase recursion by one, and bring a new rule from the recursion table into play.

The Courtyard: A wall of tall bushes barely maintains its grace despite the litter in its branches - discarded cups, mismatched gloves, out-of-date currency. Silver gates mark each exit, etched with the symbol of Omni Gardens: a slender hand reaching up from a swath of ivy.
The Foyer: Vaulted ceilings and falling petals. Snack tables line the walls, overflowing with fresh delights - berries, glistening salads, bruschetta. Hanging signs provide a helpful reminder: "DDs, don't eat past three!"
- Recursion 3+: The food glistens hypnotically and smells like a wine cellar. Small, bulbous mushrooms grow among - or from - the feast. On eating, take 1d10 CHA damage as psychedelic visions erupt through your pores, and +1 notoriety as nearby guests laugh and ask what you saw.
The Kitchen: A well-stocked, well-equipped labyrinth of counters and shelves. Staff works tirelessly to cook and distribute delicacies, weaving around patrons that block the corridors and snatch most canapes from the trays before the server has made their way out.
- Recursion 2+: The kitchen is a battlefield. The staff isn’t in sight, pantries have been raided, raw ingredients scattered on every surface and floor. Guests shove impromptu meals into their mouths.
The Gods: Cold iron catwalks made slick and living by light-bound verdure. Far below, on the fabricated forest floor, shapes twist and cavort in the shadows of the new primeval. There is an exhilarating thrum in the air, jungle beasts below making sweet rasping music. It demands reckless abandon. Up here, feats of acrobatic daring, swinging through vines, leaping condensation slick walkways, dancing atop the canopy, are rewarded with +1 notoriety.
The Galleries: Long halls, parallel to each other with no means of crossing between. They run like ribs through a series of untamed courtyards, sight almost blocked between them by walls of growth. The rare glimpses to another gallery through the vines and hedges feel like scenes from another world.
The Rot: There is the sweet, lingering stench of rotting foliage. The walls and beams, window-glass and benches are wilting, intact in a few places still. The arches holding up the ceiling windows have curled their heads inwards, causing panes of glass to shatter against the ground and turn into leafy detritus. Butterflies spin desperately in-between, grinding their browning wings to nubs.
- Once encountered, at subsequent recursions, the room degrades further into a compost heap of the greenhouse’s ruins.
- If it is watered, gain +1 Notoriety and at subsequent recursions, it will instead be restored to its original state.
The Hot Tub: It bubbles ferociously, and gets deeper the closer you are to the centre. A control panel on the front contains a host of unlabelled buttons of uncertain function. Proper swimwear is discouraged. They say there are sharks; they are probably lying. Gain +1 Notoriety and make an enemy of a guest/tub inhabitant by committing any of the following party fouls:
- ruining a guest's hair
- getting water on the carpet of neighbouring rooms
- yelling "Come onnnn, get innnnn!"
- confusing the boundaries between tub and drink
- playing footsie with a guest/tub inhabitant
- getting naked
- drowning (yourself, or another)

- At higher recursions: more people occupy the tub (there is always room), and more and more wildlife calls the tub home. Fish; eels; urchins; coral reefs; pelagic creatures with rave-light lures and jetstream bubble-breath.
The Dancefloor: Within a verdant haze, tightly-packed bodies form knots and circles. In the kaleidoscope of movement, it is impossible to tell what sort of dance is being performed within each circle.
Push within a circle to find out (roll 1d6 + recursion): 1) The Hokey Pokey; 2) The Charleston; 3) Floss; 4) The Waltz; 5) Twerk; 6) A Stallion Untethered 7) Mosh; 8) The Worm; 9) Untimely Demise of the Hedgehog; 10) Glorious Elevation.
+1 Notoriety if you impress. (Automatically succeed if the player performs the dance in question.)
-1 Notoriety for wallflowers or halfhearted dancing.
The Facsimile: An exact copy of the city that Omni Gardens resides in. There are no visible walls - it's unclear how far the space extends. Time passes normally. Everything feels okay. Maybe the night's a little colder? Even the residents play their parts, indistinguishable from surface counterparts except for one fine detail: when asked about their birthplace, they always say "The Gardens."
Many guests end their descent here, walking out to fake streets and the world beyond. They rarely look back.
(or higher) The Stairwell: The estate does not have a basement in its blueprints. Still, these stairs only go down. Bodies often pool here - exhausted attendees, still in their masks, drape themselves barely breathing across handrails and steps. There are so many people passed out that it's impossible to descend without stepping on an arm or two. Want to go deeper? Can't make an omelette without cracking a few ribs.

Details

Roll 1d8 + Depth + Recursion

Details augment each location, showing how the room is warped physically at this depth.

A Hiss: automated sprinklers turn on and water the plants.
Dull: This room feels like a blanket for your senses. You can’t feel any wind on your skin, the high frequencies of the noises around you don’t quite make it through. The colours aren’t as sharp.
Secret Passage: An open bookshelf leads to a vine choked corridor. Go down it to increase your depth by 2 instead of 1 at the next location.
- Recursion 1+: The passageway curves, coils, rotates upside-down and back again. Heavy breathing from up ahead sounds similar to your own. Increase depth by 1d6 instead of 2 at the next location.
Sweat: Bright heat lamps beam down from the ceiling. The plants love it, but the patrons are dying. Physical checks automatically fail without a way to cool off.
Balcony: Wide and inviting past an exterior wall. Guests congregate at the railing and pollute the fresh air with cigarette smoke. Below, night looms close - an inky fog blocks all visibility past a few feet. Occasionally a partygoer numbed by time and liquor tumbles over the edge. The fog swallows them without comment.
- Jumping over the railing sends you tumbling into the Courtyard, a little bruised but otherwise okay. Gain +1 recursion and roll details / people as normal.
Plenty: vibrant fruit blooms everywhere. No matter the plant, the fruit's the same: waxy skin, violet color, slight movement inside, like a water bed.
- eating one recovers 1d6 STR and shifts your vision. You now perceive all instances of the fruit as a pulsing, violent crimson.
- eating another hurts you for 1d6 STR and shifts your vision. You now perceive all instances of the fruit as inky black with unsettling white undercurrent.
- eating a third kills you.
Silence: There is no music. No one here talks. Everyone looks at you when you enter. When breaking the silence, flip a coin. Heads: conversation resumes. Tails: -1 Notoriety; who do you think you are?
Insects: Swarms of all sorts, fucking, flying, and dying. They puddle in the corners and flow through the room like a river. A new brood's hatched every time you breathe. You can barely speak without choking through a cloud of gnats.
- Recursion 2+: The corner puddles are looking more lumpy and concrete. They wiggle gently towards loud noises, shaking off scores of bugs as they move.
- Recursion 4+: The puddles are forming thin, wavering limbs; the bugs composing them work towards some unknown purpose. If you approach, the swarm scrambles to create a haphazard mimicry of your form.
- Recursion 6+: They're not puddles anymore. Four Gestalt Bugaboos stand here, one in each corner. Broadly human-shaped, they carry a fuzziness like looking at a distant silhouette. The bugs within hiss and hum something that sounds like speech if you squint. The clearest word they can make is: "party".
- +1 notoriety if you take one with you. They're curious, slow, and have no innate understanding of danger, but boy can they handle their liquor.
The Hole: There is a hole. It is in the floor, it is in the wall. It moves when it grows. It grows when it isn’t watched. When it’s big enough, partygoers enjoy entering it.
Trash Lake: Huh. Guess this is where all the refuse goes. Dirty plates, moldy food, and tattered clothes pile up chin-high in a pool of viscous fluid. The smell is noxious - take 1d6 STR damage for passing through unless you can deal with the stench.
- Recursion 4+: Long, bulky shapes swim underneath the surface. Guests at this depth have adapted to their new ecosystem through means beautiful and strange.
Pitch Black: Curtains drawn, windows painted black, frames bricked over. Bioluminescence thrives, drawing you near like the lighthouse or the angler.
Ephemeral: (skip this in the Stairwell) Whatever tissue is connecting this location to the rest of the gardens – rusted signage or overgrown gates – has worn thin. Restore it to gain +1 notoriety. If you fail to do so, once you leave, remove the location from the pool permanently and skip to the next number if you roll it again.
Coat Check: Say a number to the distracted attendant and they'll retrieve a coat from a dark space behind a narrow, chipped door:
1. Trench coat: when donned take 1d4 CHA damage then roll a CHA save. +1 notoriety on a success, -1 notoriety on a failure.
2. Safety vest: neon, reflective; when worn, -1 notoriety, no one may harm you, and you may do no harm.
3. Leather gilet: the pockets contain your drug of choice—enough for six people.
4. Towel: plush, white, and embroidered with the initials Y.Z. in gold thread.
5. Battle dress jacket: jangling with medals.
6. Camo jacket: blend into the flora with ease.
7. Down jacket: the down-stuffed sections seem at times to rustle of their own accord. If you cut open the jacket and spill the down, it reforms into a large white goose that follows you around. +1 notoriety while you have the goose with you, but it harasses people.
8. Cuirass: dented and bloodstained; 2 armor.
9. Fuligin jacket: blacker than black, its creases and folds lost in utter darkness. Anything placed in its pockets vanishes from existence.
10. Reversible jacket: gold velvet on one side, scarlet on the other. When you wear the jacket reversed, everyone believes you are a different person.
11. Rain coat: a sodden gray coat that sheds water in a constant, steady shower. The first time you rummage through the pockets, a dense cloud fills the room.
12. Your coat: the coat you were wearing when you arrived, the coat you left at home, or, somehow, the coat you're wearing right now. +1 recursion
Jazz: There is a live band playing around the corner, perpetually just out of sight. They take requests.
Slanted: Some guests stand up straight, some at an angle, some have tumbled into a corner of the room and some have been dashed against the far end. The longer you stay here, the more the floor tilts.
Bloodlust: Red mist haunts the room. It swirls up the nostrils; your pulse quickens every time you breathe. Guests are insatiably violent, going after each other with table legs, broken knives, their own teeth. The floor runs slick with blood and sweat.
- Until you have personally killed someone here, you cannot Go Deeper. You know this in your bones.
- Anyone you kill returns to life at full STR in one minute.
Replacement: All physical objects, including the walls, floor, and any people present, are made from plants. Your vision floods green. Tiny brown burrs flit through the air and catch on your skin.
- the burrs are seeds. They root in your flesh if you hang around (~10 minutes).
- Next time you go deeper, rooted seeds blossom. Take +1 notoriety as a conspicuous flower grows on a random body part.
Rewind: Everything is backwards. You enter through the exit door. Guest stream in from the other end with their backs to you, walking in reverse. Wine sloshes from the tile into an angry guest's cup just before their apologizing friend stumbles hard into their shoulder. Mirrored syllables hang in the air before becoming unspoken, sucked back into smiling open mouths. A strange heat fills your body as pumped blood reverses its course. !gniticxe woH
- +1 notoriety for a particularly clever or interesting backwards action.
- -1 notoriety for acting too forward.
Slippery: Proper nouns don't work this deep. Speaking one expels it from your mouth in the form of a skink that quickly wriggles to shelter under the nearest plant. The flowers rustle with names unheard by the surface in years.
- Attempting to speak a name you've expelled incurs 1d6 CHA damage until you find and eat the skink in question. The effect persists outside of this room.
(or higher) Duplication: Double the results of the Location and People rolls. These doubles overlap harshly, with sharp edges. Walls splice into each other with the same painting on either side of the divide. Guests chat with their doubles like nothing's wrong. And, maybe, it isn't.

People

Roll 1d8 + Depth + Recursion

People change the status quo. They may interfere with the group's resources, block (or support) further exploration, or just add flavor.

Dead: The main body of the party is elsewhere. Some nervous stragglers make small talk in the corner. A quiet maid with her head down sweeps empty bottles into a pile.
Vibe Killer: Alone in the room in a mask of rumpled cloth. Nasal-voiced, no charm, coughs when he smokes, keeps asking where the bathroom is, not drunk enough to fall asleep but definitely drunk enough to not remember what you tell him. He's sort of like living BO and will follow you as long as you'll let him.
- -1 notoriety while he's nearby
Scream: The crowd is heavy and drunk. A lone woman in a full-face spiral mask squats in the center of the room, laces her hands behind her knees, and screams. Onlookers snicker and joke under their breath.
Laughter: Everyone's cutting up. They're red in the face. They can barely breathe. It almost sounds like sobbing. Ask what's so funny and you only get a shrug. "Guess you had to be there." Some guests double over and hit the floor, clutching their hearts; their bodies spasm and jerk even as the light leaves their eyes.
- Adventurers who start laughing cannot stop until they go deeper.
Karaoke: They've got a live band and a makeshift stage. Looks like a spot's just opened up. Sing an interesting song or otherwise work the crowd for +1 notoriety.
Bouncer: a burly bouncer (6 HP, 14 STR, Brass knuckles 1d8) in a mask like an Easter Island head. Blocks the path deeper unless you can show proof of ID. The crowd sulks, too weak to push past.
Caterers: Dressed all in gingham and white. Responsible for the party's food. Will not answer any questions about ingredients. Desperate for compliments; if a player has not yet eaten, will follow them with a plate of hors d'oeuvres, foods stranger and less identifiable the higher the recursion. "Try this, and this. Well? What do you think?" Any insult to the food earns +1 Notoriety, and the hatred of those feed.
A Flavor: It's distant, but you can taste it as soon as you walk in the room. Difficult to pin down. It won't leave your tongue no matter how much you swallow or drink. The guests smile but there's an air of desperation. They only ask: "What do you think that taste is?"
- Asking questions about the flavor or trying to define it in any way causes you to become lost in the sauce.
- Anybody lost in the sauce cannot speak except to ask "What do you think that taste is?" They radiate the taste to nearby tongues up to ten feet away.
- The only cure is to cause another person to become lost.
Ivy: Two pale hands reach through an ivy-covered wall. A quivering voice: "I found a shortcut, Luz...". Take a hand and it pulls you through to a copy of the same room - recurse +1 and re-roll details and people at the same depth for this location.
The hands belong to Magdalena Bee, in a mask of petals that only covers the bottom half of her face.
- Blind. Looks like someone's drawn pencil scribbles where her eyes used to be.
- Holds tight to whomever takes her hand. If she finds out you're not "Luz," she bolts.
- +1 notoriety while she's around.
The Garden Murders: The stench of inauthenticity has permeated the place. People, creatures, things, look to the unseen and deliver their lines all in the same direction. The audience in the walls bears down on you with terrible silent judgement. Stick to the script for +1 notoriety.
Frat Boys: A flock of youth are rudely encouraging you to drink from taxidermy animals. If you comply, gain +1 notoriety and be relentlessly mocked. If you refuse, you will become their target for a prank upon subsequent encounters.
Decoy Owners: Three patrons complying with conflicting rumours of the owner’s physical frame have divided the space into themed wedges. They commandeer guests to roll kegs, draw signage and design a party after their liking. Depose of two owners for +1 notoriety.
Them: Crowded room. Everyone here is an exact copy of a single patron - a figure in dark robes wearing a lithe black cat mask. Its smile curves behind its jawline. They recognize instantly that you aren't one of them and push to rectify that.
Copycat (as detachment)
3 Hp, 10 STR / DEX / CHA
- jagged black fingernails 1d6, Critical Damage: Your mind fades as your body reshapes itself to match this figure. Lose your character.
The Toad: A toad-like man is sitting in a corner, smoking a hookah. He glistens as if he is sweating profusely. Party-goers approach him and, with permission, lick his skin, as he holds court in his cushioned corner. They seem to party harder after having their taste. Licking him gives +1 notoriety, and the effect of ingesting a powerful psychedelic.
Jello Shots: Cheers shake the space - a rowdy group of guests scream their guts out around a makeshift table lined with shot glasses. The leader, Roy Garrett Biv, face unreadable behind a mask of paint splatters, beckons you over. "We're doing the full rainbow. You in?" +1 notoriety for taking the challenge.
- On accepting, all color drains from your vision and pours into the seven shot glasses on the table. Roy makes a show of placing your favorite color at the end.
- Drinking a shot drains 1d4 STR and restores that color to your vision.
- After each shot, make a STR save. Failure sees you vomiting a rainbow-colored mess on the floor as Roy sweeps up the remaining glasses to hand out among his friends.
- Successfully downing all seven shots leaves the group stunned. Roy numbly places one last glass filled with something viscous and shifting. Strange purple and black square patterns flow within. Drinking it restores the lost color to your vision, allowing you to perceive strange, childlike graffiti on every surface. The graffiti confers short (~3 word) summaries of whatever it's written on. There's even some on your chest.
Knots: Long strands of flesh twist from wall to wall, forming lumpy, knotted ropes. The ropes are thin, but close inspection reveals fine details: elongated veins, the stretched form of an eyeball, the difference in color where two bodies meet. In yearning for connection, the guests have become almost unrecognizable. Almost.
- The flesh obstructs the path, stretching mesh-like between walls and pooling on the floor. If not watched closely, it attempts to trip you.
- Touching the flesh deals 1d8 CHA damage. On critical damage, the will of your flesh overrides the will of your spirit. Your body stretches in mindless ecstasy and knots together amongst your new family. The surviving adventurers gain +1 notoriety because, if nothing else, it's a good story for later.
Dancing: The crowd is drowning in movement. They can't stop. Their feet swell with blisters and run slick with blood as they pound onto cracked tile. They dance even in their sleep. There's a liquidity to them - their flesh whorls and bulges like water's underneath. One ragged guest lolls to the side as their arm sloughs clean off. A clear fluid pulses from the stump. They keep dancing.
Monument: Spotlights bear down on a glass cage cutting through a dense crowd. The man inside it (eyes solemn under a woven spiral mask) dances in fits and starts. The lights change color every second, casting his body in muted reds and purples. There is no music.
- The man is trapped in a time loop that resets every second.
- If asked, the crowd murmers: "Take his place to get him out." Gain +1 notoriety for doing so. It must be willing.
Staff Meeting: A sign hangs politely from the ceiling: "Quiet, please. Staff at work." Underneath, houseplants in simple black pots stretch across the room. Vined limbs intertwine, chastely brushing leaves against each other. The web they form rocks gently like a ship at sea.
- Making noise here causes your hackles to raise like a thousand eyes are bearing down on you.
- Repeat offense causes the room to slide away into far darkness until a door slams in front of your face. Gain +1 notoriety. This and all future Staff Meeting rooms are locked - go back to the previous room and find another way down.
(or higher) Normal: It's all normal. Their bodies are normal. Their skin is normal. Their masks are normal. A (normal) guest grins wide and familiar as you enter. "You're here! Another drink?" Humid air wraps you tight. You might begin to sweat. If you were to taste that sweat, it might taste like wine.
- Anyone entering a Normal room becomes Acclimated. Acclimated characters burn 1 CHA each time they enter a Normal room (including the first). Burned points cannot be recovered until leaving Omni Gardens.
- When Acclimation triggers, describe a memory fading into unreachability.
- When an Acclimated character reaches zero CHA, their tethers to the surface break. They wander off for the estate's outer reaches to be welcomed by old friends with open arms.

Recursion

Each time the adventurers descend The Stairwell, increase recursion by one and implement the next available effect from the table below. Effects only dissipate when the party ends.

The entrance at depth 0 disappears. In its place: a Staircase going up. You can no longer leave.
No matter the time, it's always night outside. No more natural light.
When your hand is empty for more than a minute, a lightly alcoholic beverage teleports into it.
At least one person in each location recognizes you. This increases as you go deeper. "Weren't you just here?"
Your bones vibrate with rhythmic intensity, carriers for some infectious signal. It compels you to dance. Take 1d4 STR damage if you stop moving for more than a few minutes.
Your mask fuses to your face.
The estate is mostly empty at this depth. Treat all new rooms as Dead on the people table. Increase notoriety by 1 each time you go deeper.

Meeting the Owner

Hands soft as palm fronds push you gently through an unmarked side door. Behind it: a cramped, windowless courtyard. The concrete's pockmarked with spilled wine and there's a raccoon combing through a trash can. Omni Garden's heat and breath fade away, replaced by a cold wind and the hum of an ancient fluorescent light.

The Owner stomps on a half-smoked cigarette as you enter and checks their watch. "Alright, we got ten minutes. What the fuck are you doing in my house?" They slouch against the wall, willow-thin in a mask of many mirrors. Small, questing vines creep around the edges, retreating if observed. They smell like a forest after rain. When you blink, you can still see them clearly behind your eyelids, as if the light they're reflecting comes from inside you.

If asked to stop the party, they throw their arms in the air and, exasperated, spit out some excuses:
- "If it ends, the whole house will collapse. It'll kill everyone here, including you." (this is a lie)
- "I'm not in control of the party, I just own the house. Guess you'll have to go home." (this is true, but deliberately misleading.)
- "If it ends, I'll die." (this is true. so is the converse.)

If asked about what's going on, they brush it off. "The house came like this." (this is true. unspoken, but also true: the party did too)

If pressed, they offer an analogy: "Imagine a camera that never quite 'gets it right'. Every pic it takes, there's something infinitesimally wrong. A blade of grass is too short, you've got one more grey hair than usual. You get it. And every time you snap the picture, these warpings add up and build off each other and eventually the inaccuracies are, themselves, made inaccurate. How many times would you take a pic of the same spot? Would you keep exploring that distortion? Even if you couldn't go back?" The vines behind their mask rustle wistfully. "Even if you no longer recognize the people in the photo?"

Resolving the Party

If the adventurers seem amenable, the Owner offers a service in return for letting the party continue: materials acquisition. "You can find just about anything in here. Or anyone."

Delivery Request

On accepting, adventurers may request a delivery by leaving a letter in the Omni Gardens postbox. If the object could reasonably be carried on someone's person, and that person might reasonably attend this party, it can be found in the estate's recursive depths, given time.
- Normal objects (or people) take a week to find.
- If the person is dead on the surface, add a week for each year they've been dead.
- If the delivery is especially rare or precious, triple the established time.
- On receipt, make a Luck Roll to determine how close the delivery resembles the one on the surface. (1-3: obviously different, and its function is warped in some way; 4-5: obviously different, but still functions the same; 6: indistinguishable except under close scrutiny)

If the adventurers do not seem amenable, they shout "I lied, the real owner is over there!" and run the opposite way.

If attacked, they die like anything else. There's an intense wash of vertigo - a feeling like a breath retreating inside the lungs - a knot being pulled tight - and then it's over. The party's done, and the house is only a house. The entrance is just a few rooms away, past some modest trash piles and hungover guests. The adventurers gain ownership as promised. It's a fine home, although it needs heavy cleaning. And yet, there's one door in the back that remains locked against all attempts at entry. If you press your ear tight to it and hold your breath, you can hear (or imagine hearing) the distant sounds of carousing in the deep night.

Contributors

Markus M

Rowan H.

Taylor B.

Zak H.

Friends of the party: Barse, Bart, Jules, Phil, and Tim. Thanks for the help, y'all!

Notes and Inspiration

The depthcrawl structure used here owes itself to Gardens of Ynn and The Stygian Library, by Emmy Allen, as well as Downrooted by Jason Christopher Burrows

Inspiration and Touchstones:
- Face of the Killer by thecatemites
- The Ballroom scene from Jim Henson's Labyrinth
- Blue Prince by Dogubomb

The idea for this project came from doing a series of depthcrawl posts on my blog if you'd like further reading 🙂 - Taylor B.

The name comes from the short story There Are More Things, by Borges

Thank you for reading!