LIMINAL ARCHIVES
Welcome to the Liminal Archives, the primary global database of the strange and uncanny locations that blur the line between real and unreal. The Archivists are the brave souls who venture into the unknown, risking death or worse, to study liminality, observe how liminal spaces operate, and gather data to bring back and add to the Archives.
With danger awaits adventure, and with the unknown, discovery. Study the Archives, learn the unknown, and eventually, explore them yourself.
Featured Content
I am a member of the city of New Bavaria. I have lived here for as long as I remember, working at the local factory.
All my life, I have worked diligently for the betterment of the city. When my orders come in on the terminal every day, I follow them to the tee. I always press the right buttons at the right time.
I have never given in to distractions such as recreational conversation or typing entries into a terminal detailing my personal existence.
However, something has fumbled my typical routine. During my last segment walking from the industrial sector to the residential sector, I was interrupted by a chaotic lunatic.
Ever since I was small I have longed to visit the Houndstooth Manor: that strange forlorn castle upon the Shatterrock cliffs that loomed above the scarlet woods.
It dangled there, upside down, jutting out of the rocky shield plate abovehead and visible for leagues around the Commonwealth.
That ghostly stone brick outpost, crumbling and abandoned, had been so often present on the horizons of our journeys that we would use the Houndstooth as a landmark for navigation.
Salutations, my name is John Eric. I was a crew member of the S.S. Mouette; a treasure-hunting vessel, which used to traverse the vast seas for ruins and wrecks. Anything salvageable we found, we traded with the Terraken towns.
Twenty years ago, I was but a lone meager child playing amidst the castles of sand that I had meticulously crafted with a simple spade and bucket. It was a pleasant day on that golden, sandy beach.
With the countless adventurers and crews that venture the many legendary seas of Thalasso, it is a given that some would write down their stories. Some write exaggerated tales of their heroics. Others write songs to honor fallen comrades.
A giddy wave of toxic excitement shot through his reinforced spine: a rushing chemical soup of dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin and endorphins spilled across his neural passageways. The adrenal gland is simply another component, doing what it was supposed to do. This is what the hunter lived for — the rush. Seas.
Underrated Content
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