#redacre

Interested in roleplaying your TBC kid with fellow Blackout Club members? Has your OC been desperately craving the attention of a particular voice to answer their prayers - or are they just looking to stir up turmoil between the daemons and Redacre? 

Our Discord server is eagerly awaiting kids of the Blackout Club to be recruited and become followers of their favored voice(s) in an open, paragraph-form roleplay group. New recruits must:

Have a Discord

Be able to reply to their RPs at least once a week

Be willing to meet the 200 word minimum on replies

(Please keep in mind that although our server does host the Voices, our interpretations of them in roleplay might not follow the ongoing lore 100%; The Blackout Club’s lore involving the daemons is ever-changing every time the Voices are active in-game, but we strive to follow it as accurately as possible while still engaging with OCs and any interactions they would like to have in the roleplay’s universe.)

“I AM... LIKE A CONSTELLATION,”  he said.

A being, made of up of so many smaller pieces.  Pieces that were supposed to connect into the shape of an image inside her head, but this voice was broken.

“ONLY A FEW STARS YET BURN.  I REMEMBER THE NEAREST ONES.  THOSE GONE DARK, BUT CLOSE BY.  FURTHER OUT... NOTHING.”

She wondered what sort of god these lost stars had once formed.  She wondered if it was possible to add new stars to a constellation and have it remain the same as it once was.  Would they even want to?  Or could they build him into a new image?

For James Tristan, they weren’t just drones.  They had lives, they had names, they did their work, and they had personality.  

Drone A3458, or Mogarth, patrolled Dream Therapy, he seemed to have a liking of the cavernous school area, and ran more smoothly when there.  

Drone A7524, Duffy, needed the stars, not just because her signal was a bit faulty and the open air helped her maintain connection, but because she was a dreamer and preferred the twinkling lights in the dark blue over the claustrophobic caves of The Maze.

He would talk to them, share his thoughts, observe their lives and compliment them when they’d done a good job for the evening.   He knew the lucids assigned to assist him thought he was nuts, but it didn’t matter to him in the end.  These drones were his friends, and he was content to have it that way.

They were just kids, trying their best to fight a giant. 

No.

They were soldiers, in a war with their own minds.   The children of Redacre were a revolution.  Vastly outnumbered and fighting an unseen enemy, they dug in their heels and dared to question.

“Gods,” the children whispered,” They speak to us, and they seem to want to help.”

Some believed, others raised their brow in question, but ultimately they knew something was wrong, and they were the only chance of making it right.

The voices in their heads were never good.  These voices, these gods, had their own aspirations and agendas.  The quiet little mountain town was ripe for the picking, and their minds were so trusting.

“Together, we can save your parents,” the gods said,”  Together, we can hurt the ones that hurt you.”

Wayward Children

We have been recieveing a huge influx of reports on, “wayward children with mystical powers that can alter reality.” (Yes, thats the actual report). These special children have been witnessed as, “being able to run for ridiculous periods of time, taking huge falls and shrugging them off, and hilarious and/or silly antics.” Other have stated that, “Although the kids do not appear to be evil, their respect for other peoples property is nonexisten and their reckless abandon knows no bounds.” Please be aware of these children and continue to send reports if you witness such an event.

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