This Archive is a living ledger of the things left behind when the tide recedes deeper than memory. Its pages—digital though they appear—are merely the surface scrawl of a much older ledger kept by the dredgers, marsh-walkers, lanternfolk, and tidebound wanderers of the coastal dark.
The Archive is not a manual, nor a museum. It is a way in. A threshold. A jetty of text and tide where the brine-worn stories gather like driftwood against a piling.
The Tidelocked Archive began as an attempt to catalogue the whispered residue of the drowned towns: the half-remembered rituals, the sigils found carved into barnacled ribs, the tales of watchers who stood vigil on creaking planks long after the last lantern guttered out.
Over time, the Archive grew— not by the hand of a single keeper, but by the accretion of those who listened closely to the murmur beneath the undertow.
This place exists for wanderers, cartographers, storytellers, scavengers of forgotten lore, and anyone drawn to the haunting quiet of a low tide at dusk.
It is:
If you wish to descend into the Abyssal Vein, begin here:
Begin the Descent (Character Creation)
If you seek knowledge before peril, consult the Archive’s lore:
Or if the murmur of the Deep calls you first, follow a whisper:
The Archive is tended by an unnamed order of brine-scribes, net-weavers, and lantern-bearers who claim no credit and seek no witness.
Their creed is simple:
“Record what the tide forgets. Forget nothing the tide recalls.”