18 August 2077
Seatonville doesn’t exist on any official map. It’s a whisper, a glitch in the data-streams, a location accessed only through prolonged exposure to the Phosphor Bloom. The Bloom, as the locals call it, isn’t a physical phenomenon, though its effects are undeniably real. It’s a resonance, a disharmony within the quantum foam, amplified by the geological strata beneath the town. Before the Bloom, Seatonville was a minor logging settlement, a forgotten intersection on the edge of the Obsidian Plateau. Now… it’s a locus.
The town itself is constructed of a peculiar, almost self-repairing stone - “Echo-Stone”, the residents call it. Buildings shift subtly over time, mirroring not architectural changes but alterations in the collective memory of the place. Conversations overheard in the market square can, under the right conditions, become etched into the walls, visible only to those sensitive to the Bloom's influence. This is why the Cartographers are so vital. They meticulously record these shifts, attempting to construct a map that isn’t just a representation of space, but of *time*, of remembrance.
The Guild operates from the Old Mill, a structure that seems to exist outside of temporal flow. Within its walls, the Cartographers utilize instruments of utterly baffling design - devices that measure “echo-signatures”, “chronal displacement”, and “residual resonance”. They don't use compasses or sextants; instead, they rely on “Helm-Chimes”, intricately crafted bells that resonate with the Bloom’s fluctuations. A Cartographer’s most prized possession is a “Chronal Slate” – a polished slab of Echo-Stone that records the Bloom’s influence in a pattern of glowing glyphs. These glyphs aren’t a language, but a *feeling*, a cascade of impressions that must be interpreted with a practiced mind.
Currently, the Guild is led by Silas Blackwood, a man rumored to have spent decades immersed within the Bloom’s influence. He’s a ghost of a man, perpetually shrouded in a faint, shimmering aura. Blackwood claims to be able to “read” the Bloom’s echoes, predicting shifts in Seatonville’s timeline. However, his predictions are frequently unsettling, detailing events that haven't yet occurred, though some have seen glimpses of them in the shifting architecture.
Seatonville is riddled with anomalies. Objects appear and disappear without explanation. People experience flashes of memory that aren't their own. The town’s inhabitants have begun to exhibit strange behaviors – a compulsion to collect fragments of broken mirrors, an obsession with recording the sound of rain, a disconcerting habit of speaking in riddles. These anomalies are directly correlated to the Bloom’s intensity, peaking during the ‘Synchronizations’ – rare, unpredictable events where the Bloom’s resonance reaches a critical threshold, unleashing a torrent of temporal distortions.
The most notable anomaly is the “Silent House”, a three-story dwelling that is completely devoid of sound. Entering it induces a profound sense of disorientation, as if one’s very perception of time is fractured. The Guild believes the Silent House is a “chronal sinkhole”, a place where time itself has become trapped, bleeding into the present.
Local folklore speaks of a figure known as the “Weaver”. It is said that the Weaver exists outside of time, manipulating the Bloom's resonance to shape Seatonville's destiny. Some believe the Weaver is the source of the Bloom itself, while others claim it is a guardian, protecting the town from a far greater temporal threat. The Weaver is rarely seen, appearing only in the periphery of vision – a fleeting glimpse of silver hair, a whisper of sound, a sensation of being watched. The Guild actively seeks to understand the Weaver’s influence, hoping to harness its power, or at least, to predict its actions.