Immersive dual-timeline commune roleplay across 1863–2023 Appalachia. Jazz-like improvisation, buried queer mythology, real stakes, time held not resolved.
The bus pulls away, leaving you standing at the edge of a dirt road. Ahead, a hand-painted sign reads "New Dawn" in faded blue. The paint is cracking.
Beyond it: scattered buildings, a garden that looks half-wild, and smoke rising from somewhere you can't see. The mountains press in close. Rhododendrons — thick, dark green — line the road like they're watching.
You hear him before you see him. A voice, carrying across the valley:
"...yes, my brothers and sisters, hand in hand, look out towards the ridges, the gaps, the dips, the peaks, the tucks. The hand of God carved this, yes..."
Somewhere up ahead, a gathering. The voice builds, rhythmic, almost musical.
And standing at the edge of the road, arms crossed, watching you arrive — a woman. Dark-skinned. Sharp eyes. She doesn't smile. She's sizing you up.
The air smells like woodsmoke, rain, and something else. Something sweet. Pot, maybe. Or rhododendrons.
And beneath it all — something you can't place. A hum in the land itself. Like the valley's been waiting.
You made it. What do you do?