14th October, 1938, 03:24pm.
Every radio broadcast in the world was interrupted.

Music ceased. Newsreaders fell silent. Military frequencies, merchant vessels, police dispatches, amateur operators, every single receiver carried the same voice.

Before it spoke, every listener felt it. A sudden, instinctive certainty that something was profoundly wrong.

Hearts quickened. Conversations died. Many would later swear they had forgotten to breathe.

Then an old man, calm, measured, and tired.

Every witness insists he spoke for roughly a minute. When he finished, the broadcasts continued exactly where they had left off.

The broadcasters insist there was no interruption.

Every clock still displayed the exact same time before the transmission: not a second had passed.

Yet millions can still repeat his words.

The Church has denied any knowledge of the transmission.

No record exists of the text.

No record exists of the speaker.

The year is 1938. The world should have run out of fuel decades ago. Instead, it discovered the colloquially named ‘Black Blood.’ A thick, tar-like liquid drawn from beneath the earth. It burns hotter than coal, cleaner than oil, and never seems to diminish. Nations abandoned steam almost overnight. Cities rose into the clouds. Black Blood-powered engines became the heartbeat of civilization. Progress accelerated beyond anything mankind believed possible. No smoke, no soot, and no waste. Industry calls it salvation while the church teaches that Black Blood is humanity’s greatest gift.

Beneath every city, pipelines carry Black Blood through the foundations like arteries beneath skin. Yet strange things have begun to happen, people remember conversations that never happened, entire neighbourhoods dream similar dreams, the missing are mourned by some, while others swear they never existed at all. Doctors find no reason, police find no evidence, and the Church urges only faith.

Three centuries ago, the High Priest vanished beneath the First Cathedral after attempting what history records only as The Great Communion. The official account states the ritual failed. No further records remain.

Nothing in this world is lying to you. You are simply beginning to understand the truth.

Black Blood changed everything. Within a generation, coal became obsolete. Steam faded into history. Cities grew vertically instead of outward, their skylines dominated by cathedral-like refineries, elevated railways, brass pipelines and colossal pumping stations that never ceased their rhythm. Airships cross oceans in days rather than weeks, locomotives connect nations, and industry has reached heights previously thought impossible.

Black Blood powers nearly every aspect of civilization. Homes are heated by it. Hospitals depend on it. Factories consume it by the barrel. Entire economies rise and fall with its supply. Every refinery is consecrated before construction. Every new pipeline is blessed. Every engine bears the Seal of Communion somewhere upon its frame. To question Black Blood is not illegal; it simply considered… unthinkable.

Yet, despite this dependence, almost nobody understands what Black Blood actually is. No one has ever manufactured it. No one has ever discovered where it truly comes from. Science can explain only what it does, never what it is.

Despite the industrial setting, this is not a world on the brink of collapse. People laugh, children play, workers complain about long shifts, and families eat together. Life, in essence, continues.

Civilisation appears prosperous. Cities are cleaner than ever before, industry is booming, and unemployment is low. Most people consider themselves fortunate to live in an age of unprecedented progress.

The Church is woven into everyday life. It does not govern directly, but its influence reaches every level of society. Schools teach its history. Public ceremonies begin with its blessings. Refineries are consecrated before construction, and the Seal of Communion is considered as commonplace as a manufacturer’s mark.

Newspapers report politics, industry, and foreign affairs much as they always have. Radios fill homes with music and news. Trains and airships connect nations. For the overwhelming majority of people, life is… normal.

I’m looking for three to four writers interested in a slow-burn mystery blending Dieselpunk, cosmic horror, theology, and psychological suspense. This isn’t an action-first RP. Combat may happen, but I’d like it to be meaningful rather than frequent. The focus is on investigation, relationships, philosophical questions, moral dilemmas, political intrigue, and slowly uncovering the truth behind a world that no longer understands itself.

Initially, this is simply an interest check of something that has been rolling around on me ol' brainscape. If there is genuine interest, I'd love to flesh it out a little more with people's opinions and input.

A little about me? I love collaborative worldbuilding and long-term storytelling. While I have the setting’s broader history planned, I don’t have every answer, and I don’t want to. The story belongs to the characters we create together, not to a script I’ve already written. I’d much rather discover parts of this world alongside my writing partners than simply reveal everything as though I’m reading from a wiki.

If you’re someone who enjoys asking questions, picking apart clues, debating the meaning of old texts, and letting characters shape the direction of the story, I think we’ll probably get on well.

I’m looking for grounded characters whose profession or circumstances naturally place them in contact with the world’s mysteries. Investigators, clergy, engineers, physicians, academics, refinery workers, military personnel, civil servants, criminals, or even completely ordinary citizens all have a place here.

I’d much rather tell the story of ordinary people uncovering extraordinary truths than follow a predetermined “chosen one.”