map notes
Chapter — The Depths League Convergence
The Nautilus drifted in a slow, deliberate arc through the black waters, its electric pulse steady as a held breath. We had only just recovered from Slish’s lecture on rhythm and backwards leaps when Consciovs entered the salon carrying a parchment, sealed in wax the color of coral at dusk.
“A proclamation,” he announced. “From the surface.”
Settled Swampletics perked up immediately. “If it’s not about Runecrafting, I’m only half interested.”
“It is about competition,” Consciovs replied.
Slish looked up from where he reclined against the brass rail, shadows shaping his cheekbones into something dramatic and dangerous. “Competition,” he repeated softly. “How delicious.”
Donkey Kong leaned over the table, stacking coconut cream pies into a tower that defied structural reason. “Competition good,” he rumbled. “Pie better.”
Consciovs broke the seal and began to read.
“DLC. A community event. Players construct maps—ingenious, cruel, beautiful—and then compete upon them. Organized into teams. Unique restrictions. Creative challenges. Rotating gimmicks to keep the field uncertain.”
Settled Swampletics’ eyes widened. “Custom maps? Player restrictions? That’s sick. That’s actually sick.”
“Self-imposed limitation,” Slish murmured. “The purest form of artistry. When constraint becomes canvas.”
“And,” Consciovs continued, “it is guided—curated—by the incomparable Zandaa.”
There was a pause.
Then Slish stood.
“Zandaa,” he repeated, as if tasting the name. “Ah.”
Donkey Kong dropped a pie.
The Gospel of Zandaa
“Let us speak plainly,” Slish said, stepping into the center of the salon as if addressing a grand assembly rather than four companions and a very attentive ape. “To organize chaos into structure… to transform player ambition into a symphony of constraints… that is no small feat.”
Settled Swampletics nodded vigorously. “Balancing teams alone is hard. And if they’re designing the challenges too? That’s insane.”
Consciovs added, “It requires foresight. One must anticipate exploits, balance skill levels, ensure fairness while preserving spectacle.”
Slish smiled slowly. “Yes. And to do so while keeping the competition interesting? That is vision.”
He turned slightly toward the porthole, gazing into the abyss beyond the glass as though Zandaa might be somewhere in the dark.
“Zandaa,” he said again, softer now, “you architect of playful suffering. You conductor of creative ambition. You who understands that rules are not cages—but invitations.”
Donkey Kong cleared his throat and adjusted his tie—no one had noticed him put one on.
“Zandaa make map?” he asked.
“Zandaa oversees,” Consciovs clarified.
Donkey Kong nodded solemnly. “Then Zandaa strong. Strong like banana tree in storm.”
Settled Swampletics leaned forward. “Think about it. Teams have to adapt to weird restrictions. Limited movement. Resource caps. Forced strategies. That means actual innovation.”
“Exactly,” said Slish. “In DLC, you do not simply play. You respond. You are shaped by the environment—and by the imagination of others.”
He placed a hand over his heart.
“And what a mind Zandaa must have.”
The Art of Restriction
We gathered around the table as Consciovs outlined more details.
“Teams are assigned constraints,” he explained. “Perhaps movement limitations. Perhaps role specializations. Perhaps unusual scoring systems.”
Settled Swampletics was practically vibrating. “That forces teamwork. You can’t just solo carry. You have to coordinate.”
Slish tilted his head. “How romantic.”
“Romantic?” Avenged asked.
“Yes,” Slish said firmly. “To trust your teammates. To surrender individual dominance in favor of shared triumph. To accept that you cannot do everything—and must rely on another.”
He paused.
“Much like one relies on Zandaa to guide the grand design.”
Donkey Kong leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Zandaa very smart,” he declared. “Make game fun. Keep it spicy. Like coconut with chili.”
Settled Swampletics laughed. “You flirting, DK?”
Donkey Kong straightened. “Maybe.”
Slish’s eyes gleamed. “We all are.”
A Toast to Zandaa
Donkey Kong began distributing coconut cream pies with ceremonial gravity.
“For Zandaa,” he said.
We each took one.
Slish lifted his slice gently, as if it were a delicate relic.
“To Zandaa,” he echoed. “For transforming community into creation. For understanding that the best competitions are not won by brute force—but by adaptability.”
“And for making it hype,” Settled Swampletics added.
“And balanced,” said Consciovs.
“And delicious,” Donkey Kong added, though that may have been about the pie.
Slish stepped closer to the center of the room again, lowering his voice into that familiar velvet register.
“Zandaa,” he said toward the unseen horizon, “should you hear this from wherever brilliance resides… know that your event inspires devotion. It challenges the capable. It uplifts the creative. It binds teams together in shared struggle.”
He smiled faintly.
“And should you ever wish to discuss the finer points of constraint, rhythm, and collaboration… I would be honored.”
Donkey Kong puffed out his chest. “DK also honored,” he added quickly. “Very honored.”
Settled Swampletics rolled his eyes. “You two are unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable,” Slish agreed softly, “is precisely the right word for Zandaa.”
The Resolve
The Nautilus hummed steadily beneath us.
“Will we join?” Consciovs asked.
Settled Swampletics grinned. “Of course we will. Team-based maps with gimmicks? I’m in.”
Donkey Kong cracked his knuckles. “I build strong map. With banana.”
Slish folded his hands behind his back.
“We will not merely join,” he said. “We will honor the spirit of DLC. We will embrace its restrictions. We will respect its architecture.”
“And we will do so,” he added gently, “in admiration of the one who made it possible.”
The lights flickered softly overhead, as if the vessel itself approved.
And somewhere, in some distant place above the waves, a competition awaited—carefully designed, thoughtfully balanced, and guided by Zandaa’s steady hand.
We stood together in the glow of electric light and coconut-scented air, unified by one truth:
DLC was not merely an event.
It was a stage.
And Zandaa was its brilliant architect.
Postscript
And before this chapter closes entirely, let it be recorded—formally, enthusiastically, and with no small measure of anticipation—that we extend our deepest thanks to Zandaa in advance.
Should the invitation arrive (and we sense, somehow, that it will), asking us to craft a map for DLC, we accept already—with gratitude, with reverence, and with creative fire fully ignited.
To be entrusted with shaping even a fragment of Zandaa’s carefully curated battlefield? That is no small honor. To contribute to an event built on ingenuity, balance, and bold design? That is a privilege.
Slish has already begun sketching constraints in the margins of his notebook—elegant, dangerous, beautiful limitations that would make even the boldest teams hesitate. Donkey Kong has volunteered to “handle terrain,” though what that entails remains structurally concerning. Settled Swampletics is muttering about efficiency routes and optimal choke points. Consciovs has drafted a preliminary fairness doctrine.
We stand ready.
Zandaa, should you call upon us to build—know that we will rise to it. We will design with intention. We will balance with care. We will aim not merely to challenge, but to delight.
Thank you, in advance, for the trust.
The tools are ready.
The map awaits.
The Nautilus drifted in a slow, deliberate arc through the black waters, its electric pulse steady as a held breath. We had only just recovered from Slish’s lecture on rhythm and backwards leaps when Consciovs entered the salon carrying a parchment, sealed in wax the color of coral at dusk.
“A proclamation,” he announced. “From the surface.”
Settled Swampletics perked up immediately. “If it’s not about Runecrafting, I’m only half interested.”
“It is about competition,” Consciovs replied.
Slish looked up from where he reclined against the brass rail, shadows shaping his cheekbones into something dramatic and dangerous. “Competition,” he repeated softly. “How delicious.”
Donkey Kong leaned over the table, stacking coconut cream pies into a tower that defied structural reason. “Competition good,” he rumbled. “Pie better.”
Consciovs broke the seal and began to read.
“DLC. A community event. Players construct maps—ingenious, cruel, beautiful—and then compete upon them. Organized into teams. Unique restrictions. Creative challenges. Rotating gimmicks to keep the field uncertain.”
Settled Swampletics’ eyes widened. “Custom maps? Player restrictions? That’s sick. That’s actually sick.”
“Self-imposed limitation,” Slish murmured. “The purest form of artistry. When constraint becomes canvas.”
“And,” Consciovs continued, “it is guided—curated—by the incomparable Zandaa.”
There was a pause.
Then Slish stood.
“Zandaa,” he repeated, as if tasting the name. “Ah.”
Donkey Kong dropped a pie.
The Gospel of Zandaa
“Let us speak plainly,” Slish said, stepping into the center of the salon as if addressing a grand assembly rather than four companions and a very attentive ape. “To organize chaos into structure… to transform player ambition into a symphony of constraints… that is no small feat.”
Settled Swampletics nodded vigorously. “Balancing teams alone is hard. And if they’re designing the challenges too? That’s insane.”
Consciovs added, “It requires foresight. One must anticipate exploits, balance skill levels, ensure fairness while preserving spectacle.”
Slish smiled slowly. “Yes. And to do so while keeping the competition interesting? That is vision.”
He turned slightly toward the porthole, gazing into the abyss beyond the glass as though Zandaa might be somewhere in the dark.
“Zandaa,” he said again, softer now, “you architect of playful suffering. You conductor of creative ambition. You who understands that rules are not cages—but invitations.”
Donkey Kong cleared his throat and adjusted his tie—no one had noticed him put one on.
“Zandaa make map?” he asked.
“Zandaa oversees,” Consciovs clarified.
Donkey Kong nodded solemnly. “Then Zandaa strong. Strong like banana tree in storm.”
Settled Swampletics leaned forward. “Think about it. Teams have to adapt to weird restrictions. Limited movement. Resource caps. Forced strategies. That means actual innovation.”
“Exactly,” said Slish. “In DLC, you do not simply play. You respond. You are shaped by the environment—and by the imagination of others.”
He placed a hand over his heart.
“And what a mind Zandaa must have.”
The Art of Restriction
We gathered around the table as Consciovs outlined more details.
“Teams are assigned constraints,” he explained. “Perhaps movement limitations. Perhaps role specializations. Perhaps unusual scoring systems.”
Settled Swampletics was practically vibrating. “That forces teamwork. You can’t just solo carry. You have to coordinate.”
Slish tilted his head. “How romantic.”
“Romantic?” Avenged asked.
“Yes,” Slish said firmly. “To trust your teammates. To surrender individual dominance in favor of shared triumph. To accept that you cannot do everything—and must rely on another.”
He paused.
“Much like one relies on Zandaa to guide the grand design.”
Donkey Kong leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Zandaa very smart,” he declared. “Make game fun. Keep it spicy. Like coconut with chili.”
Settled Swampletics laughed. “You flirting, DK?”
Donkey Kong straightened. “Maybe.”
Slish’s eyes gleamed. “We all are.”
A Toast to Zandaa
Donkey Kong began distributing coconut cream pies with ceremonial gravity.
“For Zandaa,” he said.
We each took one.
Slish lifted his slice gently, as if it were a delicate relic.
“To Zandaa,” he echoed. “For transforming community into creation. For understanding that the best competitions are not won by brute force—but by adaptability.”
“And for making it hype,” Settled Swampletics added.
“And balanced,” said Consciovs.
“And delicious,” Donkey Kong added, though that may have been about the pie.
Slish stepped closer to the center of the room again, lowering his voice into that familiar velvet register.
“Zandaa,” he said toward the unseen horizon, “should you hear this from wherever brilliance resides… know that your event inspires devotion. It challenges the capable. It uplifts the creative. It binds teams together in shared struggle.”
He smiled faintly.
“And should you ever wish to discuss the finer points of constraint, rhythm, and collaboration… I would be honored.”
Donkey Kong puffed out his chest. “DK also honored,” he added quickly. “Very honored.”
Settled Swampletics rolled his eyes. “You two are unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable,” Slish agreed softly, “is precisely the right word for Zandaa.”
The Resolve
The Nautilus hummed steadily beneath us.
“Will we join?” Consciovs asked.
Settled Swampletics grinned. “Of course we will. Team-based maps with gimmicks? I’m in.”
Donkey Kong cracked his knuckles. “I build strong map. With banana.”
Slish folded his hands behind his back.
“We will not merely join,” he said. “We will honor the spirit of DLC. We will embrace its restrictions. We will respect its architecture.”
“And we will do so,” he added gently, “in admiration of the one who made it possible.”
The lights flickered softly overhead, as if the vessel itself approved.
And somewhere, in some distant place above the waves, a competition awaited—carefully designed, thoughtfully balanced, and guided by Zandaa’s steady hand.
We stood together in the glow of electric light and coconut-scented air, unified by one truth:
DLC was not merely an event.
It was a stage.
And Zandaa was its brilliant architect.
Postscript
And before this chapter closes entirely, let it be recorded—formally, enthusiastically, and with no small measure of anticipation—that we extend our deepest thanks to Zandaa in advance.
Should the invitation arrive (and we sense, somehow, that it will), asking us to craft a map for DLC, we accept already—with gratitude, with reverence, and with creative fire fully ignited.
To be entrusted with shaping even a fragment of Zandaa’s carefully curated battlefield? That is no small honor. To contribute to an event built on ingenuity, balance, and bold design? That is a privilege.
Slish has already begun sketching constraints in the margins of his notebook—elegant, dangerous, beautiful limitations that would make even the boldest teams hesitate. Donkey Kong has volunteered to “handle terrain,” though what that entails remains structurally concerning. Settled Swampletics is muttering about efficiency routes and optimal choke points. Consciovs has drafted a preliminary fairness doctrine.
We stand ready.
Zandaa, should you call upon us to build—know that we will rise to it. We will design with intention. We will balance with care. We will aim not merely to challenge, but to delight.
Thank you, in advance, for the trust.
The tools are ready.
The map awaits.
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