The Current: Codex of the Quiet Return
A Diorama of Routine and Reverence
A fan-created setting for The Current by The Grey Ledger Society
Inspired by Aki Kaurismäki's film Fallen Leaves
What You Are Seeing (But Not Yet Saying)
Two people keep showing up. They go to work. They go home. They do not speak unless spoken to. And yet… something glows at the edges.
There is a rusted jukebox in a bar that only plays sorrow. There is a dog who remembers your name. There is a supermarket where grief is shelved in the canned goods aisle.
No one says how they feel. But they leave space for it. They open doors slowly. They hesitate before changing the radio station.
The Current here doesn't rush. It shows up late, but always with a gift. If you wait long enough, it might take your hand. If you leave too soon, it might still remember you.
You are not here to find something. You are here to stay long enough for something to find you. Even if it's just the sound of someone else breathing beside you.
This is the Codex of the Quiet Return. You do not need to fall. You only need to arrive late, and stay.
Attunements of the Quiet Return
Wool
Warms, clings, softens
Blessing: Others feel safer when you speak gently. Even if you say very little.
Flaw: You often forget what you were feeling until it's too late to say.
Rust
Clings, weathers, holds history
Blessing: You can tell what was left unsaid in a room.
Flaw: Objects you touch retain emotional weight—especially when given away.
Late Light
Glows, reveals, forgives
Blessing: You may ask someone to stay once—and they will consider it.
Flaw: If you leave first, you are rarely remembered by name.
Ritual: Shared Stillness
Performed when two people want to say something, but don't.
You'll need:
- Two chairs. Or a bench.
- Another player.
- No intention to speak.
Steps:
- Sit beside someone. Not across from them. Close enough to notice if they shift.
- Do not speak. Do not roll. Wait one minute. (Real time.) You may shift. You may sigh. That is all.
- After the minute, one of you may choose to speak a line. A sentence you didn't know you were holding. The other may answer. Or nod. Or remain.
What Changes:
For the rest of the session, the two of you remember a scene that never happened—a walk, a shared cigarette, a laugh. Neither of you describes it. But it informs how you drift.
You have history now. Or the Current's version of it.
Notable Figure: The One Who Shows Up
They have no dramatic story. They are not haunted. They are just there—consistently, gently, awkwardly.
They return to the same places. The bar with no music. The job they almost lost. The dog who waits without asking.
They are polite, but not eager. Lonely, but not incomplete.
They give others space. And then, quietly, they fill it.
When You Meet Them:
- They don't remember your name, but they remember your favorite song.
- They always ask if you've eaten. They never ask why you're alone.
- They offer to walk you home. Even if it's raining.
Mechanically:
Once per session, you may invoke the One Who Shows Up.
They arrive without flourish. They say something mundane. They do not solve the scene. But they make it bearable.
And when they leave, they leave something behind: a coat, a word, a reason to stay.
Signal Line
Heard while waiting for the bus. Written on a napkin you almost threw away. Sung beneath someone's breath at the end of the night.
"I didn't know I was still hoping."
Playing in the Quiet Return
This setting explores The Current through the lens of gentle persistence and accidental connection. Characters drift through routines that might be empty or might be sacred, depending on who notices. Love arrives not through grand gestures but through the accumulation of small presences.
The tone is understated rather than dramatic, patient rather than urgent. Conflicts arise from timing rather than opposition—people who almost meet, words that almost get spoken, chances that almost get taken.
Sessions might center around:
- Two people who keep missing each other by minutes
- A workplace where everyone is kind but no one speaks
- The last night a beloved but failing business stays open
- Small acts of care that no one acknowledges but everyone remembers
Weather in this setting is always slightly wrong—too cold for the season, rain that stops just as you find shelter, unexpected sunshine that makes everything briefly beautiful. Time moves in shifts and breaks, measured by when buses arrive and when quiet people finally speak.
The supernatural emerges through emotional accumulation rather than spectacle. Objects hold memory. Spaces remember who was kind there. The Current flows through routines that become rituals through repetition and attention.
Characters Weather not toward dramatic transformation but toward capacity for gentleness. At higher stages, they become the people others notice without quite knowing why—the ones who make spaces feel safer, who remember what you ordered last time, who always seem to have an extra umbrella when it rains.
Designer's Note
Let it be spoken once, gently. Let it hang between two players who've shared a silence. Let it shape a scene that doesn't ask for more than presence.
This setting honors the profound ordinary—the way small kindnesses accumulate into something larger than themselves, the way routine becomes sacred when performed with attention, the way love sometimes arrives not as lightning but as someone who keeps showing up.
This is a fan-created supplement for The Current by The Grey Ledger Society. All credit for the core system belongs to the original creators. This work is inspired by Aki Kaurismäki's 2023 film Fallen Leaves and is created with appreciation for both the game and the filmmaker's commitment to finding beauty in everyday encounters.