![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lamentus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
theorememes2025-11-03 08:07 am
TDM #1, arc 1.0: we drift like worried fire
BUFF
Bonded of The Sorrowweld will find that the NPCs are especially friendly to them this month. Seriously, they just keep trying to give you things. It might get annoying.
DEBUFF
For those who are bonded to Tarnished Az-Mehet, you keep seeing shadows out of the corner of your eye on every screen in the ship, even your datapad. Something is lurking.
At first, you feel a pull. In which direction, you do not know. When a portal of shimmering black and glittering stars appears in front of you, it only seems natural to step into it. On the journey, it is as if you see everything: ancient galaxies wheeling through space, cultures born and growing and leaving their planets, lights creeping over landmasses and them winking out all at once. You see the hungry arm of a black hole, an enigmatic smile under a mirrored mask, a fist clenched tight around an endless sword. Fangs shining in starlight, bandaged feet that have traveled so many miles and still remain sturdy, and code shattering under titanium will.
And then your feet touch solid ground again, and what you have seen is suddenly hard to recall, the merest of glimpses springing to mind when you try to think back.
All you know is that you witnessed something enormous, something you probably shouldn't have seen.
As you struggle to refocus your gaze, all you see for a long moment is white. White walls, white floor. Narrow white cots lined up against a wall, screens blinking above them in tones of soothing aqua and mint. You are in a medbay — a highly advanced one, given the lack of bulky machinery — but perhaps the most eye-catching thing about the room is a long window showing endless black and twinkling stars outside.
Before you can give voice to any thoughts, a small robot flutters toward you, and perches on the back of a chair. "Hello, Wayfarer!" the birdform chirps cheerfully. "I imagine you must have many questions; allow me to enlighten you! You have fallen victim to a quantum accident and have been pulled to another universe, but the Ascendants, in their generosity, intercepted your signal and brought you here so that you did not wind up in empty space. You are aboard the Theorem of the Astral Rose; our mission is to explore uncharted space and search for the Song!"
They pause, thinking, their little blue eye aglow, and then brighten.
"Oh! Introductions are in order! I am Starling's Lament in Flight, but you may call me Starling's Lament. I am one of the Hosts of this exploration vessel; we will do everything we can to ensure a safe voyage for you. Unfortunately, at this moment, we cannot send you home. The Ascendants have indicated that their search for the Song may play some key role in doing so." They whistle a merry tune. "Please enjoy your stay!"
When you manage to get your wits about you -- it's a bumpy ride between universes! -- you start to leave the medbay. Starling's Lament has indicated that you are free to explore the ship, and nowhere is off limits to you. As you leave the cool white tones of the medbay behind, a hallway stretches out in front of you. Both sides are transparent, offering a view into the long dark of space beyond. However, unlike deep space, there is currently quite a lot to see.
On the left lays the broad curve of a planet, lush green landmass and white clouds skidding across its surface. Its star is just sinking behind it, lighting up the very edge of its atmosphere in tones of engine-burn orange and ozone blue, as long shadows cast by enormous space elevators creep across the landmasses. Its most eye-catching feature, however, are the hexagonal structures webbed across its surface, connected by fine corridors with all the geometric precision of woven spider's silk. You can just barely see the tiny dots of spaceships flowing around them, docking, embarking, shuttling between them.
"That is the Redline Trading Post." You hear a tiny whisper, and look up to see another robot — a beetleform, this time, with a shiny dotted shell — watching you curiously from its place on the ceiling. In fact, there are a number of other Hosts doing the exact same thing; a snakeform coiled around a barrier rail, a catform with bright yellow eyes peeking around the corner, a chirping droneform hovering some distance down the hallway. They're all fascinated by you. "But we will be departing soon. You will not get to taste the Galactic Snowball Nova-Cream, the shining culinary jewel of Redline. Sorry. I hear it is very tasty."
You look to your right, away from the planet and the Redline post, to gaze out into the depths of space. In the distance, there is a nebula, its gasses lit up in shades of coral pink and deep purple. It is pockmarked with stars both young and old, newborn stellar entities cradled in the depths of its life-making dust. Set against the dark of space, it is a flower in bloom.
It's beautiful, except—
The longer you look at it, the more something nags at the corner of your mind. A memory glances across your thoughts, unbidden. Something you hoped for, maybe; or something you fear. Whatever the memory, as you gaze at the nebula, a small piece of it curls, shaping in response to your memory. It is your face, reflected perfectly. Smiling, or howling in anger, or weeping.
Eventually, the nebula will go back to normal. But for now, it reflects the fears and triumphs of the new Wayfarers, a mirror held up in the darkness of space.
Once you make it into the bulk of the ship, the Hosts inform you that as they have just restocked all essential supplies, they will be throwing a party in your honor, and they hope you will sample the food.
Maybe you're incredibly dubious about this. Maybe you're starving after your long journey. Either way, you find yourself in the mess hall. It's less like a traditional mess hall and more like a park full of food trucks with seating in the middle. The food trucks are bright and eye-catching, Hosts serving huge heaps of food from their interiors, as their signs advertise everything from Earthen Ancient Egyptian food (As Close As We Can Reconstruct It!) to Raxalar Black Stew (New and Improved: Now Free Of Grit!).
Real grass is underfoot, and the picnic-style seating in the middle appears to be real wood. The lighting is a myriad; whimsical string lights strung between the trucks, floating globe lights playfully dancing like fireflies, and the luminescence of a dogform's patterns and a droneform's enormous eyes and a flyform's glittering trail. The Hosts are clearly excited.
And if the food happens to have... some kind of effect?
Well, the Hosts say, that's only to be expected! The attention of an Edict may, for a nano-second, turn toward the start of this voyage, and that's bound to make anything go a little wonky. Also, they've used some ingredients from the local system, and it's only customary there to share some thoughts and ideas and memories when you eat together. How else can you properly get to know each other?
This may or may not look appealing to you depending on your sensibilities, but it does smell incredible. Soft, savory red meat paired with the fragrant, earthy scent of the vegetable. The Red Buffalo is perfectly seared, and if you poke them cautiously, you'll find the spikes are entirely edible, as long as you chew well enough. If Wayfarers eat this, they will find themselves sharing a memory with the nearest person, a vision of the last time they were truly happy.
It seems the Hosts aren't quite sure of the appropriate alcohol content of substances, as this will burn all the way down, chased by a cool, sparkly feeling all the way down one's esophagus. It tastes of sweetly sour plums, and a potential hangover tomorrow morning. Wayfarers that imbibe this alcohol beverage will start overhearing the thoughts of those around them, as if they are perfectly in tune with everyone.
Ah, a perfectly homey looking meal, sweet and savory, gently steaming. These are a must-try for any Wayfarer with a sweet tooth, proudly boasting of the agricultural and apiary skill of a nearby alien culture. The buns are perfectly fluffy, the spiced honey is warming. What's not to love? After eating this, Wayfarers will find themselves and the nearest person sharing a vision of themselves as they might have been had they gone down the worst possible path in their life.
This isn't the Cherry Cola! you may or may not be familiar with, but it's interesting that whatever alien came up with this came up with the same Earth word. Or maybe the Hosts got it from Earth? Either way, it's fizzy, it's sparkly, it makes you feel like you're floating on rainbow bubbles. Upon drinking this, imbibers will telepathically project outward a vision of the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.
Dear god. What is it? Who came up with this? Who is even brave enough to try this? It certainly… has a taste. It… has an appearance. Whether either of these things are good is in the eye of the beholder. Wayfarers adventurous enough to put this in their mouths (or other eating appendages) will find themselves uncontrollably speaking aloud of the thing they long for the most.
Eventually, it comes time to launch.
The Hosts are a blur of activity, some of them packing up more delicate equipment in case of errant gravity waves during initial propulsion, some of them herding the Wayfarers into a seating area reserved specifically for the safety of its occupants during launch, deceleration, and rare turbulence. You are informed that engine flare will be so bright it will rival a star for the next twenty-five hours of engine start-up burn, but you will only need to stay strapped in for half an hour or so.
As the Theorem's enormous engines start cycling, the entire ship seems to hum in melodic song. And after everybody is strapped in, that's when the intensity starts. Gravity seems to want to push everything toward the stern, and Wayfarers are pressed hard against their seats with the inertia. After half an hour, the Hosts cheerily announce that everybody is free to get up and move around — but you might want to stay near a window, as they will be doing a low dive through the nearby planet's second moon's atmosphere, and it will be quite the sight.
Soon enough, the moon becomes visible. It is of unbroken crimson red, though subtle shifting in its surface lets you guess that it's water rather than earth. And then, as the Theorem rolls gently to the side, the view in the windows nearly perfectly split between moon and space, that's when you see them, swimming through the atmosphere.
To call them fish would be inaccurate — they are not in an ocean, or any body of water — and yet, that will be the word that springs to mind for most Wayfarers. Some of them are sleek and small, schooling in packs of shimmering white and ochre. Others are long and pointed, appendages pointed backward to exude a bright pink gas that propels them forward and which trails after them like oil slicks in the air. The locals call them x'enuda, the Hosts tell you, a combination of words that mean to fly and cunning prey.
They swim closer, swarming outside of the window. Some of them swim through, phasing through the shielding and windows alike, to dance gently in the interior of the Theorem, darting to and fro. If any Wayfarers find themselves curious enough to reach out and touch these creatures, they will find themselves similarly phased, capable of passing through matter for the next few minutes before the shared electrical field wears off and returns them to normal corporality. The external shield will catch you if you phase right through the ship's floor, but you may need to swim back up. Others may find themselves suddenly craving company, as if the x'enuda's instinct to remain safe in a school is catching.
"All Wayfarers, please report to the docking bay!"
As you filter into the enormous cavern that makes up the docking bay of the Theorem, you see rows of smaller spacecraft. Some of them are sleek and light, like they'd be as free as a feather during aerial combat, while others are bulky and spacious. Many of them have designs in alien languages on them, or bizarre looking mascots, seemingly for good luck. As the occasional screen informs you, you are free to claim any one of the ships as your own, but first, Starling's Lament would very much like to give a presentation.
Past the rows of ships lays an expansive opening in the side of the Theorem, many stories high and wide, a shimmering forcefield the only thing between you and space. Beyond it, you can see the quickly fading shape of the planet and moons you left behind as the Theorem continues acceleration. It is in front of this that Starling's Lament has set up a large hologram of a star map.
As they start to explain once everyone is gathered, the map currently shows the region of space you are in. It is an enormous quadrant of multiple galaxies, some pinwheeled in shape, some circuler or tube-like. A line arcs across it, heading into what is clearly less-explored space, beyond the area colorfully marked as Alliance territory. Eventually, that line stops at a star, which then magnifies to reveal a six planet system, the second planet from the star circled.
This is your first objective: designation Epsilon-355.
There are many stories of which planets the Last Pilgrim has set foot upon, and yet, nobody has ever verified any of them. This, the Ascendants claim, is the closest match they have found for one of those planets in a scrap of story: a land of golden sand and shimmering glass, where pilgrimages track their way across the Golden Barrens desert. The planet is small and unassuming in the hologram, and the details next to it are scarce: relatively normal gravity, breathable atmosphere. More details will become available as the Theorem gets close enough for in-depth scans.
If there any notes of the Song to be found, they may yet be found in the Last Pilgrim's footprints.
Presentation nearly over, Starling's Lament directs you a series of tables that have neatly assembled packages of gear. Once you have picked your Division, you are welcome to claim the technological tools of its trade. You can also look at the spaceships available to claim, or even just watch out the docking bay door as you leave the planet behind and head deeper into space.
Welcome to the mission, Wayfarer.
please i love reze!!
What the f—... [Caught at the last minute, he swallows the curse. He's still getting used to being around women again, after so much time away from home.] Where'd you even come from?
[It reminds him of Deimos, how the other fighter could move like the slip of a shadow, as quiet and unnoticed as a mouse.]
Uh, no one. Nothing, forget it. Did you climb up there?
[Cain is eyeing the tree, as if to gauge the path she must have taken to get to her spot.]
no subject
She cups her hands around her mouth and (purposefully) speaks louder than necessary. ]
It's okay! You can say "Fuck" here!
[ Reze nods at his other question and points to the various branches below her. The path is not an easy one and requires a certain amount of athleticism. He could probably handle it. He looks like he can, maybe? ]
The views nice up here.
no subject
The challenge is a good distraction. Cain sets his gaze on the tree and begins to search for a handhold before he gets his feet on the bark, weight hefting upward. With a demonstration of athletics, he ascends pretty quickly.
He doesn't climb onto the same branch with her, but finds a spot a little below, where he hesitates and tries to get a better look at the girl.]
You just go around sitting in trees and spying on people?
no subject
Sorry, sorry- couldn't help it! It's always funny when tough looking guys try and act all polite. Like seeing a dog walk on its back legs or something.
[ She waves her hand mindlessly as she speaks as if hoping to dispel the guilt she (now) felt. That doesn't keep her from still being clearly amused however.
Reze peers over the edge of the branch, balancing herself well enough that she's able to nearly poke her head underneath it. ]
Foods doing weird stuff to everyone.. like, really weird.
[ Up in the trees it's relatively quiet. But the sounds of the festival goers down below are loud enough to be heard even at this height. Some are yelling, randomly and suddenly about things they never meant to share. There are flashes of color every now and then across the grass; strange illusions taking form and disappearing only moments after. ]
You can see everyone from up here. Thought I'd watch- some of it has to be normal, right?
[ Because she's starving..]
no subject
Her other words take his interest more fully, coaxing Cain to swing one leg over the branch of the tree where he sits, ankles crossing underneath. Now that he's comfortably stable, his gaze studies their surroundings with fascination directed to the bustling activity below. He hasn't seen this much activity in one place since the hangar of the Sleipnir, and it was never around food. Not that they were going hungry on the battleship — just that there weren't the most appealing options that deep into space. As long as it kept his stomach full, Cain didn't really care.]
Wait, what's the food doing to people?
[Clearly he's been in the dark.]
Fuck. There's always a catch... I didn't trust them just giving it out for free like this.
no subject
But it's fun too. Even if the nature of the conversation isn't.]
Maybe you would've known if you'd gotten in the tree earlier. [ She taps her head with her finger as if to imply her idea had been brilliant and very clearly above criticism. ]
I don't know exactly what's going on.. but it's making people see stuff. I think a lot of them are doing things they wouldn't usually do either.
[ Which is why she hasn't partaken in any feasting- at least not after her own firsthand experience. ]
For a little bit I could hear someone else's thoughts. I think it was the wine.
no subject
[Apparently hers. Meanwhile, Cain has never even seen a real tree before this moment, so he'll admit some distraction. His gaze falls again to the bark underneath his seat, marveling at how solid it feels — that something living can hold his weight.
There's a snort.]
You sure you weren't just drunk?
[It's hard to believe hearing someone else's thoughts is even possible, and so far, the girl hasn't given him with the most normal first impression. Sorry, Reze.]
1/3 sorry in advance
People don't like to be told they're delusional, y'know?
Reze falls from her branch suddenly and shrieks as if fearing for her life. ]
no subject
When she speaks her voice is deadpan, all of her exaggerated cheer from earlier gone and forgotten. ]
I'd be having a better time if I was.
[ Drunk, she means.]
We're going to go find out how sober I really am. Not like you have anything better to do, right?
no subject
Her feet touch the grass and her palms rise up over her head so she can wave emphatically. ]
C'mon slowpoke!
please i love her... 1/2
He's not intimidated, exactly, but it does give him a... different impression. Isn't she kind of crazy?
Not that he's met that many people he'd ascribe as normal on the ship so far. Seems like the Ascendants are fond of absolute weirdos.]
What's wrong with you... [Whispered under his breath as she drops the rest of the way to the ground, Cain's left squinting from his perch.] All right, fuck, I'm coming.
[He hates that she's right — he really doesn't have anything better to do.]
2/2
He's taller now that they're standing, but that's not surprising. There's something about her features that is familiar to him, though, like the girls from the colonies. Except for her green eyes, which is a trait reserved exclusively for expensive Earth modifications.]
What are we even doing? Gonna go try the wine? If it's free, I'm in.
no subject
She does not get them two glasses of the spooky wine- there's an entire jug of it held under her arm as she leads them out of the crowd and back to where they'd started. ]
Better with less people around. [ She offers this in the way of an explanation, peering over her shoulder at him as she does. ] You'll see why in a sec.
[ Once they're far enough away Reze drinks from the jar, holding it with two hands and this time prepared for the burn that accompanies her gulp. A pleasant shiver and tangy, fruity taste follow. ]
Your turn. [ She hands it to him without caring if he actually wants to take it.
The first time had been accident- it was freaky and it was uncomfortable. But now she knows better; Reze clears her brain of any thoughts that may be important.
In her mind she chants: balls, balls, balls, balls, balls (and in Russian). ]
no subject
You're acting so weird...
[From his perspective, it's just wine — probably it happens to be a much stronger variety than she's used to. So he takes it when handed the jug, tilting it up to his lips confidently.
And then hears, in his native language, that repeated mantra like it's coming from his own head. But it's certainly not. What the fuck?]
What the fuck? [Yes, he said and thought both.] Is that you?
[Within his mind, she'll hear an effortless cross between English and Russian: first Yebalnik zakroy! and then Shut up!]
no subject
But she does project her voice in her head. The words come out flat, unamused, much like she'd been while hanging from the tree. It's night and day from the body language she's projecting outwardly.
Tch, manners? Did no one ever teach you how to talk to women?
(she says this, but she's fairly crude herself if this conversation was any indication of that.)
Well? Don't you have something to say?
"You were right" or "I'm sorry for doubting you", even "I am stupid" would suffice.
She's less shocked by the the fact that they share a language. In her world there were more Ruskis than Gorbachev knew what to do with. ]