Entry tags:

⸻ tdm

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!"

REFLECT

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.

IMBIBE

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?

RED BUFFALO SHANK WITH SPIKED LOTUS

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.

UPSIDE-DOWN PLUM SPARK-WINE

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.

GOLDEN BUNS WITH SPICED HONEY DRIZZLE

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.

CHERRY COLA!™

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.

A CAKE. MAYBE.

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.

INITIATE

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.

FOREWORD

"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.

(CODE)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

༺reflect.

[A beleaguered lower-tier businessman is wandering about the ship, taking in the sights without seemingly much alarm or concern. He seems only mildly curious about the little robots skittering about, the absolutely breathtaking sights beyond the glass panes (the only thing that separates them all from a cold and near instantaneous death), and is instead poking his nose into as many rooms and nooks and ventilation shaft covers as he is permitted.

He does see that nebula, squints suspiciously at it for as long as it needs to reflect his own screaming face back at him, then heaves such a put-out sigh as he flaps his arms. Great. Eldritch cosmic gods over here to deal with. Like he wasn't already trying to crunch numbers to figure out how long it would take to fly back home and coming up with some very depressing figures.] Could you not? [he asks aloud, knowing it's in vain but hopeful that maybe one of them will just go 'oh ew it's an angel' and like, flick him back towards the Milky Way or something.]

༺imbibe.

[Of course he picks the cake.

Castiel's experience with food is extremely limited, anyway. He had a few days at the end of the almost-apocalypse there where he'd had to eat and sleep and...other unmentionable practices...we do not speak of those. Anyway, whatever he'd put in his body at that time hadn't been all that important so he hadn't paid much attention to it. The humans of the group had their hands full so if they noticed he was subsisting on Nerve Damage! the energy drink and bars of questionable nutritional value, nobody said anything.

The cake has...colors. And many different shapes and textures. If he's going to need to start eating to maintain his vessel until the gods floating around decide to stop suppressing his Grace, then he's going to try a bunch of different things until he finds something that works and stick with that for forever. And it's gonna be fine.

He eats the fish head first. It is terrible enough that it nearly gives him depression. Someone notices the despairing expression on his face so he opens his mouth to reassure them that he's fine, that it's just the food is truly a punishment, but what comes out is,] I wish I knew how to exist. [...scowls.] What I meant to say is, I hope I don't hurt my friends even more than I already have. [WHAT. NO. HE JUST WANTS CAKE THAT TASTES GOOD.]

༺foreward.

[Castiel takes in all of that with...hardly any expression at all, and doesn't even appear to be paying attention until the tables are brought to their attention. He heads right over, starts picking through things, and will just lean right near anybody examining the gear if it looks like they have even 1 (one) percent of an idea of what it does.

He can be elbowed out of personal bubbles without much consternation like shoving aside a particularly dumb and in-the-way dog, but anybody who seems like they'd be even a little amenable to providing instruction will be on the receiving end of tired, middle-aged eyes and a hand holding out any number of objects from the table.] ...is this a... [what are some things humans use] ...stand mixer?

༻wildcard.

[Hit me up with anything! He will be on network trying to figure out how to text, will be wandering around just about anywhere, and will probably stick out as somebody who can be either a) easily swindled or b) roped into shennanigans. Feel free to PM or message me at

gonewithouta to discuss!]

[ And lo, somewhere within a 100ft radius going at breakneck speed between pissed off and anxious and guilty and some straight-up childlike glee about getting into some real Star Trek shit, Dean whips around like one of those pointer dogs who go hunting and lock in on birds.

Hey man, he's been actively keeping an eye and ear out for exactly two people and this is one checked off the list. Big relief. Huge. Can't actually be overstated how huge of a relief it is.

Now all he needs to do is track down Sam and he'll be able to breathe easy for half a second. ]

Seriously, Cas? A stand mixer?

[ Imagine actively elbowing your way across the room to get to your local angel and you can't even come up with something cool to say when you get there. Dean doesn't need to imagine, because he's lived it. ]

[Actually drops the whatever-it-was he was holding, big eyes locked on Dean because a) he was just snuck up on and that's very difficult to do to an angel and b) he was just snuck up on by Dean which is, actually, even more difficult for someone who is Dean to do.

What are you doing here. How did you get here. You should not be here. This is in outer space and that is notoriously inhospitable to mortals and especially to humans and there are things manipulating him and powers and nebulas just outside the ship. Castiel conveys all of his worry-shock-dismay in one single, growled out,] Dean-!

[ O... kay. Many factors to consider here.

Cas has his moments, but jumpiness ain't a regular one. Getting surprised and dropping stuff?? Their weird little stoic?

And, perhaps the most important: ]

What, am I in trouble? I didn't knock the damn multitool outta your hands! [ HE JUST GOT HERE... ] Take it easy.

[ Too late now he's worrying. In a cool and manly fashion.

Cas looks okay, though. That's half the battle. ]

[Oh we are so sorry, we forgot that Dean is the only one allowed to mask his worry as upset. Adjustments will be made] How long have you been here? [Castiel whispers urgently, looking over his shoulder. Everything that he was taking in with just a mildly perturbed 'huh that's weird' attitude before now looks so menacing, like babyproofing your house as a first-time mother.

It's supposed to be just him in a potentially concerning kidnapping situation across the universe, not Dean. Strange jaunt has been upgraded to code red crisis.]

[ Thank you, this is all he asks. Jeez. ]

Few hours. Got the whole welcome wagon. No sign of Sam. They took my guns. [ And knives!!! Which left him maybe a little bit twitchy.

Space. The final frontier. But no knives allowed. And whatever a Sorrowweld is. And the split between relief Sam's not stuck in this versus freaking out that he's completely out of reach.

He stoops down to pick up the tool Cas dropped. Free fidget toy for Dean? Anything is possible. ]

You? Your- [ he shouldn't go around advertising An Angel. So he gestures vaguely, glances around. ] Your mojo's outta order, right? You okay?

[ You let Dean jumpscare you and didn't answer any prayers earlier. Which could mean nothing, but Dean got through the day a little easier believing that Cas wouldn't just-- leave him on read. Again. That either he was way way out of range or it just wasn't going through. Call not connecting. Something. ]

[HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT. Stop using your human detective powers on him, this isn't FAIR]

[Watches Dean try to five finger discount that multitool into his pocket, only for one of the beetleforms tattle on him to Starling's Lament in Flight.] My powers do seem to be temporarily. Unavailable. [EXTREMELY unavailable. He had to eat something, Dean, it was so humiliating. He is dreading bathroom time later.

Well- ugh. Well, fine. There's nothing he can do about Dean being here, and it doesn't sound like Dean followed him somehow, so it's not like he can blame Dean for this. He's just nervous. ...he's just nervous. He's useless like this, and any number of things could kill Dean out here. (And him but don't tell Cas that.)] We're very far from home. I don't recognize any of the star systems or nebulas outside.

BUFF

DEBUFF

Castiel | Supernatural

foreward

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foreword

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imbibe.

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Reflect - fun fact, a castiel fst was my introduction to 65daysofstatic

hell yeah brother love to see spn infect every piece of media on the planet

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the amount of overthinking i have done about whether 'nephilim' might mean anything to him...