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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.
no subject
He glances toward the endlessly dark expanse of space outside the window nearby, and then back at Ladon.
"...You can hear it when you get back."
When, not if, even though it's yet another one of the many things he has to believe in, with no strong evidence for it.
no subject
So many ifs.
But instead he just nods, also watching the stars swirl indifferently in their dark void of space. "Yeah. Guess I can. ... You got any family?"
no subject
He stumbles over his words for a moment, fishing through the knowledge and memories in his head. "Family" isn't a concept that he's used to thinking about in relation to himself specifically, but he's found himself thinking more about it lately thanks to some recent experiences. When he pipes up again, it's with a fond smile on his face.
"I don't know if he's family, but there's Sirei... He's cared for me as long as I can remember. Nigou sometimes did too, but it was Sirei who monitored and talked with me every day. He's also the one who gave me my name."
Kind of like a parent, right? He hears Tsubasa's words echo in his head.
no subject
"S'good to have folks like that around."
no subject
At least he has one (1) point of data of an outsider saying that Sirei is equivalent to family, which may be more meaningful than Ladon even knows. Despite all that Sirei has done, all that he will do, because the mission is paramount and nothing matters more to him than carrying out the will of humanity, coded right in his brain, determining every spark in his circuitry, Shion...agrees. He's glad that he looked after him, gave him his sense of self, and gave him his name.
A snakeform Host wriggles its way down the hallway that the two of them are conversing in, dutifully carrying a small stack of plates on its head without dropping them somehow (talk about stability!), and deftly avoiding him and Ladon without missing a beat.
"It's nice to have the Hosts around, but it's not quite the same. They're not as talkative, and they don't drink as much."
The oh-so-horrible truth comes out: he was raised by robots.
no subject
He moves out of the way of the robot snake, even as it deftly avoids him entirely. He shakes his head as it continues on its way. "Dunno. Not used to 'em. They kinda give me the heebie-jeebies."
He likes animals. Real, flesh-and-blood, purrs and fur creatures. The stray cats of Nieve have a way of seeking him out any time he's outside for too long, either clamoring for the food he'll locate for them or attracted to his own naturally high body temperature. Horses and larger animals tend to give him a wide berth, sensing his true nature as a large and capable predator, but cats and dogs are his friends.
The mechanical kind seem to be hesitant about him. Maybe they have some kind of preternatural sense that his lizardy, shiny-obsessed mind is secretly pondering how they tick and yearning to open them up and find out.
no subject
Ladon mentions getting the "heebie-jeebies" from the mechanical creatureforms, and he lets out a soft "hm" before he speaks. Not everybody was raised from cradle to grave with the constant presence of machinery, the clangs and whirrs and hums.
"What kind of place are you from, then? You mentioned magic, and you didn't seem too wary of me, either..."
Which he appreciates, don't get him wrong, but begs other questions as well.
no subject
He does pause to rub his chin in thought. How do you describe your current world to someone who's never been there? "From a city called Nieve. S'got magic, but folks don't use the m-word. They call it 'Talent.' Got my own but..."
He does his best to try and call up some electricity, the kind he used to easily let dance across his knuckles, fry any machinery he needed to override, even light his own cigarettes. But all he can manage is a dying spark, a bit like what Conrit was capable of last time they saw each other. "Ain't workin' too well at the moment."
no subject
"It seems we're all in the same boat in that regard."
Even him, despite the flames that make up his own form. If even that was taken away, then he'd be far more certain that he was dragged here to serve as a power source or research subject of sorts, instead of...whatever they're supposed to be now.
"Are these 'Talents' common in Nieve?"
no subject
"Talents're usually pretty low-key. Known folks who could only tie their shoelaces, or move a small object a few inches. Every now and then, you get someone who has a real humdinger of a Talent. They either get swept up by the folks in charge or keep up the clean sneak for years." Or... they cross paths with him or his handlers. And he neutralizes them.
That's a thought. Maybe this whole space-style purgatory is punishment for what he did to Felix. He wouldn't be surprised-- no good deed goes unpunished in Nieve.
no subject
"I'd assume so. If they've implemented a reward system, then they probably would've taken into account that there are people who simply aren't very motivated by material goods... Or don't have any in the first place."
Like him. His flames are nearly all he's ever known and had, and it can be said even those don't belong wholly to him. The irony of being both powerful enough to be spoken about in whispers, yet utterly powerless at the same time, has never escaped him.
His brow furrows slightly and he curls a finger around his mouth. Not entirely because of the subject matter, but because he's (probably quite obviously) trying to parse Ladon's slang in real-time without interrupting the man's conversational cadence as well, with context clues as his main lifeline. It's interesting, he thinks to himself. I don't think anyone in the TRC speaks like this. Is he from Earth...?
However, there's a more pressing question to ask first.
"...And what happens to the ones who get swept up?"
no subject
"Dunno 'bout all of 'em, but some start workin' to protect government interests. Get recruited to vice squads, information agencies, espionage. Depends on the Talent. Friend of mine nearly got stuck in the Garevian Intel for his. Can root 'round in folks' heads. Woulda been a real useful tool if he didn't have such a knack for makin' trouble instead. Best partner in crime I ever had."