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

[ 'Least when that happens back home, you're still home.' There's a pedantic part of Sunday that very nearly speaks up to point out that home is exactly where you're not when you're displaced. But he knows (or at least is giving the benefit of the doubt assumption) that Dean means 'still in your home universe' rather than... how it sounds.

In any case, he nods to Dean's speculation. ]

They probably would, particularly if they offered incentives. [ It would have to be the right kind of benefits, of course, to make sure to attract the kinds of people they'd want on an expedition like this. ] Of course, that presupposes they have any kind of control over who is brought here and from where.

[ Yeah, that's his ballpark meaning. Still being in one's own home field, or whatever. ]

Somethin' always has control. I dunno how far up the chain it is. Maybe this ship's got no hand in all that, maybe they got picked to take on strays and it's over all our heads. But somethin' somewhere calls the shots.

[ He glances back at his traitor food, up to the ceiling, over their surroundings. Like he expects some extra clues to pop up out of the woodwork. ]

Figuring out what is step one.

True...

[ Sunday nods slowly, gaze distant as he thinks back about the process of arriving here once more. He's quiet for several seconds before looking up at Dean again.]

What do you remember about coming here, if anything? That is - not about when you woke up here but just before.

Not much. [ The answer comes quick and easy enough. It's not a lie, in the strictest sense.

There are-- some things about it, he guesses. Recollections that he should have but doesn't all that's left is knowing that things are missing. But that skirts the line of acceptable vulnerability to mention, in his personal very biased opinion. Getting too into the details and all.

Dean gets the details. That's his job. ]

Felt a pull, right? Followed through on it? Next thing I know, I'm lost in space.

I see. Anything else?

[If Dean truly doesn't remember anything else, then that's fine. Another data point for Sunday to ponder. It's just-- ]

I ask because I also remember a pull, but after that - and before waking up in the Medbay here - I saw glimpses of... something difficult to describe... [He frowns, trailing off as he tries once more to really remember anything more than vague impressions and sensations. But after a moment, Sunday gives up with a shake of his head and a sigh.] I have been wondering if anyone else recalled anything similar or if maybe it was a fleeting dream.

[His tone does not suggest that Sunday thinks it was a dream, however.]

[ Hmm.

There's a tit-for-tat to consider here now, which does change things. Some. Dean tips his head and thinks on it for a second. ]

Nah. Glimpses is a good word for it. Stuff that's, uh. [ He taps his fingers on the table as if it'll make a description come easier. ] Hard to put to words. Weird dream material for sure.

[ Like trying to remember getting pulled out of Hell. Nothing really comes. Flashes, nothing that makes sense, woke up with a fresh mark because his soul is claimed or whatever. Been there, done that.

Sorta makes this whole thing even more offensive to him, if he's honest. For reasons that Dean will neither examine nor elaborate upon. ]

Mm. Weird dream material indeed... [ His eyes drop to Dean's fingers at the motion, but Sunday isn't really looking at Dean's hand so much as he is still thinking about that brief eternity Between. Idly, he fidgets with the plate of his definitely-now-lukewarm meal, slowly turning the plate in place. He really should just eat it; despite his initial hesitation after seeing Dean's experience, Sunday isn't that averse to sharing a memory if he must. It's just easy to forget about eating or having much of an appetite both in the face of interesting conversations and the stress of the circumstances of the day. But thinking about food is just procrastinating on saying more about what's on his mind. ]

The fleeting impressions reminded me of something from my own universe. Aeons. Gods, essentially. A similar sort of unfathomable vastness...

[ He blinks and pulls himself out of wherever his thoughts wandered off to and looks up at Dean more properly again. Maybe Sunday is just grasping at straws here, seeking to apply similar logic of how to understand the world he knows to this place, of course, and if that is the case he will revise his theories later, but for now... ]

Assuming I wasn't imagining what I sensed, I have been wondering if they - whatever similar things exist here - might have something to do with how we have come to be here.

[ Patience has never been Dean's forte, but he's exercised the muscle enough to not get too antsy while Sunday is thinking his stuff over. Maybe partly because he too is looking back over at the plate he shoved away like goddamnit, is he gonna have to walk that all the way back to his bunk to finish it without people seeing anything?

He probably is. Ugh. You get a plate, you clean the plate. Especially if you're in a weird place with no guarantees how long the food stays free.

Well. Future problem. This is turning over to a very, very interesting line of conversation and Dean cares more about that in the grand scheme of things. ]

I'm willin' to bet they do. Stuff like this-- [ He pauses, shrugs one shoulder. ] They don't exactly care where they get what they're looking for. Maybe they're hungry. Scared. Desperate. More than likely, they just don't give a crap about anyone they think ain't on their level. Ends justify the means when all you're doing is puttin' a hamster on the wheel.

[ Which is why ganking them is very high on the Winchester wishlist. ]

It is all a grand cosmic chess game for THEM, in the end, and mortals are THEIR pawns. [ Which is to say that Sunday more or less agrees with Dean's assessment, even if he does think that most gods are more deliberate in their choices than Dean's words necessarily make out. ]

Still, for the powers that be here to have the capability to weight their scales by pulling on strings from outside their own universe is its own special degree of troubling -- if it is indeed the case and not just them potentially taking advantage of new pieces on the board.

[ He doesn't want to entirely rule out the idea that it is a strange fluke at the end of the day, either, or that there's some as-of-yet-unknown additional party at play here. ]

TDM #1, arc 1.0: we drift like worried fire

BUFF

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sorry for the delay! this week was uh... a lot

no worries! life loves to Be Like That

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