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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.
two bros inoffensively smiling, only one of them can handle any level of spice
I wasn't aware I was speaking with an expert. [ This, with a brief chuckle lurking in his comment. The man wields levity; whether he does so for the love of good humor or as a shield remains to be seen, as do his motives for helping.
His ignorance (and no small amount of culture shock) might put him at a severe disadvantage, but Phainon is gifted with a suspiciously good memory, no small amount of determination, and a proven ability to endure great hardship. He might be fine. As fine as someone can be, who built up his whole life around a certain purpose, only to hand the torch off and end up here.
A fingertip - from the other had, presumably - alights on his palm. As he speaks, he lightly pushes it around along the surface of his palm, evoking the way the nebula blooms like a flower in the dark. ]
Well, this... nebula, is it? It unfurls in soft pink, like the stain on your fingers after shelling a pomegranate. At the edges, the shade deepens. If I had to liken it to a different fruit, I'd say it's closer to a dark grape. And-
[ His finger stills, silent as he sees something shift. ]
they are going to out-polite each other to death lmao
[ He falls silent as the other man starts tracing shapes against his palm. Jiaoqiu is not known for being a particularly physically close kind of person; he holds himself at a distance, the wallflower at any party, the stiffly polite reservation of a man who has an arctic wasteland instead of a beating heart. To be touched is a shocking thing, as he has held himself at an even greater distance since Hoolay's attack, determined to never require assistance.
It's almost too much. He is on the very verge of pulling away, beautiful words or not, when the other man stops. Jiaoqiu waits for a long moment, one ear twisting to face the man. Finally, in reflex, his face swivels too, though he cannot fix his gaze upon him. ]
And? [ Jiaoqiu's eyebrows furrow. ] Did something happen?
no subject
The impossibility of seeing a celestial body mold a part of itself into the shape of his own face, twisted into a rictus of pure, unmitigated fury, howling silently into the abyss doesn’t make it any less disturbing. He shakes his head, turning his eyes away.
He’s less successful suppressing his startle, when he realizes Jiaoqiu has turned his face towards him.
He’s pretty. Phainon notices with the dispassionate way he might notice a change in weather. Castorice would have filled a hundred slates with more flowery descriptions than his assessment. (And likely some choice poetry wildly speculating on the nature of his relationship with everyone who so much as spends a moment by his side.) In any case, he can’t complain about the change of scenery; Phainon’s unease invites the drop of his hands to his sides, the shuffle back to re-establish the distance most appropriate for a stranger. ]
Just my eyes playing tricks on me, [ he replies airily, ] This vista is a first for me. You said you’ve seen its like before, [ Phainon continues, eager to change the subject, ] and the trade post. Are you a merchant from beyond the stars?
no subject
Close, but not quite. My name is Jiaoqiu; I'm a chef.
[ It's not a lie. He is. He is just not currently calling himself a healer, as he cannot practice. It's not the only time in his life that he has left the vocation behind, but it is the first time he has done so unwillingly.
With his hand let go of, Jiaoqiu draws it back toward himself, folding it into its partner as if chasing the warmth of brief contact. Unsubtly, he flicks one ear toward the nebula, hoping that his earpiece and its camera will catch whatever the man was reacting to. His lie is obvious, but finely enough crafted. But all he gets is visual match: nebula, unknown distance. ]
I am from a city-ship called the Yaoqing, one of the Xianzhou Alliance, a union dedicated to a thousands-year war against an immortal enemy. [ Here in this new universe, he supposes the Xianzhou Alliance aren't a household name, so he has to explain. How curious. ] And yourself?
no subject
Incredible, I’ve scarcely a day’s five full Hours and already each name I encounter is more exotic than the last.
[ The hope and wonder of embarking on a new adventure warms him, despite how bewildering it is to be so uprooted from all he’s known and thrust into such unbelievably different circumstances. Yet he’s ever been resilient; even if there will long be a hole left in the shape of the people precious to him, he will endure.
But. Speaking of warmth and important people, something Jiaoqiu said tickles his memory. A specific set of unfamiliar syllables in a tongue he’s never learned stand out, vibrant and unique. He places a hand on one hip and, turning his back to the nebula, asks him directly. ]
You mentioned a city-ship belonging to the Xianzhou Alliance, and I’m reminded of stories I had been told by a steadfast friend, wise and capable beyond his years.
Is there also a city-ship in this alliance called the, uh-
[ He stalls, shaping the unfamiliar sound with a stress in all the wrong places: ] Luofu?
no subject
But the words Phainon of Aedes Elysiae keep circulating in his thoughts, nagging at something. He has heard that phrase before, perhaps not in that order, but certainly the name and the place. Unfortunately, the Yaoqing has been following Celenova recently, keeping track of her war on countless planets -- before breakfast every morning, he reads dozens of place names and people's names, and for a long moment, he cannot figure out where he heard the name.
He's about to say something sympathetic, assuming Aedes Elysiae must have been a planet that the Destruction's armies attacked, but--
No. He remembers now. A report about a new Lord Ravager on the verge of being born; a simulation in one of Nous' Sceptres, the world that the Astral Express had found themselves tangled up in. There have recently been talks between the Generals and the Marshal about a strike on Irontomb, a wide alliance to try to stop its emergence. And somewhere in that war report had been the names of a few digital entities the Trailblazers had been in contact with, leaders among their kind. Aglaea. Phainon. ]
You're... from Amphoreus.
[ In shock, Jiaoqiu's ears have pinned back, his tail puffed out. His face turned in Phainon's direction fully for the first time, as if he could see through his blindfold, to figure out this mystery. ]
How?
1/2 dkflsdflhg (Amphoreus spoilers)
In him lie the disparate pieces of the same man, learning how they’re supposed to fit together, an existence that can’t exist.
He is, at once, the man who built out of the ruins of a boy of Aedes Elysiae a Deliverer that his dying world needed, and the charred effigy that wrought ruin to everything he touched, who betrayed everyone he ever loved, whose sins could fill every one of Amphoreus’ seas and rivers in golden blood spilled by his crumbling hands.
In him lie the crushing weight of more years than a mind has any right to and still call itself whole; yet it’s hearing this man utter the name of his hidden world paired with the question - the right question - that gives him pause. ]
2/2
It’s already remarkable that Jiaoqiu knows of its existence at all. But ‘how’?
It implies an understanding of what Amphoreus is, a secret so terrible that to utter it invited skepticism at best and conflict at worst.
Phainon has already been too silent, too still for too long; the sound that shakes out of him is more an unsteady laugh than it is a sigh. ]
How?
[ His jaw closes around his words, tight enough that a muscle in it jumps in the soft pink light from the viewing window, unseen.
A swallow clicks in his throat, dry. Did they succeed? Is it finally over?
Hope shines as bright as a star, but pragmatism presents a stumbling block and his voice trips over it, ] -No, it shouldn’t be possible. Our existences are far too different.
If you’re asking how… [ then he understands how different they are, ] Tell me, how fares the cosmos? What do you know of Amphoreus?
no subject
Cautiously, he ventures a hand outward. A finger pokes into Phainon's pauldron. It certainly feels and sounds real. Going by his question, Phainon knows there's something wrong, too. Something about his world that threatens the cosmos. Does he know about Irontomb? About the Aeons outside the simulation?
He withdraws his hand, chin ducks, lips set in a thoughtful slant. ]
I can't tell you much. I'm only the General's healer, nobody important; they don't tell me the big stuff.
[ How much should he tell Phainon? Does it matter? Could he go back to his world with this information? Would it change things? Bah, this is why he doesn't like getting involved in diplomacy and war plans, he's not trained for this kind of thing! ]
There are talks of a temporary alliance between various factions. Everybody knows something must be done about... Irontomb. [ He hesitates to say the name, and then resigns himself to it. ] A full-out assault is being considered.
no subject
He doesn’t need (nor should he mind) the reminder, but to have become real, the way he had yearned to in his heart of hearts…
And, as far as he can tell, the only son of Amphoreus to have done so. He still reels with the shock of these revelations, so perhaps that is why he hangs on a detail that in the grand scheme of things, matters little, like a streaming banner snagging on a nail. ]
The General’s healer? You said you were a chef.
[ The words drag from between his teeth, halting and quiet. Perhaps the observation isn’t meant to be answered. Greater things yet loom: an alliance with factions of the cosmos beyond Amphoreus’ false sky. An assault on Irontomb.
They’re close, then. So close. ]
Then almost- [ his voice trembles, ] The dawn is almost breaking. At long last.
[ What are they going to do, if he’s here and not holding back that last, tenuous fragment of progress that could complete the calamitous birth of a Lord Ravager?
He’s been wandering as though this was little more than a bizarre dream, the last gasp of a shattered mind as it spares itself fleeting comfort, when in truth, he fears he’s unwittingly abandoned his doomed post.
His fingers dig into his pale hair; recognizing his carelessness, Phainon folds his arms instead. Even if the man is blind, it doesn’t do to make a spectacle of himself. The torch of deliverance may have been passed into the hands of the Trailblazer, but that doesn’t mean he can abide the appearance of weakness or unreliability. ]
How imminent is the assault? [ Despite his own guilt - for all that he’s done, for abandoning his post at the very end of it all - inspiration kindles in his breast, a fire lit by what Jiaoqiu had evoked with his words: an alliance beyond the stars, gathering to be the vanguard against the birth of Irontomb. Heroes. ] Can you tell me nothing else?
no subject
Ah, and yes, his little white lie about being only a chef has been exposed. He's just going to smoothly gloss over that, thank you. Besides: Phainon next asks a far more important question, so Jiaoqiu can pivot. ]
I-- [ He blows out a thin sigh. ] Alright. I have no idea if giving you this information will harm the mission somehow, but I suppose it's a moot point while we're stuck here. The attack is set to happen within a matter of weeks, though I'm told time passes much differently between us and the people inside Amphoreus.
The Luofu will be leading the strike, on behalf of the Xianzhou Alliance. The Yaoqing's just there as backup. There'll also be the Herta Space Station, the IPC, the Galaxy Rangers, and forces from one of the genius's planet. All of these factions teaming up-- it's unheard of. That's how big of a deal the emergence of Irontomb is.
[ The only other thing he knows is: ]
All of the nearby planets are being evacuated, and a vaccine is being made ready. It's anticipated that Irontomb could effect not just technology, but organics. If that thing manages to be born, billions would die within hours. [ He pauses. Reverent, he adds in a murmur: ] Thank god we got advance warning, and are able to try to prevent it.
no subject
The brave Nameless of the Astral Express, the Trailblazer and Dan Heng, have long been both ally and defenders of our world.
[ Even uttering their names - as bright and evergreen in his memory as though they had been branded there by a hot iron - brings with it a swell of pride and gratitude.
His hope, once desperate and decrepit, flourishing again under the gentle rain of his belief in heroism.
If Phainon could find it in him, he would weep with relief. But it’s been a long, long time since, and sometimes he wonders if he’s lost the part of him that remembers how to.
He presses his palm to his chest, ] Thank you for telling me, Jiaoqiu. Your alliance is right to treat this as an existential threat.
Know that we, too, are prepared to give everything to prevent this calamity.
[ And he is willing to destroy himself, if it means extinguishing Irontomb before its spark can turn into a blaze. ] But… what do you mean about a vaccine?
no subject
[ And no, Jiaoqiu was not part of the team that created that, that was entirely the IPC's doing. Besides, technological viruses are not his area of expertise.
It's plain to hear the relief in Phainon's voice; that a coalition has formed to deal with Irontomb is obviously good news to him. Jiaoqiu can only speculate how much they knew about Irontomb from inside Amphoreus, can only speculate what kind of effect the almost-Lord Ravager had inside there. ]
We of the Yaoqing have seen firsthand just how much destruction a Lord Ravager can wage. We know how much of a threat they are. [ Jiaoqiu sounds positively neutral, only the tinest hint of emotion threatening to emerge. They've recently been following Celenova, the commander of the Destruction's armies, and the wars she has been waging. A Lord Ravager is no small thing. Far from it. ] The chance to destroy one before it fully emerges... of course we would all convene to try. Of course.
[ There, real emotion is audible: it would be reprehensible to do anything other than to try stop Irontomb. ]
And yes, the Trailblazers are, of course, essential. [ Jiaoqiu makes a small noise of amusement. ] The last time I saw them, I helped March 7th win a bet as she was training in the art of swordfighting. How are they?