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

( Noctis' challenge makes Jonas embrace the spaceship tighter. It's cold beneath his hands, and he can feel that start to seep through his jacket and sweater.

Still unbelievable. )

I don't care if it was an accident. Don't point an unknown tool in, like, literally any direction. It even looks like a laser pointer or flashlight, so you'd be annoying somebody at the very least.

Where's yours at? I'll laser it, then we'll be even.

Edited 2025-11-08 19:58 (UTC)

[ What does he do? Emphatically defend himself? Walk away and avoid accountability? Both are tempting after the day they've both had, but somehow he restricts himself to a frustrated sigh instead. ]

Whatever...

You'll have to mark up all of them. I haven't picked one yet so you'd just be guessing. Do I have to come back over here and tell you when I do?

( This guy watched him panic-cry for, like, ten minutes. Maybe he should ease up on him a little. )

Well, uh... why don't you pick one now, then? Like, what about that one?

( points to fellow chunk craft, one that looks like it's seen better days )

[ turns his head to see the fatty craft...... ]

... seriously? I didn't say you couldn't mark it up but picking one like that?

Right, how silly of me. I should've picked the teeny tiny ship.

( points to the sleek, beautiful void runner )

[ Okay, that one is ten times more his speed. But showing that feels like a loss... of something, and so the impassivity remains. Not that that makes him much harder to read. ]

You mean the one that actually looks fast? It's all the same to me. Pick it and ruin it so you can stop being pissed at me.

Don't rush my five stages, man; you shot a laser at me.

( It's morphing so quickly into a planned physical attack...

holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers

TOOL PLEASE )

I didn't– I shot a laser at your ship. Accidentally?

[ UGH! ]

Didn't you get one when you grabbed your kit? Unless you messed up your pick for a team and got something worse. [ The multitool is considered for a moment before Noctis looks at Jonas. Again.

Before finally cracking, handing it out with quiet resignation. ]

( Takes the tool with a mighty swipe, holding it about as curiously—dangerously—as Noctis did before the Incident. )

Yeah, sure. I signed up without reading anything, which was a dumb idea; I was kind of on Mars there for a bit. ( But neither of them want to think about that display again, so... ahem. ) Anyway, I stored all my stuff on board already. You should check it out, seriously. In case you actually want the big ship.

( Too bad he's already walking to the nearest Void Runner, fiddling with the gadget until it lights up and nearly catches him in the hand. This is responded to with a shocking amount of disinterest before he's carving a big J in the nose of Noctis' new spacecraft.

TA-DA )

Oops, too late.

[ He stored his stuff onboard? As in...

As in his ship's large enough that he can actually use it to get some comfortable privacy in this place? That'd be enough to convince him to change his mind, but Jonas moves faster than he does. ]

Oi–

[ The word's barely out before Jonas is not only at the ship but raising that multitool, a beautiful loop of a letter carved right into its surface. Damn it...

The new ship is exciting, sure, but Noctis inadvertently showcases a hint of his privilege in his lack of reaction, arms instead crossing once he's approached it to assess the damage. It's just another material good, after all. Getting annoyed about it would be decidedly uncool, though he notes Jonas's spite for later. ]

Great... and what the hell's that supposed to be? A "J"? If they inspect these you're explaining that what I did was an accident and what you did was intentional. [ A hand outstretches, waiting impatiently for that tool to be returned. ]

Yeah, J for Jonas. That's my name, ( he adds somewhat sheepishly, knowing this is his first real introduction.

From the haggard letter cooling rapidly in the chill of the hangar, Jonas turns back to Noctis. Surrendering the multitool is easy now that they're "even." Though he has a feeling this won't be the only occasion on which they graffiti each other's ships.

Fine by him. )

It adds character. Kinda. Like... we've already been to war.

[ Jonas.

Not a Lucian name, but not a Niff or Altissian name either. It's... new, like everything else here. ]

You serious? War, huh. [ It's the first statement that's brought a hint of amusement to Noctis's expression, even if it's wry and doesn't quite reach his eyes.

He examines that multitool for a moment, turning it in his fingers... before turning right back around, MARCHING BACK TO JONAS'S SHIP– ]

( The wryness of the look isn't recognized in a foreign expression, but he is keen to the facial shift. Something he said just registered with Noctis, and it makes him blink owlishly after him.

JOGS TO KEEP UP )

Okay, no, no, no, wait, are you serious? You already drew crap on mine!

Yep. Totally serious.

[ ZEN ZEN

Because I didn't draw on yours; I left a tiny mark on accident. That "J" was huge, Jonas.

[ And his new acquaintance doesn't make any significant effort to stop him, which feels akin to permission. It's exactly why he raises the laser, now confident with its manipulation as he marks an even larger "N" along the ship's side before he steps back to admire his work. ]

Ah, maybe I should do another one...

( Throws his hands up in protest at the massive N being scarred into his ship's face, knowing he won't be able to trade it in for another one now. This is permanent, and he doesn't have the money—or credits, or whatever the hell the currency is in space—to get a patch job. )

Even accidental actions have consequences, dude! ( Circling around to the front, his fake indignation is supported by a dramatic gasp. ) Oh, my God. Now it looks like it says "IN," like, what even is that?

( It feels... fun. Ruining something perfect. Doing something permanent. )

I am going to cover your ship in graffiti in the night, or whatever constitutes, seriously. Sleep with both eyes open, asshole.

Scary.

[ That multitool is finally tucked away, having been used and abused in support of some truly ridiculous goals. His arms cross then, posture far more relaxed now that he's personally absolved himself of guilt ~~and awkwardness~~ and now that he's had the chance to see Jonas more lively and self-assured.

Good. ]

Am I sleeping with both eyes open or am I watching my ship? 'Cause I wasn't planning to sleep out here in the docking bay.

... you sound a lot better, you know.

Yeah, well... both... ( Whatever, okay? Don't be nice to me now, dick. Jonas grunts noncommittally, then decides that's an unfair response to a pretty nice sentiment. ) Luckily for you, I'm fresh out of my dementia episode.

... Hey, listen, I'm... sorry if I freaked you out, man. Honestly, everything's been really awful, but, like, you helped me a lot. To just gather my bearings, you know? You went outta your way to do that when you didn't have to.

( Reaching up to run a finger into the groove of the N, he sighs a heavy sigh for them both. Jesus, what they hell are they all going to do now? )

It means a lot to me. So... thanks.

[ The sincere words cause him to straighten out of his loose lean, weight shifting from one foot to another as his brows lift for one, unguarded moment. Now he wonders if Jonas thought he was trying to solicit a thank you, ill-equipped to deal with that possible assumption. ]

Maa... don't worry about it. If anything you mostly talked yourself out of it. If you're able to remember everything now then you must be in the clear.

... besides, it wasn't enough to get me a pass on accidentally scuffing your ship...

No, I didn't. ( While he doesn't rush to correct Noctis, he makes certain with a clear, concise response that his opinion is heard: ) I wouldn't have. I needed... I don't know... Somebody. For, like, two real quick minutes.

( Somebody solid. Somebody who could prove to him that they wouldn't buckle under the pressure of taking care of him. Putting his confused mess of emotions on a stranger sucked, but after all this time, he thinks it was finally his right to do so.

So, he shockingly cuts himself a bit of slack, embarrassedly rubbing his neck. ) The ship thing is, like, a completely separate matter. Totally split off from you helping a brother out.

... Seriously, thanks, Noct. I'd have repaid you with money, but I don't have any, so... it was honestly either drawing a big J on your ship or, like, initiating an even bigger hug between us boyyys.

Edited 2025-11-13 06:59 (UTC)

[ Jonas felt lost and he shared it with someone. Not even someone he knew could help, but someone who was nearby when that feeling became too overwhelming for him to hold inside any longer. And that... that's something he can relate to.

Even if it's just for two minutes. ]

Ah-ah, stay there... if you need to draw another "J" then you can, but that's as far as this goes. [ He isn't exactly ready for physical intimacy of any kind, but even with that shut down he feels uneasy. Their conversation is finished, right? They addressed it and they can move on and not speak about it again. So... why does it feel like there's something he should still say? ]

It really was okay. [ It's said suddenly, even if his tone remains calm and quiet. ]

You talking to me. I was listening.

[ ... ] Anyway, I'm gonna' head back to my ship and check it out. If you decide you're gonna' do something else to it, just warn me first. My username's "darknight" on this thing, one word. [ He gestures to his pocket where his communicator is stored before abruptly turning on his heel, keen to make a hasty exit. ]

Permission to draw another J? Seriously? ( Shocking. Jonas has never received permission to carve his initials anywhere. He's always just gone right ahead and done it. Knowing he's allowed to makes him want to do it less, but it's still appealing.

It's like signing a guestbook. Writing on a sticky note to pass in class. Carving his name into a tree. A sort-of dibs, but without staking a claim.

He stares after Noctis, left with one of the kindest sentiments he's ever heard. His bar is frightfully low for validation, but even if it were where it's supposed to be, hearing "I was listening" and that his panicking was okay is all that's required, really. It makes him feel safer than he felt even thirty minutes ago.

... )

( Cups his hands around his mouth. )

P.S., "darknight" is super lame. I'm just sayin'!

( Alright, with that dunk complete, Jonas turns back to his ship with a smile. )

BUFF

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