Entry tags:

⸻ tdm

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

BUFF

Bonded of The Sorrowweld will find that the NPCs are especially friendly to them this month. Seriously, they just keep trying to give you things. It might get annoying.

DEBUFF

For those who are bonded to Tarnished Az-Mehet, you keep seeing shadows out of the corner of your eye on every screen in the ship, even your datapad. Something is lurking.

At first, you feel a pull. In which direction, you do not know. When a portal of shimmering black and glittering stars appears in front of you, it only seems natural to step into it. On the journey, it is as if you see everything: ancient galaxies wheeling through space, cultures born and growing and leaving their planets, lights creeping over landmasses and them winking out all at once. You see the hungry arm of a black hole, an enigmatic smile under a mirrored mask, a fist clenched tight around an endless sword. Fangs shining in starlight, bandaged feet that have traveled so many miles and still remain sturdy, and code shattering under titanium will.

And then your feet touch solid ground again, and what you have seen is suddenly hard to recall, the merest of glimpses springing to mind when you try to think back.

All you know is that you witnessed something enormous, something you probably shouldn't have seen.

As you struggle to refocus your gaze, all you see for a long moment is white. White walls, white floor. Narrow white cots lined up against a wall, screens blinking above them in tones of soothing aqua and mint. You are in a medbay — a highly advanced one, given the lack of bulky machinery — but perhaps the most eye-catching thing about the room is a long window showing endless black and twinkling stars outside.

Before you can give voice to any thoughts, a small robot flutters toward you, and perches on the back of a chair. "Hello, Wayfarer!" the birdform chirps cheerfully. "I imagine you must have many questions; allow me to enlighten you! You have fallen victim to a quantum accident and have been pulled to another universe, but the Ascendants, in their generosity, intercepted your signal and brought you here so that you did not wind up in empty space. You are aboard the Theorem of the Astral Rose; our mission is to explore uncharted space and search for the Song!"

They pause, thinking, their little blue eye aglow, and then brighten.

"Oh! Introductions are in order! I am Starling's Lament in Flight, but you may call me Starling's Lament. I am one of the Hosts of this exploration vessel; we will do everything we can to ensure a safe voyage for you. Unfortunately, at this moment, we cannot send you home. The Ascendants have indicated that their search for the Song may play some key role in doing so." They whistle a merry tune. "Please enjoy your stay!"

REFLECT

When you manage to get your wits about you -- it's a bumpy ride between universes! -- you start to leave the medbay. Starling's Lament has indicated that you are free to explore the ship, and nowhere is off limits to you. As you leave the cool white tones of the medbay behind, a hallway stretches out in front of you. Both sides are transparent, offering a view into the long dark of space beyond. However, unlike deep space, there is currently quite a lot to see.

On the left lays the broad curve of a planet, lush green landmass and white clouds skidding across its surface. Its star is just sinking behind it, lighting up the very edge of its atmosphere in tones of engine-burn orange and ozone blue, as long shadows cast by enormous space elevators creep across the landmasses. Its most eye-catching feature, however, are the hexagonal structures webbed across its surface, connected by fine corridors with all the geometric precision of woven spider's silk. You can just barely see the tiny dots of spaceships flowing around them, docking, embarking, shuttling between them.

"That is the Redline Trading Post." You hear a tiny whisper, and look up to see another robot — a beetleform, this time, with a shiny dotted shell — watching you curiously from its place on the ceiling. In fact, there are a number of other Hosts doing the exact same thing; a snakeform coiled around a barrier rail, a catform with bright yellow eyes peeking around the corner, a chirping droneform hovering some distance down the hallway. They're all fascinated by you. "But we will be departing soon. You will not get to taste the Galactic Snowball Nova-Cream, the shining culinary jewel of Redline. Sorry. I hear it is very tasty."

You look to your right, away from the planet and the Redline post, to gaze out into the depths of space. In the distance, there is a nebula, its gasses lit up in shades of coral pink and deep purple. It is pockmarked with stars both young and old, newborn stellar entities cradled in the depths of its life-making dust. Set against the dark of space, it is a flower in bloom.

It's beautiful, except—

The longer you look at it, the more something nags at the corner of your mind. A memory glances across your thoughts, unbidden. Something you hoped for, maybe; or something you fear. Whatever the memory, as you gaze at the nebula, a small piece of it curls, shaping in response to your memory. It is your face, reflected perfectly. Smiling, or howling in anger, or weeping.

Eventually, the nebula will go back to normal. But for now, it reflects the fears and triumphs of the new Wayfarers, a mirror held up in the darkness of space.

IMBIBE

Once you make it into the bulk of the ship, the Hosts inform you that as they have just restocked all essential supplies, they will be throwing a party in your honor, and they hope you will sample the food.

Maybe you're incredibly dubious about this. Maybe you're starving after your long journey. Either way, you find yourself in the mess hall. It's less like a traditional mess hall and more like a park full of food trucks with seating in the middle. The food trucks are bright and eye-catching, Hosts serving huge heaps of food from their interiors, as their signs advertise everything from Earthen Ancient Egyptian food (As Close As We Can Reconstruct It!) to Raxalar Black Stew (New and Improved: Now Free Of Grit!).

Real grass is underfoot, and the picnic-style seating in the middle appears to be real wood. The lighting is a myriad; whimsical string lights strung between the trucks, floating globe lights playfully dancing like fireflies, and the luminescence of a dogform's patterns and a droneform's enormous eyes and a flyform's glittering trail. The Hosts are clearly excited.

And if the food happens to have... some kind of effect?

Well, the Hosts say, that's only to be expected! The attention of an Edict may, for a nano-second, turn toward the start of this voyage, and that's bound to make anything go a little wonky. Also, they've used some ingredients from the local system, and it's only customary there to share some thoughts and ideas and memories when you eat together. How else can you properly get to know each other?

RED BUFFALO SHANK WITH SPIKED LOTUS

This may or may not look appealing to you depending on your sensibilities, but it does smell incredible. Soft, savory red meat paired with the fragrant, earthy scent of the vegetable. The Red Buffalo is perfectly seared, and if you poke them cautiously, you'll find the spikes are entirely edible, as long as you chew well enough. If Wayfarers eat this, they will find themselves sharing a memory with the nearest person, a vision of the last time they were truly happy.

UPSIDE-DOWN PLUM SPARK-WINE

It seems the Hosts aren't quite sure of the appropriate alcohol content of substances, as this will burn all the way down, chased by a cool, sparkly feeling all the way down one's esophagus. It tastes of sweetly sour plums, and a potential hangover tomorrow morning. Wayfarers that imbibe this alcohol beverage will start overhearing the thoughts of those around them, as if they are perfectly in tune with everyone.

GOLDEN BUNS WITH SPICED HONEY DRIZZLE

Ah, a perfectly homey looking meal, sweet and savory, gently steaming. These are a must-try for any Wayfarer with a sweet tooth, proudly boasting of the agricultural and apiary skill of a nearby alien culture. The buns are perfectly fluffy, the spiced honey is warming. What's not to love? After eating this, Wayfarers will find themselves and the nearest person sharing a vision of themselves as they might have been had they gone down the worst possible path in their life.

CHERRY COLA!™

This isn't the Cherry Cola! you may or may not be familiar with, but it's interesting that whatever alien came up with this came up with the same Earth word. Or maybe the Hosts got it from Earth? Either way, it's fizzy, it's sparkly, it makes you feel like you're floating on rainbow bubbles. Upon drinking this, imbibers will telepathically project outward a vision of the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.

A CAKE. MAYBE.

Dear god. What is it? Who came up with this? Who is even brave enough to try this? It certainly… has a taste. It… has an appearance. Whether either of these things are good is in the eye of the beholder. Wayfarers adventurous enough to put this in their mouths (or other eating appendages) will find themselves uncontrollably speaking aloud of the thing they long for the most.

INITIATE

Eventually, it comes time to launch.

The Hosts are a blur of activity, some of them packing up more delicate equipment in case of errant gravity waves during initial propulsion, some of them herding the Wayfarers into a seating area reserved specifically for the safety of its occupants during launch, deceleration, and rare turbulence. You are informed that engine flare will be so bright it will rival a star for the next twenty-five hours of engine start-up burn, but you will only need to stay strapped in for half an hour or so.

As the Theorem's enormous engines start cycling, the entire ship seems to hum in melodic song. And after everybody is strapped in, that's when the intensity starts. Gravity seems to want to push everything toward the stern, and Wayfarers are pressed hard against their seats with the inertia. After half an hour, the Hosts cheerily announce that everybody is free to get up and move around — but you might want to stay near a window, as they will be doing a low dive through the nearby planet's second moon's atmosphere, and it will be quite the sight.

Soon enough, the moon becomes visible. It is of unbroken crimson red, though subtle shifting in its surface lets you guess that it's water rather than earth. And then, as the Theorem rolls gently to the side, the view in the windows nearly perfectly split between moon and space, that's when you see them, swimming through the atmosphere.

To call them fish would be inaccurate — they are not in an ocean, or any body of water — and yet, that will be the word that springs to mind for most Wayfarers. Some of them are sleek and small, schooling in packs of shimmering white and ochre. Others are long and pointed, appendages pointed backward to exude a bright pink gas that propels them forward and which trails after them like oil slicks in the air. The locals call them x'enuda, the Hosts tell you, a combination of words that mean to fly and cunning prey.

They swim closer, swarming outside of the window. Some of them swim through, phasing through the shielding and windows alike, to dance gently in the interior of the Theorem, darting to and fro. If any Wayfarers find themselves curious enough to reach out and touch these creatures, they will find themselves similarly phased, capable of passing through matter for the next few minutes before the shared electrical field wears off and returns them to normal corporality. The external shield will catch you if you phase right through the ship's floor, but you may need to swim back up. Others may find themselves suddenly craving company, as if the x'enuda's instinct to remain safe in a school is catching.

FOREWORD

"All Wayfarers, please report to the docking bay!"

As you filter into the enormous cavern that makes up the docking bay of the Theorem, you see rows of smaller spacecraft. Some of them are sleek and light, like they'd be as free as a feather during aerial combat, while others are bulky and spacious. Many of them have designs in alien languages on them, or bizarre looking mascots, seemingly for good luck. As the occasional screen informs you, you are free to claim any one of the ships as your own, but first, Starling's Lament would very much like to give a presentation.

Past the rows of ships lays an expansive opening in the side of the Theorem, many stories high and wide, a shimmering forcefield the only thing between you and space. Beyond it, you can see the quickly fading shape of the planet and moons you left behind as the Theorem continues acceleration. It is in front of this that Starling's Lament has set up a large hologram of a star map.

As they start to explain once everyone is gathered, the map currently shows the region of space you are in. It is an enormous quadrant of multiple galaxies, some pinwheeled in shape, some circuler or tube-like. A line arcs across it, heading into what is clearly less-explored space, beyond the area colorfully marked as Alliance territory. Eventually, that line stops at a star, which then magnifies to reveal a six planet system, the second planet from the star circled.

This is your first objective: designation Epsilon-355.

There are many stories of which planets the Last Pilgrim has set foot upon, and yet, nobody has ever verified any of them. This, the Ascendants claim, is the closest match they have found for one of those planets in a scrap of story: a land of golden sand and shimmering glass, where pilgrimages track their way across the Golden Barrens desert. The planet is small and unassuming in the hologram, and the details next to it are scarce: relatively normal gravity, breathable atmosphere. More details will become available as the Theorem gets close enough for in-depth scans.

If there any notes of the Song to be found, they may yet be found in the Last Pilgrim's footprints.

Presentation nearly over, Starling's Lament directs you a series of tables that have neatly assembled packages of gear. Once you have picked your Division, you are welcome to claim the technological tools of its trade. You can also look at the spaceships available to claim, or even just watch out the docking bay door as you leave the planet behind and head deeper into space.

Welcome to the mission, Wayfarer.

(CODE)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

reflect.

[ Viktor dies.

Viktor wakes.

Viktor lurches up in bed so fast his head spins, his first words a biting, sharp, ] Jayce — the council — [ Desperation lining his face. A cold fear grips him, and he won’t be swayed. Even with the knowledge of wormholes and time travel providing a very tempting distraction, Viktor presses, insisting on knowing whether the others were safely transported like he was. It’s not comforting to hear that for all the possibilities contained within this far-flung future, innocent people still died. Viktor sits with this knowledge in silence. He mourns what could have been for the people of Zaun. All those who sat in that room, despite his misgivings about most of them. Viktor had been the one struggling to make sense of his premature death, and now he was the only survivor?

It’s a long moment before he finds the strength to move, but find it he does. That fire burns in Viktor always, a fierce, unrelenting spirit that spurs him to explore the ship, eager to find his footing in this new place. He refuses to stop when there’s still work to be done, and people to help, though it’s a little difficult at first familiarizing himself with the new crutch. Putting on an unaffected air, Viktor spots someone close by — someone who looks as lost as he feels — and he approaches, drawn to what might be a kindred spirit. ]

We have a saying in my homeland, [ Viktor says by way of greeting, crutch tapping against the glossy floor. ] ‘Hope dies last.’ As long as you are fighting to achieve something, you will survive. [ He makes a low humming noise. ] A little more literal than I first thought, but eh. It serves for our current predicament, wouldn’t you say? [ He doesn’t notice the reflection at first, instead focusing on his new companion. ]

imbibe.

[ It’s difficult to choose between the array of foods. Viktor had always been fairly adventurous not only in his professional life, but his culinary pursuits as well. There is very little he won’t try once, and while the cake(?) is tempting, he makes a beeline for the UPSIDE-DOWN PLUM SPARK-WINE first. ] Pity there’s no cigars, [ he murmurs, a tiny smirk tugging at his mouth. No one would understand the private joke with himself, but that’s fine. It would probably shock more people than it would earn him friends if anyone learned he had infected lungs.

Turning to tip the glass he’d plucked up at the nearest person, he offered a warm, ] Na zdraví, [ before taking a generous sip. Eyeing the bottle with a critical eye, Viktor made a contemplative noise. ] Not bad. A little weak, but pleasant. [ The burn reminds him of a wine from Zaun, and he’s suddenly filled with such a strong sense of nostalgia, it hits him squarely in the chest. He leans against the bar a little, exhaling, Skye would have enjoyed this filtering through his mind. ]

wildcard.

[ ooc: Feel free to poke and plot with me at mycroftier! 🫶 I’m open to most scenarios. ]

[ Jayce is... intimately familiar with that tumbling feeling, the pull at his center of gravity, the uncertainty and the exhilaration. It's a sensation he's been chasing for years, strange and otherworldly, something he's never been able to replicate, not with all his knowledge, not with Hextech. There were times he'd thought that if he could muster up the courage to tell Viktor, he could have helped him figure it out, but there had always been something more important, something else to do, that he'd never gotten around to it.

There are so many things he didn't get around to, too many bitter words on his tongue. Jayce hears the cracking of glass and all he can think of is... ]

Viktor—! [ Jolting awake, Jayce had nearly fallen out of the bed in his haste to get up, his legs all tangled in the bedclothes. He stumbles through the room, hand braced against the wall, chasing the sounds he thinks he hears, a familiar voice, that little verbal tic he would know anywhere.

Without thinking, or pausing, or really processing, Jayce turns the figure around, bracing him with his big, trembling hands, holding him up, or in place, or just here, like he's a figment of Jayce's overactive imagination, or the last spark of life in a brain that's— ] Viktor?

[ Viktor would have turned sharply to meet that voice if it wasn't for Jayce getting there first, and for a moment, he stares, absolutely stunned. So many things rush to the forefront of his mind — confessions, apologies, pleas — but what inevitably escapes containment is a watery, ] Is this the right time to tell you I changed my name? [ It's a completely idiotic joke, something so stupid he even chuckles at it himself, but it's a laugh that quickly turns into a soft sob. He's here. And he's alive. Obviously, the only way to deal with that is with humor.

Gripping Jayce's elbow with his gloved free hand, Viktor squeezes tight. He just wants to look at him, memorize his face, in case none of this is real and they're experiencing their last lucid moments of life. That isn't a possibility he's entirely ruled out yet. ] The others? [ finally rasps out, brow knit. ]

[ The bark of laughter that escapes Jayce surprises him, a sharp sound that is a strange combination of sorrow, shock, and fondness. ] To what, [ he manages to say, voice warbling slightly. Jayce doesn't wait for the answer to hurl himself forward the rest of the way, tugging Viktor into his arms or throwing himself into Viktor's. Honestly, it doesn't matter which, just that he can feel the sharp juts of bone and the cold metal of the brace, and the slight wheeze of his lungs and knows that he's here. Alive. Here.

The question pulls him out of his head and he steps back just a little to be polite. ] I don't know. I didn't see them. [ Jayce doesn't want to admit he didn't really look. There's still a haze filling his head, suffocating his thoughts, but it clears a little at a time with each second he's standing here. ]

Salo. [ More dark humor. It's spoken so lightly, Viktor might have seemed flippant had it not been for the tears in his eyes. This time, though, he's quicker, lurching forward fast to pull Jayce into an embrace first. He still manages to keep a hold on the new crutch, though he isn't really thinking about that. Viktor just breathes deep and holds on tight, desperate to contain this feeling for as long as possible. It's more than relief. It's hope.

Which is why he resists a little when Jayce steps away. Pushing that instinct down, he releases him quickly, shifting to lean on the crutch again. ] We'll find them. [ There's a firmness in his tone. Viktor doesn't know most of them well, but he can still worry about them. And he knows at least two in particular who are close to Jayce. That's more than enough reason to keep hoping.

A flash of movement catches his eye, and for the first time, Viktor notices the nebula. He stares at it, gazing at the shifting colors. Then clears his throat. ] Jayce, I — [ But the image is changing, turning, and he narrows his eyes, attention drawn away. It's ... himself? Crying? Viktor quickly turns to look at Jayce again, hoping to catch his eye instead of — well. That. ] We should keep moving, [ he says, suddenly ushering them away from the glass. ]

No. [ The answer is immediate, tumbling out of his mouth before Jayce is even sure he's fully processed what Viktor said. Jayce wrinkles his nose once he does and shakes his head too. ] Anything else, maybe. But you'll still be Viktor to me.

[ Easily, Jayce melts into that embrace, breathing in and trying to force out the chill that's been sinking into his body every second since he came to on that bed. It's hitting him now what it reminds him of, old memories he doesn't want to think about, the dreary, sterile walls of hospitals, somewhere he's hated since his dad started to succumb to the black lung of a smith, the tall unscaleable walls that reminded him of what he couldn't change.

Jayce doesn't want to think about those things, so he just thinks about Viktor. He hasn't noticed that the crutch is different, the wrong shape, the wrong color, not until he's pulled back enough to see more than the fabric of his partner's shirt. Jayce steps in again, supporting him more like he doesn't trust it (he doesn't). ] Yeah, we'll look. If we're here, they must be. Right?

[ Hopefully they weren't the only ones who survived. Jayce thinks of Mel, of Cassandra, people he owed so much to. The least he could do is hope they made it out too. ]

Yeah? [ The pause bothers him. ] V? [ Jayce looks up, follows Viktor's gaze towards the nebula but he looks away just as quickly, not sure if he'd see the same thing he saw before or if he'd see something worse. ]

Yeah. Where to?

[ A step too far, he thinks, instantly regretful. Viktor rubs Jayce's arm with his free hand, wishing he didn't need to wear the gloves but knowing it was a necessity — at least for the moment. So he focuses on centering his partner as best he can, hoping to draw Jayce out of his head and anchored on the here and now. ]

Right, [ he echoes, confusion briefly coloring his expression when Jayce steps closer again. And then it clicks. The crutch. Amused, Viktor presents it for his partner's scrutiny, grateful for the distraction. It will keep him focused on something that isn't being flustered by Jayce's proximity. ] Does it meet your expectations? [ Viktor already knows the answer, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

He's leading them in any direction that isn't the overlook, already knowing intrinsically what might have been waiting for him back there. If he can help it, Viktor wants to avoid that conversation with Jayce until he's chosen it — and not before. ] Exploration. It could take a lifetime to map this entire ship. Starting now might give us some idea of what to expect.

BUFF

DEBUFF

viktor | arcane

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cw: talk about hospitals, chronic/terminal illness

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reflect

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imbibe

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reflect

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cw reference to violent religious practices/death

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Reflect

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