TDM #2, arc 1.2: as she bends toward the sun

[lamentus]

❝I sing this to be free
I sing for you and me
I sing across the sky
To find a place of life
Where all of this is true
I bring this into you❞

BUFF

For those who are bonded to the Fathomless, they will, one night, wake up from a startling dream in which they remembered a memory they had forgotten, or had glossed over.

DEBUFF

Bonded of the Empty Machine will experience insatiable hunger this month, and will never feel satisfied no matter how much they eat.

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! The other Wayfarers are currently on planet Epsilon-355, you may join them at any time!"

And so, you take a shuttle down to the planet; an orb of a nearly unbroken gold landmass and pale pink clouds scudding across the surface. On the journey, the pilot Host recites for you why this planet was picked: it is a possible match for a planet mentioned in a story about the Last Pilgrim, one of the most enigmatic of the Edicts. If there are scraps of the Song to be found, it may be in the path they traveled there.

PLANET TYPE: arid world
ORBITAL CHARACTERISTICS: close orbit to native sun, no eccentricities in orbit
ROTATION PERIOD: 31 hour days, 405 day year
NATURAL RESOURCES: iron-rich silicate, limonite, titanium oxides, sodium, nickel
BREATHABLILITY INDEX: safe for humanoid respiration
WEATHER PATTERNS: occasional sandstorms, very little rain
LANDMASS: 98% of planet
AVERAGE TEMPERATURE: 31c
SURFACE GRAVITY: average
BIOSIGNATURES: indicates a narrow range of native life
ARTIFICIAL STRUCTURES: none found

REFLECT

On-planet, activity is bustling.

Research & Archives pinpointed a clue in the story that would make finding the Last Pilgrim's trail easier to find: a pathway of bones that the caravan traveled upon. It is unknown how long this pathway is, or even if it still exists, depending on how long ago that story came from.

Science & Engineering, meanwhile, concluded that the golden sand of this planet is wholly unlike the sand of other deserts, made up of not just silicon dioxide and fossilized marine life, but of many inert chemicals and minerals, a scattered rainbow of compositions. Epsilon-355 was, they concluded, at one point the closest planet to its sun, and that has sown a strange field upon it: the golden ash and viscera of a star's fiery tempest and the powdered remains of a destroyed moon. It is, quite literally, made from stardust and moondust. The glass that litters the sands was put there by chaotic lashings of star plasma, whips of heat so intense they penetrated through the atmosphere and raised burned lines of melted sand over its surface. Luckily, the orbit of the planet has since taken it too far away from its star to do such damage again.

After long-range scans, Wayfarers were able to find signs that pointed to a large deposit of inert biological material that lay to the north-west.

As you pack up your camp, the weather is clear, and the sky is bright. For most Wayfarers, adjusting to the 31-hour cycle of Epsilon-355 has been difficult, but midday naps and staggered sleeping schedules have made it easier. The sand has proven to be a constant irritant when the breeze picks up, but the creatures largely prefer to hide, and there have been no more sightings of the barren-racers. It seems they travel only alongside the sand-whales, and the sand-whales only emerge after a storm.

With all of your supplies stocked on people's backs and the hover-sleds the Hosts have brought for easier travel, you set off to the north-west.



After the storm, the glass outcroppings had been scrubbed clear, and they still remain that way. The path north-west takes you through something of a valley, bordered on both sides by sharp juts of the glass, enormous spikes just waiting to impale anybody who sets a foot wrong. As Wayfarers move through this valley, the reflections feel like they are watching you, but you can never quite catch any coherent image in them outside of your own selves.

Until, that is, you happen to glance at another, and see a vision of something you regret. A past action you took, a decision you made, a fate you changed. It's a static image, like a photograph reflected in the glass's surface, and it does not fade when somebody else looks at it.

They all remain like specters lining the path you are taking, watching your every move.

DEBUT

After two days of travel, you find them.

At first, the Wayfarers find the trail of bones mentioned in the scrap of story you're following. It is just as described: a pathway of enormous bones, presumably of the last titans the story refers to. They are neatly laid in a winding pathway over and between the rolling sand dunes, bleached white by sand and time. Most of them are meters long: humerus bones three meters long lining the path like a border, rib bones twice as tall as a person creating elegant fan shapes.

On the side of the path, greater remains may occasionally be seen. Enormous titanic skeletons half-buried in the sand, watching the pathway, like they simply laid down and died as eternal sentinels.



Astute observers notice that the skulls are all pointed in the same direction, and so, that is the direction you follow, until finally, you find life.

You hear them before you see them; music and laughter carrying through the light breeze. And when the Wayfarers crest a massive dune, you look down upon a valley where there winds a serpentine path, and upon it walks a long caravan of people. You catch up to them, and as you walk alongside them to get to the front of the line in hopes of finding a leader, they all greet you warmly, like old friends that simply have not met yet.

There is a brightly painted wooden wagon with a group of old women in the back, their faces stained with red ochre, their eyes blind, and their mouths laughing. A young boy wearing red pearls leads a metal hover-craft with a pilgrim painted on the side, and a pack of young children in aquatic water-suits run with him, giggling bubbles into the water in their helmets. Young women of dark skin and magnificent wings trail in a line behind a four-legged robot, singing helio-cycle poems and carrying bowls of vivid fruit. You identify what must be the lapho-beasts from the story: huge quadrepeds built like a gorilla with hooked beaks, the size of a three-storey building, plodding along at a sedate pace, their backs lined with rolled up tents, and barrels of grain and water that sloshes with every one of their thumping steps. A small group of tall entities with featureless faces and elegant robes walk along a pair of rock-skinned hexapods. A squat creature with a head shaped like a mushroom dances alongside them all, strumming music on a long instrument that emits color and light with every note. Everywhere you look, there is music, and laughter, and celebration.



It takes a while to get to the front, but there, you meet the ringleaders of this pilgrimage. The first is a tall robotic entity with limbs as thin and straight as sticks, a narrow rectangular face, a bright red woven cloak, and a hat that resembles a dǒulì, wide and conical. Her name is Elegance, and she introduces you to her wife, Rēza, a short woman who resembles an upright moth, with large furred wings and compound eyes, her antenna waving in the breeze. The scarf around her neck and mouth is of many colors, and looks charmingly handmade, a little rough around the edges.

They tell you that this caravan has been traveling for thirty days, and they are not far from their objective. The unknown temple, they believe, lays little more than a week's travel away. Everybody you see has come here from local systems, hoping to find something in the Last Pilgrim's footsteps. Thousands of pilgrimages have been doing the same, one after the other, for eons.

Everybody, they say, finds something different. Something you did not know you needed until that very moment.

If you ask them if the Song is to be found there, Rēza laughs, and says they do not know. But perhaps, if you need it that badly, it will be what you find?

Elegance and Rēza are happy to have you travel with the caravan, and encourage you to meet with everyone. They also think it would only be appropriate for you to help with the caravan's various ventures: the story-tellers are trying to compose an epic poem to mark their trip, and the hunters are catching local flora and fauna to stretch out their rations. Or, you can join the sand skimmers, racing on their boards with brightly colored sails taking them through the dunes, scouting ahead for an oasis to seek more water.



Medical, perhaps, might be asked to help with desert-given injuries, sand rashes or injuries from the bone pathway. Engineers might be approached to help with the sand stuck in the joints of mechanical entities. Research & Archives might be pulled into hearty discussions about the story set on this planet.

FIRESIDE

When dusk begins to fall, the caravan draws to a stop, and they begin to make camp.

The Wayfarers do the same, setting up your tents and supplies. The carvan sets up in a series of circles, some small and contained to family groups, others large to hold dozens of people. Silverthorn is gathered for small fires in the middle of the circles, and many set about making dinner. Soon, the smells of smoke and dried meat fill in the air, stews bubbling with vegetables and foraged Firelight Brush roots, Speckled Runners turning slowly on spits to roast. Grain is pulled from barrels and pounded into powder on wide, flat rocks, mixed with scant water supplies to make a bread that is nonetheless fluffy and pale yellow once its dark crust has been broken open.

The caravan gladly shares their supplies with the Wayfarers with no expectation of the same in return, though it would certainly be polite. The lapho-beasts lay down so that their burdens may be taken off their backs, and slumber noisily next to the circles, curled almost entirely around some smaller ones.



Once dinner is served, the caravan turns to the members of the Theorem's crew, and begs: tell us a story.

You see, they have been traveling for a month, and they have already told each other all the stories they know. Stories from their own lives, stories that they were once told about others. Here, in this desert, the only currency worth anything is stories, and they are all eager for new ones. Is that not the domain of the Last Pilgrim? Is it not an honor in their name, to share stories of progress, of journeys, and of learning?

Children crowd around you eagerly, old men and women with sparks in their eyes lean in close, and the light-making music-playing creature of before hushes everyone, readying the crowd to listen to whatever story you choose to tell.

Or perhaps you are more content to listen as other circles share the stories they have told already, finding new details to highlight or new questions to ask. Either way, a lot of tales are being told around these fireplaces, and it would be wise to listen to them.

GLIMPSE

You spend the next week traveling.

It's not easy. On one day there is another sandstorm, and the caravan has to hunker down and wait it out. The following day is spent avoid the sand-whales and the barren-skimmers, but luckily, they don't go near the path of bones. You make friends with people in the caravan, you share stories over spiced drinks and good bread. You help where you can, and in return, the caravan shares everything they have with you.

You learn that they are here chasing a story: a rumor that visiting the temple at the end of this pilgrimage will grant them something they want. It does not cure illness or bestow riches, they say, but it gives you something you never knew you needed until that very moment. Some of the caravan have nothing besides the clothes on their backs, and some of them are wealthy, and some of them are seeking meaning. Some of them are from Alliance space, others are not.

A week later, Elegance and Rēza call the Wayfarers to the front of the caravan. You will have first honor of cresting the next row of sand dunes to catch the first glimpse of the temple. And as you scramble up the dune and peak its crest, you see it in the distance:



A long, almost mountain-like range of sand dunes, taller than any you've seen so far. Beyond them, the pale purple sky is lit up with fractal reflections in every color; atmospheric blue and x'enuda pink, the same orange as the optics of a robot family in the caravan, the gentle gold of the Theorem's shield.

Whatever is beyond that dune-range, it is giving up a spectacular light show.

They say it will take another day to get there, but for today, you will stop at an oasis.



The presence of water has allowed tall canyons to form around its exterior, so you must descend downward to find the shady oasis. The water is a perfect aqua blue, so clear you can see the very bottoms of the shallow pools. Here, there is life different from the tough, scrubby plants you encountered among the dunes: plant-life whose roots are able to draw in water from the pools, crowded around the edges of them in small clusters of orange and red leaves, white flowers peeking out among them.

First, the caravan must take enough water to fuel itself. But after that, anybody is free to take a dip, to bathe themselves or merely to enjoy the cool water.

If you do, you'll find yourself curiously refreshed, like you've just gotten the first decent night's sleep in a while. It may even cure minor wounds, and ease the aches of travel.

Tomorrow, you will finally find the temple that the Last Pilgrim visited.

(CODE)

Comments

Lilias Hollow | Pathfinder TTRPG OC

[demandsatisfaction]

[For the past few years of her life, Lilias has been a wanderer—travelling from job to job, mystery to mystery, treasure to treasure. She traversed much of Varisia’s coast in that time, and imagined herself relatively worldly after all she’d done and seen.

Coming here has thoroughly shattered that illusion.

Within hours of waking up in the medbay of that gigantic starship, she is aboard a shuttle on its way down to the surface of the arid alien world the majority of the Wayfarers are already exploring, a packed bag at her side and a newfound sense of awe settled over her like a mantle. The entire tapestry of the night sky is now hers to explore, and while her anger at being pulled here so abruptly has not entirely receded, she’ll be damned if she wastes her time sitting around.]

I. DEBUT —

[After days of suffering through the hot, sandy search for the fabled pathway of bones, Lilias is much relieved by the gay reception of the caravan. She’d grown used to an atmosphere of hunkering down and soldiering on during the journey through the endless sands; the music-filled, celebratory air of the travellers they find makes her feel almost human again.

It’s still damnably hot, of course, and she hasn’t felt clean since almost the very moment she stepped out of the shuttle, but conversations with the travellers do much to take her mind off of things. She speaks freely with anyone who greets her, happy to speak of her world and her life in it to fill the long hours of travel. But the ways and technologies of these people are strange to her, and she finds she has little to offer in way of repayment for extended aid.

Eventually, she volunteers to scout out the road ahead of the slow-moving procession. With the sand-skimming conveyances these people use, the job promises to be exhilarating. There is only one problem; she has no experience piloting anything more advanced than a horse-drawn cart, and that means she will need to buddy-up with someone who can actually drive.

But another pair of eyes will still be useful, right?]

II. FIRESIDE — cw: animal death

[At night, back at the caravan, Lilias can be found at the fireside, enjoying spiced drink and freshly-cooked food. Once again, since she has no facility as a cook herself, she will need to pay her way through other means. Fortunately, all the locals seem interested in just now are stories.

After some coaxing, she eventually consents to tell a tale of her own. She is no great storyteller; her telling is factual and to the point, with some meandering as she recalls the various details. But still, the tale gets told.

It is about a little boy who lived in terror of the goblin living in his closet. Every night, the goblin would emerge to terrorize him, until his crying and the barking of his dog would bring his father thundering into the room. After finding no sign of the fabled goblin, the father grew impatient with his son, and one night, he ignored the howling and barking instead of coming to investigate.]

Then there was a shrill yelp from the dog, and the cries turned to screams. [Lilias takes a small sip from her drink, seemingly oblivious to the stares of the caravan members listening to her story.] The father burst into his son’s room to find the little dog dead on the floor, and a goblin atop his son, savaging him with its teeth.

III. GLIMPSE —

[By the time they reach the oasis, Lilias is more desperate for a bath than she can remember ever being before. The desert sand has worked its way into every nook and cranny and resisted all her attempts at keeping tidy. Despite the lack of privacy afforded by the oasis’s limited size and the horde of people converging upon its waters, she cannot resist the urge to strip down and bathe away the dust of the road.

She takes some time to find at least some semblance of privacy: a rocky outcropping that blocks line of sight from much of the oasis, at least until one walks right up to it. With that accomplished, she sheds the pale, billowy layers she’d borrowed to contend with the desert sun, and dunks herself entirely into the cool water. The streams she’s used to run far colder than this, but after baking in the sun all day, it feels like heaven, and she sighs with relief.

Sadly, now is not the time or place for a leisurely soak. She begins the process of scrubbing every inch of herself with a handy rag, and she is so intent upon this task that she doesn’t even notice immediately should someone passing nearby actually stop—perhaps to take a second look at the dark tattoos scrawled over most of her body, which seem to writhe subtly in the corner of one’s eye. Only then will she glance at her visitor, pausing to spear them with a meaningful stare.]

Do you mind…?

IV. WILDCARD —

[As always, I’m happy to toss ideas around! You can find me at Sporelett. Also, you can check Lilias’s info page for first impressions or anything else.]

I. Debut

[mikoshi]

[ Something extremely amusing about constantly being stuck playing chauffeur for women. Luckily, unlike Claire, this dame isn't carrying an assault rifle to shoot at fellow racers.

'Cause this ain't a race. It's just scouting. Get your head in the right game, Vincent. ] 'K, so, what's your tolerance for sudden, sharp turns? You get motion sick easily, or... ? [ Best to ask before pulling the Nomad tricks.

But damn! Does he want to. Gotta see what this baby can do. ]

[demandsatisfaction]

[Lilias has two immediate responses to being asked this question: one, that scouting on these machines is likely to involve more maneuvering than she had initially supposed, and two, that she doesn’t want to seem feeble to the person offering to take her out on the dunes. What if he decides he’d rather leave her behind after all?]

I’ve never had trouble with it before, [she assures him, which is the truth. Of course, she’s never actually been on a conveyance like this before, but travelling by horse or by carriage has never bothered her, and she knows some people react sensitively to such things. Surely that metric is sufficient.

Still, she can’t help but ask,] Are you anticipating the need for such maneuvers?

[mikoshi]

Well... [ Vincent squints, staring off at the horizon. Pulls on the straps hanging on from the black nylon flight harness over bright orange coveralls — a child-like, nervous tic. ] ... we got giant whales usin' the sands like some kinda sea. And on their wake, we got these raptor lizards, fast as fuck, that'll eat anythin' that can fit into their maw.

So... [ Flattens his mouth into a mirthless smile. ] ... there's a possibility I'll need to take some evasive maneuvers. Gotta be sure you're able to hold on. [ Not choke in their own vomit, or pass out, or...

Pulls on both of the shoulder straps until they're tight as they can be, then releases them. ] Need a harness?

[demandsatisfaction]

[His description of the local megafauna inspires a glint of keen interest in Lilias’s expression—not because she particularly cares about wildlife in and of itself, but because the potential for danger makes the scouting trip sound both more important and more dangerous. Both make her more eager to go.

This is despite the fact that has none of the abilities or bits of equipment she is used to having. If she gets thrown from the vehicle, there won’t be much she can do to defend herself from flesh-hungry beasts past a certain size.]

If the strength of my grip is all that stands between me and potentially being thrown to the maws of voracious wildlife, I suppose I should have one, [she admits.] Where does one get such things?

I.

[solless]

( yi can’t say he enjoys the sweltering desert heat, but he does bear it. it’s not quite as unrelenting as that of the transmutation furnace, nestled in the heart of New Kunlun’s factory… but he also hadn’t spent weeks living inside the furnace. his own home nation of Xia had also been a gentle and temperate climate, so spending extensive amount of time in such a harsh environment is… challenging for the solarian. unwilling to find different clothing (and fearing he would have trouble finding something in his size if he did), he instead adopts the strategy of just trying to stay out of the sun as much as he can.

that, or find a breeze. he’s been eying those sand skimmers since they found the caravan, though he hasn’t yet stolen away on one because yi is trying not to tempt fate by rushing off on his own. if his abilities were available to him, he wouldn’t have such concerns, but without them… no. it’s best to be paired up, at the very least.

so when he overhears lilias mentioning she would need someone to drive the sand skimmer itself for her, yi doesn’t hesitate to step forward from where he’d been perching nearby. he’s relatively easy to overlook, despite his feline appearance; the solarian is only about four feet tall, and his build might even come across as childlike if he didn’t speak with absolute authority. )

Come, then.

( he nods toward one of the dormant sand skimmers before he starts to approach it. his long yellow robe flutters in the wind, patterned with symbols on the shoulders and back.

he glances back towards her to make sure she’s following. ) I’ll drive.

[demandsatisfaction]

[When Lilias’s eyes fall on the stranger who approaches, she notes his small size—but there is nothing childlike about his demeanour, and he is clearly of a species foreign to her. Perhaps his people are all on the shorter side. Even in her own world, Lilias had never come face-to-face with any catfolk; she has no idea if the stranger’s appearance is unusual even by that metric.

It matters not, as long as he can drive the skimmer. Taking his confidence as confirmation that he can, she follows him toward one of the waiting machines, lengthening her stride so she can walk abreast of him instead of trailing at his heels.

Despite journeying among them for a few days now, she has not yet learned to tell the difference between the other wayfarers and the caravan’s many members. The people here are too numerous and too alien for her to have learned all their names and faces by heart in such a short time, and she doesn’t recognize Yi as someone she’s spoken with before.

But rather than ask which he is, she decides she may as well initiate introductions.]

Well met. My name is Lilias Hollow. I arrived here with the Wayfarers.

[solless]

( by solarian standards, these vehicles are archaic. he has also had to adjust to how different energy and fuel are for vehicles not developed by his own kind. all solarian technology is built upon the bedrock of Fusang and its roots: rhizomatic energy is generated specifically when the Primordial Roots absorbs and processes solar energy. that’s why, rather than build a spaceship, he had launched the island of Kunlun into space as one instead—the roots already ran through every part of the island, and so they would provide a constant and reliable source of energy as they traveled through space. he has noticed that other civilizations tend towards combustion—releasing energy stored in fossil fuels by burning them. that, too, is archaic in his eyes. nearly barbaric, really. but beggars cannot be choosers, especially when the only Primordial Roots left in this universe are those still on Penglai and those entangling with his heart.

really, yi’s confidence that he can drive might be misplaced. he had figured out how to pilot his own ship, yes, but it had taken a few days of fiddling… and a Host had kept coming by to “help” (patronizingly, in his mind). but these things are basically just a steering rig hooked up to an engine. how hard could it be?

one of his ears flicks up towards her as she introduces herself. he nods. ) A new face. Yes, welcome to Epsilon-355. You haven’t missed much but the sandstorms and scorpions.

I’m Yi.

( they approach one of the idle sand skimmers. yi seems accustomed to dealing with machinery built for taller creatures; he has to do a little leap or two to hop up into the cockpit, though once he sits down in the pilot’s chair… well, lilias can probably hear an irritated grumble emanate out of it as he finds that he’s too short to actually see out through the windshield.

in the end, he basically has to stand in the chair, crouched over onto the console so he can reach all the controls. he is inspecting them, trying to logically piece together what does what, as he continues, ) Is there any particular reason you wanted to take one of these to go scouting, or did you just want to get away from the caravan?

[demandsatisfaction]

[Despite now being properly acquainted with her driver, Lilias is no more confident than before about whether or not he is a member of the pilgrim caravan. That’s a little irritating, but if her curiosity absolutely demands an answer, she’ll just ask outright. For now, she stops beside the resting skimmer and watches Yi hop into it.

At this point, she experiences her first moment of real doubt about her pilot. His grumbling and readjusting in order to find a posture that allows him to reach all the controls speaks rather pointedly to her of someone who has never piloted this exact type of conveyance before. Also, if they experience any sort of bumps or sudden turns, she suspects he may lose his balance, trying to drive standing rather than seated properly.

Well… he’s willing to take his own life into his hands, apparently. Far be it from Lilias to fuss over such things when the wilds of the desert are still calling. She climbs into the passenger’s seat.]

I tired of feeling like I had nothing to do.

[A shameless answer, perhaps, when there is never a shortage of menial chores to be done in a caravan like this. But it doesn’t occur to her that the caravan members might welcome her inexperienced hand in such tasks. Probably, they would need to spend more time supervising and instructing her than it would have taken just to do the chores themselves.]

Why did you offer to drive?

[solless]

( really, manual control is just so cumbersome and unnecessary. if yi’s jade system was properly online, he wonders if he would be able to connect via wires in order to interface with the vehicle’s systems directly; then there would be no concern about knowing exactly what each little button or switch or lever did. the problem that these vehicles were generally built for creatures at least a foot taller than he is would still be a problem, but… it would be the only problem.

he utters a single, mirthless laugh under his breath at her response. )

Such an admission is a quick way to get an unwanted task shoved into one’s hands.

( one of his ears flicks as he presses the button that he assumes is the ignition—it is, after all, small and circular and red. upon pressing it, the skimmer’s engine revs and whines to life. for all the doubts (perhaps well-founded?) lilias has about her driver, yi is at the very least fastidious. he double-checks that there are no brakes, standard or emergency, engaged before taking the controls in his clawed hands. ) We will do our best to look properly productive.

( he is gentle with the throttle at first, sliding the sand-skimmer away from where it had been been towed along behind the caravan and away from the path of bones itself. he is still getting used to this technology, but it doesn’t feel too difficult to drive or maneuver. of course, that might change once they get out into the dunes, but… for now, he entertains nostalgia, remembering building tiny, simple vehicles to race along the beach with his sister. he had always won, of course.

really, his purpose is similar enough to hers. he at first replies with a shrug. ) I wanted to feel the wind in my fur. This desert heat is hell.

( which is why, once the nose of their skimmer pushes past the path of bones and into the dunes, yi punches it. the skimmer seems almost eager as it lurches out over the sands, speeding over the dunes in the direction opposite the sun. )

[demandsatisfaction]

[Perhaps Yi is right: If Lilias advertises her excess of free time, she may find herself sporting responsibilities she has no desire to shoulder. Nonetheless, she is not overly concerned. Anyone foisting jobs upon her that she didn’t wish to complete would first have to overcome her stubborn intractability. She is quite capable of refusing those who might coax more accommodating folk into doing things they had no intention of spending time on.

Besides, scouting is a valued task for them to be setting out on. Surely it is far too late for anyone to think to interrupt their joyride.

Lilias is still unfamiliar enough with technology such as this that the noise and subtle feel of the skimmer purring to life unsettles her just a bit. It is almost like an alien creature itself, for all that nothing about it looks especially organic. But Yi’s control over it seems sufficient, and as they pull away from the caravan, she gradually grows less interested in peering around him to see what he’s doing, and more content to take in the vastness of the sandy wastes speeding by.]

I’m unused to it also. Where I come from, summer is often overcast, and there’s usually a cool breeze coming off the ocean.

[The heat has been stifling—though now that they’re out here and the wind keeps her from putting up her hood, she’ll probably end up burned instead of sweaty.]

iii, you know who i am as a human being nov

[coherer]

Jesus Christ, ( he announces the moment he's caught, bumbling into a sharp turn away from Lilias' body. ) I am so sorry. I legit thought nobody was over here.

( And what about after that? Standing in plain sight of her, staring at her back tattoos. What about the literal minute he was dumbly watching her scrub? He has an explanation for that, which he should be orating right now instead of gesturing over his shoulder at his back. )

You're—You—It was your tats.

( The faintly shifting tattoos, stark on skin wet and chilled by the oasis's healing waters. They're beautiful, of course; everyone tied to The Last Pilgrim's markings owns them now, though the stories inked into their flesh differ according to the lives they led. Lilias', however, is a full tapestry, and with so much of herself exposed, it was impossible to look away.

He's only ever caught glimpses. A bare wrist, a hand, the length of someone's neck. )

Okay, maybe—You don't understand my mind yet, sister: I have automatically censored vision when it comes to naked women, like, there were black bars all over you.

[demandsatisfaction]

[At least, when she confronts him about his staring, the young man has the decency to act shamefaced and turn away. This mollifies Lilias somewhat, and although she would prefer privacy, she appreciates that he remains for the time being to explain instead of just scampering away guiltily like a vandal fleeing the scene of a crime.

Though her appreciation takes a steep decline as his babbling continues.]

What an obvious lie, [she scoffs.] At least be honest if you’re going to apologize.

[If his “automatically censored vision” covered her nakedness, how could he be staring at her tattoos? She doesn’t know why he would bother making such excuses. She also doesn’t understand why he would call her “sister,” as though she were a nun. What kind of nun has eldritch markings decorating almost every inch of her skin?

She’s almost done bathing anyway, so rather than wait until he leaves, she just goes back to her washing, keen to scrub away the last bits of sand so she can get out and put her clothes back on.]

[coherer]

Giiirl, you can't possibly tell I'm lying.

( ... Wait...

Oh, Goddamn it. )

Fine. Fine, I was staring at you. Are you happy now? Fibbing was the polite thing to do—have you ever heard of a "white lie"?

( What was he going to do, look away like some chump? She's got badass tattoos, and he was innocently getting ideas for his own. So, what, really, is his crime here? Staring curiously at a nude woman taking a bath?

His mother would be so disappointed in him.

Eyes now firmly covered by his hands, even while his back is turned, Jonas drops into a crouch to cringe in an upright ball instead. )

... Sorry, for real...

[demandsatisfaction]

[Lilias was willing to let “sister” slide with just a bit of puzzlement, but she bristles at “girl.”]

I am not your girl. Address me as Lady Hollow if you are going to speak to me.

[She hasn’t even insisted on using her title with anyone else since she arrived, but the idea of being on a first-name basis with this young man is insulting given the circumstances. He’s already offended her enough with his unearned familiarity.

Though his eyes are covered, Jonas will hear the splashing sound of Lilias climbing out of the water, clambering back onto the oasis’s rocky edge so she can shake out her borrowed outer robe and use it to dry off. Of course, she’s just going to end up making herself dusty again, but at least she’ll be a little less so than before.]

I do not care for lies, no matter how polite they might be. It is one of the things that made me ill-suited for politics. But I will accept your apology, since I do not care to fight with you.

[coherer]

Well, that's super, Lady Hollow, because you sounded like you were in a fighting mood—which isn't sexist to say, because I'd say it to anyone.

( A crucial save.

He tries hard not to make women feel uncomfortable; he loves women, and his mother taught him well, but he's starting to think the generational gap between him and whenever the rest of this group is from is actually a mile-wide canyon. Maybe he should try to speak in a more boring way.

Waiting until he hears clothing shuffle, then giving it a couple of minutes more, Jonas warily peers over his shoulder. )

The tattoo thing was the truth, though... I seriously wasn't ogling you. Or, like, other parts of you. Like, yeah, I noticed, but it—I'm not a pervert crouching at watering holes waiting for people to get a bath.

How'd, uh—Are those yours, or... is it your Edict?

fireside (cw: alcohol mention)

[cifera]

[ Cipher doesn't typically have the patience to sit down and get told stories. She prefers to make her own, to get out there and have adventures, do ridiculous stuff, meet weird people, and concoct schemes that will have people talking about her great trick or thievery for centuries. But she's kind of had a full day -- what with being pulled into an alien spaceship, and shuttling down to an alien planet.

She'd known they existed, of course, but she's never been beyond Amphoreus' sky. It's a whole new adventure, and she's been running around everywhere all day, she's ready to sit down and listen to stories for a bit.

Plus; the spiced drink they're offering is pretty good, actually. She's halfway tipsy already.

The woman who's speaking is a Wayfarer, so Cipher pays extra attention. From what she's gathered, Wayfarers are coming from a bunch of different universes and stuff, which is crazy, and Cipher's so curious she wants to ask a thousand questions. For now, she behaves herself, a rare feat. At least until the story is over, and Cipher bursts into laughter. ]

It was eating him? Wow, that's dark. So what's the moral of the story? That parents should never ignore their kids complaints? Or is there some twist, like-- [ Cipher grins, all fang. ] --like the goblin actually didn't exist until that night, and the kid's lying the previous nights just sealed his fate?

[demandsatisfaction]

[Whatever reaction Lilias might have been anticipating from the audience of her tale, laughter evidently wasn’t on the list of possibilities. She glances at Cipher with surprise, a slight frown on her face, before she realizes the reason for the unexpected amusement.

Well… the drink might be contributing as well. There’s little in the way of entertainment out here in the evenings besides drinking and telling stories, after all, and Lilias herself hasn’t been shy about imbibing either.]

It was neither, [she clarifies.] This story isn’t a fable—it’s about a real family I met, a handful of days after a goblin raid I helped to repel. One of the goblins had taken up residence beneath their home, and was emerging each night through a hidden hole in the closet’s floor.

[Exterminating a single goblin hadn’t been especially difficult for her and her companions once it was discovered, but she’s sure the memories of the saga would stay with that family for the rest of their lives. Since she’d clarified that the story wasn’t fiction, however, she supposes she’d better expand upon the ending.]

But it all turned out fairly well in the end. Though the dog was killed, the boy was still alive when his father burst in on them. A friend of mine healed the wounds on his arms, and we hunted the goblin down before it could terrorize the family any further.

[cifera]

[ Cipher's eyes widen at the reveal that the story is actually true, and then she laughs again. ]

Really? Goblins are real on your world? You know, little-- [ She puts on a crotchety old woman voice, for some reason, and curls her hands into claws. ] --I'm gonna steal all your trinkets, nyeeheehee!

[ Hang on. On second thought, goblins do exist on Cipher's own world: she's the goblin. Without the weird voice. And with more success at stealing and trickery. Damn. She's gonna have to do some serious self-reflection about that. (She's not going to.) ]

Well, at least it all turned out alright in the end! [ She beams, after a swig of her drink. ] Except for that kid. I'd definitely have lifelong nightmares about being eaten alive, if I were him. How do you kill a goblin on your world? Do you, like, stab it or burn it alive or what? [ Each method that Cipher describes comes paired with a graphic emphatic gesture. ] Ooh, maybe drowning? I bet those little fuckers would hate that! I sure would!

[demandsatisfaction]

[Fortunately, although Lilias isn’t much of a storyteller herself, she’s listened to plenty of tales over the years, including during just the few nights she’s spent here. She is familiar with the tradition of pestering the storyteller with questions after the conclusion of their tale, and since she herself is also well-supplied with drink, she’s content to take another sip and lean into it.]

All of the above, [she says easily.] Goblins are flesh and blood, just like you and me. They die quite easily by the standards of monsters; it’s just that ordinary families are not typically equipped for such violence.

But stabbing them with something sharp is certainly one of the simplest ways.

[Lilias does remain puzzled by the news that people in some lands are apparently familiar with the concept of goblins, but only in a fictional sense. How that might come to pass, she does not know.]

What kinds of monsters stalk your homeland then, if not little green menaces?

Glimpse 🍒

[citizenid_null]

Nope. Do you mind if I join you?

[ Cerise isn't waiting for an answer, she's just shedding her silly penguin-patterned pajama bottoms, the purple scrunchie from her long brown hair. Lastly, off come the panties and her tank top and she practically melts into the oasis with a look of pure bliss. She really needs to pester some of the caravan ladies for some new clothes, especially a bra. She's got enough underboob sweat to rival an entire heated yoga class. And this feels like heaven. ]

Nice tats. Is that e-ink? The movements almost look real, your artist did an amazing job.

[demandsatisfaction]

[Hmm—perhaps her sudden arrival here and subsequent journey through the desert wastes has made Lilias overly irritable. Here she is suspecting random women of stopping to gawk when, quite reasonably, this person was just looking for an opportunity to bathe.

Though she still cannot help but feel a little prickly about the brazen self-invitation to join her. Lilias purses her lips in annoyance as the woman strips, but by the stranger’s foreign garb, she’s certainly from a land Lilias has never heard of—possibly an entire different world. The rudeness may be cultural and unintended, so she convinces herself to set it aside for now.]

I’m not familiar with that term. [Terse and to the point. Lilias isn’t eager to discuss the markings at length.] You would have to ask them—and they of course are not here. But I am sure someone in this part of the universe must have skill in that area, if you want such work done for yourself.

[citizenid_null]

[ Oh, she talks cute, too! Cerise gives her a bright smile before leaning on a nearby outcropping, keeping herself submerged. Being naked around strangers isn't the norm in her world, but far be it for Cerise to conform to those kind of strict standards, especially on a desert planet with the only water in sight right there in front of them, begging to be soaked in. ]

Oh, did they show up when you came here? That's weird, but cool! [ She turns to look over her own back, pouting a little. ] And here I am with an outdated tramp stamp and nothing else. Boo! Hopefully they do me next.

I'm Cerise, by the way. It means cherry in French, if said outdated ink doesn't make it obvious.

[demandsatisfaction]

[Lilias is still pondering the answer to the woman’s question when, once again, the stranger moves on without waiting for a reply. Reciprocal introductions, Lilias thinks, demand her immediate attention before anything else, so she puts the other matter out of her mind for the time being.]

I’m Lilias Hollow.

[She hadn’t done more than glance at the mark at Cerise’s back, and even then only because it seemed she was expected to. Public nudity is still not her preference, but despite its mundanity and rather erotic placement, she can appreciate the artistry involved in the decoration. At least, unlike hers, Cerise’s tattoo is probably just an innocent work of art.]

Your tattoo is nice as well. But surely if you were to get another, you would wish to choose it yourself, rather than relying on a mysterious alien patron?

[citizenid_null]

Wow, that is a gorgeous name. Lilias Hollow. Hey, it's fun to say, too. Do you go by Lili, or always Lilias?

[ She peers down at the pair of cherries above her tailbone, then shrugs and sinks back into the water. ] Honestly, I just want one that moves. But I guess it could be really gross or ugly if the alien decides on what it is. Or say something like "women belong in the kitchen" or something else asinine. You're right, I guess I'll settle with a static one that I get to choose.

Ooo, since we're playing would you rather... [ Are they? ] Would you rather be here on this desert planet or on a snow and ice planet? Or a maybe a water planet?