welcome to the horologium.

[acatamods]

I ▫ main IV ▫ premise       XI ▫ applications XIV ▫ activity II ▫ logs V ▫ rules VII ▫ bestiary   IX ▫ canon updates XII ▫ taken XV ▫ drop/hiatus III ▫ ooc VI ▫ faq VIII ▫ setting   X ▫ mods XIII ▫ reserves XVI ▫ players welcome to the horologium. Some of you know it is coming. The World Jump, the chaotic thrust into a new universe. But some of you are new, and though you know what the mission is, it is a bit . . . troubling, sitting around and waiting for something to happen. But eventually, you get a message on your watch. It shows Astoria . . . dark hair framing her features, her voice light and musical. She sounds like herself, for the first time in some time . . . that spark of determination back in her eyes. A MESSAGE FROM YOUR FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD WITCH. "It is time, my beloved Travelers, to go to our new destination . . . and I want you to know that I have the utmost faith in you. Akvos' loss has hurt us all, and I know that many of you doubt our mission. But please believe me when I say that you have done the best job anyone could ask of you. Akvos' destruction was not your fault . . . and to our newest members of our Circle, welcome to our journey. I can only hope that your journey here will work out to the benefit of us all." That being said, you are journeying to the Horologium . . . it is a ship that has sent out a distress beacon. I am not sure when, or where, but I can feel great darkness, emanating from that place. I believe you all can combat what is done there, without interacting with the Void . . . so please, be safe, and I will see you all when you return." And, just like that, there is a pull in your stomach . . . your vision blacks out and you feel the sudden sense of vertigo, a sensation of falling, and then . . . nothingness. You open your eyes, and you are suddenly waking up in the midst of . . . fog? THE AWAKENING. When you wake, you are greeted by metal — there’s an expanse of silver all around you. The cot you’re laying on is somewhat rigid, like a flattened wedge of cotton more than anything, encased in a capsule-like structure. Should you inspect your surroundings, you’ll find that there are three more cots in your room..or more notably, another person in the room in of itself. Depending on where you’ve been roused from your slumber, however, you’ll find that your circumstances differ. ➜ If you’ve woken up in the northeast wing of the ship, there seems to be a pool of saturated pink goo at your feet. It sticks to the bottom of your heel and collects at the very center of the room, oozing from the cracks and crevices within the metal lining of the walls. And even more notably, the goo has a particularly saccharine scent, as though it’s meant to be...consumed. Looks like you had the misfortune of waking up in the wing adjacent to the kitchen. ➜ In the northwest wing, the ship is functioning at an all time low. When you wake, the room is illuminated for a brief moment...before flickering out, only to leave you in pitch darkness. Power returns to the room intermittently and only for a few seconds at most, but it appears as though you and your newfound roommates will have to navigate the darkness if you want to leave. ➜ In the southwest wing, the fire alarm in your room has been activated for some inexplicable reason. It’s an obnoxiously loud siren that slices right through the whirring of the machinery around you — and it goes as far as to trigger the sprinklers hanging from the ceiling. Water sprays from above you, hopefully ensuring that you’ve woken up if nothing else has. It doesn’t seem to be draining either, so it may be for the best that you escape with some haste. ➜ In the southeast wing, your circumstances are for the most part rather unremarkable. An untouched room, mostly intact...until you try to open the door. It won’t budge — unless you have some form of super strength, your muscle power is rendered useless on its own. You might just have to commission someone else to help you... Beyond your room, the word “Horologium.” stretches across the wall. Welcome to your new home. WHISPERS IN THE DARK. In a way, it feels as though you’re suspended in time. The ship is always humming, always whirring as it makes a haphazard attempt to function. The noise comes to a halt every so often, leaving you with nothing but silence and the idle creaking of the floor beneath you. There are remarkably large, bright white doors that divide each and every wing. A circular window is positioned at the center of all 4 of these doors: but nothing can be seen through it. It’s likeness is that of a black hole’s, like someone had gone as far as to paint over it. On every door, the same word is emblazoned in black lettering: EXIT. Except the word itself appears to be scratched out to some degree — as though it were scrubbed out in a fit of desperation but remained no less. When you see the door, you might be overcome with excitement. Or perhaps not. Regardless of what your reaction is like, the lights around you will dim and flicker at an alarming frequency. For a moment, it’s almost as though the gravity around you has slowed, and the hallways are becoming narrower by the second.. Voices and faces from the past emerge in your mind. You see someone you shouldn’t; they’re calling for you. They’re here with you right now, beckoning you to come closer... If you reach the door and attempt to open it, it won’t budge. And the further you walk away from it, the more the effects will subside. But there’s no telling if you’ll sleep well tonight. INVESTIGATIONS The ship is fitted to house approximately 500 people — it’s a bit of a ghost town, however, lived in but abandoned no less. The chairs are in the mess hall aren’t aligned perfectly. The tables are a bit crooked. The lounge is lofty, but not pristine. The rooms may be barren, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that they were somehow someone else’s before they became yours. There’s an array of locked doors, varying in sizes and shapes, all of which withhold something potentially useful to you. You may be inclined to visit the lounge, the mess hall, rifle through the bedrooms . . . the ship is yours to explore. However, how you interact with the ship is….entirely up to you. There is something to be found everywhere. Regardless of what you do, where you investigate and how, you might be tempted to look behind your shoulder. After all, every decision you make matters...right? (Every Player’s investigation prompt has the potential to differ greatly as your investigation will require mod input. We encourage you to ask as many questions as you would like, we are here to help and provide you with the information necessary.) Additionally, please feel free to write up and work with your own prompts! These areas of the world are presented as jumping off points for your characters, not limitations. The idea of this world- as with all the others- is to explore -- you may use as much leeway as you want in order to come up with what your character will do. If you have any other questions, please feel free to ask them back on the various threads back in the OOC post from before!

Comments

c

[punshots]

[ Oh, hey, it's this kid again. This is actually Prompto's first venture into the garden, and there's not exactly a lot to see, but the presence of another Circle member means it's at least worth sticking around to keep them company. Especially someone so young. Like, they're not gonna eat anything poisonous, are they?

...Not that Prompto knows which ones are poisonous anyway. ]

Hey, shaved ice buddy! What're you up to now? Tryin' out your green thumb? Hate to break it to you, buuuut I think these plants are done for...

[ Cue him crossing over to their dirt pile to peer down at it and discover that yeah, it's pretty much a dirt pile. ]

[impavidness]

[ if the use of "shaved ice buddy" bothers frisk, it doesn't show. in truth, they don't talk a lot, so people are free to call them what they want. mr blonde guy assumes that they're trying out their green thumb and they're not sure what that means? frisk's hands leaves the soil, and they inspect their thumbs. they don't look green, so they look toward prompto with a curious glance. green thumb must mean something aside from literally having green thumbs, so they eventually plunge both hands back into the... mixture... of goo and dirt.

raising their hands, palms up towards prompto, frisk grins proudly. ]

No! Mud pie! Wanna try?

[punshots]

[ ...Mud pie. This isn't going to be another thing of questionably substance that they try to get him to eat, is it?

But okay, he's curious enough to approach and kneel down next to them, brow pulling together as he attempts to understand just what's going on here. Are they just...making pies out of mud?

...Cool. He can respect that. ]

Hell yeah I do! [ ... ] I mean, heck yeah. [ They're kind of young. He should maybe watch his language.

Hesitating a moment — he's not going to get any weird rashes from this, is he?? — he sticks his hand deep into the mud mixture. ]

[impavidness]

[ plunging his fingers into the mud mixture yields a sticky, ooey gooey mess. prompto's fingers are immediately coated in tubby custard and garden soil. it's just pliable enough for the mud to retain it's shape - the color is a horrific blend of pink and deep brown but it definitely isn't a bad replacement for playdoh, maybe. frisk and prompto are inevitably going to smell like sugar and dirt, but honestly? worth it. ]

Heck yeah? [ thankfully... frisk only repeats the politer version of prompto's exclamation. ] It's soft, heck yeah.

[ oh man "heck yeah" feels good to say. ] Can I make you? [ ...and thus begins the arduous process of molding prompto's hair, but frisk doesn't think about that right now.

[punshots]

[ Wow, this is...sure gross. But as long as it stays on his hands instead of his clothes or hair, he can have fun with it, even if it is gross. He wouldn't want to disappoint Frisk, anyway. Turns out he'll do just about anything a kid wants him to do. He's a sucker... ]

Make me...? Make me what? [ And then it takes him a moment to glean their meaning. ] — Oh! With the mud. Yeah, go nuts! Just make sure to get my good side.

[ Glancing down at the doughy mixture and then back at them: ]

I'll try to make you, too! Gotta warn you, though — I'm a slick artiste.

[ He's not. ]

[impavidness]

[ FRISK IS 10? and thus thinks prompto is ill. with a fever or a cold or something. maybe he shouldn't be playing in the dirt, then... frisk feels responsible for this much bigger person, then. even if he's an adult, who will take care of him when he's sick? ]

You're sick?

[ and without another thought, they raise a palm to prompto's palm to check his temperature. ]

Um... [ they don't know what a fever feels like. ] I don't know if you are...

[punshots]

[ Frisk is ostensibly the adult here, don't be fooled by Prompto's age. He looks perplexed as they take his temperature — is he flushed? He doesn't feel flushed??? — and their assessment only serves to make him consider that he might actually be sick...

Even if he doesn't really feel sick at all. ]

Oh, no, don't tell me I'm gettin' the alien plague again!

[ Again???? Yeah, that already happened once. ]

[impavidness]

If you have alien plague, I can make you a soup.

[ it won't be good... but it will be soup.

the fact prompto is acting like this may be an indication that he is indeed sick with the alien plague again. frisk doesn't know. frisk can only assume that maybe adults are willing to be taken care of by kids if they're sick.

when they remove their hand, they notice they've left a frisk-sized hand print on prompto's forehead. oops! ] I don't know what that is though. How do you tell?

[punshots]

[ Prompto probably won't find that handprint on his forehead until the next time he seems himself in a mirror, thanks, Frisk. He's way too worried about Space Plague 2: Electric Boogaloo to think about a potential handprint on his face, though. ]

Uhh...well, last time? I got this super bad cold and fever, and then I started seein' people, and then I kinda went blind? The symptoms definitely ramped up...

[ Maybe he shouldn't have told them all of that. He doesn't want to freak them out! He probably doesn't have the space plague again...

...but then he gets a tickle in his throat. Oh, gods, he's dying. ]

[impavidness]

[ if frisk is freaked out, they don't show it. but maybe the fact it takes them a long while to respond betrays that it doesn't sound a little scary. when they do speak, it's softer, like they're trying to be nice. ]

I don't think you have a fever but can you see how many stripes on my shirt.

[ yes, they said it just like that. this is a serious matter so words are dropped.

anyway, there's two stripes on frisk's shirt. if prompto answers correctly, he's free of the alien plague. if not, well... frisk is going to be making a somber text post to the network, huh... ]

[punshots]

[ Is this a trick question???

He worries that it must be, because it's almost too easy. He glances down at their shirt, and meticulously counts the stripes. One, two. That's it. Is he missing something? Or is it, in fact, just that simple?

He considers the question for a few moments longer, questioning the nature of existence and reality, before answer at last: ]

...Two. Unless you count the one in between the two...then it's three?

[ He still doesn't sound sure.

He might not have the alien plague, but he sure is dumb. ]

[impavidness]

[ if prompto is coherent enough to ask that, then he's fine. frisk deduces this logically. that means that they're probably more of a doctor than a lot of people on the ship now. Well. ]

No fever and you can see.

[ in other words, probably fine. ] Alien plague is... [ hmm. they kind of want to say scary, but instead: ] You don't got it. I don't think any aliens are here, too. [ where would you catch it??? ]

[punshots]

[ It's okay — alien plague is scary, and he knows it, so when they lay down their diagnosis, he's glad to hear he's in the clear. He really was not looking forward to temporary blindness yet again, thank you very much. ]

Nah, guess not. Bet we would have seen some by now if there were. But those books in the lounge...those definitely aren't in any language I've ever seen before.

[ With that out of the way, he goes back to sculpting Frisk's face out of the slurry. ]