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.  INVESTIGATIONSThe 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! |
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acatalepsy_logs2019-02-12 12:27 pm
vomit cw
Nah, us old guys don't let anyone push us around. Right, Sumo?
Look, you have to sweet talk him. I'll-
[Hank pushes off the doorframe, takes a couple steps into the kitchen, and he'd been working on that leak into the bedrooms so, fuck, the smell is strong-]
Nope.
[He turns right back around. There's a bathroom right outside the mess hall; Hank goes straight to it. Not that he needs to, it's just dry heaving at this point, and it doesn't last long. He leans back, clears his throat, swallows, and hears the heavy pad of a very familiar set of paws behind him. He swallows again, tries to laugh a little.]
Well. Looks like that did it. Now we're set to go, I guess.
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And then Hank's gone before Firo can even ask him what's going on--but he hears well enough.
He enters the bathroom, following the dog--and the irony of that isn't lost on him, but there are bigger things to focus on right now.
To someone who's listening closely, it may be apparent that Firo's curiosity is tinged with concern.]
What's the matter with you? If you're sick, you should say something about it.
[The symptoms of withdrawal aren't wholly alien to Firo, but they are rare, for the simple fact that everybody around him had access to more than enough alcohol. So it's not his first thought.]
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Why, wanna quarantine me or somethin?
[He lets go of his hair, closing his eyes and leans his head against the wall, getting his breath back.]
Don't worry. Don't think anyone's gonna catch this one.
[He'll get up and go. In a second. He was doing okay just a few minutes ago; he just needs to take a second.]
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But Hank says it's not contagious, and Firo feels he has no reason to doubt that.]
No. I'm just wondering if you're up to this, is all.
[You know, this errand that he sort of just tacitly conscripted Hank into.]
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[He opens up his eyes again, looking tiredly at Firo, taking a deep breath, clearing his throat, and hauling himself up. He pushes at his knees, leaning against the wall until Firo decides it's time to go.]
But you know what? I also don't care. If I can't take it just leave me lyin in the hall somewhere, I'm sick of looking at food anyway.
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I'm not gonna leave you.
[He'll just drag him along and grumble a lot, if it comes to that.
He tilts his head and rests one hand on his hip.]
Are you ready to go? [And now he will deign to share the mission:] I figured we could look for their stash, if it's still here.
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[Firo drops that sudden honesty and then leaves it behind just like that but Hank's slow today, he's probably going to be slow for a while, and it takes his brain a few seconds to switch gears. Firo's not going to leave him, apparently, no matter how nice it'd be at this point to just collapse in a hallway somewhere and stay there for a while. Okay.]
Yeah, uh- yeah.
[He shakes his head, swallows again, and starts heading out.]
You say 'stash' like it's gonna be something good. What do you wanna bet it's just gonna be... I don't know. What'd be worse than what we already got? It's gonna be something worse.
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What do you mean worse? As long as it's something, that's more than what we've got.
[More = better. As far as Firo's concerned, that's all he's letting into his mental calculus right now.
While they head down the hallway, he keeps an eye out for the first door--surely that has to be promising, right?]
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[The list is endless, as long as you ditch your optimism at the door. But that's easy. He can do that any time, and it won't help them. Hank tries to think past it, pressing the heel of a hand against his head.]
But uh, okay, so. You taken a look at any of these doors yet? They all look locked, and the power's only on in the kitchen. What do you know about picking space locks?
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[There's a small door not far from where they exited the kitchen and mess area, and Firo stops in front of it, sizing it up.]
We can still try to break 'em down.
[The confidence in the statement abates slightly towards the end because this thing looks pretty damn solid. But brute force isn't their only resort--there's finesse too, so Firo whips out his knife while he studies the door for any vulnerability.]
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Hey, back up a second.
[He was going to just do it, but getting knifed in the leg is a little more than he wants in his day. Then he kicks. It's a really solid kick, the kind of kick designed to take down a door in one try, and it does about as much damage as he expected it to.]
Yeah. Didn't think so. Felt good, though.
[He rubs his knuckles against his forehead. It didn't do his head any favors, but it did slip just a sliver of that buzzing urge to move out from under his skin. Just a little bit, just for a second. But-]
How about I just do that for a while? Unless you really can pry that thing open.
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[He doesn't have any insider knowledge, just his own conviction. And a whole lot of free time.
Firo feels around the center of the door for any vulnerabilities and tests it with his knife--no dice. After a while of investigating in this way, he gives up and starts kicking it alongside Hank. For a while.
A long while.
After a time, he draws back, teeth gritted just as much with frustration as the pain and discomfort in his legs.]
This is bullshit. [How is it this strong? It's just a door! He glances at Hank.] How're you holding up?
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[He blinks a few times, trying to focus, and rubs his fingers first into his eyes, then across his forehead. He'd fallen into a kind of zen there for a while - misery-zen, if that's a thing, where the nothing was real except all the different ways his body's yelling at him and the feeling of shoving all that energy buzzing around lost inside him into whatever body part he was shoving against that door at any given time - and he only realizes that once the part of his brain that handles the words has a little trouble booting back up.]
What?
[He already said that. Did he already say that? Hank stares at the door for a second and then sinks back against the wall behind him with a thick, uncomfortable noise, his expression going tight. This shit was a lot easier to take, weirdly, when he was maybe making it worse by making his shoulder and knee and hip and everything sore on top of everything else.]
You- what'd you say? I think I, uh- I guess I wasn't really... listening.
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[Firo's almost relieved to see Hank's shift in posture because it means that he can plop down on the ground without having to be the first one to relax.
He lets his head rest on the wall as he glances over Hank's way.]
How much longer do you think you've got in you? You weren't in great shape to begin with.
[Given that he was sick before they even started. He doesn't seem that great now, and Firo wonders if he messed up by dragging Hank into this, especially when the guy's in this condition. Besides, what kind of capo can't handle one measly door on his own?]
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What else am I going to do? Go try to throw up again? Lay down and think about where my life went wrong? No, fuck, I'd rather hit shit for a while.
[He's kind of slowly sliding down toward the floor and tries to straighten up just enough so he doesn't end up outright sitting, flinching a little when he puts his weight on the leg he'd been kicking with the most - stupid, but he hadn't exactly been thinking strategically at the time.]
Fuck, if I sit down I don't know if I'm gonna get back up. I just, I just need a minute, then we can uh, get back up and do the thing. Bust that door open. You good, though? You didn't like, pull a muscle anywhere or something?
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If he were immortal here, he'd be able to keep going until he destroyed his legs--and then he could let them regenerate and keep on going. It's not fun, but it works, and he grits his teeth in annoyance at having to have a limitation like "don't physically destroy yourself" in place at such an inconvenient time.]
Fine. [He studies Hank a moment then holds a clenched fist out towards him, as if he's about to rap on Hank's head with his knuckles.]
Do you mind?
[Does Hank know what Firo's power is? Firo, apparently, assumes he does and also assumes that he'll know what the hell this gesture means.]
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What? I don’t know, probably? If you’re about to hit my head or some shit I’m definitely going to barf on you though, so. Whatever the fuck you want to do, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
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[True to his word, he reaches over and lightly taps Hank on the forehead with his knuckles.
His healing can't do much about Hank's withdrawal, but it can heal the damage Hank's done to his leg so far. And will, with the results tangible within seconds of his touch.]
How do you feel now?
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[He frowns at Firo for a second, then looks down at himself.]
Huh. Well, uh-
[He raises his eyebrows, shrugs. That's not bad. Not a miracle, not remotely, but not bad.]
My legs and shoulder aren't pissed at me anymore, so that's cool. So that's your thing? Healing, uh... just a little bit?
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[Would he like a cooler power? Of course he would. But this is what he's got.
He shifts slightly, grimacing when he feels the discomfort in his legs. Even switching them up over time didn't help much, and he almost wishes he hadn't gone and healed Hank yet to give himself an excuse to laze around more.]
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Not allowed to do it for yourself either, huh? That sounds like a pain.
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[But of course if he does now, he might be toast. Would've been nice if she'd just let him stay immortal.
His enthusiasm doesn't grow when he forces himself to add:]
Let me know when you're ready to start up again.
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Well, I'm not gonna get any more ready, and if I puke again it's not like anything's gonna come up, so. I guess we might as well.
[He rubs at the back of his neck, watching Firo, then shrugs.]
Time to fuck up my leg again, I guess.
[And unless Firo has anything to say to that, he'll just go right ahead. Why the hell not.]
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Try not to. I worked hard on that.
[He eases himself up, using his arms as much as possible before they square off with the door again.
His kicks aren't as strong or steady, but after several hours, their combined efforts finally wear on the door. Promising clicks and rattles give way to dents and screeches until finally they can pry it open.
Once there's enough space to see in, Firo tries for a peek, seemingly not giving a thought to the idea that Hank might want to do the same.]
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Well? Comin' open yet?
[Does he sound grouchy? Well, he is. A little bit.]
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