acatalepsy_logs | welcome to the horologium.

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welcome to the horologium.

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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I don’t know, Sumo likes it.

[Hank leans in the doorway behind him, having only walked up halfway into Firo’s sentence.]

But yeah, the menu here fuckin sucks. It looks like someone ate a bunch of bubble gum and got a bad case of the shits.

[Thanks, Hank, have a wince of disgust as Firo turns around.] You don't have to be so gross about it...

[Though it's not inaccurate, really. Whatever the opposite of a poet is, Hank is that.]

It looks like the stuff they gave us on Struxta, but I don't think the people back there ever got close to running out. If we're here as long as we normally are, there's gonna be trouble.

[People, robots, same difference. It's beside his point, anyway.]

[Hank wraps his arms around his chest, tucking his hands under his elbows.]

If this is the shit they gave you back then I don't know how you didn't starve. The smell of this stuff's already starting to make me sick.

[He sighs. Down to business - even if that business sucks. But it's good to bounce his own thoughts off someone who's apparently thinking in the same direction.]

How long, do you think? About how many people do we have here?

[Firo leans back on the counter.]

I dunno, but it's gotta be more than 50. I couldn't tell you how long this all is gonna last. Plus, once people get nervous, they'll probably start snatching it up, so once it starts to go, it's gonna go fast.

[Hell, it's what the old him probably would've done--grab what you can and then steal from people as it all goes to hell.]

Yeah.

[Hank sighs, staring into the distance. Staying still is a losing game right now, though; he pushes off from the doorway and walks in a little circle, rubbing his hands over his face. He doesn't try to argue with Firo; he's seen it happen before. That's how people are.]

Maybe there's some kind of- I don't know, storage somewhere. This place is huge. [He gestures to the mess hall.] This room's bigger than my whole fuckin house. There must of been tons of people on this ship and, I don't know shit about space food, maybe there really is enough room in that kitchen to keep enough to feed everyone, but- I don't know. There's got to be something else somewhere.

Yeah. Water too, with all those people. [He grumbles.] I haven't seen any sign of it, though. All those goddamn doors look the same.

[By which he more means "none of them have a big sign that say 'supplies here.'"

But that's no excuse, so he scans the kitchen one more time and then heads for the exit--he seems to expect Hank to follow him. Because, well, they as good as decided they're going to find this thing, right?

He calls back over his shoulder:]

For all we know, maybe running outta supplies is what took care of everybody. But I'm assuming we'd see more bodies if that's the case.

[So there's reason for optimism!]

[Yeah. Alright. Hank decides it's easier to go ahead and follow him, he seems like he's expecting it. It'd be nice to get away from this damn kitchen for a while, anyway.]

There wouldn't be anything left if that was what did em in. Where are we goin exactly? Should I uh, collect my dog, is this gonna be a day trip?

I was just gonna pick a direction and start looking. It should be nearby here, wouldn't you think?

[He shrugs. His plans are never too detailed.]

Depends on when we find it. You weren't doing anything, were you?

[So, yeah, get your dog, Hank. Firo considerately pauses and watches for Sumo to come flopping out of wherever he happens to be.]

Hell, I don't know.

[He rubs the sweat from his forehead back into his hair and heads back toward the kitchen.]

Sumo? Can't leave you on the freaky dead spaceship all on your own, you gotta get up and come with me.

[He gets as far as the kitchen door and then stops, making a face and swallowing. Then he looks back at Firo. Yeah, he was just in there and it was mostly fine, but-]

Think you could go back in there and shoo him out for me? That smell...

[It's not even a bad smell. It's just so sweet, and he's been in there smelling it for days, and maybe his stomach's tired of it now because it's sure as hell letting him know. He leans against the doorway, swallowing again.]

[Firo's surprised enough that he only stares for a few seconds, then nods.]

Uh, sure.

[All right, dog. Firo steps back into the kitchen, sizing Sumo up before reaching down to give him a firm nudge on the shoulder. Come on, buddy.

He calls out to Hank:]

I wouldn't have thought you'd have a weak stomach.

Well. [He grimaces.] First time for everything. Sumo! Come on, the sooner we go the sooner we can go waste our time somewhere else.

[He takes a few slow, deep breaths.]

Please, bud.

[Sumo lifts his head with a little boof, watching Hank, and totally ignoring Firo's little nudge.]

Come on Firo, I don't think he even noticed that.

[Firo grunts and grabs for Sumo's collar to try and give him a more meaningful pull--nothing too rough, but something with more oomph.]

All right, pal, if you don't move your ass, we're gonna leave you behind. Come on.

[Absently, to Hank:]

I don't know much about dogs, but shouldn't he, you know, listen to you?

[After a second or two Sumo does stand, slowly, looks up at Firo, then actually takes a couple steps forward... before stopping to chew at himself. Hank realizes he's smiling, soft and fond.]

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.

[Firo glares at the dog and doesn't bother to hold back a frustrated sigh. Seriously? He was prepared to deal with some sort of surly beast, but this...

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.]

[Hank might not be listening exactly closely, and he's not that sure about what it is he's hearing. It's the way Firo always has to say things, like his every little opinion's some kind of directive. Hank doesn't mind it, mostly, even thinks he kind of gets it a little bit, but it makes it hard to tell where the guy's coming from, sometimes.]

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.]

[Firo frowns at the mention of a quarantine. If it were contagious, that probably wouldn't be a bad idea, given how disease in here would probably spread like TB through the tenements.

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.]

You haven't even told me what 'this' is.

[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.

[For the moment, Firo shelves the response to Hank's implied question, instead looking him straight in the eye.]

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.

Uh-

[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.

[Firo watches Hank carefully for any sign that he's going to collapse or be sick again, then follows him out and down the hall.]

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?]

Anything could be worse. We could find some kinda space rabies, some facehuggers, more of that pink stuff...

[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?

What do you think I know about space locks? [He waves one hand dismissively.] Claire was always better at that kinda thing than me, anyway.

[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.]

[Hank watches him for a moment. Then he looks at the door, tries to figure out where the lock is, and-]

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.

Yeah? If you're willing, go ahead. We'll get it one way or the other.

[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?

What?

[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.

kitchen

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cw alcohol withdrawal stuff sprinkled through this thread probably

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vomit cw

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