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

[Barabas has been following his nose, literally, and it's the scent of the spilled goo that has brought him towards this wing of bedrooms. Similar to where he'd woken up, but covered in this mess rather than plagued by broken doors.

In addition to the scent of whatever-the-hell the food goo is, he also catches the familiar sent of someone he knows.

So he slows his hallway stalking and peeks in the door. He may be hard to recognize. He's taken his half-beast form, a seven-foot tall bipedal werehyena, all teeth and fangs and claws. His senses are better like this, and he's stronger.

Arriving just in time to see the panel pop and Hank to wind up attacked by good.]

So is this a common occurence? [A curios question. His voice is mostly clear, a bit off, given that his jaws are the jaws of a beast more than a human, but he almost sounds like himself. Almost.]

Thi- jesus!

[Hank half-turns as he starts talking and then jolts hard, heart suddenly going rabbit-fast in his chest, reaching toward his hip for something he hasn't carried in what feels like a lifetime - it didn't come with him when he got pulled out of Detroit. He tries to play the gesture off by rubbing his hand down his thigh and then onto the ground next to him, leaning back on it. He tries to stop staring, knows his eyes are wide and his expression's probably pretty fucking dumb and this is normal here, he's seen people turn into shit before, animals, this isn't that different. Is it?

Fuck it. People turning into animals on its own is freaky and weird and this is the next step up from that, freakier and weirder, and the hand pressed to one of Hank's eyes moves to press against both his eyelids, so he's got an excuse not to look.]

Uh. [Come on. Think, Hank, you stupid fucker. Pretend this is normal. You know that voice.] Barabas?

[The name comes out sounding a lot smaller than he meant it to. He's got alien goo in his eye, he feels like shit, Barabas told him about all that werewolf stuff and there is no fucking reason to freak out over this.]

[It's honestly a fair reaction, and Barabas can't fault him for it. But he does see the way he reaches for a weapon that isn't there, and he can't blame him for that either.]

Gun wouldn't do much good anyway, unless the bullets were silver.

[Or Hank is a crack shot and reloads fast. Not necessary though since, he ducks his head at the sound of his name.]

Hank. Sorry if I startled you. This form is proving more useful currently, and once I change back I'll be exhausted. And naked. There are several drawbacks honestly.

[A laugh trips out of him. The joke makes it easier, doesn't set Hank at ease but gets him close enough to it that he can inch his hand down off his eyes. He's not watching a horror movie, he's talking to a person, he ought to at least pretend he's willing to look at the guy.

Hank does glance at him. But it's only a glance; he turns his head back toward the floor again, hair hanging limp and oily over his face, and rubs the heel of his hand against his eye.]

You ever thought of practicing that pacification technique? Start with something classic and low effort, like 'be not afraid' or 'I come in peace'. Walking in all teeth and... everything else, and telling me bullets don't work? That was really your first instinct here?

[He laughs again, the sound a little more deliberate this time. It doesn't make him feel much less shitty, having something he can make himself laugh about, but 'much' is a lot to aim for right now anyway, so he'll take what he can get.]

Not comforting, huh? I'll work on it.

[Barabas laughs as well, but given his form, it's the eerie and manic cackle of a hyena. So.

Probably also not comforting.] But I do come in peace, at least. Well, where you're concerned.

[If there are any evil aliens on this space ship, he will have less peace for them.]

[That sound makes him flinch.]

God, that laugh makes it worse. What are your plans, exactly? Violence and mayhem?

Sorry, part and parcel of the hyena thing.

[It comes in handy in battles. Unsettled and freaked out enemies make mistakes.

But as to that question.]

Partially, yes. Sniffing out what there is to be sniffed. Seeing if I can't assist in tearing down some locked doors.

Well, if you sniff out some safety goggles let me know.

[He lets go of his eye, blinking a few times. Yeah. Only burns a little bit now, so that's fine. Then something occurs to him. He looks up at Barabas, makes a face, then looks away, trying to cover up his distaste by leaning in toward the leaking wall again.]

So, how strong are you? Enough to take those doors down without any trouble?

I'll keep an eye out.

[Barabas leans against the doorway, sniffing once.] That's food, yeah?

[The uh. Goop. Food?

As for that question, he nods, which may be an odd thing. He's a nightmare beast thing at the moment, but his mannerisms are still very much the same as they are in his human form.]

Distressingly strong. And some of them yes, some of them I need a bit of help for.

Distressingly, huh? I'm pretty sure I'm the one who oughta be distressed.

[He glances back at Barabas, a corner of his lips quirking up, tentatively. If he can make a joke out of it, out of his first, instinctive reaction to the other guy just being who he is - the freaky, terrifying monster movie person that he is - then it's almost like Hank's not being a shithead about it. Right?]

But uh, yeah. It's supposed to be food. If I can make it stop leaking out of the fucking walls. Shit!

[He'd pinched a spot just up from where he'd been aiming at, but at least it didn't shoot into his eye this time.]

My fucking hands-

[They shake a little bit as he moves them to his lap, and he balls them up so they stop.]

Hey your uh- your... paws. [God.] Do they, uh. Work like hands, still? Can you pinch little things closed, or?

Yes, that's what I meant.

[Barabas confirms cheerfully, another little flash of teeth. He's joking, voice light enough.]

Hmm?

[Barabas does see that shaking, and tucks that away for another time.] Yes, but admittedly I'm not going to fit into any small space with them,but my fine motor skills are intact. I can try.

[He makes his way over, crouching down.] Show me where.

[He may be able to snag it with his claws.]

[Hank realizes, stupidly, that this is going to result in them right next to each other. It shouldn't surprise him, being that slow, it's not like he didn't already know his brain's not running on all cylinders. He wonders if hyena monsters can smell fucked up brain chemistry, or if he's just going to smell like a gross sweaty asshole - or if Barabas is going to think Hank's just that scared of him. It's not that he's not freaky as shit right now but Hank doesn't like that option, he'd rather just come off gross and sweaty, but without giving an explanation that Hank's honestly not sure he could even force out, he'll just have to buckle down and deal with whatever impression Barabas ends up getting about him. It's not like any of Hank's options there are actually good.]

This one, uh, it's a pain in the ass doing this without any tools but I think I can tie those together, if that's not shooting goo at me the whole time.

Uh- [He glances at Barabas, then looks back at his hands. They haven't been still all day and Hank needs to make conversation, distract himself.] -Did you get any of those doors down yet? Find anything interesting?

[Unfortunately Barabas' sense of smell is likely keen enough to know that something is going on beyond simply a sweaty moment. But Hank doesn't precisely smell like fear either.

Fear is a scent he knows well, after all.

For the time being the bouda scoots closer and peers.]

Right, makes sense. Let's see...

[He manages to get a decent grip of it, more with his claws than his fingers, but hey if it works it works. He considers.] So far not much. No additional food except for a suspect box of candy, but I found flatware. Helpful, isn't it? We may starve, but we'll have place settings. And a group of us managed to break through a larger door into a room full of plants -- most of which are in various stages of dying and rotting, but maybe there's something to be done there.

[And then, after a pause.] Are you all right, Hank?

Uh-

[He focuses on grabbing the tubes in front of him, avoiding the wires. And he does need to focus on this, on making sure his hands actually go where he wants them to, so that's not totally a lie. Without being sure what exactly it is he needs to explain away here, he starts with something that'll cover the obvious, his hands.]

I just haven't been eating that much with the whole, you know, rationing thing and all. [The best thing about that excuse? He can use it to turn it around and try to change the subject. He tries to focus past the headache and sound casual; he doesn't totally succeed but he gets close enough, he thinks. He hopes.]

How about you? I mean, being a... were... person, that's got to use up a lot of energy, right? [Barabas did say, didn't he, that he'd be exhausted after he turned back.] Is the uh, the pink stuff, is that doing it for you?

Mm. Rationing.

[Barabas repeats, like he's testing that as an explanation. For the moment he'll go with it. Even if it very obviously comes with a subject change.]

A great deal of energy yes, but I'll be fine. I'll sleep it off.

[His body will hold up on what it has to for a while yet. Shapeshifters are resilient. Or so he tells himself.]

The pink stuff is calories. It's also an affront to the idea of food, but better than nothing.

[That last part's obviously aimed at Hank so he gives Barabas a polite little smile, leaning forward and answering casually while he finishes up.]

Not if you can't keep it down. Uh- there.

[He leans back again, looking his 'work' over.]

Now I just got to tie off that one part you're holding and uh, that'll be it. It probably won't last, but I guess I'll just come back and do it again once this busts open. It's not like there's anything else to do unless you're a space electrician or have enough superstrength to bust all these doors down.

That is an important caveat, true.

[A frown. Or well, it's an attempt at a frown, but his facial expressions are a bit on the limited side given his current form.] Are you sick?

[Because yeah the pink goo? Not appetizing. But still.

Barabas glances down at the work that's been done now.]

This is helpful though. It'll get us by for now. And hopefully someone gets power restored sooner rather than later so we can figure out what the hell is actually going on.

Yeah, once this fucking place is working again maybe we'll get lucky and find more food. Or maybe we'll get lucky and find whatever the hell made these people switch on their distress signal, and that'll do us in. Either way, as long as we get out of starving to death.

[He runs his tongue over his teeth, leaning back in to tie off that one last thing.]

And uh, no. If I was sick I woulda warned you. When we're all stuck together like this? I woulda had to, I don't know, pop myself in one of those pod things just to keep everyone else from getting it. No, you don't - you don't have to worry about that.

[It's not like Hank doesn't know that's probably not - well, not totally - why Barabas asked. But it's easier, if he can talk about it that way, instead of talking about what it means to him.]

You are a refreshing voice of optimism. Has anyone ever told you that?

[There's no barb in the teasing. Because Hank is right. One way or another, they'll probably find a way not to starve -- though whether that's because they die before they get the chance? Anyone's guess.

But the next bit has Barabas shaking his head.]

I'm a shapeshifter. I don't get sick. So not a concern. [Half the truth. The plague in the Temple made it clear the protection Lyc-V offers isn't quite so absolute here, but he still thinks of himself as pretty invincible.]

So I'm not worried about that. I am worried about a friend. [He turns to look at him and adds, deadpan,] This is my concerned hyena face.

[Hank's already softened up by the optimism crack, so the one-two punch of the blunt declaration of concern followed up with a bad joke makes Hank sputter, laughing and pressing the heel of a hand against his temple.]

God, don't make me laugh, it hurts.

[He scoots to lean back against the wall and thinks about it, thinks about actually telling him. The friend thing, it... it makes him want to, almost.]

Uh-

[Hank's quiet a second, wondering if he should psych himself up to admitting it.

He swallows. He clears his throat.]

I'll be fine. Give it a... a week? Maybe? If I make it that long I'll probably be, uh. Better. I guess. How's that for optimism, mister 'don't worry, a bullet wouldn't kill me anyway'?

[Barabas would smile if he were capable of it without looking like a worse nightmare of teeth and fangs. So instead he ducks his large furry head in sympathy. Oops.

But ah.

There it is. Or well, there's the beginning of it. He looks at Hank for a moment, considering his words carefully. Give it a week. The shaking. The mention of not being able to hold down food. Barabas is good at puzzles. One of the skills from the job, in a way. But also just who he is.]

You're talking about detoxing.

[Which means give it a week, but it will be a painful week. And one that's not without its dangers.]

And a bullet won't. Unless you're really good or really lucky. But let's make a deal. You don't shoot me unless I really have it coming. And I'll warn you next time I show up with this face.

[Sounds fair right. But Barabas is quiet a moment before adding,] It's gonna be a hell of a week. This place is shitty enough on its own. If there's anything I can do, name it.

[Hank's not looking at him. He had to look away the moment he heard the word 'detoxing', pressing his hands together in tight little balls in his lap. He's too laid open right now to play along with the joke about wanting to shoot Barabas - Barabas, who actually genuinely gives a shit, who said what Hank couldn't stand to explain without a single hint of judgement - just because Hank doesn't know how to handle weird shit. He talks in a shamed little mutter, aiming his answer down at the floor.]

I wouldn't shoot you.

[He's quiet a second. But, fuck, it's not like he has any dignity here anyway, so he goes on before he can think too hard about it in exactly the same tone of voice.]

Having, uh- having people around, that makes it easier not- not to-

[He sighs and interrupts himself, his voice a little stronger.]

Fuck, I don't know. You've got stuff to do anyway, I know you can't sit around babysitting my stupid ass. You think you could just knock me out? For like, a couple months? That'd be great.

[Barabas looks about as thoughtful as someone can look in some half-animal half-human form, considering.]

Let's put a pin in the option that involves traumatic head injuries for now.

[There's a lot going on here, that much is definitely true. But Hank is a friend, and Barabas, despite the snark, isn't the type to just shrug and leave a friend to deal with whatever trouble has landed in their lap.]

But honestly, we might be able to help each other here. [He offers, considering.] I've sniffed out what I can and done my share of breaking and entering. I'm not going to be able to hold this form that much longer anyway. I meant what I said, coming out of shift, especially a warrior form shift, is going to leave me exhausted. I'd rather be exhausted with company than alone on this probably haunted disaster ship.

[Probably definitely haunted.] And I can tell you all about my unexpected two-year or two-days -- depending how you count it -- trip home.

Oh, shit.

[Hank’s eyes flicker over him, like he could suddenly see some change in the guy he didn’t notice before.]

The last guy who told me he went home and came back he was fuckin miserable and then, uh- then he didn’t come back from, you know. Akvos. [He grimaces, rubbing his knuckles hard over his eyebrows.] Not that that has shit to do with fuck right now, it’s just hard to, uh- You know. So I hope your little visit didn’t go as bad as his.

Shit, that means this was your first time seeing me in years, huh? I must of looked pretty bad last time if you recognized me so quick.

[He grins faintly, joking. Mostly joking.]

Actually, in the end it all went well. There was some awful shit in between, but I made it out the other side before getting swept back.

[Small miracles that. And Barabas isn't complaining.] Left the Pack, took over running the local Mercenary Guild with the now-former Beast Lord, won a war, got engaged. That's what I did on my summer vacation in a nutshell.

[A laugh -- which is still that eerie inhuman chuckle, sorry Hank. He'll change back eventually, once he goes and retrieves his clothes since most everyday humans aren't nearly as comfortable with nudity as shapeshifters -- and he nods.] I was trying to be polite about it. You don't look so bad. [Just. Half-bad on the way to three-quarters-bad?]

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