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

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?]

[He huffs, putting his hands on his knees and starting to heave himself up.]

You’re still being polite. I thought guys who’d won entire wars get to forget that kind of thing.

[He puts a hand on the wall, getting used to being upright, and looks Barabas over just to see if he can do it without wanting to look away. The answer is: sort of. Mostly. He gives him a little smile.]

So, you want to swing by the kitchen, then wherever you uh, put your clothes? Or is there other shit you want to do before you, uh. Change back into your human-suit?

Fuck, that came out grosser than I thought it would. I should cut back on making cracks about this shit until I can actually think straight.

Sounds like a plan. My clothes are in the room I woke up in. It's missing most of its door now, but hey.

[He's used it as his place to return to by default. He just grins and nods his agreement, even if he's amused by it.] Yeah, little creepy. Very Silence of the Lambs.

[He straightens up and makes his way to the door, glancing back to be sure that Hank is coming along.]

It rubs the lotion on its fur or else it gets the hose again.

[Hank mutters it absently, focusing mostly on following Barabas, but then the reference that just got made strikes him and he looks back at the freaky, furry thing in front of him, grateful to have some detail to latch onto and ask about.]

Wait, they have that where you are? I thought tech stuff was all shitty there, and you couldn't really use it.

Well, it's a novel.

[Barabas begins, amused by the reference and the question. He makes a sound that's supposed to be a hum, but is more growl. Not comforting. But he's trying. Truth is, even if it's a book, he's never read it. He has seen the movie.]

When magic is down and tech is up, you can usually get a DVD player working. Hollywood hasn't exactly been churning out movies in the past few decades since the Shift, but the old classics are still around.

[Hank nods but he's distracted yet again, now - he wonders if that's a detox thing, his attention jumping around like this, or if that's just what happens to you when you can't really do a great job at making yourself do little things like eat, or sleep. Or maybe hearing a big fucking predator make a noise like that right in front of you is just really fuckin distracting, but it's hard to tell what's a reasonable reaction to shit like that, these days.]

That uh, noise you just made. That wasn't, uh- What was that? I didn't, uh- [Hank does want to ask if he pissed Barabas off. Just to be sure. Hank doesn't want to look like a jumpy moron. He tries to find a compromise.] I didn't piss you off, I'm pretty sure, so, uh-

[So, uh. There's an eloquent question.]

...I tried to hum. It didn't work like I'd hoped.

[Barabas admits, almost sheepishly. He shrugs a bit.] I'm still working out this form a little. My half-form back home is much cuter.

[...relatively cuter. Compared to the monstrosity he is now.]

But I'm definitely not pissed off.

Good. Good. Cool.

[He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it a little. It feels gross under his fingers, oily. Of course Barabas wasn't pissed off at him. That shouldn't of even been a question.]

Right, why would you be? That was kind of stupid, sorry, uh- cuter, huh? Does that mean a lot smaller or just less, uh...

[He gestures to all of Barabas. The whole thing. Less that.]

[He can't help it. He laughs at the question, and it's that laugh and he would apologize, but way to gesture at all of him, Hank.]

Smaller certainly. Sleeker. ...though I'm told the eyes were unsettling.

[He loved that trick actually. Using those eyes and their red glow and horizontal pupils in his human form even gave him a distinctly demonic look.]

Quicker too, though that has less to do with cute.

[Hank nods, grimacing a little, his hand drifting up toward his head for a second. That laugh, it's not piercing, exactly, but it's something. It's fine. He's had worse headaches than this.

Still, he doesn't really have any more questions to ask about the whole werewolf - were-thing... thing. Or if he does, it's hard to remember them right now. He's just going to focus on following the friendly hyena monster, and on trying not to smell what they're maybe going to pick Barabas up from the kitchen.]

[It's definitely something. Barabas does snag himself something from the kitchen -- with a grimace. This barely counts as food, whatever this paste is. But it'll be calories, and his body will need that.

It's not too far to the room he's been using as his own, and he excuses himself long enough to change back and re-clothe himself. When he emerges, the large hyena-thing is gone, replaced by the usual redhead. He offers Hank a brief smile as he emerges.

He's tired and he looks it, but otherwise no worse for the wear.]

[Hank offers him a brief smile back, stretches out a hand - and then stops and curls the shaking thing up, tapping it against his thigh instead and clearing his throat.]

Go on, sit down. Unless you're not in the mood to talk anymore, I can wait to get filled in on your uh, whatever went down when you went back. If you wanna sleep or, you know, whatever.

I'm all for talking if you're still up for it.

[Sitting though, that sounds pretty great. He sees that hand though, and half smiles, reaching out to clap his own hand against Hank's arm on his way by.]

Let's settle in, and I'll tell you all about how my friend's family drama nearly destroyed a city.

[Hank goes stiff, eyes wide, then looks down, pursing his lips and sucking on his teeth just for some little gesture to distract himself from how much of an overreaction that was. It's just, after about a million years mostly avoiding every little touch on the off chance his stupid power will take the chance to pass along how shitty he feels, even a casual, short little touch on his arm, it's...

It's stupid. Fuck it. He follows Barabas in the room, sitting on the floor and watching his hands rub up and down over his knees. Even if it had turned on Barabas probably would of only felt the stuff going on in his head - not the headache. The jittery, miserable... whatever. And it wasn't even for a second. It's fine.]

Uh, so. Family drama. Go for it.

[Barabas seems to have dodged that anyway. He glances back at Hank. He may have dodged the power, but he notices the reaction. Interesting.]

You okay?

[He keeps the question quiet, vague rather than calling out the reaction. But as he finds himself a spot to settle down as well.]

Kate's dad -- a psychopath of an ancient wizard, mind you, Roland: the Builder of Towers -- decided to double cross his daughter after we fought off a dragon who wanted to destroy everything. Never boring in Atlanta.

Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. It's- it's not you.

[He doesn't want the guy to think the hyena monster thing freaked him out that much, after all. Maybe it would have once, but- fuck, maybe it's better that he doesn't think about whether he's actually getting used to all this. Even if it maybe doesn't look like it. He grabs his knees so his hands will stop shaking.]

So, uh, is that what goes on in Atlanta on the regular? No wonder the traffic's so bad.

[He tries a smile. It's not the best joke but it's a joke, so that's fine.]

[The redhead frowns faintly, but nods.] All right. If you're sure.

[He lets the subject shift for now, and he cracks a smile at the joke.]

Exactly. Gridlock is a bitch already, never mind adding ancient abominations into the mix.

[Home sweet home.]

[Hank nods, thinks vague thoughts about making some kind of joke about the highway counting as an ancient abomination already, but his head's too scattered, he can't make it come together. He leans forward, wiping some sweat off the side of his head and pressing the heel of his hand to his temple. He clears his throat.]

So. Dragons, huh?

Dragons. Or well, dragon. One was more than enough. Sort of an egotistical asshole, honestly.

[Barabas is not a fan. He shrugs a shoulder.] Thankfully we shouldn't have to worry about that dragon ever again.

[They destroyed him quite soundly and then repurposed his realm as a prison for Kate's terrible father.]

I wouldn't recommend interacting with them. ...though Morrigan is a dragon from time to time here. She's a delight.

welcome to the horologium.

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if Barabas wouldn't have anything to say to this feel free to fastforward to him changing back

o7

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