Entry tags:

August Event Log: Part I

Who: Everyone
When: August 9 and onward
Where: An unexpected destination
What: The newcomers go on a trip and end up far from where they expected
Warnings: Potential violence. Please label your content!

NOTE: PLEASE READ THIS OOC POST FIRST.

When the time comes for the travelers to go on the off-world trip that will help restore Thisavrou, they are not alone. Others who have settled on the planets longer and come to call them home are also prepared to travel; through the Ingress and do their part. Yet when the newcomers step through, whether they stepped through the Ingress seconds or hours apart, they will find that they have arrived at the same time, and only newcomers are in sight.

What awaits them is not a land of plenty. The land is barren, and dark storms in the sky resemble those held at bay by the Ingress complex—but much, much closer. Those who traveled on the Moira may recognize the landscape; though they have come through at a different point from the crash, they are on the Midway Hub. And there is no portal back. They are trapped.

hitting the road

Though some have been here before, the Midway Hub is not as they remember it. The storms fill the sky, leaving it dark and ominous even when they are not sweeping across the landscape—but they have clearly done so in recent times, and often. While never a lush land, large patches of ground an acre or more wide looking nothing more than utterly dead; the thistle that naturally grows is brittle, black and unable to be consumed even with the usual preparations to make it edible, and here and there animal corpses are found twisted into unnatural poses, but seemingly uninjured. These places are particularly concentrated near the broken Ingresses litter the landscape. While Midway Hub as a whole may seem naturally arid, these dead spots leave no hope that anything can possibly live there again.

The travelers have two options: stay where they are, or move on. While it might seem that they've been tricked into coming here and been left abandoned, those with the technological ability to do so may detect a sign of hope: a familiar energy source, far in the distance. Although none of the Ingresses they pass will ever work again, the faint energy shows that one still-functioning Ingress lies far in the distance, days away.

Although technological scanning or impressive memory of the landscape indicates that they are not separated from their destination by one of the gates that divide the land, they are also far from the shelter of the facility at the center of the Hub. Any attempt to travel in a direction other than that of the energy signal will result in a strange disorientation after several hours, bringing individuals back to their original path as though they've gone in circles. Meanwhile, though travelers will feel the need to slake their hunger and thirst through any natural water sources they discover, wildlife they can hunt for food and any supplies they have on them, if they don't find sustenance, they'll find that they will never pass out or reach the point of starvation. Instead, they'll be left alive and awake but feeling utterly hollow.

storm front

At regular intervals, the energy storms above descend onto the land, bringing not rain but violent clashes of negative energy and thunder so loud that nothing can be heard above it. The passing of the storms leaves some strange effects. The ground is warped and rotted by their touch, even solid stone degrading to a spongy surface. The air is tepid and oddly charged. Prolonged contact with air or ground will not supply energy, however — it drains it from organic and synthetic life alike.

Those who remember their last trip to the Hub, or simply explore in the right direction, may come across the cave complexes with their glowing surfaces and streams. The light is dimmer now, a sickly green, but drinking from the streams will still restore the energy lost, for a time. This time, however, the lethargy that inevitably follows is much more severe, and the drinkers are left with a raw, empty feeling leeching in from the wasteland around.

Those who are exposed to the storms, either by finding themselves in very close proximity or even closely observing them for too long as they approach, may lose their sight, or hearing, even much of the ability to feel touch — whatever sense they used in observation. What lingers in its place is a numbness. A hunger. And as time passes, the time between storms decreases; what seemed like hours between the storms becomes scarcely one, and their intensity grows.

wild life

Sentient beings are not the only ones affected by the storms; these creatures, attracted to sound and able to track by scent, and these panthers, which once looked normal but have been twisted by the storms into more monstrous forms, are numerous enough that travelers must be constantly alert for their presence. Though natural predators, the threat the creatures represent is not itself natural. They are also more aggressive. Some strange instinct drives them, not a need for food. While the panthers themselves can be caught and their meat cooked, it has little taste, offering nutrition but not satisfaction.

old familiar places

Although it's difficult to track the passage of time without day-night cycles, after what seems like more than a week of the travelers' unexpected trip, the storms abruptly come rushing in at the group of travelers, as if they're herding the group to move faster toward their destination and the Ingress energy that awaits them. The true nature of that destination becomes clear when debris appears on the horizon; the energy comes from the wreckage of the Moira, the interstellar ship that crashed here months ago.

Despite the trauma of impact, large sections of the ship remain surprisingly intact, though few of them are properly vertically oriented. If travelers are able to make their way inside the damaged sections of the ship, they'll find familiar territory, if they are one of those who traveled on the Moira, as well as shelter—something that's increasingly necessary as the storms seem to center over the ship, leaving little hope for survival outside. Useful items may be scavenged from the ship if they are willing to explore, but no personal items of any kind remain.

Strangely, the deeper travelers go into the crashed ship, the less familiar their surroundings will seem, regardless of their orientation. The inward-leading paths into the ship become generic metal, and as with the travel on the surface of the planet, they may find themselves back where they started. And no matter how far they go or how hard they try, they will find themselves unable to make it to the Ingress chamber itself...for now.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[A nod of their head stops halfway when they remember, to their absolute ire, that he would not be able to see said nod. The thought that something so simple would have escaped their notice, even on a habitual level, grinds like a nail square to the center of a palm.]

[He has not asked their name. If they are fortunate, he never will.]

I-L-L L-I-V-E

[Unfortunately. But tacking the word to the end of that statement would be both more work than it is worth and somewhat revealing as to their identity.]

W-E A-R-E I-N C-A-V-E

[He's actually smiling, despite himself; whoever this is, he quite likes their sense of humor. This is even kind of fun, in a strange way.]

I really must have gotten turned around. I wasn't trying to be anywhere near a cave. What were you doing in there?

[Hope you're not already tired of writing things onto his palm.]

S-T-O-R-M

[They doubt they need to be entirely specific in the wake of that answer; why does he think they would have to confine themself to a cave for the duration of said storm?]

[Because they enjoyed losing their voice so much the first time around?]

Of course. I wasn't thinking, obviously.

[Well, it had been a stupid question. He's still just talking just to talk.

He lapses into silence for a while as the awkwardness builds. Then it occurs to him he still doesn't know who this is.

It's a strange oversight, now that he thinks of it.]

What's your name?

[Ha.]

[Inevitable, really. And he would have no idea, would he? Perhaps he could piece together who would deliver a firm clout to the side of his head, but given the company he keeps, perhaps they really could be anyone.]

[...]

[They were issued a title, some time ago. Inaccurate, but...acceptable, for the time being.]

[Six letters or less.]

C-T

[CT? Nobody he knows by that name.

...Well, there is someone of the right size who would likely lie about it, but they'd even be less likely to help him like this, wouldn't they? It's almost certainly just someone he's never met before.]

Well, good to meet you, CT. You can call me Lavellan.

[There's another pause.]

Just the letters? Does that stand for anything?

[Certainly. No one he's met, and no one he should concern himself over. They might as well not be here at all, you see? They're C.T. - they're the Fallen Child. They're Anna, or Jared, Pizza, or whatever name one sees fit to slap over their features.]

[Iron everything else away, and leave nothing in their wake.]

N-O

[Yes.]

[But it doesn't matter.]

T-A-B

[As in, does he have one.]

[Oh. He'd had the presence of mind to bring it with him, when he'd abandoned his own house, just in case he'd needed to contact anyone. And then he'd mostly forgotten he had it.

He'd used it in lieu of typing when he was still missing his arm by speaking into it and letting it transcribe his words. He has no earthly idea how it works, but it stands to reason that if it could make a voice into words, it could do the reverse, doesn't it?

He has to grope around in his coat until he finds it, but hands it over readily once he does. He has no sentimental attachment to the thing.]

Here.

[It's slipped from his hand easily, and they release their grip on him at once. It is a momentary struggle, biting back the urge to utter a long, low sigh of relief, but they manage it.]

[No longer requiring touch to communicate is a luxury they'll not take for granted again. Even if the text-to-speech function sounds something like a fax machine trying to interpret the nuances of human speech.]

Much better.

[That's not the kind of voice he'd expected, and he blinks sightlessly, startled.

No point in commenting on it, though. They'd only been helpful to him, and the last thing he wants to do is offend them.]

Sorry, I should have thought of that myself. I'm afraid I'm still not very familiar with technology.

[Which is why he thinks that this is Chara's actual voice.]

I misplaced my TAB. This will have to suffice.

[It may as well be their own voice. It's certainly more palatable, is it not?]

I trust you have no idea where you are.

[Lavellan hesitates, just briefly, because there's something about that style of speech coming from a child that rekindles his suspicion--but then he quenches it immediately, because now that he knows his companion is apparently mechanical, who is to say that they are a child? Can robots even be children? Well, perhaps. Until today he didn't know robots could be dogs, either. He can't even begin to speculate on the nature of robots.

Especially one who's just asked him a question.]

You said we were in a cave?

[Hesitation or no, it's possible they should consider revising their strategy. Speech patterns are far too distinctive in certain respects. There's a hesitation on their part too before they slowly begin to formulate a response. Carefully, subtly, trying for something a little different.]

Certainly.

[No, that's...a little too on the nose. Try again.]

Took cover from the storm. Guess you figured that if it was drier than outside, it was safe enough.

[Nailed it.]

[Lavellan lets out a laugh.]

I suppose I did. Didn't think it through very far, obviously.

[Well, he didn't exactly expect to lose his sight. What kind of storm does that? This place keeps getting worse and worse all the time.

Maybe he shouldn't have told CT who he was. Do they know? Do they resent him for it?]

I guess I'm lucky I ran into you, aren't I?

[Fortunate, is it not, that they are not currently possessed of their voice - or doubtless they would have erupted into exceedingly inappropriate laughter. He's lucky he ran into them! Of course he is. Of course he would be.]

[No one would think as such, if he knew preciselywho it was, to whom he was speaking.]

Guess so.

Did they have to trick you into leaving?

[Something flickers on his face. That sense of alarm is back, but what it's warning of, his own foggy thoughts can't quite reach.

Suddenly, his good humor is gone.]

Who do you mean?

The Savrii.

[The intermediaries.]

[But mentioning those by name is not likely to go over well.]

I...

[A wave of confusion sloshes over him. No, he hadn't been. They'd asked, and he had gone. He'd thought it was that simple, but...

Had he been the only one?

Had they all been tricked into coming?]

No. No, I came because they asked. [And it had made sense. --But

if he'd come alone, if he'd somehow foreseen this, would the rest of them have been spared this punishment? Had it just been meant for him all along, and the rest were collateral damage yet again?

He freezes, then reels, swaying in place.]

[Oh, good. They've gone and overstepped, haven't they? Unsurprising, given how little control he has over himself on a good day, but they're hardly cut out to be the one uttering any soothing nothings to ease him into believing that things are not, incredibly, all about to downward spiral.]

Plenty of others did.

[Chara would be - dismissive.]

[C.T.?]

[C.T. would be...better at this. Far better.]

Don't worry about it.

[Right. Right. Of course. Stupid. Calm down.

He barks out a single dry, panicked laugh.]

What about you?

Didn't need much convincing.

[That much, at least, is not a lie. They didn't require convincing at all, because they are now fully aware of what level of intervention is involved when an intermediary is called upon to convince anyone of anything.]

[Doubtless Lavellan is reliving that now.]

They could've left us some blankets. Some kind of protection.

That would've been nice.

[Blankets. Nice. Lavellan shakes his head muzzily.

Even before this had happened he'd seen enough to admit that the Savrii were not interested in cooperating with them all, that despite what they say they're more interested in fixing than helping. They'd done--something to him that he still doesn't quite comprehend the scope of, they'd decided to punish them all as a monolith despite most of them being innocents. Victims, even, of the same crimes the Savrii were accusing them of.

Very few of them deserved to be here, other than him. C.T. least of all, and any child like them. But the Savrii don't seem to care about that.]

I don't think our comfort is what they were ever interested in.

[He's... learning. Even if the process of it is grueling.]

Personally, I'm not sure we should expect them to let us back.

[Or is that just the optimist in them?]

[It's possible they're skewing a bit far from C.T., and a bit closer to someone he may still recognize. Hastily (perhaps revealingly so) they add, amending:]

I've lost track of time.

[Chara has - ]

[They've not lost track of time. Have they? Have the days been passing in sluggish uniformity, or are things just the same as they always have?]

[Can they really say?]

[They shouldn't. They should expect to be stuck here forever. That's what the Savrii want, isn't it? And it's all because of what he did. It should be him here, only, with everyone else safe on Thisavrou.

Stop stop stop stop thinking about that.]

I have as well. This place is... strange. Nothing works the way it should. Like it's all in stasis.

[It reminds him of the Fade, or the Crossroads. Suddenly the rankling anxiety like static electricity makes sense. The realization isn't a comfort. These places will always return to plague him, somehow.]

You've never been to the Hub before, have you?

[They were unlucky enough to have arrived there. The difference between the world they entered and the world in which they're situated now is both stark and palpable. It could almost be another world entirely.]

hitting the road

storm front

wild life

old familiar places

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