thisavrou_log | A Spacemas Carol: December's Mod Event Log

A Spacemas Carol: December's Mod Event Log

Who: Anyone and Everyone
When: December 19 onwards
Where: Avagi... and beyond?
What: Your past, someone's present, and potential futures.
Warnings: Body horror and an associated image in the second part. Otherwise, label your content.

While the Ingress may have been destroyed, the energy powering it remains alive and well. The residents of Avagi know this intimately: from their own arrivals, from the portals that have appeared, and the short-lived changes (as well as longer-lived possessions) that have cluttered the station over the last few months. Recently, whatever force is manipulating this has even gone so far as to revive the dead—demonstrating, perhaps, an unwillingness to relinquish those it has brought to this place.

To say this entity is seasonal would probably be a mistake. In the heart of Avagi's storms, there are no stars to mark the seasons, much less connect them to a certain planet's holidays—or the literature thereon. Still, from luck or from intention, the current fluctuations comes with a certain theme...

Past

It starts at the turn of the station clock's midnight. Flickers at the edge of one's vision. Indistinct whispers, ghosting through walls and down corridors. Those who are sleeping will be untroubled, but the wakeful and wary can watch the light build: from flickers to pulses, from pulses to pools. Over several hours, silver mist fills rooms and corridors, varying from a thin veil to dense, obscuring fog. If you step into the mist, you'll feel a sense of displacement; of sound and color, energy and a shift of life. Ingress travel.

Except... not quite.

Shortly after entering the mist, you'll find yourself free of disorientation and apparently free of physical form, unable to interact with your surroundings. As a quasi-ghost, you've been transported to somewhere and somewhen—a location from the past, back on a world of someone’s origin or from any place you've been since first arriving through the Ingress. While these experiences can vary wildly, some things remain consistent:

The past matters: These visits to the past are not repeats of idle afternoons—each has emotional significance to someone currently on Avagi.
The past cannot be changed: As real as any given scenario seems, you're fundamentally incapable of altering it. The past event will play out as it did in real life and dissipate when it reaches an ending.
Trying has consequences: Attempting too hard to interfere increases the emotional significance, and will consequently draw onlookers further into the scene. You may find yourself anchored to any participant in the scene: first physically (experiencing the scene through their eyes) and then emotionally (experiencing their emotions and thoughts). If drawn in too deeply, you may lose track of your own nature during the experience, drowning in the sense of being someone else..
You are not alone: While immersed in a scene, you'll see nothing but the history playing out. However, at the its conclusion, the fog will once again displace the world around. As it melts away, you'll find themselves back in Avagi's halls—and face to face with whoever else was also viewing that piece of the past.

Present

Whether through one memory or several, eventually, the fog disperses. Only a faint mist remains, gathered in corners of the station's halls. It's simple enough to avoid, and nothing obstructs efforts to return to your rooms, your friends, or any other destination. Nothing, that is, except finding them.

The layout of the halls has shifted. The clutter you so painstakingly cleared is back. The GPS on your ACE mistakenly reports that you are floating off in space far outside the station, and any efforts to locate or call your companions results in glitchy static. Something is interfering with your calls—more effectively than the distance between worlds.

Inference and intuition are all you have to put together the pieces. The layout has changed, but the construction stayed the same. You're still on the former Ingress station. But not the same area that you called home. This is a different section of Avagi.

An inhabited one.

Dank, warm air pulses in and out of the vents in odd rhythms. Water damage stains the walls, and some seep dark liquid. There's an odd symphony in the distance: four notes, hummed to a pattern that buzzes in the back of your head. It's possible to wait it out. But if you do explore, you might come across your friends. And together, you might find the source.

Further in, a wall of flesh fills the pathways, rising and falling with intermittent, massive draws of air. A fluid wash of features glues it to the bulkheads. Claws and eyes, hands and faces: half-made bodies shifting in and out of recognition with each pulse of breath. And always with the same gold glow beneath the skin. It's a familiar shade, to those who witnessed Thisavrou's destruction.

It's the being who destroyed it.

Those who flee will escape her notice. Those who wait may watch in secret for a time. Mother's focus seems to be elsewhere...or, perhaps, something else is hiding your presence here from her.

Any attack on Mother's flesh shape, or any overt effort to draw her attention, will meet violent, immediate reprisal. You'll experience an immobilizing psychic force before the flesh consumes you. But whether you hide or fight or run, your time on this section of the station will end in the same way: a burst of brilliant, clear light providing transport back home.

Future

You flash back to reality amidst a burst of light—but this time, you recognize your surroundings. You have returned to the Avagi you know, and the silver mist that filled the halls has cleared.

Over the next few days, most of Avagi will settle back into a state of normalcy. The ACEs are working properly, and station residents will have all the time they need to compare notes on their experiences—and, perhaps, on any plans to act on what they've learned.

Avagi is not as empty as it seemed. And one place in particular will remain changed in the wake of the event. The Ingress Memorial, once inactive, has come to life, emitting a swirl of silver light that shifts and flickers, like the light of the portal it once contained. For the next five days, it will offer a vision to anyone approaching it: a single, brief scene from their potential future.

Players have the following options:

Canon future: Your character catches a glimpse of their future if they were to return from Avagi to their own world. This consists of a canon event.
Avagi future: Your character catches a glimpse of their own future on Avagi. This can be a short-term future (i.e. an actual vision of a future scene you plan to play out), or a potential longer-term one in which they stayed on Avagi for months or years.
Storm future: Your character catches a glimpse of themselves as a Mirtos—a desiccated husk and incarnation of the storm's hunger. As seen in Thisavrou's destruction, these creatures are carried by the storms and destroy all they come across.

The visions can observed by any present when the Memorial is approached. And while the past is fixed, the future is always capable of being altered. What will you do regarding yours?

[OOC: Check out the OOC post for more information!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You did mention the spiders.

[The sight itself is not what alarmed them. It was the finality of his judgment - his selection in the process. Was his own self not an option? Did that not fly in the face of his every action here and now?]

[Or are those actions what he considers penance for such an act?]

I would have expected you to select yourself.

[He looks down and goes very quiet. It takes him long moments to respond, but when he does, it's maybe the most forthright he's ever been when speaking with Chara.

Don't you feel lucky.]

I could tell you that I knew what I had to do was too important. That staying behind myself would have been irresponsible, and meant putting countless other lives in danger.

[He doesn't finish the thought. It's implied just as well the way it is: and that would be bullshit.]

A better person might have.

I was not commenting on the quality of your character, sir; merely your penchant for self-sacrifice.

[After all: it takes one to know one.]

There are times where not all can be saved. That is the sort of guilt we all carry. Very few will judge us as well as we judge ourselves.
[Very few. But there are...exceptions. Are there not? Even if those exceptions have dithered away, in their own flash-and-fade of swelling and then discarded memory. A shame, in some ways. A relief, in others.]

[His mouth quirks upward. He's ignoring the second thought entirely; he's not ready to be a part of a conversation where Chara is reassuring him.]

Perhaps I'm making up for lost time.

[They live with what might be a record number of self-sacrificial martyrs with savior complexes the size of the moon to all be in the same living space at one time. Is he really surprised that they've picked up a thing or two?]

At this point, I would venture that you're paying it forward.

[That's almost funny. Do they think that was the only time he'd directed someone to die for his own benefit?]

I'm not really sure that's possible.

[Were they asking about what it is he is sure of? No. No, they were not.]

You're doing an excellent impression of someone who believes that it is.

[He can't say what he's really thinking, that "sacrifice" implies the loss of something valuable, and therefore it isn't possible for him to sacrifice himself. He knows how it will be received, because everyone has value, everyone deserves to live, meant in a generic sense by people who don't know him or what he's done.

Though, of anyone, Chara is the least likely to give him pity. There is something about that that Lavellan appreciates. But he's just tired of defending what he knows to be fact to people who won't see reason.]

Why does it matter to you if I do?

[Perhaps they deserve that question. He doesn't remember them, after all. He doesn't remember, as far as they can recall, much of anything about them, because he saw fit to wipe that all away. Score it from his memory, the way so many others did. Look at them, being what they are.]

[* Forgettable.]

It mattered once.

[They will not presume that it continues to matter new.]

Is your memory still what it was, last I checked?

[He finally turns to meet their gaze directly, blank-faced and nonplussed.]

It's... returned. Mostly, I think. As far as I know.

[It could be a weak attempt at a joke, because ha ha, how is he supposed to know what he's forgotten if he can't remember it? But he finds himself caught on the first thing Chara said.]

What do you mean, it mattered once?

[As far as he knows? Well, pardon them for not taking him at his word. It's not the most reliable thing, these days. How do you know how much memory you have lost, after all, if you've lost it?]

...never mind. I'm sure that, on the off chance that it actually did, it certainly doesn't any longer.

['Tis the season to Tsun Harder, apparently.]

[Lavellan makes an annoyed noise at the back of his throat. Cassandra would be proud.]

Chara, I told you, I've remembered most everything. It's just some of the finer details I'm still unsure of.

[He almost stops there.]

I still don't know what you're talking about.

[What? They're not about to admit that they care about him or anything. That would be absurd, and also incorrect, and also you'll never take them alive.]

[They switch gears with an annoyance that they hope sounds as genuine as it feels.]

Nothing, save for that your persistent ability to blame yourself and then proceed to take matters into your own hands as in compensation has the annoying tendency of making things much worse for everyone, yourself included, as opposed to making things simpler or fixing them as you seem to hope they would.

[He closes his eyes. Breathes. Reflects on his conversation with Shepard, just a few days prior.

Chara might be forgiven for assuming the conversation over. When he speaks again, it's almost too quiet to be heard.]

I never asked anyone to care.

[Because that's the only reason his penchant for self-destruction would be a problem, isn't it?]

No one asked you to care, either.

[But they both know it is far from that simple, now, is it? One is seldom asked to care. One is seldom incentivized in the conventional fashion, the way one might broker a trade of services. One does not even correctly realize, at times, that they've even begun to care until the notion of living without something strikes them as fiercely as any physical blow.]

[Something. Or someone.]

Yes they did.

[It's not the same thing at all, but he can't help his mind from straying there. It's almost as if, now that the shell has been cracked, he has no ability anymore to stop all these old resentments from bubbling over. And there is so much he's come to resent.]

The world was ending and they told me to fix it. Everyone in the world was looking to me and I had to care, because it was me or nobody.

And now I guess I can't turn that off.

[What a familiar story.]

[Only instead of a small human child, forced to make sacrifices they did not wish to make, it is a man who was only slightly better at pretending that the burden did not weigh so heavily upon his shoulders - so heavily as to be unbearable.]

It is not a personal failure on your part, that suffering exists in the world.

Isn't it?

[For maybe the first time in the entire conversation, he raises his eyes to meet theirs, unblinking.]

They actually thought I was divine, you know? That I was chosen by Andraste Herself, and they expected me to make miracles. That I didn't--isn't that a failure?

[There's no guile, no sarcasm in his voice; he's almost painfully sincere, if such a thing can be. He's actually looking for a real answer.]

[Oh, for the love of - ]

Small wonder that you and Frisk get along as you do. You have so much in common.

[This thing that they both do. Taking personal responsibility for the state of the entire world. Enduring the impossible, unendurable weight of everyone's sins, everyone's lives, everyone's suffering. Good thing that Chara is completely and totally above this kind of behavior, and definitely isn't guilty of the exact same shitto.]

[If Chara's words are taken with the derision they're meant, Lavellan certainly doesn't show it.]

What was I supposed to do? Walk away?

I have to assume that you are at least aware of the possibility that there are more than two options in nearly every given situation; that people are not divided solely into saviors and bystanders, and that an inability to help does not translate into personal fault.

[WOW GOOD THING CHARA IS SUPER NOT SUSCEPTIBLE TO THIS HMMMMMMMM]

Frisk is a child. What’s your excuse?

[He looks at Chara, finally. He's almost appalled that they were seriously suggesting it would have been acceptable to do less.

But then, they don't know, do they? He's hardly told anyone. They don't know.]

It had to be me. I was the only one with the power to fix things. [He rubs the palm of his left hand with the thumb of his right, apparently unconscious of it.]

It was me or nobody. I was hand-picked by a god I don't believe in to save the world. That's what they all said.

[Though, in reality, it was an accident, caused by a different god he didn't believe in from the one everyone had thought. Knowing that doesn't make it any easier to sleep at night.]

[What a familiar sentiment. It has to be me. I was chosen. I have a special power, so is it not my responsibility to do the right thing? Easier said, by far, commented upon by an external observer, than done. They know that well. They have lived it.]

And those same rules apply here. Is that it?

[What are they even talking about anymore? Memory? Philosophy? Everything? Does it matter, in the abstract?]

Better me than anyone else, if it comes to it.

[He finally shores up; his voice manages to sound focused. Bitter in that, but focused.]

I'll say it again, I don't understand why you would care. And I do remember now--

[Then he trails off, and for a moment it might seem like he's done. But he can't leave it there. Even with the history between them. Or especially.]

I'm--sorry. [Though he's not quite sure what he's apologizing for.]

[He doesn't understand why they would care? Well, congratulations - that makes two of them! They don't understand either. Especially because he adds that little aside, the fact that he remembers, and there's a moment where their gaze breaks away and they cannot look at him for fear of what they might inadvertently communicate by doing so.]

[So they look away.]

I don't...care. It's the principle of it. That's all.

[Very convincing.]

...

When did that happen?

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