etrayamemes | TDM 003

Entry tags:

!tdm

TDM 003

⏵ arrival ⏴

NOTES\WARNINGS: Space horror, existential horror, clown horror, potential graphic violence & psychological trauma. Please add additional warnings as needed within threads.

Your arrival does not go as anticipated.

While most Etrayans wake up in the hospital, you find yourself somewhere else entirely. Not within the city bubble, not on the planet, but in a desolate room aboard a space station. There’s an endless mechanical whirring that can be heard from anywhere from just behind the walls, although the cause of the noise itself is difficult to discern.

Instead of Aurora’s voice telling you of your situation, you are greeted by a man running past the sliding door of your room, opening it, and potentially a couple of others along the hallway. He stops just at the edge of the hallway, a hesitant smile on his lips as he raises a hand to the back of his hair.

"Hey! Sorry about the uh–unexpected vacation? Trip? You can call me Alex, I’m one of the hands here aboard the Titan Eight. I’m sure you’ve noticed, but you don’t really belong here. Aaaaand neither do we! Haha, so at least we’ve got that in common. Right? We’re uh, stuck in the gravitational pull of a black hole of some sort and haven’t found a way out yet, and we keep getting random people pulled aboard." His hand smacks the wall next to him, and it opens up - revealing small handheld communication devices lined up behind it. "As you can probably tell, we’re getting used to it. Anyway. Feel free to take one of these, and read up a bit on the ship if you want. There’s a map, you were given a translator—" With a hand dropping to his collar, where a small button rests, "soon as we found you down below. Didn’t want you waking up and freaking out, did we? Just don’t break anything, please? Or don’t break it worse than it is. If this thing gets a big enough hole in it, or we run out of oxygen, or it, gods forbid, explodes, we’re all dead. I’ve got a thing I’m on the way to, but our AI, Aria, can lend you a hand with whatever. Just click her little icon on the comm. She's a bit basic, but she gets the job done."

With a little salute, Alex turns himself around to run further down the hallway, leaving new arrivals to themselves and their little communicators.

Looks like we’re not on Etraya anymore, Toto.

For new arrivals, they will find themselves waking up in the sleeping quarters of Titan Eight, a space station that has found itself trapped just outside of what looks like it must be a black hole. The station is running low on supplies, but it has been for a very, very long time. Or at least, the crew seems to think it has. They’ll say they have two weeks' worth of supplies left for those currently on board, except every time they go back to their supplies, it’s still two weeks left regardless of the amount of time it’s been since they’ve last checked it. Even the crew seems to think it’s odd, looking at one another in confusion every time they’re counting their stock only to realize that it’s still drastically low but never too low. How long have they been here? Years, some seem to think. There are numerous children on board, some as young as nine, but no one on board is aging either. They have tried to track how much time has passed before, but it seems they’ve never been able to track it successfully. Journal entries all carry the same date even as crew members try to mark them differently — marks made on the ship and on bodies fade after midnight as if they had never been there to begin with.

This is where the mission, and Etrayans comes in: remove the space station from the black hole’s gravitational pull. There are no further instructions, no limitations on how to accomplish this, and they are not given a time frame. Newcomers will not have this mission information on hand until someone who has stepped foot on Etraya proper can inform them. All of those who drop onto the ship were originally meant to be brought to Etraya and similar city bubbles, but the same pull that keeps the ship by the black hole seems to be preventing whatever method Echo and Aurora are using to get people to Etraya and is instead pulling them here.

Titan Eight is not just an average space station. It was built by residents of Caerys 2, and used to serve as a vacation home for those who can afford the luxury rooms in the fourth quadrant. The first quadrant houses a carnival of sorts, the second hosts numerous vendors, and the third is where the crew, and unexpected guests, can be found during their off time. The fourth quadrant houses some of this galaxy's richest families. A mother and her two sons walk through the hallways, carrying umbrellas despite there being no natural light on board, but a closer look at them might explain it: they're so pale, their skin looks clear, dark black veins visible through skin. Their sclera are black, and their 'hair' isn't hair but long black feathers. Numerous guests aboard the ship don't appear to be human; rather, species' of all kinds. An engineer is more dragon than anything else: his long body extends throughout the engine facility, taking up a significant amount of space, but given the dragon himself seems to be leading all efforts to keep the ship running, everyone else tries to work around him.

⏵ whirlwind whimsy ⏴
During the daytime, Titan Eight is fun.

Numerous rides are strewn about the wide open area: a massive carousel, ferris wheel, bumper cars, and various others. A seer will offer to tell your future, and performers gather in the big top, showing off their ability to bend themselves into unnatural shapes, or their lack of fear as they balance on thin wire high above the ground without a net to catch them, should they fall.

One popular ride is the Tunnel of Love: a small boat that only fits two and steers itself through a tunnel that goes under the carousel. Soft, serene tunes play as various images play over the tunnel walls. While those who have been aboard Titan Eight for a significant period will likely see hearts, short videos of people holding hands, watching the sunset while swinging together - it's not the same for those displaced onto the space station.

Instead, they'll see doorways into other worlds: an underwater city full of humanoid beings, a city bubble that looks like a small suburban area, a city built out of trees, or perhaps their own worlds: images of what they may be missing out on, or what could be.

The House of Mirrors is also popular: a carnival worker will tell those passing by that it shows you other versions of yourself - who you could be, what you might become, who you once were, or the person you wish you were. Rumor has it the mirrors will whisper to you, telling you what you can do to avoid certain outcomes, or how to achieve others.

There are also numerous carnival games set up: Balloon Darts, Ring Toss, Rifle Ranges - anything you could imagine at a carnival is set up somewhere. And given this is meant to be a luxury ship, everything is free of charge.

⏵ midnight entertainment ⏴

Titan Eight being stuck in the pull of the black hole doesn't seem to be the only problem.

When the clocks onboard read 0000 hours, everything shifts. The fun carnival feels eerie. Children's laughter can be heard bouncing off the walls — sometimes sounding bright and cheerful; other times sounding downright sinister. Crew members and carnival workers suggest staying out of the first quadrant. After 2230 hours, they exit their workstations and find other spaces to hunker down in for the night.

No one wants to be around when the excessively tall clown walks out of the House of Mirrors, dragging other clowns of various shapes and sizes right through the mirrors themselves. Carnival workers will explain they have tried breaking the mirrors but given how the ship resets at midnight, attempts to destroy everything have proved futile. The clowns themselves are odd. The tallest one has a smile filled with blood and a laugh that sounds like it belongs to a young child rather than the creature it is. It carries around a bloodied carving knife but doesn't reach for anyone who goes near it.

Some clowns cry and sob, ripping fingernails from their nailbeds as they claw at the door leading into the central hub. Others laugh and scream, wandering around the open carnival area to cause damage wherever possible. Some hurt each other, or the other creatures wandering the carnival area. Most of them will attack on sight. During the nighttime hours, this is their area.

And yet many remain around the House of Mirrors, guarding it, as if there is something inside of it that they must protect. Getting past them is near impossible: when one clown falls, two more rise out of the mirrors. When the mirrors are destroyed, the tall clown drags its hands against the broken pieces of glass, helping it to reform.

By 0500 hours, the clowns have made their way back into the mirrors, taking along with them whatever they had been so protective of.

⏵ toucan play that game ⏴
While the fourth quadrant is generally reserved for guests who can afford to pay for the space and the staff who manage it, with the station stuck, they've opted to open the area to allow others to come and go during the day.

In the center is a massive aviary, filled with birds of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Some of them have no feathers yet still manage to fly, some look as if they should have gone extinct thousands of years ago, and others are - completely unidentifiable, alien. Most of them are peaceful.

But not all of them. Off in the far Southwest corner is a bird with three eyes, a long black tail, and a beak full of massive teeth. While it will not attack others, it will open its beak and speak in a voice that mimics one familiar to those wandering past it: a friend, a sibling, or someone who had long since passed, and says the last thing they remember that person saying to them, repeating it over and over again as long as they stay close to it.

Outside of the aviary, there are exercise facilities, sunning rooms, a massive swimming pool and hot tub, areas for pets to rest and play with one another, and a large ballroom where dances are thrown once weekly. Residents dress up in their best gowns and suits, don masks, and dance away the stress of their situation. Staff and displaced are invited to join, although staff are encouraged to come to every other dance, so there are still enough to man the ballroom.

⏵ current player notes ⏴

Aurora approaches those currently stationed on Etraya individually, informing them of the mission at hand. She tells them that she is capable of releasing them much in the same way Echo originally pulled them onto the planet, but with a 'tether' still attached to keep them from getting lost too long. Time does not function the same way on the ship as it does on the planet; she suspects their time being on the ship won't register as any time at all to those remaining on Etraya, and that when they are pulled back, it will likely be as if they never left to begin with.

Current characters are not pulled to Titan Eight during missions happening in game but in the downtime between them.

Small rescue ships are docked at the Southeastern island, and she will send individuals off a few at a time. The ships will pass through the barrier without issue, but won't travel far at all outside of Etraya before they blip out of existence, and reappear in Titan Eight's orbit. They will also get a friendly introduction speech from Alex, and a ship communicator for any network-related needs while aboard Titan Eight! Earpieces will not work aboard the ship.

When characters are pulled back, it will not be on rescue ships. Instead, they will find themselves suddenly dissipating at midnight, as the rest of the changes aboard the ship shift back to how they had been originally. The rescue ships disappear at midnight, along with the player characters.

⏵ NOTES ⏴
This TDM covers June to September.

The TDM is game canon, meaning everything happening above is occurring within the game properly, and threads can be kept as game canon even if a character does not app.

Time does not function the same on Titan Eight as on Etraya! Characters can be brought onto Titan Eight at any time and stationed there long before any of the Etrayans arrive to assist.

For any questions relating to the contents of this log, please reply to our mod queries comment. All other questions can be directed to the FAQ.

This is going to be an ongoing plot, which characters are welcome to try and solve, even if they aren't yet in the game!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"In a way, I suppose. I'm a cleric." An explanation of which god she serves will also have to wait a few days. Or a few years.

"No celestial blood myself, I'm afraid, if that's what you're getting at. I can use divine magic, but I haven't got wings and I'm not immortal."

The term cleric clearly doesn't mean much to her, except in the sense of clergy. She whistles softly.

"Sure, all right. How'd you swing that? I can do a few rites under the circumstances, but God's never given me the keys to a pillar of fire."

"Luck," is the brusque response. Ill luck, that she fell into Shar's grasp. Perhaps good luck, to have escaped. Or, depending on whom one might ask... "Or fate."

Either way, nothing she wants to discuss, so she pivots with all the social grace of a brick, bluntly making the first unrelated suggestion that pops into her head. "Since these clowns have yet to find us, perhaps we should go looking for them."

Even clowns are preferable to divulging personal information.

Huh. Being no stranger to diverting conversation when personal shit comes into play, Johanna can recognize game in someone else who's avoiding something. She'll just tuck that away in her mental notes.

"I think we've got a bit of time yet before they show up." She glances around, though. The carnival has certainly emptied out. "I think they come out of the house of mirrors. Do you want to go beard the lion in its den?"

"It may be unwise to attack them in their own lair. I suggest we lure them out, or at least scout the place before we go barrelling in." She's no strategist, but blundering along, weapons drawn, into an unknown place full of monsters is... stupid, but exactly the sort of thing her friends do every day. It's truly miraculous they've all lived as long as they have.

"I suppose if we'll be working together, we ought to know each others' names. I'm Shadowheart."

Johanna grins. Alliance with pretty armed girl achieved!

"Scouting suits me."

She looks the other woman over, and then decides to offer a hand to shake; worst that can happen is the gesture is meaningless, she figures.

"Constantine. Pleasure to meet you, Shadowheart."

Shadowheart recognizes the gesture of clasping hands in allyship, though she herself has so rarely encountered the offering of such a gesture that she's almost taken aback. She composes herself quickly enough, though, and grips Constantine's wrist for a moment – not shaking – before dropping her hand.

"Pleasure." Echoed in the most no-nonsense tone she can muster, for lack of knowing how else to handle this unusual social situation.

"Come on, then. Let's see if you're as bold with your improvisations as you are with your flirting."

The wrist-clasp throws Johanna for a moment -- it's very Roman -- but she recovers quickly and returns it before Shadowheart lets go.

"I had better be, hadn't I?" she says with a grin, and starts leading the way around the Hall of Mirrors, keeping a reasonable distance from the building itself. The quadrant has emptied of all but the foolhardy adventurers like themselves, and for a few minutes, at least, things seem calm. Empty.

"Can you feel anything?" Constantine asks after a few minutes, very quiet, as they circle the hall. "Does your magic let you do that?"

There's that self-assurance again.

"That sort of attitude is quite a boon in situations that require more nerve than brains." And are often a hindrance in others. "I'll have to keep an eye on you, lest that confidence of yours get you into a situation you can't get yourself out of."

She glances around as they traverse the area, taking in the unnervingly quiet circus, listening for the sort of nightmarish laughter she would expect from a clown.

Nothing.

It truly is eerie.

"Speaking of which, while sense clowns is, unfortunately, not in my repertoire, I can offer a protection spell. If you like." Something to keep Constantine alive should she do anything amazingly foolish.

Constantine gives her an interested look, sidelong. (And squashes the pang of memory of the last time she did a protection spell. Such as it was. No point in thinking about Reno. And probably not a good time or place to think about sex magic.)

"What kind of protection spell? Covers a wealth of sins, don't it."

"A one-time reprieve, as it were. A spell that can turn one fatal blow into a grievous injury."

Hopefully battling clowns won't result in anyone's death or near-death, but healing even grievous injuries is always preferable to reviving someone from the dead.

Her interested look suddenly becomes a lot sharper -- not just curious, but focused, intent.

"How does it work? Is there a rite?"

The change in attitude is noted, and Shadowheart's eyes narrow, wondering what about this spell – not terribly remarkable, even if one must be relatively powerful to cast it – has piqued Constantine's interest so.

"I touch you and say the words. It takes all of a few seconds. It's a spell, no different to any other."

"That's all it takes to prevent death? Even just once, that's--"

She cuts off, shaking her head. Far be it from her to admit to being outclassed, but this cleric is definitely out of her league.

"I'll take it. Does it only work beforehand? Or if, say, someone got their guts pulled out by a monster, could you do it then?"

"As long as I cast it on you before you actually die, it should work. Though if you want me to touch you, there's no need to wait until your guts are spilling out."

If her little smirk is suggestive, her tone is even moreso. Yes, it's a bad idea, but what can she say? The flirting is a little fun.

She lays a hand on Constantine's shoulder and murmurs the words of the spell: quod dico face. Gold light swirls around her, the holy symbol of Selûne – a pair of eyes surrounded by seven stars – burns itself into the air between them, and she channels the light into Constantine before it, and the holy symbol, dissipate.

"There you go. Death ward, as easy as that." She flicks an imaginary speck of dust off Constantine' shoulder before withdrawing her hand. In her head, the gesture is elegant and charming; in reality, it's just sort of awkward.

Thank you, yes, flirting is fun and she's glad Shadowheart is getting into it. But she's also distracted by the light show, the gold glitter reflecting in her eyes. Under her coat, she can feel the prickle of gooseflesh as the spell settles around her, though she's not sure if she's actually feeling the magic in some way or just reacting to the idea of it.

Imagine if she could have done this for Nails, in the City. Imagine if she could've cast a spell like this for Chas, when they were both sitting in that Stokely body farm.

"Easy as that," she echoes in a murmur. "Christ, I need to start praying more."

Mmm. Nice thought, but. Not going to happen.

Shadowheart brushing at her shoulder in a not-actually-smooth way breaks her train of thought. Constantine glances down at Shadowheart's hand, then up at her face with an amused smirk.

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. You are a--"

Whatever commentary she's about to make about Shadowheart is cut off, though, by the sound of a door slamming open, somewhere over by Hall of Mirrors. Constantine's head jerks that way, and she grabs Shadowheart by the arm to tow them both behind a nearby stall.

She's curious how Constantine was going to finish that sentence, but there's no time to be too curious. All too fast, she's being yanked behind a stall, a vantage point from which she peers out to witness a truly nightmarish sight.

A tall, lanky clown, bloodied knife in hand and blood dripping from his teeth, leads a gaggle of other clowns, all horrific in their own right. Their cackles and giggles begin to fill the carnival as a few meander away from the Hall of Mirrors.

"I hate clowns," she mutters under her breath. To Constantine, she whispers, "If we can get them to bunch up, I can handle a fair few of them. Assuming they're not immune to fire."

"Most things burn if you get 'em hot enough," Constantine mutters in turn.

"Fuck. I want to get inside that place, see where they're coming from, but ..."

But there are a lot of them, and it isn't clear that there's a finite number. If there is, though, drawing a number of them away would be a good start. Constantine drums her fingers against the pocket of her coat, considering what she has on hand and what might work to distract them.

"How close do you need to be for the pillar of fire bit?"

"I wouldn't put it past a clown to be magically fireproofed," she mutters darkly. "Especially ones that look as though they've just wandered out of the Hells themselves."

There isn't an obvious clear path into the Hall of Mirrors; if Constantine wants in, they'll have to create one hell of a distraction, or become very stealthy.

"About eighteen metres should do it." She reaches a hand out to touch Constantine's shoulder again. "And if you want to get in there, I can offer you a little something for that."

It isn't as flashy as magic, merely a whisper of darkness surrounding her, and then drawing itself around Constantine as she gives her blessing of the trickster.

"That will draw the shadows to you. Help you stay hidden."

She looks down in surprise at Shadowheart's touch, and then flashes her a grin, bright and sharp as a switchblade.

"If you keep touching me to cast spells on me," she murmurs, "I'm going to start thinking you want me to do risky things."

johanna pls

Oh, that smile. Enticing, yet offered at the exact wrong moment to be enticed. It's the sort of smile that fools smile just before dying of their own recklessness.

"Perhaps. When our lives aren't in immediate danger from the nightmare circus."

She nods towards the cluster of clowns. "I'll mount a distraction while you sneak past them."

"Ta very much, luv."

She gives Shadowheart a wink, and then slips away into the rows of stalls and booths, her white trench coat curiously dull in the dim light as the shadows follow her.

And thank goodness for that ~~advantage~~ blessing. Constantine pauses by a display of game prizes: a rack of toy swords, the kind with blunted ends to prevent poking out your eyes and lightweight metal that will probably dent as soon as a kid whacks their sibling with it. Her shoulder bumps the hilt of one as she leans out to eye the roving clowns and knocks it off the rack. She grabs it reflexively, just in time to keep it from clattering to the ground and revealing her.

Okay. Terrifying. This whole sneaking around thing is a lot harder when the stakes are death. She grips the sword for a few seconds, waiting for her heart to stop pounding, and then continues her careful approach towards the Hall of Mirrors with the toy still clutched in her hand.

There are still more clowns milling around it than she'd like. What's Shadowheart going to do to distract them?

As Constantine slips off into the shadows of the closed circus, Shadowheart follows suit, albeit in the other direction. She circles around in front of the Hall of Mirrors, facing the door head-on.

Gods, is she really doing this?

Apparently so, because the next thing she does is step from behind cover and draw her hand through the Weave. Red-gold light swirls around her, her eyes blaze with it as she flings her hand into the air and shouts Torrē! No clown in the entire circus could possibly miss her.

And then she flings her hand towards the clowns grouped up in front of the entrance, and the massive pillar of fire and divine light of flame strike blazes down on them. The screeches and scent of burning flesh is unpleasant, but she's sure the retribution will be even moreso, which is why she takes off running shortly after.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

TDM 003

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time to make up a dex score annnnd roll a 15 and a 4, +2

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