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ximilialog2022-03-05 10:57 am
- ! event log,
- altered carbon: takeshi kovacs,
- chainsaw man: aki hayakawa,
- critical role: percy de rolo,
- dctv: zar tarazi,
- digimon adventure: yamato ishida,
- doctor who: clara oswald,
- doctor who: river song,
- doctor who: the doctor (11),
- fear street: ziggy berman,
- grishaverse: the darkling,
- gundam seed/destiny: yzak jule,
- knives out: marta cabrera,
- marvel comics: gwen stacy,
- mass effect: kaidan alenko,
- mcu: sam wilson,
- mcu: shang-chi,
- mcu: yelena belova,
- one piece: rosinante donquixote,
- pacific rim: newton geiszler,
- pacific rim: raleigh becket,
- star trek aos: james t. kirk,
- supernatural: dean winchester,
- the 100: clarke griffin,
- the old guard: andromache,
- the untamed: jiang yanli,
- the untamed: lan xichen,
- the untamed: wei wuxian,
- the witcher: yennefer of vengerberg,
- towards the terra: soldier blue,
- transformers: drift,
- transformers: megatron,
- twisted wonderland: deuce spade,
- yakuza: zhao tianyou
MISSION: UPSTAIRS, DOWNSTAIRS, PART 1
● ● ● M I S S I O N 5 . 1
Perhaps the two weeks of rest on station has been enough to bring distance to the events on Badrock — whether it has or not, though, the earpieces once again ping with new information, encouraging you to read the file titled Giva.
Shortly after, Viveca’s voice follows.
This time, as you prepare, it will be with a sense of uncertainty: not really knowing which side you’ll end up on, or who you will end up with. All you can do is give your closest teammates a 'just-in-case' goodbye, and take whatever you think will be useful on your journeys: clothes, weapons, rations, perhaps some of the supply packs your teammates have put together for everyone.
The following evening, as you gather to the teleportation room, Viveca is there waiting.
She smiles a little as the machine hums to life. The lights grow brighter and brighter as you feel the tug of another planet calling —
But something is different. Right as you’re pulled away, you hear Viveca, her tone sharp and surprised:
And as it cuts off and you wait in anticipation to hear the usual echoing voices of the orb giving you the goal … it comes out unusual: distorted for some, a whisper for others, or maybe you start to hear one goal before the voices shift it to another.
As always, you'll have no chance to respond or the time to even consider what might be wrong, before you wake up elsewhere.
You open your eyes to a beautiful warm light that seems to wrap you in its glow, any unwanted blemish faded from your body, every hair kept in its perfect place. Your clothing looks as immaculate as the day you’d acquired it, not a wrinkle, not a stain, not a thread out of place. If you look around at your surroundings, you’ll learn that you’re in a grand open hall of some kind, plush light-blue carpet beneath your feet, and a winding double staircase ahead of you, leading to rooms and halls beyond your imagining.
A pleasant breeze flows through the lengthy corridor, through rows of polished stone columns and past your skin, bringing with it the faintest floral fragrance from the perfectly kempt gardens just past this interior space. You’re standing with about half of your fellow orbers, all of you looking like the picture-perfect version of yourself — but around you are others, too, faces you don’t recognize. Take a moment to reorient yourself because the tap-tap-tap of very efficient footsteps will interrupt you in moments, breaking the otherwise tranquil silence you’ve experienced so far.
A figure appears to greet you, her golden hair cropped short except where it sweeps to one side of her face, revealing a mask that conceals her eyes. Pointed ears show off her piercings — a set of simple, small golden hoops — and a pair of curling dark horns rimmed with gold seem to match her hair. Her clothing is unusual to most of the orbers, but even so, it contrasts against the stark white of this space quite harshly. She wears dark crimson armour lined also in gold, with what looks like an elaborate half-ring shoulder-guard that half-rests partially at her shoulders, and half-hovers in the air. And though she appears to have little to no vision with her eyeless mask, she clearly has no problem finding you.
Her voice is soft, but her words are careful and deliberate and they have the effect of commanding a room.
The rooms around you will be free for you to roam and include any manner of indulgence and delight which you so fully deserve for the vigilance you have proved during your life in Giva. You have earned your place here, as is only right for devoting your loyalty to the Highest One, and nothing you do now will be regarded as sin.
If you require assistance at any point, you might call upon Oh’ryst. Ruvilor will also guide you through the numerous rooms and delights that await you.
She lifts a hand towards the double staircase and nods. Two figures emerge, cloaked in the same dark red-and-gold armour, but it is clear now the purpose of the half-ring at their shoulders — the same elaborate design forms a helmet that conceals both Oh’ryst and Ruvilor’s faces from view. They each have weapons hanging at their belts and a slender staff in one hand. The only way, it seems, to tell them apart, is by the length of their hair: Oh’ryst’s hair is long and silver beneath their helmet, and Ruvilor’s hair is fully concealed in his.
It will take a few moments to adjust to the red light that seems to fill your vision when you open your eyes, and you feel as though you’d been squeezed through an alley too narrow for the width of your body, answering the call of a higher-pitched voice. You spill out into a small dark-stoned square along with about half of your fellow orbers and others you don’t recognise, and look at your surroundings: a cluster of dilapidated buildings seem to close in on you, its effects are almost suffocating, and there is never quite enough light to fully illuminate anything you see.
Beneath your feet the ground eternally glistens with the moisture of a city that has just been rained on, which might seem like an unimportant observation — except that you’ll learn this place has never actually seen rain. As you look up, you’ll find that it’s difficult to make out the limits of this place, and how much further the buildings go; how large this city really is. There is the sound of chatter and the echo of bustling activity in the streets and the alleys, like nothing here ever really rests.
Lamps overhead glow with red light and a figure steps past the shadow and into the light, three bright blue eyes blinking in your direction, one half-closed against his forehead. Against the red and black of this dense city, the figure’s eyes seem strangely alien and he turns his horned-head towards you to speak with that high pitch from earlier, waving his clawed hands to beckon you closer.
From within or behind the building nearest V’rizz (it’s hard to tell from here) someone begins to wail.
V’rizz immediately blinks his large, blue-light eyes and clears his throat, the feather collar of his jacket bristling slightly but his jittery energy seems to make one thing clear: he is just as comfortable to be standing here as you are.
Left to your own devices, you and your fellow orbers now have ample time to explore your surroundings. Taeum, you learn, is a realm made up of an endless building with unlimited rooms of all imaginings. Every floor features sheer curtains flowing in a fragrant breeze, and just past the corridor is a garden of colourful flowers and a fountain filling the airy space with the sound of trickling water. It’s easy to close your eyes and feel soothed by your surroundings; it’s nicer still knowing that your perfect room is just beyond one of these doors. Perhaps Angrial's words will echo in your ears: nothing you do here will be considered sin. It’s time to see what lies in store for you.
1.0 Long corridors lead to numerous doors, and therefore: an abundance of choices. Choose the door closest to you and you might find yourself stepping onto cleanly cut lawn and the perfect nuclear suburban neighbourhood. Otherwise, a door might lead you to a grand dining hall filled with food and drink and decor fit for royalty. There are doors for extravagant gardens, perfect lush fairytale-like forests, for stimulating bustling cities, a quiet bedroom with the highest threadcount sheets and pillows and the perfect night sky behind the bed; a room to watch the (unfamiliar, but absolutely breathtaking) stars; rooms full of kitten or puppy-like creatures. A wide, long-winding staircase leads to the next floor and then the next, a pitcher of water and glasses waiting for you at a small wall-table capping off the corridor for those moments in between. There are doors upon doors open to rooms of any imagining, with no door locked to you. Why not keep going until you find something to keep you?
2.0 Of course, not every room will be so idyllic and pure. As every inhabitant of Taeum is regarded as above sin, they are free to do what they want and feel nothing but delight and pleasure. Find a group of other Taeum inhabitants putting on acts in a room where the world looks dark and desolate, lit by a dim glow of red. Figures engage in the most peculiar acts, willingly clothed in tatters and rags, the hems torn from their shirts, play-acting as though they have nothing, and laughing amongst themselves. If such a room does not appeal, find another room on another floor where Taeum inhabitants have amassed a large amount of narcotics, hallucinogens, stimulants, and depressants, and seem to be sitting around in a room set up like a lounge, draped over seating. Many look lethargic but complacent, and no one so much as looks up when you enter. Feel free to join them if it’s what you desire — there’s plenty of space and empty couches around the room to claim as your own.
And you’ll find that among the rooms for meditation and rest, and admiring beauty and splendor, there are rooms dedicated to war and bloodshed, for sex and debauchery, proof that there really is something for everyone.
3.0 If you take Angrial’s words to heart or you’re curious to learn more about the military faction in Taeum, Ruvilor will have provided you with directions to the military wing earlier. Go on your own or find a fellow orber to enter the wing with, but you’ll be offered free entry past the first set of doors. The bright and open space sees plenty of light but immediately feels intimidating and severe, like walking into a highly efficient administrative office. A small set of steps will lead you towards a pair of locked doors but you might sneak a glimpse through the windows. This is clearly a room for council, with maps draped over tables, little pins marking off specific locations.
Oh’ryst, if spoken to, is happy to put you through some tests while you're here. There is a room full of weapons with minds of their own, attacking you one by one; a room where the military trains, directing you into the middle to a ring to battle other would-be soldiers in a round of one-on-one combat; a room with a single table, and on it a large map and an equally long scroll full of scenarios for the more tactical-minded to make decisions and prove they can commandeer troops and formulate strategies that will win not only the battle, but the war.
If you complete these tests, you will be admitted to the Host of High Home — another wing of the building that is Taeum solely dedicated to the Art of War. Here you will be given your first set of armor, red and gold made just for you, and be told to report to training for at least five days of the week.
While the streets and buildings might seem claustrophobic, easy enough to assume that this is all there is to see of Sedorum, you’ll quickly find that while the city is knit tightly, it is still incredibly vast and it functions like any city might: there are residences, shops, restaurants and businesses (mostly privately owned), as well as entertainment venues, which include a copious amount of alcohol, hallucinogens and stimulants, as well as opportunities for gambling. Under the red glow that gives Sedorum its nickname, you might as well begin exploring the Red City.
4.0 If you decide to explore the retail and financial sectors of the city, you’ll be met with several microshops set up within the crumbling architecture of the buildings that house them. People in ragged clothing sidle up as you near their wares, looking for new customers to dupe. Most of the items will seem old and worse for wear, as though they’ve been at this song and dance for years without change. Some shops might feature slightly newer items, brought to them through some dealings with Giva, perhaps, or some magic unknown. Fine china with slight nicks at the lip, a beautiful wedding dress long abandoned, a set of old spoons, or an antique doll with matted blonde hair — it isn’t all pretty. Suspicious eyes will watch you as you pass them, some might even swipe at you, looking for a purse to snatch, or a wallet to pilfer if you’re left unattended for long.
If you’re an enterprising individual, you may look at the shops and think: great, an opportunity. Indeed, if you’ve arrived armed with items you’re willing to part with, all you need to do is find a space large enough to set up a shop of your own, a little cart to fill with things from the station or the planets you’ve been to, and try and make some money off of them.
5.0 Or perhaps, if you’re not looking to make a profit, you’ll pay attention to the souls on the streets: how, if you listen carefully, you’ll find many to be whispering the same things:
But what? At the end of the day, everything in Sedorum remains the same — you’ll find some of the souls turning away as a loudly laughing group beats up someone in their middle; two gangs having a bloody fight in the middle of the Square, uncaring if who they strike is their opponent or an unfortunate passer-by; a young woman crying in front of her stall as all her wares have been smashed to pieces. In Sedorum, there is no law, and those deserving of it live alongside those simply unlucky to have been doomed to this miserable existence.
6.0 Whether you manage to adapt to this new existence in Sedorum or you find yourself despairing at the chaos and lawlessness that you notice with each passing day, you’ll also find a familiar face: V’rizz, now accompanied by another imposing figure beside him. This is Entr’i, the Minister of Arms, dressed in armour black as the deepest night, dark lines tattooed on her cheeks. They often pass through the narrow, winding streets, looking for something — or someone. You might observe that they’ll often instigate fighting within clusters of people, passing weapons forward, or watching for magic as though administering tests, looking for those who can handle themselves. Catch yourself in a similar situation, and V’rizz or Entr’i might invite you for a chat.
The invitation takes you to an unassuming alleyway, where a short series of sharp taps and a glowing drawn symbol hanging in the air for a moment will allow you and V’rizz or Entr’i to enter a doorway that leads deep underground. The stone stairs feel cold under your feet as they take you down until you arrive at a hallway, its deep obsidian walls pulsing faintly with red light.
From there you will be ushered into a large cavern that has been divided into several different arenas: a fighting ring, a space for target practice, and a corner where smiths cobble armour together from what little material they have.
She means it, too: if you specialize in combat, you will be given the task of training other souls less versed in the art of fighting with weapons. If you have a sharp mind and you’re used to command, Entr'i will take you to the others in charge of battle strategy. If you're good with your hands, she may direct you to help with making armour, weapons, talismans — anything to help the Sedora rise up … quite, well, literally.
It is shortly after arrival in your respective realm that you may notice something has gone really wrong with your earpieces. No matter how much you might try to contact those who have not appeared on the same side as you, there is really nothing but static in response. It's easy enough to give way to panic first, assuming that whoever you’re trying to speak to has left the crew like so many others now have — but a little comparing amongst yourselves will make it clear it's only everyone on the other side that can't be reached.
The upside to this is that your communications still function as they should within one realm: so those in Taeum can still use it to speak with others in Taeum, and the same goes for Sedorum. But in order for the mission to succeed, information will need to travel between the two realms … and so the connection must be re-established.
F Y I
• If you have questions about any of the prompts or the mission in general, please direct them HERE.
• To submit a search request speaking to any NPCs mentioned in the log, trying to overhear conversations, or exploring any specific place during any of the prompts, please do so HERE.
• And finally, have a soundtrack for this log! ♪ ♪ ♪
v. wildcarding a piggyback ride
[Clara seems to never be in short supply of piggyback rides with the other orbers. It's probably her small size making her portable that does it. Whatever the case, she's having her one fun moment on this mission on Newt's back. He's not so tall that this has to be easy for him, but he seems determined to carry her around until she's bored with it. So of course she has to tease him a bit as they go through the crowded and miserable streets.
With him close, it's easy to try smiling and forgetting the awful place they're in. It's impossible to ignore completely, but it's something she can smile through. Smile and lean forward to press her cheek against his in an affectionate nuzzle. It makes her realize something's missing on him.]
Did you lose your glasses? Is it safe for me to be riding you like this if you don't have your glasses?
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[Newt sounds winded, because of course he does. But dammit, he's not about to let the orbs a.) not give them their power for the regret fixing and b.) try to embarrass him with a degrading goal. Jokes on them, he's more than happy to cart a little lady around on his back for an hour!
If said back can take it, anyway.
Point is, he's at ease right now, even if he's tired. Between each grunt, he tries his best to answer:]
Oh — ! That's just — actually a new look I'm trying...! My glasses keep getting cracked, so instead of fixing them for the hundredth time, I'm wearing — contacts! Hey, do you weigh a hundred pounds more than you look??
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[Clara huffs, trying not to be offended by that question.]
Maybe you just have a weak back. I can get off, if you like.
[But she knows there's a reason he's giving her this piggyback ride, and he's not going to want her to get off until that reason is complete. She shifts on his back and leans her body forward, over his shoulder so she can be pressed cheek to cheek with him. Her eyes look to the side, trying to get a glance of his contacts.]
I like your glasses. They're part of you.
[And with that, her cheek against his slowly retreats, and she slides back down into proper piggyback position.]
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Newt focuses everything on the sound of Clara's voice instead, how much he loves it, almost as much as he loves the roar of a guitar (or at least, he thought he loved the sound; sometimes, it's too much, and he wants nothing more than to wipe his music album clean). His half-cocked smile is aimed over his shoulder, amusement soft in his voice.]
They were parts of me that broke easily.
Nothing wrong with making a better you, right? Being the best you can be?
... For yourself, obviously.
[He adjusts her weight a little on his back, straightens up and focuses on his footsteps.]
Ugh, stupid goals. The orbs can be so lame. Some goals are horrific, and some are bad dares you'd get from your weird dad.
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For now though, she tries to make herself weigh as little as possible. It's hard not to feel bad that he's struggling, when he's just carrying her around town like she's a princess who can't let her feet touch the dirty ground.]
I can't even tell you about my goal this time. I can't tell anyone about it, or I don't think it'll count.
[There's a pause, and she finds herself pouting.]
I want a bad dare for a goal. I never get the bad dares.
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I'd pay money to see you try to carry someone for an hour.
[It would be kind of funny, okay. Even if he imagines he'd have to cut her attempts off because she'd almost break her flimsy child-sized spinal cord. He gets very quickly distracted by that with a miserable little groan, using a rickety old telephone pole for temporary support.]
Hnnngh... How long has it been now?
[You've got the timer! Tell him he's doing good!
He's getting very sweaty.]
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[Clara reassures him. She's been keeping a close eye on the time, just like she promised him she would when they first started.]
Then we can switch and I'll carry you around for sixty seconds. No more, no less.
[It's a fair trade, she figures. If nothing else, maybe it'll get him to smile and laugh. It feels like he's been lacking both of those things lately. But then again, it feels like everyone is lacking smiles and laughter in this place. It's miserable here.]
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It's so dumb! What does carrying someone for an hour equate to, for magical orb usage... [Behold, a series of inaudible grumbles that are no doubt general complaints. Then-] I'm not gonna make you carry me, Clara; I'm all sweaty! It'll get you even more sweaty, and then we'll both be sweaty messes in the most uncool way possible.
[Hey, a reference to sex! That's a very Newton thing. He's been smiling plenty this afternoon, too. Smiling and content and ignoring just how awful this planet is. Er, this afterlife? Whatever you wanna call it.]
Speaking of debauchery, I wonder what all the good little boys and girls are up to in space-heaven...? Kovacs is probably wrestling with servants trying to put a halo on his head or something. It's still totally bogus that you and the girls are here, b-t-w.
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[Clara questions him, sounding a bit put out by that. Her nose wrinkles up and she frowns and everything.]
Why? Just because we're girls, we're automatically good?
[That's some bullshit, and they both know it. But she's not going to actually argue with him, because she doesn't think anyone in their crew belongs there. But that seems easier said than done to convince people of.]
If Kovacs were here, he'd tell me to hit you, for making a comment like that.
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[Huff puff huff puff. His legs are gonna fall off, he just knows it.]
... You're all angels to deal with a hellion like him. He should count his blessings.
Anyway, you don't belong here, end of story.
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Clara hasn't seen that particular side of her just yet. But apparently both Kovacs and Newt have. She shouldn't be jealous of that. She has no right to be. It must be the influence of this place, the constant darkness and sin happening around her that lead her to being needy and pathetic.
Because Clara Oswald doesn't get jealous. Not of other women. Especially when there's nothing to be jealous of. So the thought is pushed out of her mind and she leans forward so her mouth is in close enough to his ear that she can whisper.]
Neither do you.
[She's pulling back then, trying her best to adjust herself so he doesn't have to keep doing it.]
Do you remember our first mission?
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I don't know, Clara, I was a pretty rowdy person in life. I definitely threw up the horns enough times at concerts to warrant some hellfire, according to some evangelical channels.
[After a moment, he squints over his shoulder.]
Of course I remember our first mission! I have a seizure disorder, not dementia.
That was the one where we fought half-robot half-fish men on stilts, right?
[Bit of black humor over here, don't mind him.]
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[She goes along with what he's just said, laughing and shaking her head.]
Think you're still married to one of the half-dolphin men, actually. He came down off his stilts so I could stand on them and officiate your wedding.
[It's nice to be able to do this, to just joke and laugh and be completely unserious. It feels like everything has been nonstop serious since their mission in Kilnan, and she's so tired. He has no idea how much this hour of piggyback riding is helping her.]
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[It was complicated, though! Someone said it was sentient! He was joking!
But that's beyond the point.]
I would totally marry a half-dolphin man, though. What's your poison, Clara? Werewolf? Half-man, half-horse? Spill the secrets.
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[Clara points out that fact with a snort, acting as if she won't say a single thing more.]
I've always wanted to meet a werewolf.
[There's a brief pause before -]
Six more minutes.
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I made out with a werewolf. Kinda. The werewolf guy who. Was on board way back when. And he wasn't. Transformed or anything. [It didn't get too crazy, but yanno, he'll take the W on that one.] I think my days of. Random hook-ups are behind me. But I'll always have "I kissed a wolfman" in my little black book.
[Five minutes. Hmmm, sure am teetering.]
I have a bucket list, actually. Back home. Had it in case we didn't win the war. Wanted to get as much of it done as possible.
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As tempting as it is to ask more about you and Dusty -
[She flatly retorts, reaching up to give his hair a tug so he'll head over toward that wall.]
What's at the top of your list?
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He does steer toward the wall, though.]
Uhhhh!
See a concert in The Caverns, I think? Or was it Radio City Music Hall...? I know getting my tongue pierced again was in there somewhere. Make out on a rollercoaster? Baking a three foot cookie was in there, too, but I was kind of drunk when I wrote at least a third of the list; it was all on the back of Chinese food take-out receipts.
[He rolls his eyes, leaning on the wall.]
Lotta stupid stuff.
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What's something I could help you cross off the list?
[She rises up a bit more, her legs wrapping around him tightly to better support her weight.]
I want to help.
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Hey...! I can always put 'carry friend on back for an hour' on my bucket list, right?
[Four more minutes? Three more? He wobbles, so thank god Clara pointed out a wall.]
S'fine, though; I don't need to complete it to have a good time. It's kind of dumb, isn't it? We ended up winning the war and everything...!
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[Well. This isn't about her, and he doesn't need her to go on again about how she died. So she checks the time, and gives him a reassuring pat on the head.]
One more minute. Almost done.
[She then starts to count down the remaining sixty seconds with a tap to his head as each one ticks by.]
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[Because there's no other reason to say such a thing, right? Not his Clara, don't be ridiculous. He starts to count down with her, trying not to turn into a five-year-old that counts super fast to get to where they want to be; pretty sure that wouldn't count, if he sped through the last sixty seconds in ten seconds, no matter how good his argument would be for it (like it had been in school, even if he was still given detention, whatever).
The moment they hit zero, of course —
— he topples over to flop belly-down on the floor, Clara crushing him from the top.
Lying there for a moment, he says pathetically:]
Oooh, maaaan, this concrete's so cold...
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Do you know what will warm you up, Newt?
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… Stuffing myself into an oven?
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[She laughs, continuing to try and roll him over.]
Carrying me in your arms for the next hour.
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