Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
modblob) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
redmarsshit2019-09-21 12:52 am
modblob) wrote in redmarsshit2019-09-21 12:52 am
redshift: tdm #4
Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.
▶ Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.
▶ All TDM threads can be considered game canon, and current players are welcome to either top-level on the TDM so prospective players can tag them, or use the prompts for logs or network posts on the communities. All threads on the TDM can be used for Activity Check.
▶ All TDM threads can be considered game canon, and current players are welcome to either top-level on the TDM so prospective players can tag them, or use the prompts for logs or network posts on the communities. All threads on the TDM can be used for Activity Check.
a. the red shit.
There are rumblings in the deepest, most overgrown part of the agricultural area, where until very recently there was a lingering pocket of red algae. The good news is, the red algae is gone! The bad news is, it all got eaten by a mutated bear-thing with giant antlers. The algae did a number on the poor thing, doping it up and confusing it to the point where everything is an enemy.
What’s worse? The algae has adapted, colonizing the creature’s entire body. The algae has mutated in the process, releasing a protective cloud of toxins that causes severe hallucinations, as well as some of the protective and euphoric qualities that the red algae originally possessed. Which means the mutated, antlered, bear-thing is accompanied by a small army of other creatures, from large to small, who are all very invested in its survival and also are being driven crazy by its presence.
Prepare yourselves for one hell of a hunt. These animals can pop up almost everywhere in the agricultural zones, and when they do show their paws it’s to go on a rampage.
What’s worse? The algae has adapted, colonizing the creature’s entire body. The algae has mutated in the process, releasing a protective cloud of toxins that causes severe hallucinations, as well as some of the protective and euphoric qualities that the red algae originally possessed. Which means the mutated, antlered, bear-thing is accompanied by a small army of other creatures, from large to small, who are all very invested in its survival and also are being driven crazy by its presence.
Prepare yourselves for one hell of a hunt. These animals can pop up almost everywhere in the agricultural zones, and when they do show their paws it’s to go on a rampage.
b. fashionista.
It wouldn’t be Anchor if the bots weren’t fucking shit up.
This time, the spa bots have gone full stylist coach, chasing down residents and trying to do their hair, nails, makeup, or change their clothes. In some cases, they're literally sweeping people off their feet and carrying them to the hot springs, massage rooms, and spa areas to be pampered. Too bad most of their cosmetics are fifty years out of date and the closests they’ve raided either had another resident’s clothes or moth-eaten dust-covered rags.
Is that the jacket Idris Elba was wearing in the introductory video? It kinda looks like it.
But it’s not all bad! The bots actually give great massages and fantastic mani-pedis. They also have a small stash of fresh cosmetics and clean clothes that got left behind in the spas. They might not fit great, but they look pretty good!
If your character doesn’t practice proper self-care, well. They’d better watch out. These bots have a particular eye for the sad, the filthy, the tired, and they’re going to make sure you get some damn fine pampering.
This time, the spa bots have gone full stylist coach, chasing down residents and trying to do their hair, nails, makeup, or change their clothes. In some cases, they're literally sweeping people off their feet and carrying them to the hot springs, massage rooms, and spa areas to be pampered. Too bad most of their cosmetics are fifty years out of date and the closests they’ve raided either had another resident’s clothes or moth-eaten dust-covered rags.
Is that the jacket Idris Elba was wearing in the introductory video? It kinda looks like it.
But it’s not all bad! The bots actually give great massages and fantastic mani-pedis. They also have a small stash of fresh cosmetics and clean clothes that got left behind in the spas. They might not fit great, but they look pretty good!
If your character doesn’t practice proper self-care, well. They’d better watch out. These bots have a particular eye for the sad, the filthy, the tired, and they’re going to make sure you get some damn fine pampering.
c. whole foods: 2.0.
Remember that whole Whole Foods grocery store thing that happened? Well, the grocery store and the zombies are still there. Only now there are more zombies, and two giant supply trucks have shown up, one behind and one in front of the store.
The one at the rear of the store can be accessed fairly easily. It’s painted to look like a giant United States flag, with a dramatic crying eagle emblazoned across the back doors. Inside, there is beer. Lots and lots of beer, and a bunch of semiautomatic rifles. Also some skeletons. Seems like the guns and booze didn’t help them.
The one in front of the store is thickly surrounded, the creatures clawing at the plain white sides of the semi like there’s something precious inside.
If Anchorites can make it through, if they can fend off the monsters and keep from getting torn to pieces by a hoard of bloodthirsty beasts, they’ll find out what that precious truck contains.
It’s twinkies. A semi full of twinkies. We hope you’ve got a sweet tooth, Anchor.
The one at the rear of the store can be accessed fairly easily. It’s painted to look like a giant United States flag, with a dramatic crying eagle emblazoned across the back doors. Inside, there is beer. Lots and lots of beer, and a bunch of semiautomatic rifles. Also some skeletons. Seems like the guns and booze didn’t help them.
The one in front of the store is thickly surrounded, the creatures clawing at the plain white sides of the semi like there’s something precious inside.
If Anchorites can make it through, if they can fend off the monsters and keep from getting torn to pieces by a hoard of bloodthirsty beasts, they’ll find out what that precious truck contains.
It’s twinkies. A semi full of twinkies. We hope you’ve got a sweet tooth, Anchor.
no subject
[He gestures toward the wasteland, particularly toward a nice outcrop of rocks out there that could act as a marker.]
And we need not dig ourselves.
[With the other hand, he motions toward his entourage (15.5 -- no wait, 16.5 as one of the skeletons inside the trailer clickety-clacks his way toward the exit, only for Carlisle to give him an incredulous look that plainly says YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD).
no subject
Carlisle! [ EXPLAIN? ]
no subject
It's not my fault! They were dead! They were dead dead!
[And they are clearly not dead dead anymore, as one of the other ones in the back of the trailer starts attempting to piece itself together. The bones don't reconstruct themselves quite right, the skeleton ending up as a weird amalgamation of bone fragments with just enough legs to crawl its way over the guns. He tries to ensnare them, only to find they already are, the first one making his way over toward him.]
What is wrong with all of you!? Can't you just stay dead for a change? I'm not asking for much! Just for you to stay dead and for me to not have deal with any of this right now!
no subject
And now Carlisle is yelling at the mindless shitty skeletons, which is very helpful and doesn't at all make him look like a moron. Qubit rubs his forehead and sighs, mostly irritated now that the surprise has worn off. ]
They're not listening, Carlisle.
no subject
[And angry. Irritated. The skeletons linger nearby, hanging out with their new master.]
Well? What about the burial plan?
[They're not talking about the skeletons right now.]
no subject
It's solid, let's do it. And while they're working on that, you and I can work out what reanimated these new ones.
[ You're not getting out of it that easily. ]
no subject
In good news, they're adequate diggers, despite their rotting hands. Maybe it's the dry bones that makes it easier on them, or the fact they're unbothered by the elements. Carlisle heads back toward the truck, leaving them to their work, his brow heavy in thought. The skeletons are still hanging around, the one that's a complete, nonsensical mess only just now making its way out of the trailer.]
I suppose if nothing else, we can bury them with the weapons. That would rid us of two problems with a single solution.
[He still doesn't want to talk about this. They don't need to talk about what reanimated them when they both know good and well who is doing it.]
no subject
contrary to what I said in the brackets earlieris actually very good beer. Not his favorite, because he's an unapologetic beer snob, but ... maybe he'll take one or two back with him anyway. You know, for science.He meets Carlisle at the door alongside Ol' Shittybones there, leaning with his arm against the doorframe. ]
No, that just foists the problem onto whoever digs them up. If you want to make more work for yourself, though, be my guest.
[ To be completely fair, he doesn't know for sure that it's Carlisle who raised them. As established previously, he's hardly an expert on how these things work. But Carlisle, who is an expert, sure as hell seems to know what's up, so. ]
Was it you? I'm not upset, but I do need to know.
no subject
It has to be. They were ensnared before I even realized they were animated.
[He sighs in frustration as Ol' Shittybones looks up at him; the broken femur the skeleton is using as a neck doesn't seem to hinder him much. Maybe it's because it's magic keeping the skeleton together rather than tissues and muscles.]
You cannot sense it, but I can. What energy keeps these bones connected and moving -- it's mine.
no subject
... Which is fascinating, from a technical standpoint. Does it work on any dead tissue? How much tissue has to be present? What about nonhuman remains? Could a reanimated super still use their powers? He has so many questions...!
Oh, right, I mean, um... it's bad and dangerous! Yeah! Especially if he can't get it under control. And also, this... probably qualifies as desecration of human remains, if there were laws in space? Should he be more upset about that? They keep registering in his mind as "dead tissue" rather than "former humans," and that bugs him a little. Then again, Kaidan's power is basically the same thing, except that it's their souls she's summoning and commanding, and he never had a problem with that...
Yeah, he's probably just overthinking it. They should get back to dealing with the guns -
okay maybe just one little experiment first though. ]
What would happen if you withdrew that energy? Can you?
no subject
[He pauses a moment before realizing that Qubit probably wants to see that he can withdraw his own energy. His eyes flick to Ol' Shittybones, the poor, malformed creature looking expectantly at him from his thigh-high vantage point. His fingers curl against his palm, as though warming it up, before he places his hand atop the skeleton's head.
His own energy animating the creature feels like a constant, quiet channel, much as he would have once used for healing. He pulls it back to him -- there's no fanfare, no brilliant light or spark of energy as the bony abomination falls to pieces, coming to rest in the dust and dirt at his feet.]
How my energy animated them without my knowing is admittedly troubling. It is an effort that should take some degree of concentration, at the very minimum.
no subject
Interesting. What sort of energy is this, exactly? Magic power, life force? Where does it come from? Do your other spells draw from the same reservoir?
no subject
It is eksth'alva. Er, magical energy. Though it is technically life energy, as well, depending on who translates it. So... both. Most of what I do does draw from that reservoir, which is... er.
[Pointing out that it's unusual for someone like him to be drawing off something that's technically life energy does not bode well for his chances of being able to avoid the topic of what he is forever.]
no subject
[ Being a stickler for pronunciation, Qubit repeats the term to make sure he's got it. ] Eksth'alva. [ And he even gets the glottal stop on the first try! Not bad. Anyway, back to the theoretical deep dive. ]
Which is...?
[ He has literally no idea what you're trying not to say, my dude. ]
no subject
[Except it absolutely is, and the nervous twist in his brow says so. His eyes avert themselves, landing on the remains of Ol' Shittybones, his throat tightening. He couldn't fully control his aural influence before, and he seems to have an even worse handle on it now, his abilities reaching into both the living and the dead. Qubit has been patient with him, and Carlisle knows good and well he can't deal with this on his own.
He'd sequester himself away as he did years ago, hoping to spare those around him from tragedy, but where is there to go in Anchor? Where can he hide that his compulsion cannot reach? It reached so many in Bear Den, after all, well into the hills and the valley below. He cannot let it happen again, no matter how much he does not want to talk about what he is -- what he's done. Maybe Qubit could help, but only if he knows what it is he's dealing with.
Carlisle always told those who came to his confessional for help that they need only ask for it. They weren't Longinmouths though, people with a bloodline to live up to... but frankly, even he's hardly a Longinmouth at this point.]
Well, it- it is something. [He's back to wringing his hands together, his fingers grasping at themselves as though it'd help him think.] The manipulation of that energy in such a way that it- that it animates the undead, I... I shouldn't be capable of it. It is unusual. Largely unheard of.
no subject
As he tries to extrapolate what makes this so unusual, he finds himself revisiting the "life" definition, but... even then, it doesn't quite track. ]
How do you mean? I was under the impression the undead were fairly common where you're from - is it something other than eksth'alva that powers them, usually? - Or do you mean that you in particular shouldn't be able to do it?
no subject
Me in particular.
no subject
He's not going to make Carlisle say it. But he hasn't forgotten what happened the last couple of times he said it. ]
Because you're not alive.
no subject
He pulls in a breath, trying to manage his nerves. It's easier when he's not being accused of being undead - he's acknowledging a truth he's slowly learning to accept as his reality. He's been working on that, too.]
I'm not like them. All that I told you before is true, Mister Qubit. I can show you when we return to Anchor, but- but I should not be capable of raising such abominations. I should be even less capable of controlling the living. And the fact I can apparently do both is... unsettling. Uncomfortable. Horrible, really.
[And tells him a lot about what happened to Bear Den. He's not sure he's ready to face that just yet.]
no subject
(That he said "show" instead of "tell," though, doesn't escape Qubit's notice. Show him what, exactly? Why does it have to wait until they get back?)
It's understandable how reluctant Carlisle's been to admit this, though, in light of his undisguised loathing for all things undead. Maybe he simply hasn't been able to admit it to himself until now. Becoming something he finds abhorrent, and moreover, being able to create more like himself, must be a special sort of hell for him. ]
It is troubling, I'll admit. Especially that you can do both unconsciously.
[ They can't gloss over the danger. Mind control is a pernicious thing, even without conscious malice behind it. It's not hard to imagine a sequence of events in which Carlisle, completely by accident, kills everyone in Anchor and raises their corpses under his command. Horrible indeed. ]
... But the good news is, that part of it is solvable. I've known plenty of people who've had trouble controlling their powers, over the years. If nothing else, we may be able to mitigate the risk to others while you're still finding a long-term strategy.
no subject
He folds his arms against himself much like Qubit, his fingers picking at a wrinkle in his sleeve as he caters to his nervous habits. He has no idea how long he spent as the Blight Heir. The final annuls of the Town Chronicler only cover a year and half after his death, but with the way the town looked, it had to be much longer than that before he awakened as himself once more. How much had his abilities changed in that time, his attunement shifting toward the necrotic? How much had they intensified after his passing? Was it possible they were enhanced in some way?
He fidgets uncomfortably, his mind turning. His capacity to heal had always been a gift in life, his true talent -- he'd mended gruesome wounds that would otherwise kill a man, brought back a number of individuals from the very brink of death. He had such a command over his energies that people were almost willing to excuse the fact that he was the cursed son of the Longinmouth line. His only real limitation had been the frailty of his mortal frame -- and it was a severe one, given how his condition tolled his health from the inside and out. His arms would go numb if he channeled through them for too long; the more energy he expelled, the worse the pounding in his head would be, so thunderously loud that it became far more bothersome than the ink that trailed from his mouth, his eyes, his fingernails.
In his final year, he could hardly work for how impairing it was. His body was exhausted, but his energies remained alive, agitated more and more with each passing day. And once he was dead, the shackle of his affliction was gone; his energies were unbridled, unrestrained, and in the worst possible way. The people of Bear Den -- his congregation, his elders, those who had looked to him for help and who he'd known his entire life -- never had a chance, did they?
He trembles silently. He can't think about this -- not now, not out here with Qubit. When they get back, but not now.]
My long-term strategy should be to rend myself from this existence, Mister Qubit, [said so matter-of-factly, as though it's something he's accepted for longer than he's been undead] but... I was unaware I would rise like this. Who is to say the remains of my aura will not somehow manifest themselves as an incorporeal wraith once my physical body is gone? And what humanity would I have left in that form, if any?
[He shakes his head.]
I cannot risk that. Not here, not- not ever again. If there is- if there is any way to mitigate the danger I- that my abilities present to others, I am more than willing to listen, if you would help me.
cw: suicide & murder talk
He hadn't realized Carlisle was considering suicide. And seriously, by the sound of it. Perhaps the fear of it making things worse is all that's stopped him attempting it. But that's not a strategy, damn it. And it's not a solution Qubit will accept. Not now, not ever.
... Until all other options are exhausted.
NO. Not ever. There's another way. There's always another way. (But not always. What if there isn't? What if, to save the innocents of Anchor, you have no choice but to put him down? You could do it. You could be the one to pull the trigger, Qubit, you've done it before-)
He notices, abruptly, how tightly his jaw has clenched, how painfully he's gripping his own arm. He forces those to relax, but his forehead remains knitted with determination. Carlisle is his friend. A good man who's been dealt an unspeakably terrible hand. He'll find another way. That's what he does. ]
Of course. There are plenty of things that could work. We could - [ he unfolds his arms to start gesturing with them ] we could try dampening your mental influence with a - a modified psionic resonator, perhaps devise something that can alert you when your power's active - it might even be possible to nullify them completely, on a temporary basis - although that might be more of a last resort, if your eksth'alva is what's keeping you together -
[ You're rambling again, get to the point. ]
- but of course I'll help you, Carlisle. Ending yourself isn't the answer. We'll find another way. I swear this to you.
[ He shouldn't swear it. Don't make promises you can't keep, Qubit.
But - he has to try.
There must be some way to save Carlisle Longinmouth. ]
cw: more of that
Carlisle's embittered remorse about his circumstances brings rise to his Revenant nature, but as he brings his eyes to meet Qubit's to retort, he sees determination in the other man's gaze, a strength he wasn't aware he had. It gives Carlisle pause -- and maybe even shame he wasn't sure he could feel anymore -- as it quells the ire stirring within him. He feels plenty of shame about a myriad of things, sure, but not about the fact that had he died earlier, things might have been better. The twice-cursed are said to be harbingers of malady and misfortune, and that is certainly what he's experienced time and time again. The thought that his life might just be a series of tragic coincidences isn't encouraging, either.
It isn't a sin to exist. It's hard to believe Poison's words when the world and culture he comes from have so ingrained into him the superstition and paranoia regarding his condition that they inform his nearly every decision. Carlisle used to worry he made things worse by merely existing when he shouldn't -- now he is utterly terrified he will do the same by not. That dread is all that stayed his hand for so long -- that, and the vain hope he might be able to appeal to his goddess enough that she would somehow cleanse him of his affliction. Perhaps that was never possible, but it gave him purpose all the same. That direction in his life kept him moving, working to be anything other than the failure of the Longinmouth line. His devotion and success as a healer are arguably the only accomplishments he has to his name.
And look where it got him. His home is in ruins, the people he knew and cared for now monstrous shades of their former selves, and he's trapped in another world and poised to do the same again, should he ever lose hold over himself. He went from the failure of the Longinmouth line to the bane of it, and the thought that he may one day become the Blight Heir again, what last vestiges of humanity he has slipping away for reasons beyond his control, is his latest, most overwhelming anxiety.
Nothing he did before made his ultimate fate any better. Why would that change now? Why should he bother trying? Why should he not just walk into the endless wasteland all around them to spare the people of Anchor the potential hazard that is his very being?
He was alone before, isolated, sequestered away because he so believed it was the right thing to do for those around him, for his lineage -- for everyone but himself. He is not alone now. Despite all odds, he has people who are willing to help him -- Poison, Pratt, Qubit. People from other worlds and times with access to resources and knowledge he cannot even fathom. They may be able to help him; he needs only accept what help is offered.
He cannot even begin to understand what a modified psionic resonator is, but the way Qubit rambled about the possible methods of dealing with his uncontrolled abilities does speak volumes of how strongly he feels about this, about finding another way -- about helping him when Carlisle has possibly put him in more danger than not in the two times they've been out here. That means something to the clergyman.]
How it is you can sound so confident about that, I will never know, but I appreciate your fervor all the same. That, and the fact you did not leave me out here last time when you knew what I was, and what danger I presented to you.
no subject
Still, he's determined to make it work. And it's not the first time someone's mistaken determination for confidence. Qubit has plenty of experience acting more confident than he feels - it's kind of his default state of being at this point.
A flicker of surprise crosses his face at the suggestion that he could have abandoned Carlisle out here. Certainly it was an option, and it wouldn't have been totally unreasonable, but... he shakes his head. ]
... It never crossed my mind.
[ And that's the unvarnished truth. Even Qubit himself seems a little taken aback. Not just that Carlisle would think him capable of it (he probably is, let's be real), but that it honestly never occurred to him as an option. Perhaps it's just not in his nature to give up on people so quickly. Or at all. Is that a good thing or not? He remembers Modeus taunting him about it, even while using it against him - "So you're jeopardizing the entire world in order to prioritize the life of one person. Again. I expect no less of you. It's part of your charm."
Did he do the right thing then? Is he doing the right thing now?
He can't let himself ask that question, though. Because he already knows the answer.
Instead he smiles, playing it off. ]
Glad my proclivity for reckless self-endangerment is good for something.
no subject
[That's not what Qubit meant, but given the number of times Carlisle has addressed undeads as its and things, he does his best to avoid the same kind of dehumanization for himself. It helps him distance himself from what he truly is, if only mentally.
Despite Qubit's seemingly good nature about having his life risked for nothing, Carlisle cannot help but apologize more. He owes the man some explanations, even if he doesn't know all the answers himself. He looks back toward the hole the shamblers are digging in the distance -- it is quite deep now.]
I apologize for not telling you sooner. I have been struggling to accept it myself -- even more so when my abilities are not what they ought to be. Commanding the undead, even passively, is... new. As is raising them.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)