september 2019. welcome to the void.

[modblob]

Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: Third Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of September 2019
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.

Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.

Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.

a. turrets.

That power surge kicked off some sh... stuff, all right. It took a while for the systems to cycle back on, but two new areas of Anchor are now accessible and usable. One of them is nice and relaxing and safe, and we'll get to that one in a minute. The other one, addressed first, is not very nice and not very relaxing and definitely not safe.

The internal defense systems on the upper levels have come to life, and have targeted anyone within their range as a hostile entity. Get ready to run the gauntlet if you want to turn them off - you'll have to dodge lasers, bullets, and aggressive defense bots (that can be rewired and/or rebooted to assist characters instead of trying to murder them). The reward? Getting to the heavily protected (think many many murderbots and lasers) security control room. If you can make it, you'll be able to reboot the internal defenses, turning off the aggressive targeting and having access for the first time to surveillance of almost all of Anchor. Those areas your characters didn't know were there? Revealed. Those dense patches of jungle-like growth in the agricultural center? You've got a spotlight into their heart.

Though, huh, not all the cameras seem to be working. What's with those screens that show up from time to time that are nothing but static?

Oh well, doesn't really matter, does it?

b. hot springs episode.

One of the areas adjacent to the bar and intimacy lounge has been sputtering on and off ever since the power surge. One evening, with a loud crack and a humming sound that slowly dissipates, the lights come on and water starts flowing down the artificial waterfall into the fountain out front. The spa is back online!

The lobby is inviting and zen, with holographic walls that depict scenic locations (some of them very unlike Earth), with fountains splashing delicately on either side of the door. The attendants are slightly malfunctioning bots, but the most harm they'll do is bring you six towels when you ask for one, or a bucket of massage oil to work on those knots in your back with.

There are three areas in the spa, each of them fully-outfitted with towels, robes of all sizes, fuzzy slippers, the works. One has all the amenities of a Turkish bath, right down to the fantastically arched roofs and mosaics of Istanbul. One is designed not unlike a Japanese hot spring, though the spring is heated artificially rather than naturally. The springs are large enough to be communal in some areas and small enough to be private in others, varying in depth from deep enough to swim on one end and shallow enough to sit on the bottom on the other. All hot springs have a stone shelf around the edges where those who don't want to swim can sit. The last area is more Western, with steam rooms, saunas, massage tables, and mud baths for the adventurous.

One thing all of these areas have in common: the settings on virtually everything can be adjusted to taste. Not in the traditional way, either. The steams and waters can be tweaked to be soporific, can serve as muscle relaxants, can ease anxiety, and can even bolster moods. None of these effects are involuntary, and none of them are brought on by drugs - it's more an advanced mix of pheromones and harmless compounds that can affect a single person or a given pool or room. Also, the baths and hot springs have adjustable bubble settings. The water colors can change, some of them even allowing characters to dye their hair the color that's been selected for the tub without staining their skin. Bubbles of all kinds can rise up out of the water, from the foamy comfort of childhood bubble baths to hovering golden bubbles that chime when you pop them. Characters can choose from a variety of bath salts, scents, and oils - the spas were designed not just for relaxation, but for pure and simple fun.

c. joe's dirt.

So you've survived the security malfunction. You've washed off the dirt and anxiety at the spa. But the newly reactivated security stations throughout Anchor have revealed something odd. There's a blip in the power systems in one area of the agricultural level, like something is siphoning off power from the main lines. Tracking down the source in the deep tangle of underbrush won't be easy, and there may be a few mutated, fanged, clawed cattle that maneuver shockingly well between the trees, but eventually you'll come to a breach in Anchor's wall. At first it just looks like a crack, but it's large enough to squeeze through and there's the darkness of an open space behind it. A tunnel, leading down into the earth outside, well below surface level and thus largely safe.
Wires run along the roof and floor, though the tunnel itself is dark. Walk long enough and you'll come to a wider space, open enough for two or three people to move around comfortably at the same time. It's still dark, lit only by screens that show the same security feeds that are available at the stations throughout the city. And others. Angles on the surface that show Anchor from a distance, and other visuals that don't show Anchor at all, trained instead on massive structures or formations or lakes out on the surface somewhere. But there's something more disturbing: there are cameras set to record some people's rooms. And the only rooms that are shown are occupied.

Someone has been here, recently enough to track where new people have moved in.

On the floor in one corner, there's a crumpled photograph of a man some might recognize as Creepy Joe, happy and whole, with a little girl sitting on his shoulder. It looks like it's been stamped into the dirt.

Navigation.

Comments

[braidmage]

[ That earns a nod of agreement and understanding from Reynir. He has visions, has dreams, which are an integral part of his identity as a mage. It had thrown him more than he's expected, before, when Carlisle said that mages in his world didn't dream in the same way Reynir is familiar with. But some of them must - or something similar, at least, even if Carlisle is not one of those mages. That all makes much more sense. ]

That makes sense. I never really thought about it but I guess looking at a god directly would be way too much for a human to handle.

[ Reynir glances just once at that tea and back at Carlisle. It's probably getting cold. If there were any time to make the offer, it's now: ]

Do you want - would it be, um, better for you to drink that if I look away or like. Leave the room for a moment, so you can...?

[ And he mimes pulling down the mask. Reynir's face is full of earnest good-will and concern and eagerness to do whatever he has to to make his guest comfortable. ]

[abheirrant]

[He almost corrects Reynir -- it's not that directly looking at her would be too much, but that she is literally too large to behold -- but he has a far more pressing problem to deal with. He looks down at his mug, then back to his companion, connecting the dots to exactly what Reynir is suggesting.]

Oh. Oh, ah. Right, my drink. You needn't er, leave the room or anything, but it would be... polite to turn away.

[Yes, polite. That'll work. Makes it sound as though there's a cultural reason for him hiding his face rather than a cowardly one.]

[braidmage]

Of course! I'm sorry I didn't ask any sooner...

[ And Reynir turns around in his chair, facing completely in the opposite direction to where Carlisle is seated. He even bows his head a little, looking at his hands in his lap, just so it is particularly clear he won't catch Carlisle's reflection in anything and that he isn't peeking. Not for a moment does he question that this is just the accepted way of doing things where Carlisle is from, for some reason or another. ]

What is it like - the place you come from? Iceland - that's the country I was raised in - is really cold, compared to this place. It's an island pretty far to the north, and we had to grow a lot of our food in greenhouses and buildings warmed by thermal vents... it's so easy, getting things to grow here.

[ Carlisle had made that rune for Pratt, so he must have some interest in growing things, right? That's the thought, anyway. ]

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle hadn't actually intended on removing his mask and drinking the tea, but given Reynir turns completely around -- and he can't find anywhere to discreetly dump it -- he changes his mind. He turns away as well before bringing his fingers to the top of his mask, folding it down just enough to bare his face -- or what's left of it, anyway. Without the quilted fabric blocking the way, he can pick up on the smell of the tea much better, and he takes a second to utterly revel in it. He takes a sip: what taste he detects seems so distant that it might as well be from memory alone, but at least that's something.

He tosses his head back and downs the rest so Reynir doesn't have to turn away again. Returning his mask to his face, he rearranges his veil to make sure he's fully covered before he answers.]

I lived in the mountains, in a small valley near the Cottonmouth. It was also cold there, cooler than it was further down. Some said it was because of the way the wind cut through the range, the ridges and hills so full of winding turns that the gusts were made sharp by the time they reached us. Others said it was the chill of death brought upon the very by necromancy. I like to believe the former.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir listens to Carlisle with his back turned; he's going to stay that way as long as the other man needs, because customs are customs and he's a good host. He listens to Carlisle's words, trying to conjure up a picture of what the place must have looked like in his mind. He's always been curious about other countries, other places. It sounds like a fairly sharp and unforgiving landscape, surrounding the valley itself.

There is only one part of the description that doesn't make very much sense. Reynir wonders sometimes, how much might be lost in translation, and how much is just him being ignorant. ]

What's necromancy?

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle looks at Reynir as though he swallowed a spider, still not telling the lad he can turn around yet. If nothing else, it hides his obvious disbelief, though it bleeds right into his tone.]

Necromancy [—he hesitates for the span of a breath, almost asking if they don't have it where Reynir's from, or if he's just woefully naive—] it is a perversion of magic. It is the twisting of reparation to raise the dead, and then to control their tormented husks.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir can hear from the hesitations in Carlisle's voice it isn't something he's eager to talk about, and the reason for that (or at least, so he thinks) becomes clear a moment later). A shiver makes its way down Reynir's spine as he imagines the kind of magic Carlisle is describing. ]

If your magic is primarily about healing, and members of your order are all trained in exorcism and helping the natural course of life and death... mages who use necromancy must be your worst enemies?

[ It is an odd thing for him, imagining magic being used for evil. He thinks immediately of the kade, what little he'd glimpsed of it in Lalli's memories. Corrupting mages, transmitting its influence through mere eye contact alone, manipulating mages into infecting their communities, their loved ones. He shudders again, crossing his arms and hugging himself. Best not to dwell on that. ]

That's- that's a really scary thought. Mages controlling the dead.

[abheirrant]

[He nods, only to realize Reynir can't see that.]

Er, you can turn around now. But yes, healers and necromancers are naturally at odds, though most magicians are at odds with necromancy. It is a vile craft practiced by only the most amoral individuals, ones with no scruples in controlling a corpse. Imagine finding your loves ones have rising from the grave, serving as slaves for a monster. Who does that willingly? Who chooses that life?

[Not him, certainly... and yet, here he is, able to control the dead at will. It's a sickening fate for a man who spent his entire life as a healer, as a servant of his goddess, as a Longinmouth -- and now he's a failure at all three through no fault of his own.]

[braidmage]

[ Reynir turns around, and it's even more clear from his wide, frightened eyes and the alarmed expression on his face that even talking about this stuff is creeping him out in a big way. He's less naive than he had been before ending up in the Silent World, but in many ways he is still very young, and very sheltered. When Carlisle keeps talking, clearly passionate in his hatred of necromancers, Reynir eventually raises up a hand as if to halt him, saying in a voice that's getting just a bit squeaky with fear: ]

Yeah, uh, that's- I'd- rather not imagine it, actually!

[ He gets the idea, necromancy very very bad. No need to further elaborate. Reynir reaches out for his half-finished tea, but he mostly just cradles the mug in his hands, giving him something to hold onto. ]

If I ever meet a necromancer I'll know to stay very very far away.

[abheirrant]

[Reynir puts up a hand, and Carlisle stops in his musings -- he's grateful, as they were starting to turn inward, reflecting more on his own situation than necromancers in general. He adjusts his veil as he avoids Reynir's eyes, handing back the mug encouraging him to Live, Laugh and Love. He is incapable of doing one of those things, unlikely to do another, and rarely does the third these days. Thanks for reminding him of that, mug.]

A wise decision. My apologies, lad -- I know it is not an uplifting subject for most. Bear Den -- my home -- tended to be plagued by it, so it was less a taboo topic there than most. Still, it is best avoided in polite conversation.

[braidmage]

No, don't apologize, it's... better to know and be prepared.

[ If he were a better person he would tell Carlisle he can talk about whatever he wants to, that he shouldn't feel like he has to censor himself. But all that talk about his loved ones dying and being controlled by magic was getting a little too much for Reynir's perhaps overactive imagination. One of the reasons he can be so brave, here, and not worry about living in this strange place he doesn't understand, is that he is sure everything is the same as ever back home: safe and stable and unchanged. The thought of anything malicious touching his family, coming to their safe and cozy little farm, is immediately distressing.

He wonders what his older brother Bjarni would think of Carlisle, and for a moment, misses him intensely. If only he could write letters home, send word that he is doing okay...

But he can't and so he says: ]

Then they must have been glad when it turned out you had a talent for healing and a calling to the clergy, to help keep them safe from- from such horrible things.

[ A new mage being discovered in a community is a blessing; Reynir was always taught to believe that and he is sure that's doubly true in a place where evil comes not just from the hardships of the world or from trolls and beasts, but from evil mages as well. ]

Do you miss your home?

[abheirrant]

[The question, in combination with the preceding statement, gives Carlisle visible pause, his brow tightening.

They had been glad that the heir of the Longinmouth line, the proud lineage that devoted their lives to the welfare of Bear Den, was a healer. His father had hoped his son would be an adventurer or a hunter like he was, but as for his uncles and the rest of the town, they were thrilled to know the heir of a powerful, gifted family would be able to look after their lands as well as their wounds. Healers of his caliber were rare; the ones who had pieced him back together after his failed Hunt had come from far away, traversed the mountains and the woods just for the prestige of having helped save a Longinmouth. To suddenly have a healer so close was a true blessing.

Yes, they were so glad. He would help keep them safe, just as his family had done for generations.

He knew everyone in that town by name, save for the occasional traveler who passed through. It wasn't a large city, but a sizable stop for the mountains, and having lived there his whole life, he knew them as well as they knew him. Arguably, they knew him even better, given his position. They knew his family, his father and his uncles, and even his mother before she died -- before they all did. They knew his work with the church, how he was allowed a position despite his affliction because of who he was and what he could do in her service. They knew of his curse, were some of the few to see it had not suddenly turned him into a monster, as the superstitions would have one believe. He was still Carlisle Longinmouth, as he had always been. He would still do his best to protect them, even if he was cursed.

And he had... when he was alive. They had been so glad to have him, and looked what had happened to them. Bear Den wasn't perfect, but it was home -- his home, his family's home. They trusted him, and look what he'd done to them all.

His hands tighten against his lap, the fabric curling beneath his gloves. His eyes water; he closes them to hide his shame. He musters a response, his voice soft, shaking.]

Terribly.

[braidmage]

Oh, no.

[ Reynir breathes the words softly, as soon as he sees the way Carlisle tenses up, the way he holds himself stiff against the pain of it, that look of sadness visible even when Reynir can only see such a small portion of his face. He had said the wrong thing, hit a nerve, and now he's made his guest miserable without meaning to. ]

I didn't mean to make you sad. I'm really sorry.

[ He says it as plainly as that, not even thinking that phrasing it so simply and so openly might make Carlisle feel ashamed or embarrassed. Reynir is an emotional and open sort of person. It's true, and so he'd said it.

Instinctively, he reaches out across the table, as if to touch Carlisle's arm or shoulder, to offer comfort in that way. But he remembers, halfway through the gesture, that he hadn't seemed to like being touched, back when they were in the hot spring and hiding from the robots there. So the movement is an aborted one. He stops midway, hands curling gently as he pulls them back, his uncertainty all too clear. Possibly that had just been situational? But also maybe people aren't supposed to touch priests in Carlisle's world. Reynir has no fucking clue, after all.

So he settles his hands on the table awkwardly and focuses on words instead: ]

If your gods will it, I'm sure you'll get to go back before too long.

[abheirrant]

I haven't—

[He starts before he can stop himself, so full of roiling grief that he can't keep it in. He shakes his head, pulling in a breath, before finishing his statement. Might as well, now that it's out enough for Reynir to surmise what he was going to say.]

I haven't a home left to return to. There is little there but the undead now.

[The undead, and him, the failure of his bloodline, harbinger of the end of Bear Den. Deep down, he knows how the undead got there, where they all came from, but he's not yet ready to face that truth. His burdens are already so heavy.]

[braidmage]

[ Extra, super duper oh no. Oh, this has all gone so wrong, so fast.

Reynir bites his bottom lip, heart sinking. He had meant to provide reassurance and comfort, and instead he's just digging the hole even deeper, isn't he? Carlisle's grief is obvious even before he speaks, but Reynir at least has the good sense to remain silent, and wait for him to finish speaking.

Carlisle hadn't said anything earlier, when Reynir had mentioned that his own world is filled with monsters that were once human. Then again, Reynir's not surprised at that. From the way he's reacting, and the very very little he's mentioned about his life, this must be a recent development. Necromancers had invaded or something and it must have been recent.

If it were someone else, Reynir would definitely be touching his shoulder now or trying to grasp his hand in sympathy. Instead, his hands curl together on the table and he says, quietly: ]

Carlisle... I'm so sorry. I didn't know. If I did, I wouldn't have... anyway, just. I'm sorry.

[ He really means it, too; Reynir's shoulders are slumped and his freckled face expressive with grief and understanding. ]

Is there anything I can do?

[ Not to fix it, obviously, because he had never even heard of necromancy before a minute ago and they're both trapped here and Reynir is not some hero of legend. He's just a sheep farmer who knows some runes and has gotten lucky a few times. But he means to offer help now, support now, after the loss. ]

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle shakes his head again, his features tightening as he swallows down copious amounts of shame and frustration, trying to get a hold over himself before he starts rotting the floor around him. Nothing would make a better impression than decaying all the furniture and that mocking mug. He's grateful Reynir didn't touch him a moment ago, just in case.]

I shouldn't speak of this. Not now. Perhaps once there is some distance, but I- it is still too fresh. F- figuratively speaking. Obviously, the undead are anything but... fresh.

[He sighs miserably at his own, morose observation about his unfortunate word choice.]

Let's talk about something else. Anything else. Your home. Talk about your home.

[braidmage]

[ The guilt that Reynir feels, watching Carlisle struggle with his grief and embarrassment, is just plain awful. He is eager to atone for his mistake and leaps at the opportunity; when Carlisle asks him to talk about his home, he doesn't hesitate, the words coming out so quickly he trips over them at first: ]

Right okay sure yes, my home, my home is... Iceland, I can't remember if I said before, and I'm from a little town called Brúardalur. It's in the interior of the island, and it's in a valley, too, only they aren't really mountains around it, just big hills. My parents have a sheep farm and I grew up there, tending to the flocks and helping them grow some vegetables and other crops, too, and shearing the sheep and preparing the wool to sell. It's a very small village, mostly isolated from the city and- everything else going on in the world, but it's safe and peaceful and full of good people.

[ It feels a little like rubbing salt in the wound, talking about how peaceful and calm things are at his own home when Carlisle's had been destroyed. But he'd asked Reynir to talk about something else and hopefully, hearing about a place that is thriving will chase away the sad thoughts. ]

Everyone knows everyone and nothing really changes. Which is sort of wonderful and sort of infuriating, too. I always felt like anybody I knew who was interesting or smart, they'd move away, to the city, to live interesting lives, and for a long time I thought I was stuck at home, just because I wasn't immune. But here I am, in this place, having an adventure.

[ He casts around for other distractions that are a little more interesting than his village, because unless he starts in on town gossip or talking in-depth about sheep husbandry in a way that will probably be deeply boring, he's out of stuff to talk about in regards to his home town. ]

Why don't I show you some of the other runes I know? I know a whole lot of ones for crops and farming stuff, I can - draw them for you to copy into your notes?

[abheirrant]

[Desecrated as his home may be by comparison, Carlisle seems relieved to hear about Iceland and Brúardalur, closing his eyes another moment in the hopes of helping him imagine those rolling hills and the pleasant flocks of sheep dotting them. He, too, came from a place where everyone knew everyone and things remained largely unchanged -- until him -- but unlike Reynir, Carlisle would have been happy to stay there his entire life, never wandering far despite his family's long history of adventuring.

Maybe he should have wandered. He'd have been far away from Bear Den when he passed, then. Things would be better—

His eyes squeeze tighter, his frustration with his inability to bury his grief burning hot in the pit of his stomach. He latches onto Reynir's suggestion rather than face his troubles -- the runes are something he wanted to know at the start of this chance encounter, after all.]

Yes, please. And I can share some of the sigils for glyphcrafting with you. [He opens his eyes, collecting his journal and pen once more.] We may be unable to use each other's magic, but I see no harm in experimenting. It is a welcome distraction from the place.

[And other things.]