lifeaftr | April Intro: Better Get to Digging

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April Intro: Better Get to Digging

INTRO LOG: APRIL

Who: New arrivals, and you!
What: New souls arrive to the archipelago of LifeAftr
When: April 4th and onward
Where: Cahypdo
Warnings: Mark as needed!

Waking up to the gentle proddings of what appears to be very curious, sentient trees isn't the worst wake up call LifeAftr has to offer. For our newest arrivals, however, it may be a tad…odd.

Situated in the valley between two mountains, Elower is a scenic village filled with the friendly Roaka, tree-like beings that are rather peaceable and happy to assist those who have just arrived. I'’s a peaceful location for one to start their adventures - though, unfortunately, it doesn't stay peaceful for long.

Cahypdo: You'll Bury Me Low
Those who have explored the new island of Cahypdo in the last month will undoubtedly recall the series of quakes that shook the island throughout March. With the arrival of LifeAftr's newest adventurers comes Cahypdo's largest tremor to date, striking without warning and more than enough force to throw even the steadiest and sturdiest of your number to the ground. With a low rumble, the mountains heaped on either side of the island will start to shed an abundance of slag and debris, pouring down their slopes. Anyone who's scaling those peaks risks being flung bodily off them when the outpouring of shale comes roaring down those mountains, and anyone at the mountain bases risks being crushed beneath.

As one might expect, unsuspecting newcomers aren't all that have been shaken up. Though protected by netting and retaining walls, the cliffs around and above the village of Elower can only take so much pressure before giving way - a threshold that has been crossed entirely. With a sound like thunder, rocks fall.

Everyone dies?

Only if you don't act quickly. Roaka housing is sturdy in build, enough to protect a decidedly less sturdy body from all but the heaviest of boulders. Hiding inside any of their village constructs built into the sides of the mountains will certainly save you from taking a new weight onto your shoulders. They will not, however, save you from being buried alive.

For those who become trapped inside any of those abodes, your options appear limited. Work to free yourself, or wait for help to arrive. Though, speaking of help, those outside may think to offer the Roaka a helping hand in getting their trapped people - and yours, at that - a few breaths of fresh air.

Before you suffocate.

Cahypdo: Stay Acting Brave
Such seismic activity will also stir up the local wildlife, of course. Those unfortunate enough to come across them will recognize the restless shark-dragon hybrids, hydrac, now prowling across the shorelines, while the wickedly fanged wabbits will also be far more frequent, traveling in larger numbers in the jungle and at the bases of the mountains. Taking care to avoid them would be wise - though another creature may make that venture much more difficult.

Lorbies have been unlocked in the bestiary!

A strange mix between owl and serpent, the recent quake has clearly startled these usually reclusive creatures into the open. Alone, a lorby is a rather skittish animal, prone to hiding from most perceived threats. Useless for food due to the toxicity of their flesh, lorbies do have the potential to be tamed...but this comes with its own risks.

A lorby may be prone to flight rather than fight when encountered solo, but in groups, these feathery critters are far more hostile. A defensive lorby emits a piercing cry alone, but a group is an almost ear-piercing experience, capable of rendering the unfortunate unstable on their feet at best, and unconscious at worst. For the days that follow the severe earthquake that so rocked everyone's foundations, any hope for silence is lost in the infrequent bursts of almighty screeching by colonies of lorbies who have so rudely had their homes overturned and disturbed.

While the lorby is omnivorous, it may not think to take a bite at anything so much larger than them. That doesn't mean that conflict with these fluffy creatures won't attract something much more willing to take advantage of the fact that you may or may not have been reduced to a prone sack of meat. If something else does arrive, you best hope that it's a friendly face.

If you're interested in keeping a lorby for your own, bear LifeAftr's companion limit in mind - two per character, and no more. The lorby is omnivorous and can survive off of most odds and ends: insects, fruits, berries, critters it can dig up in the sand, and more. However, the process of trying to tame a lorby is not always successful. We recommend use of a d10, with the following guidelines:

Rolling a 10: Critical success! This lorby will love and adore you, and may even feel comfortable enough to drape itself along your neck like a beautiful, furry scarf, churring softly all the way.
Rolling 7-9: This lorby will prove high-strung and timid, even if safely befriended, and will take several weeks to warm up to you. But once it does, it's yours!
Rolling 2-6: Failure. The lorby enters a state of distress and starts screaming. Hope you brought earplugs, or you'll be snoozing for several long hours for your efforts.
Rolling a 1: Critical failure. Not only does the lorby start screaming, but its panic attracts a colony of its friends, and they all start screaming too.

Bear in mind that these are only guidelines; you are free to predetermine successes or failures as you'd like, presuming your character can sustain the companion! Our discord channel has a room for dice-rolls, if you prefer.

All new arrivals will awake with knapsacks, their names stitched to the front. The contents of said knapsacks can all be found in your acceptance notices!

As a final note to those who participated in the Test Drive Meme, bear in mind that those threads, if all parties involved would like, can be game canon in the form of dream-like memories involving a place very much like this one, though the layout is considerably different.

Feeling a tad adrift? Make sure to check the Locations Page, which has details regarding the starting areas and a handy map for those who feel better with a bird's eye view!

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

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[ Broad shoulders tense slightly as a blade springs from the stranger's hand. The tension isn't born from fear or wariness: it's purely anticipation. The possibility of combat pulling Maine's muscles tight and preparing him for an attack.

Under different circumstances, Maine's curiosity would surge to the forefront. He'd want to get his hands on the weapon and figure out how it worked. Right now, however, it's an unknown. A potential threat.

The blade sinks into the sand instead of swinging towards him. Maine doesn't relax. Just watches the stranger and reads the text that appears beside their head. It's a brief message, straight to the point and — as far as Maine's concerned — perfectly understandable. If they'd rather use their weapon for support instead of Maine's arm, that's fine by him. Shit, he'd probably do the same thing.

So the Freelancer nods and steps to the side. Leaves the path between the stranger and the exit clear. Maine might consider himself damn near undefeatable, but he's not stupid. He's not about to turn his back on this person when they have a glowing sword drawn. ]

[The first few steps are painful the way all things are painful. Pain is acceptable, because their existence has been painful in a way that's been ongoing and forever since the heaviness of an inescapable sickness closed its fist around their heart and ribs and slicked every one of their veins with its poison.]

[Pain is bearable, and so is this. A few unsteady steps forward, and if their assistance's wariness upsets them, it doesn't show. By contrast, the Drifter seems to be under the impression that they've nothing to fear from him whatsoever; as he has not seen them as something worth attacking, clearly he can be safely regarded as a prospective ally.]

[It occurs to them, belatedly, that they've evaded some basics of interaction. Usually, the other party is sufficient in picking up their slack. This was a routine they should not have allowed themself to get caught up in.]

[They turn back to him.]

name?

[ It's an unexpected question. Evidence of how little Maine interacts with strangers these days. He knows his teammates; he knows his command; he doesn't need to know his enemies, who typically die within minutes of meeting him. Introducing himself is a skill that's become rusty with disuse.

The Freelancer considers for a moment before deciding on just: ]

Maine.

[ Easier to use just that than to tack on "Agent" and possibly have to explain what a Freelancer is.

With a little jerk of his chin, Maine turns the question back: ]

You?

[There's no United States of anything in the Drifter's world, much less an identifiable planet Earth, so the name holds no other connotation. He is called Maine, and so they will think of him in those terms.]

[They rest their free hand over their chest. Ignore the shiver that chases down their spine, the compulsion to double over coughing. He has already helped them once. It would not do to further entrench themself in his debt.]

drifter

[It speaks to how much they have learned that they no longer introduce themself as a drifter, but simply...Drifter.]

[It's not really a name, but it's the closest thing they have.]

[ "Drifter." An odd name, Maine thinks, but he's not exactly in a position to judge. His name is one that was assigned to him; one small part of a country located on a planet that Maine's never set foot on. It's his name, and he's proud of it, but it's hardly conventional.

The Freelancer nods his understanding. Watches for a moment as they clutch their chest, wondering if perhaps the excitement has gotten to them. Wondering if they might need medical help for more than their leg.

Once again, he asks: ]

You good?

[ Aloud this time, so that there can be no room for misunderstandings. ]

[You good.]

[They glance down at their leg, then back at him. Their sickness isn't curable. It isn't something that will go away; no amount of divine intervention has excised it from their system. Their leg will be most immediately treatable...if they'd the health packs to manage it.]

[They will have to request more.]

[A moment's consideration, then:]

will be
you?

[It...seems polite...to ask...]

[ Polite, yes, but not necessary. Maine may still be … adjusting to his recent arrival, but he's in peak physical condition. Perfectly capable of moving boulders or lifting beams, as the case may be.

Still, the question is appreciated. Maine weighs their concern against the displayed weapon (albeit one used as a cane). Comes out the other side marginally more trusting and with a more favorable impression of the Drifter.

Funny, the difference one word can make.

Silently, the Freelancer nods. Yes, he's good. ]

[He's large, he's strong, he has one eye, and his name is Maine. That seems sufficient information to base a potential allyship off of, as far as the Drifter is concerned! They are a simple creature in terms of how they make their decisions, and this one came easier than most.]

[Their head goes to one side. They think they would have remembered if they'd seen him before. He stands out. So, from there, there's only one logical progression they can think to take:]

new?

[ Aware of the fact that his presence is difficult to miss, Maine finds nothing unusual about the question. He nods; yes, he's new. So new, in fact, that the Drifter is one of the first strangers that he's met. All the more reason to remember the silent, similarly taciturn individual.

Once again, the Freelancer turns the question back with a jerk of his chin: ]

You?

[A shake of their head. Not new, not by a long shot. They've been here as long as anyone, since the first rafts touched to shore.]

[But of course, they don't explain that. They don't explain anything unless they must, and when they do, their explanations are short and desultory and leave much to be desired. Never ask the Drifter to give you an introductory blurb about the islands.]

almost 2 years

[ The gold-domed helmet twitches back slightly in surprise. Maine doesn't know what he'd expected to hear, but two years certainly wasn't it. That's way, way the fuck too long to be part of some weird rabbit's story, or however the hell it works.

Aloud, Maine asks: ]

Willingly?

[ Which is both a potentially personal question and one that he probably should've asked more tactfully. But Maine is blunt to a fault, and he rarely curbs it without reason. ]

[Not willingly, exactly...they hadn't exactly planned on ending up here. But they are nothing if not responsive to the call of whatever deities there are at work in the grander scheme. A god requires their services, and the Drifter delivers.]

[But given their state back home, what other choice was there?]

[They consider this for a moment, then issue a response that is, perhaps, equally blunt:]

better than death

[And enlightening about their state of being, where they come from.]

[ Enlightening, indeed. Maine is quiet for a moment, thinking about that. Having been pulled here from a mission to which he's eager to return, Maine hadn't thought about what other people's situations might be like. Hadn't considered the lives they left — or the lack of life, in this case.

The Freelancer doesn't know the Drifter well enough to feel much of anything about their impending demise. But he does nod in acknowledgment of their point.

"Better than death." Makes sense to Maine. ]

[The Drifter turns, as if to be on their way - they don't end conversations with greetings or farewells, but simply elect to consider them over and done with when they appear to be - but then stops, and turns back to him as they remember.]

[They do have something with which to repay his help.]

[A moment, as they rummage about beneath their cloak with one hand until they dig out something that crackles faintly: a little packet of individually-wrapped candies, which they open and hold out to him.]

[Because this is perfectly logical to them, to offer candy in the wake of a natural disaster.]

[Take one?]

[ What other people might consider rude, Maine considers perfectly reasonable. The conversation seems to be done; the Drifter is on their way.

Except that they aren't. They turn back and offer Maine … candy?

Maine stares at the bag for a moment. Looks at the Drifter's mostly-concealed face. Looks back to the bag.

… Fuck it. Why not?

The big man reaches forward and plucks a piece from the bag. ]

Thanks.

[They have to return their bag to whatever pocket they were keeping it before they can respond in kind, because when they do, it's not in words. It's in a simple gesture.]

[Thumb and forefinger curled into a "u" shape, held up over the cowl of cloth that swathes the lower half of their face.]

[It's meant to evoke a smile, though this doesn't always succeed in its lack of clarity.]

[ It takes a moment for Maine to understand their gesture. When he does, his own lips twitch up slightly. It's not visible past opaque gold, of course, so he gives the Drifter a thumbs up.

Even with the tension born of an exposed weapon, Maine thinks he likes the Drifter well enough. ]

[A thumbs up is a much more universal gesture; the Drifter has yet to adapt it into their kinetic vocabulary. This is the first sign to them that perhaps they should.]

[They might still think that Maine has one eye, because they haven't entirely registered that he is wearing a helmet, but they like him nonetheless, the same way they immediately decide they like anyone who decides to help them for essentially no payment whatsoever.]

[That being said, it's about time that they go hobbling off with their injured leg dragging behind them.]

[They're overdue for some medical care, probably.]

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April Intro: Better Get to Digging

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