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 )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

All right.

[He owes him that much. (How much? How much do you tell him?) Well, he'll figure it out as he goes. Improvising isn't ideal, but sometimes it's the only option you have available. He can at least say he's gotten better at it.]

[Wash jams his helmet back over his head, as if closing the window to the physical shift might make it easier to regard the passage of time, or lack thereof.]

But not here. This place is pretty unstable, and I don't want to be here when another rockslide starts up.

[ With a nod, Maine accepts that condition and turns his back on Wash. Slips his helmet back on as he moves to collect his belongings — the knapsack with his name on it and the silver briefcase that he'd killed for.

(Save for the metal dataport at the base of Maine's skull, the back of the big Freelancer's head is bare. "Metastability" isn't a word he knows, let alone a concept that would dominate his life.)

There's a moment spent debating how to best carry everything. Then Maine scoops up both briefcase and knapsack in his left hand, takes his pistol in the other — he'd prefer the Brute Shot, but it's easier to keep that on his back — and turns to Wash with another nod.

Lead the way, Wash. ]

[Wash's gaze lingers over his old teammate's just a bit longer than it should - taking in the bare skull, the knapsack, the pistol, the briefcase. It takes time to order and reorder his thoughts into something he can verbalize, the way it never did before. He was far better at spitting out words, back then, going toe-to-toe with York's wit and making up for the stoicism of some of his teammates.]

[But eventually, he nods and starts moving for the island's mana pool.]

You see what's in your pack yet? Everyone gets one when they show up here. Sometimes you get stuff that's useful, and sometimes you get stuff that's...not.

[ The delay is an odd one. The silence that accompanies it isn't comfortable. Maine bears it without flinching, fighting the nagging sensation that he's being scrutinized. Tries not to think too carefully about why.

There'll be time to ask questions later. Right now, he needs to focus on the objective.

When Wash finally moves, Maine follows. Keeps his eyes on their surroundings, alert to any sign of potential threats. Trusts his teammate to navigate — Wash is the only one among them that knows where they're going, after all.

To the question, Maine shakes his head. ]

Just woke.

[ Woke up to an unknown creature prodding him, then nearly attacked it on instinct. Good thing Wash ran so fast. ]

Fair enough.

[He remembers the dream - both of them - but that doesn't mean that the explanation was enough to fully contextualize where they've both ended up. It took Wash, for his part, some days of...adjustment.]

[He had help. He and C.T. were fumbling through it together, until one day they weren't.]

Mana pool's down this way. We can take it back to where I'm...living, I guess you could say.

[ The mention of a mana pool brings more memories of the rabbit to mind. Something about sigils, flowers, and transportation. Then the word "living" comes out of Wash's mouth, unceremoniously dropkicking those thoughts right out of Maine's head.

Living. Not staying, or camping, or anything that speaks of something short-term. Living.

It's been seven or eight months, Maine reminds himself. It's reasonable that Wash would start calling his base of operations the place that he lives. It may not even hold the same connotation for Wash that it does for Maine.

Still.

Maine falls silent as they move. He's thinking. Processing. Struggling to decide whether he believes this is real or not. It certainly feels real. And he can't imagine why his unconscious mind would spit out an image of Wash looking so … ragged.

When they arrive at the mana pool, Maine finally speaks again: ]

Hallucinating?

[ Which may be a stupid question to ask of a possible hallucination. It's not one that Maine would voice to many, either. But Wash is his friend; Maine trusts him. ]

I don't think this is.

[He'd ask, but...he's seen him before. Maine. Maine, as he knew him best, before his throat was torn apart with a full magazine and stitched painfully back together, before his mind was injected with a ball of napalm given voice and given the means to act upon the world. He's seen him when he wasn't certain he'd ever see him again, and he'd known that he wasn't real because everyone was seeing something.]

Hard to verify a...subjective experience. Unless I'm seeing you too. [The word gets a little higher than he means it to, tenuous, close to snapping, but - he reins that back in.]

If it is, it's a pretty consistent one.

[ From the corner of his eye, Maine looks down at Wash. Wonders at the odd stress in his friend's voice. Wonders, and adds it to an ever-growing list of questions — right alongside why Wash asked his name.

After grunting in acknowledgment, Maine considers Wash's words. Finds himself almost immediately annoyed that there's not something they can do to get a definitive answer. He doesn't like uncertainty. Prefers things to be concrete, or at least actionable.

And so, in the vein of dreams: ]

Could pinch.

[ What? It might work. ]

[Wash laughs. It's not a full-throated thing - just a breathy little huff of noise, tired and strained.]

Yeah. Yeah, you could. Would verify whether we're both really seeing this, sure thing.

[Whether he's really seeing his friend.]

[(He's seen him so many times, too many times, to know if he's really seeing him.)]

[If a pinch would do it, he won't complain. He'd forgive entirely too much, over and over again, for no reason besides the obvious: that Maine is here, and he's his friend, and he'd give anything it took to hold him back from what waits for him past this exact moment.]

[But he can't.]

[So instead, Wash crouches, picks one of those flowers that always grows near the mana pool, and twirls it between gloved fingertips.]

[ That's not a great laugh. It might be better than nothing, but it still sounds bad. Still emphasizes how tired Wash obviously is, even with his face concealed by his helmet.

Maine puts those feelings aside. Hums in consideration as he mag-locks his pistol to his thigh and picks a flower as well, mimicking his friend once again. The flower is a nice one, Maine thinks. Has a long enough stem that he can hold it between two fingers while he uses his thumb and forefinger to … well. Pinch himself.

Fully armored, there's not a whole lot available to pinch. But unlike most Freelancers, Maine's shoulders aren't covered by an outer shell. So he pinches the black bodysuit covering his upper arms. Grunts a little when he feels it.

Dammit.

Seeking a second opinion, Maine gestures to Wash and taps the same spot — "pinch."

Sure, it's ridiculous. But it's less ridiculous than trusting a giant rabbit. ]

Oh, what? You're serious?

[Maybe Maine can hear it: the smile in his tone, right-cornered and wry. It's a simple measure, but...it makes sense, the way things here follow their own kind of shitty logic. They met in a dream, and it felt like a dream - a more linear dream than most of his, and less horrifying than his dreams tend to be, but it felt like it enough for him to accept it at face value.]

[Not so much anymore. Can't shrug that away.]

All right, buddy.

[He's quick about it. Reaches up at the black bodysuit and pinches, and - yep. Feels real.]

[ Simple, direct solutions are often the most effective ones, in Maine's opinion. And he feels the pinch. It feels real. He doesn't think that a hallucination could do that. Combine the sharp twinge of pain with everything else…

Shit. This probably is real.

The big Freelancer nods; he felt that. Then, determined not to think on it too hard until he gets that sitrep, Maine raises the flower.

They throw these in the pool, right? ]

[That kind of reaction is one of the things about Freelancer that Wash, though hard-pressed to admit it, might genuinely miss. The ability to take whatever shit is happening and assimilate it into your world-view, because combat won't wait for you to be perturbed or shocked at the presence of anomalies - of aliens, of A.I. jabbering to each other, of armor mods going haywire. You take it into account, and move on.]

[Have your existential crises on your own time.]

Think islets. That's where we're at.

[By we he means the Alpha A.I. you probably have no idea even exists and the plant-tiger that our former teammate adopted, but you know what? He's going to save those explanations for when he has to make them.]

[Fast travel now. Explanations later. A good philosophy.]

[Wash tosses his flower in before he can catch himself second-guessing that.]

[ As far as Maine's concerned, rolling with the punches is the only way to live. If he let himself go to pieces every time an orderly mission went to chaos, he would've died on his first deployment. All he can do is move forward. Deal with whatever emotional bullshit crops up later — or just suppress it until it explodes in the form of anger. Historically, Maine has favored the latter.

"We" gets another look. He hadn't thought to ask Wash who else might be here. But he doesn't interrupt to do it now. He thinks "islets," waits until his friend tosses the flower, then — feeling a little ridiculous — Maine follows suit.

Before Maine can wonder how the hell this is supposed to work, it's already done. ]

[Wash at least has the benefit of experience with teleportation, thanks to Grif's grenades. (He still refuses to call them "futurecubes" out of principle of it.) He can take disorientation in stride, shaking away the disconcerting feeling of the ground abruptly no longer being the ground beneath his feet.]

[Breathe out.]

All right. Ground here is solid.

[ Maine, on the other hand, has zero experience with teleportation. His stomach twists; he feels like he's falling; his feet find the ground, and he immediately staggers. It's not graceful by a long shot. And the low growl between his teeth may be wordless, but it manages to summarize a whole slew of curses.

Fucking shit, he doesn't like that feeling. At all.

To his credit, Maine recovers from the shock quickly enough. But, judging by the dark look he casts the mana pool, he's not eager to travel again.

When Maine looks to his teammate, the nod he gives is an expectant one. All right, they're on solid ground. What now? ]

You okay?

[And he was so certain he'd never be doing the anxious friend-hover thing. That was a fucking joke, sure. If he takes his eyes off him for two seconds, the terror that he'll just be gone again is very much real.]

[But he's not.]

[This hallucination isn't dispersing, and he's proven himself alarmingly solid, and there's a weight in the pit of Wash's stomach that won't fade because of it.]

Can be kind of disorienting the first time. We can take a minute if you...need that.

[When has Maine ever needed a minute, Wash. Jesus.]

[ When, indeed.

The suggestion earns a startled look from Maine. Not offended — there's no growl, huff, or snort of dismissal — but honestly surprised. Like Maine's not sure what to make of it.

He's not critically wounded. He's not at risk of bleeding out. As far as he knows, he hasn't suffered any head injuries. He still doesn't understand the situation, and rectifying that is his top priority.

He can handle disorientation and feeling slightly sick because of it. He's fine.

He's always fine.

So Maine shakes his head. Grunts out: ]

Sitrep.

[ That's what he needs. Not a minute to collect himself. ]

[No more delays, Agent.]

[He's stalled for long enough.]

[Wash...flounders. For a minute, there might be something familiar in the uncertainty that averts his gaze, has him looking at his feet, fumbling to figure out the right way to say what needs saying. Where to even begin. Feels like being a rookie again, coming up against the barrier of agents who were stronger and smarter and better than him in every way, and that didn't matter so much except when they could hold that over his head and shut him up.]

...right. Okay. So - few months ago, right? I end up here. I'm not alone, either. C.T., she's here too.

[ Unlike the strange silence and the way Wash seemed to scrutinize him earlier, this delay is a familiar one. This is one brought on by Wash working to gather his thoughts. This is uncertainty. Maybe insecurity.

Other Agents might tell Wash to hurry up and spit it out. Maine — who chooses his own words so carefully when he elects to use them — stays quiet. He waits, attentive but not impatient.

He doesn't mind the delay. Never has.

"C.T." takes a second to process. It's a relatively new change, and it's one that Maine's still adjusting to. When he gets it, he nods, encouraging Wash to continue. ]

[How much does he get into here. Good lord.]

She'd been through...a lot. She was from a different point - she'd been somewhere else. We knew her, and then she ended up in a place like this one, but not this one. Somewhere...thousands of years ahead, in the future.

[He hates this. He hates this so much because now having to explain the plot of Airlocked when he wasn't even there is proving nigh impossible.]

If that doesn't make any sense to you, don't worry. It didn't make sense to me either. What mattered is she knew things about...how things were going to end up with the Project, since she was from...later than I was.

[ Wash is right: it doesn't make sense to Maine. Then again, what does make sense here? Between the giant rabbit, the dream with Wash that wasn't a dream, the tree-creature that prodded him awake, and the fact that Wash is somehow years older, Maine's idea of 'what makes sense' is starting to become a little skewed.

So Maine takes it in stride as best he can. Just asks— ]

Time travel?

[ — to make sure he's following. ]

Less...travel, and more...you know, things keep moving. Not everyone shows up from the same...time. Basically.

[Church told him he was the worst and explanations, and Wash is beginning to suspect that this is true. He's doing a terrible job of explaining this.]

So C.T. was from...later.

And so am I.

[How much later?]

[God but he does not want to say.]

[ Yeah, that's a pretty terrible explanation. Which Wash may be able to gather from the way that Maine just … stares at him.

And stares.

And keeps staring.

Wanna try that one again, buddy? ]

[LONG SIGH. He is trying. He is trying and learning that explanations are not among his skillset. Which he knew already, but he's getting a good strong reminder.]

Time keeps moving back home. We end up here, and things...freeze. According to the Storyteller. If we go back, things keep going. So it's like we were never here, the timeline keeps progressing, and sometimes people get picked from different points in that timeline.

[Probably not that much better.]

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