ataraxites: (Default)
axmods. ([personal profile] ataraxites) wrote in [community profile] ataraxionlogs2016-01-08 10:15 pm

ARRIVAL ▒ 005

CHARACTERS: Any and all.
LOCATION: Basecamp, Medical and beyond.
WARNINGS: Implied (and possibly explicit) nakedness.
SUMMARY: The Tranquility jumps again.
NOTES: Can be found at the bottom of the post.


T H E   C A M P   ( C U R R E N T   C H A R A C T E R S )
It's a beautiful morning when the alarms start, promising to continue on and on throughout much of the day. Most work and routine continues on tirelessly in the form of hunting and gathering, security patrols, stoking fires, and the latest efforts at building and barricading. As the alarms scream on, an awareness settles among the basecamp population. Waiting for that moment when they stop, and whatever the coming jump will bring with it this time. Some retreat to their shelters, others simply continue on with their day.

Some gather and stop to watch.

It's ten hours later when it happens. A tremble in the earth, shaking up through the trees. There's no cries from the wildlife, an eerie, unnatural silence in response to the disturbance. The wreck of the Tranquility begins to cord with lines of white light, threading across the hull like veins, some patches remaining dark, standing out against the vision like splotches burnt to the back of the eyelids. There's no great sound. In an instant, the ship is gone, a soft whomp, a feeling of air rushing past, the trees bending towards the site as if blown by a fierce wind. It's only a second. With a crack, the wreck returns, a rumble rolling through the air like thunder.

The earth shakes. The trees tremble. The ship groans, the sound echoing out like the cry of a wounded beast.

The jump has passed.

Before search and rescue can gather and see for themselves if anyone new was dragged from their homes, something strange happens. Some have seen it before, and more recent arrivals have not. A sporadic raining down of items has begun. Something cylindrical and two feet long plummets from where it had appeared in the sky, trailing fabric as it spins and unravels, slamming into a campfire and immediately going up in flames. There are several of these fabric bolts, some of them hidden in containers of black metal, some unravelling loose and worn from age. Up close, the fabric is stiff to touch and shining a metallic blue, and held to the light, an observer can detect a strange language of symbols printed on the fabric in the same colour, but with a different quality of reflection.

Among them are other objects, including glass-like spheres the size of a human head, shattering on impact, with whatever fluid within immediately evaporating into a steam that rises into nothing. Some manage safe landings, bouncing on tent tarp, landing in soft jungle brush, liquid inside shimmering as they roll still. Pieces of silver metal, cut into feather-like shapes, a hand's width and oddly delicate, rain down gentler, catching in the wind, spinning wildly before settling. They begin to blacken when touched.

The unusual rain of items, not only limited to the immediate camp area but the jungle beyond, ceases hardly a minute after it has begun.

M E D I C A L   ( N E W   A R R I V A L S )
You wake up, alone in the dark. There's a breathing tube jammed down your trachea, and you're suspended in a tube of clear blue fluid. Through the fog you can see shadows of movement, the muted sound of alarms crying. Upon registering your level of consciousness, the gravity couch drains the fluid surrounding you and retracts the breathing apparatus; the doors in front of you open, and you're suddenly dropped several feet onto the opposite wall.

The impact is painful, winds you, and it takes several seconds to overcome and persuade uncooperative limbs to move. All around you is chaos: the sirens of alarms are shrieking in your ears, close and claustrophobic in the wreckage of the medical bay you've awoken in, lit dim and red. Around you, others are waking up, falling from other gravcouches, stumbling to their feet. Light catches your eye, and you look up to see a huge rend in the outer wall high above you, overhung by broken structural beams and damaged cabling.

Climbing up takes all the strength you have.

You emerge in a landscape painted orange by sunset, surrounded by an immense, vast jungle. As your vision clears, you realise you stand on the hull of a colossal spaceship, crashed on an unknown world, two moons hanging heavy in the sky above, visible as the sky begins to darken. In the distance, far out on a great swathe of torn up earth through the jungle are a clustered crowd of figures, moving towards the wreck.

Your welcome party, but are they friend or foe?
N O T E S
  • Anything remaining within a mile radius of the ship when it jumps will be irreparably damaged. Soft organics will be pulverised, while all trees and plants will initially appear fine but crumble to pieces within a day (or sooner if disturbed). Non-organic material will also be weakened, bending or falling apart when touched.
  • Newly arriving characters venturing through the medbay will discover their inventory items scattered beyond the ship. Feel free to find all of your inventory items, or lose as many as you like, as they will be randomly distributed around the jump radius. They will also be able to find jumpsuits and other standard clothing in the wreckage of medical.
  • The alarms will cut after two hours, a which point a looping audio message telling passengers to make their way to the blue lifts will be audible. The lifts, if investigated, will be missing, leaving only empty elevator shafts.
  • The wreck will show increased signs of instability for a few days after the jump, and will have seemed to have sunk further into the rock of the cliff than it was before.
  • As mentioned, items as described above will also rain down on camp and all areas beyond it. Feel free to find these in sporadic quantity.
  • If you have any other questions, please don't hesitate to contact us via PM, the FAQ or Questions pages!

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