∎ ETRAYA MODS ∎ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
etrayamods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
etrayalogs2024-08-09 10:32 am
etrayamods) wrote in etrayalogs2024-08-09 10:32 am
MISSION 004 WRAP-UP
WHO: Everyone!
WHEN: August 9th and going forward
WHERE: Returning to Etraya
WHAT: End of Mission 004 Log
NOTES\WARNINGS: N/A
WHEN: August 9th and going forward
WHERE: Returning to Etraya
WHAT: End of Mission 004 Log
NOTES\WARNINGS: N/A
 ⏵ there's no place like home ⏴ On the morning of August 9th, every Etrayan’s earpiece receives a message from Eos: FAIL or PASS in big, bold letters with no further context. Players are free to choose which response their character gets; if they were able to go through Moorecroft without letting on that they were from Etraya, or another city bubble in general, they will receive a PASS. Those whose identities as Etrayans were spoiled, will get a FAIL. This response has no bearing on whether or not they participated in the midnight breakouts, nor what condition they’ve managed to get themselves into. It wouldn’t be the first time some kids from Moorecroft tore up the town looking for answers, even if it is the first time in a while they’ve managed to get as far as they had and cause as much damage as they have. Regardless, any responses sent to Eos will bounce right back to the original sender, with a RECEIVER UNAVAILABLE error: it seems that, shortly after sending through their results, all of those from Etraya have been disconnected from Eos’ network, and reconnected to Aurora’s by the friendly companion bots stepping through another portal in the middle of Moorecroft’s park. They’ll offer waves of their hands, and usher everyone back to Etraya proper. They’ll offer explanations similar to what Aurora would give to newcomers arriving to those who were dropped in with Eos, as well as offer to assist them in getting settled in Etraya. The companion bots will allow Etrayans to step through the portal with items they can carry, minus the smaller android babies. If they insist, it will be explained to them that, much like the companion bots native to Etraya, these babies are meant to assist newcomers in settling, and they cannot take them from Eos. Welcome home. At the very least, everything looks normal on this side.  ⏵ whispered secrets of the night ⏴ Or it seems normal enough. While previous excursions outside of Etraya have featured environmental changes, the city bubble now appears exactly as it had before everyone left. Buildings stand as pristine as ever, animals have been fed and cared for, and everyone is invited to return to their homes for a quick rest. But as you meander through the familiar streets and over bridges, an unsettling stillness clings to the air. The usual sounds of Etraya–the rustling of leaves, the chirping of birds, and the chatter from the companion bots– feel slightly off. Shadows stretch a little too long, lingering in the corners of your vision, and the light, although warm, seems to cast an unnatural tint over everything. It’s as if the city itself had been holding its breath in everyone’s absence. As days pass, the eerie stillness begins to ebb. The animals gradually resume their usual activities, and companion bots return to their routines, chatting with Etrayans as they wander the city and help set up new facilities. Yet despite the return of normalcy, a sense of unease lingers. The city feels different as if it’s been touched by something while you were away. There are no curfews on Etraya, unlike Moorecroft, but those who wander in the dark may be unable to help but notice that it almost feels as if something is watching you, waiting for you to let your guard down. Etraya appears to be the same, but something has changed, shifted. And it’s only a matter of time before that change reveals itself. Those who wander outside at night during their first several days back will feel like they are being watched, but will be unable to find what is watching them, regardless of the method they use to try and discern what it is.  ⏵ sea la vie ⏴ The companion bots, seemingly oblivious to any lingering unease, appear to be in full vacation mode. They spend a significant amount of time on the two small, sandy islands that are just south of the hospital, setting up for what looks like the perfect beach day. Chairs are arranged in neat rows, colorful towels are spread out across the sand, and a small shack has been built just off the side of the bridge that offers swimsuits and any other beach-related item that they could need - or most of them! The narrow river means surfboards are out of the question; instead, the bots provide massive tube floaties, perfect for lazily drifting down the currents.  ⏵ polaroid pandemonium ⏴ At each table, two envelopes sit in front of two chairs, each containing a collection of photos. These images capture significant moments from your history - events you may have forgotten or ones that have shaped who you are. On the back of each envelope, instructions for the task await: discuss the moment featured in the photo with your partner, and share what it means to you. Whether it’s a memory of a terrible ordeal, or one of your happiest times with your loved ones. The choice to participate is yours; however, Aurora and the companion bots make it clear that your place at the table is pre-reserved whether you show up or not - meaning, your photos may still be viewed by others, even if you decide not to show up. This log marks the end of their visit to Moorecroft! Characters return to Etraya on August 9th regardless of what shenanigans they were getting up to within the other city bubble. We'll be following up with the mission: breakout threads, as well as continuing to follow through with NPC threads and provide further information for those still participating in plotting. For any questions relating to the contents of this log, please use the mod queries thread. All other questions can be directed to the FAQ. |
polaroid pandemonium
She sits, flips the envelope over, and reads.]
Sharing again, is it? My, they really are keen to have us open our hearts to one another, aren't they.
[An idea she abhors.
Lowering the envelope beneath the edge of the table for privacy's sake, she pulls out the top picture. It shows two children, a tiefling and a half-elf, maybe thirteen or fourteen, smiling, holding hands, as one pulls the other through a small crevasse in a cave wall. There are flowers growing in the cave. Night orchids. It's...
Beautiful.
The tiefling is a perfect stranger to her. The half-elf might as well be too. Shadowheart recognizes her own features, but she has no memory of this moment. She has no memory of ever being so happy.
She hasn't got the courage to look any further.]
no subject
[ His partner, as it turns out, is someone who has already gotten far more extensive a glimpse into his life than Fett is comfortable with. When the white-haired woman—Shadowheart, he remembers—helped him with "Mirta," she had mercifully not asked any prying questions, but he's still not proud of having been witnessed in those moments of desperation. And now, her discretion doesn't matter; they'll be learning more about each other's lives, like it or not.
She pulls the envelope under her side of the table and begins to look at the photos. Fett gives her a moment. His own hand remains on the table, covering that one image—protecting it but not taking it for himself. Fett doesn't know if he could even explain why.
He lets the silence stretch on for several more moments before forcing himself to break it. ]
So. Who goes first?
no subject
[That's mostly true. With her memories gone, what is there to say? The picture shows a fleeting moment of joy in a joyless place between two children, but neither of them means anything to her. She isn't that little girl anymore; she doesn't remember ever being her.
She glances down at the photograph that Fett has laid his hand over oh-so-protectively. Part of her is curious what he's hiding. Part of her doesn't want to know.
But that's the awful little game they've found themselves roped into, isn't it? One of them's got to say something.]
So I suppose you had better go first.
no subject
He hates it. But he's always done whatever is necessary to survive. He tells himself that this is no different.
He'd seen Shadowheart glance at the photo under his hand. He broaches the possibility of telling her about it in his mind and, surprisingly, doesn't feel as much antipathy as he'd expected. Maybe it's because she's already seen Mirta, already had the glimpse into the inferno that is his family life. He's silent for a moment more, then takes the same kind of measured, slow breath that he takes before storming a room. He wishes this was that easy. ]
This is a picture of my daughter, [ he says finally, one finger tapping against the photo under his hand. ] Mirta's mother. After she— [ He trails off, and his helmet turns slightly like he's reorienting himself. When he speaks again, his voice is flatter than it was before, like he's ground every bit of intonation he can out of it. ] After she was killed. It's a picture of her body.
no subject
But it does matter, and Shadowheart's thoughts can't help but drift to the picture she so hastily stuffed into the envelope and hid away, to the girl she used to be. Despite herself, she finds her heart aching for a mother she may as well have never met and a father she can barely recall. It even aches, if only a little, for the girl in the picture, and the life she never got to have with parents who loved her.
She was somebody's daughter too.]
Does our host enjoy forcing us to grapple with the worst moments of our life in front of relative strangers, or do you suppose she's as miserable about all this as we are? I suspect it's the former, but I'm rather keen to make it the latter, should I ever get the chance.
[And, after a momentary pause:] I am sorry about your daughter. I know a little of what it is to lose someone.
no subject
[ Even saying this, Fett can't say he takes issue with Shadowheart's desire for vengeance on their "host." There are better uses of their time—but he understands the sentiment.
As for her condolences... Sympathy isn't something he's accustomed to receiving. He certainly doesn't know how to respond to it. He says nothing for several moments, the photo continuing to burn a hole under his palm. Has he said enough already? Or is more required to appease Aurora's terms? ]
She was in the wrong place at the wrong time... [ he goes on, reluctant. ] She was looking for me. Found someone else.
[ One finger taps the table. It's not just that he wants to avoid the pain of discussing the topic; he also doesn't want to make his daughter's death a spectacle. He doesn't want to share that she'd been tortured to death, or that she'd been looking for him to kill him. She deserves that privacy, at least.
Blast Aurora. I've shared enough.
Finally, his fingers curl around the photo and he pulls it from the table. Talking about Ailyn has made him feel protective of it, however late that instinct may have come. He inclines his head towards Shadowheart. ]
Your turn.
no subject
[If Fett is unsure of how to take sympathy, Shadowheart is equally unsure of how to give it. She has precious little practice with it, and little enough understanding of how to handle such a situation. What does one do when there is nothing to be done? Outside of the rarest acts of divinity, the dead cannot return anymore than time can be unwoven and past tragedies rewritten. Too many turn to darkness, and she hasn't quite figured out the alternative yet.
All she knows is that she's awfully angry at Aurora.
With an air of callous dismissal, she shrugs.]
I've got a picture of me as a child. [She doesn't offer to show it, keeping it safely tucked in its envelope with the other pictures she hasn't been brave enough to look at.] I don't remember the incident. I don't even remember the other child I was with. We were... holding hands. As children do. It's meaningless, really.
[And blundering right along so she doesn't have to think about why her chest feels tight:] Have you got any more?
no subject
Why would Aurora give you something meaningless?
[ It's a question born of skepticism. None of the photos in his envelope are meaningless; each one depicts something life-altering—and painful. Why should Shadowheart's be any different? ]
no subject
[She scowls.]
I don't remember the other child in the picture. [True.] I don't know where we were. [Half-truth.] And, I assure you, it means nothing to me. [Lie.
Still holding the envelope beneath the table, she opens it again and pulls out the second picture: a rustic kitchen scene, a young human woman with dark hair brandishing a rolling pin over a ball of dough while next to her an elven man bounces a little girl on his hip. All three are smiling. The child is a pudgy little thing, all of about three years old, but still, Shadowheart recognizes herself. The man is her father. The woman must be her mother, though she's never seen her face before.
Another picture: Shadowheart and the tiefling, but they're older now, maybe late teens judging by the tiefling's appearance. Shadowheart's hair was black, then, and styled in a loose ponytail rather than the plait she typically wears it in now. She's snarling, ready to lunge, despite the blood pouring out of her nose and the bruise forming over one eye. Her target is a half-elf boy with blood on his knuckles, drawing back to throw a punch. The tiefling is behind Shadowheart, clutching her shoulders. On the ground in front of her is a half-orc girl, holding her own nose, tears and snot and blood streaming down her face. All of them are unarmed and unarmoured, all wearing the simple black and purple garb of initiates.
This picture doesn't evoke the same feelings as the other two. There's no tightness in her chest, no fear of tears welling in her eyes if she dares stare at it too long. Mostly, she feels annoyed. Perhaps... protective, towards the tiefling.
She tosses that picture on the table.]
There. A fight between teenagers. I don't recall what we were fighting about. I must have been friends with her-- [She points towards the tiefling.] --and rather less friendly with the others. The half-orc is called Buddug, and she's dead now.
[She may not remember this moment from their youth, but Buddug was with her on the mission to retrieve the Prism. She remembers all too vividly the look on the half-orc's face when a gith blade found her throat.]
I don't remember the other two.
no subject
Still, he's not going to press the issue. He assumes the woman simply doesn't want to share the context of the photo for personal reasons and is inexplicably reticent to say as much. Easier, perhaps, for her to pretend ignorance. Either way, if she isn't inclined to share, he isn't going to make her.
The second photo at least gets a little more commentary—though not much. Fett eyes the bloody scene. Really, there isn't much Shadowheart tells him that he couldn't surmise himself. In fact, that seems to be exactly what she's doing: drawing conclusions from what she sees rather than actually describing any of it from memory. The name and fate of one of the combatants is about the only thing she says that isn't immediately evident from the photo itself.
He's reminded uncomfortably of Sintas emerging amnesiac from carbonite. She'd been the same way, piecing things together from what little information her dulled senses could provide. Perhaps that's why his response is gruffly sympathetic. ]
Wouldn't be surprised if Aurora could tell you about them. Seems like part of her job is knowing other people's business.
[ Of course, whether Shadowheart actually wants to remember is another question entirely. Fett is quite sure he wouldn't mind forgetting about most of the memories in his own envelope. ]
cw: mention of torture
Bracing herself for the worst, she takes a quick look through the rest of the envelope. A couple more scenes from her childhood, one of her in the garden with her mother, one of the night the Sharrans took her. One of her as an older child in the cloister, gently cradling a mouse as she feeds it a bit of food. And the last one...
Her father, scruffier than the other picture and dressed in rags, bound to a rack. A torturer standing over him, the light of a white-hot iron rod reflecting in her pale green eyes. She's younger, her hair still black and styled differently than it is now, but the torturer is, unmistakably, Shadowheart herself.
Once glance is all it takes for her to decide that if her world's future depends on her sharing this with a relative stranger, she'd rather let it burn. She pulls back the picture that she threw on the table and stuffs it in the envelope with the others.]
I'm sorry about your daughter. [She just repeats what she said earlier because she doesn't know what else to say, and her tone is curt enough that the real sympathy she feels barely comes through. She doesn't know how to get out of this situation gracefully but she can't sit here anymore and pretend that she's alright.] But I hardly see the point of discussing any of this any further.
[Pictures safely tucked away in their envelope, she stands to leave.]