etrayalogs | Mission 015 Log

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Mission 015 Log

Mission Summary

Genre: Dystopian / Horror

Premise: Echo can no longer detect what's happening in Pollux, and sends Etrayans to investigate. In Pollux, cut off from contact with Aurora and unable to return until whatever's causing the interference is removed, the Etrayans find things have really gone to hell...

Tone: Intense, heavy, and serious.

Objectives: Determine what's happening in Pollux and install a new A.I. if necessary.

We have no need of other worlds

Arrival
The Etrayans arrive in an uninhabited apartment complex, layered with dust and echoingly empty. The layout is often odd in places in ways that might normally be humorous -- a toilet in the kitchen, one unit with five closets side-by-side off of a single main room -- but now take on an almost sinister, unnerving cast. Nothing seems to make sense in this building.

There's remnants of there being residents once in the more livable layouts, but even that has some strangeness to it: identical baskets of men's hygiene supplies left in every unit, inhabited or not; half-eaten meals abandoned in a hurry, rotting on dining tables; or robots that look much like Etraya's companion bots slumped over in place, crumpled on the floor like puppets with cut strings. There's some supplies to be found and scavenged, and it's empty enough that it's a safe place to start.

Exploring the City
Or they can head outside into the central green space of the city, an unsettling lumpy mound looming in the middle of it off in the distance. The park is bordered on all sides by gleaming metal buildings that tower overhead, all in similar states of disrepair from the one they'd just exited.

Pretty quickly, they'll accomplish one of their primary objectives: discovering what happened to Castor. There's a human man wandering the fringes of the park, scouting for disabled bots that he, under great duress, is trying to repair. The enforcers leave him alone -- they know who he is -- and he can be approached and spoken with.

Maybe he has some answers. Or maybe the other Polluxians left around the city do.

Either way, Castor has become a full, organic human through magical means, and it's obvious they're going to need to install that new A.I. after all. Before long, a base camp is established by the Etrayans in a nearby pod-style hotel, and the mission is underway in earnest.

Dead as Dead
Approaching the mound in the center of the park, characters will come to the creeping realization that it is a pile of corpses, some of them recognizable on inspection. The bodies have been dragged there and left on display as a taunt and a threat. They've been killed in a variety of ways, most of them gruesome but some subtle. In all cases, their souls have been pulled out and obliterated, leaving them completely incapable of resurrection or reanimation.

There's evidence here and there that some Polluxians might have approached to try to take some for proper burials, but the corpse pile is as much bait as it is anything else -- the enforcers and undead regularly stop by on their patrols to check if someone's lingering.

Opposition
Those roaming the city will encounter two types of opposition.

Enforcers are former Polluxians who have either willingly signed on to be part of the new regime or have been coerced into doing so to keep themselves or their loved ones from the fate on display in the park. They come in the full array of possible characters who can be recruited by Echo.

The undead that assist them as minions are not the shambling idiots common in media: they're bodies animated by some other force, the original soul pulled out but left intact, hovering beside the victim to those that can sense its presence.

All of them, to a one, smile widely, a fierce grin belying their joy at their tasks. Though they have no superhuman strengths, they also feel no pain, and if cut off at the knees they will pull themselves with fingertips across the floor to continue to seek their targets, thrilled all the while.

These dead, too, can be recognized as castmates -- or perhaps as another version of yourself -- but if you speak their name out loud to them, perhaps in shock or perhaps to plead, they slump lifeless to the ground, the thread to their soul cut. It soon becomes obvious that this is one source of the corpses in the pile. Laying them to true rest will take something more than talking or violence.

This is another lie

The Tower
The other source of corpses in the park is the magically hidden tower, and those that sneak in or are captured and brought inside will find that out. Characters can be forced into becoming either contestants or enforcers in a series of macabre games, and their role can switch round to round. Note: players are welcome to make up their own game scenarios. Those listed below are provided as starting points and ideas.

For contestants, they will experience complete power nerfing, but those that win make their way up one level in the tower, game by game. Maybe eventually they'll see what's at the top, if they ever make it that far. Those that lose can die, face mutilation, or some other consequence like reliving their worst memory in real-time.

For enforcers, keeping the contestants in line and running the games might earn them the goodwill of the person running the show. They can be as creative as they'd like with how to keep things running; by no means does death need to be the only possible penalty. Or maybe if they act out, trying to help contestants when they shouldn't be, they'd attract their ire...

Game Ideas

Blindman's Bluff: One person is blindfolded and must find and tag another player. The blindman has shoes, whereas everyone else has had theirs confiscated. The floor is covered in glass.

Duck, Duck, Viper: This game is set up like an ordinary game of Duck, Duck, Goose with one notable addition to the fox, ducks and geese. One player amongst you will be a Viper, holding a knife. Should the Fox accidentally select the Viper as a Goose, the Viper will then chase the Fox around the circle and attempt to stab them. The Viper wins if they are successful in this.

Tortilla Game: Both contestants put water in their mouths. Take turns slapping one another with a variety of objects on the table to try to either make them laugh or induce pain and spit all the water. The objects are: a tortilla, a table tennis paddle, a deflated soccer ball, a ruler, your own open palm.

Red Light, Green Light: Classic! The giant robot turns its head alternatingly between the tree and the field. When the robot is looking at the tree, run towards the finish line. When the robot’s head is facing the field, stop and so not move! Under penalty of being shot, but not necessarily to death.

Sardines in a Can: One person is “it” and has to find the sardines. Everyone else runs and hides. If you pick the same spot as someone, you must either be making noise the entire time, or stab one other. Try not to be found by the hungry fisherman -- a guard with a gun.

Inchworm: One person must get on the other’s shoulders. The top person can only use their arms, the bottom can only use their legs. Scale a ladder as a chamber fills with water. Only one person is allowed to leave the exit, or both people must lose a hand or a foot.

... We need mirrors

Museum of Multidimensional Art
Searching through the city will eventually yield the location of the server farm: the special collections section of the Museum of Multidimensional Art. Castor might not know how to care for living beings (including himself, now) but he appreciates their creations, and the museum is an elaborate, sprawling structure with myriad exhibits.

The building itself is a vision of modern architecture, an art piece of its own, and the slanted doors open into a wide foyer with an arching thirty foot ceiling. From it is suspended a wire sculpture, each piece arranged separately so that standing from different positions in the foyer creates a different visual impression from each angle. Is that a bird, or a whale, or a baby? The overall effect is something like cloud-watching with wires.

Other pieces on display vary widely with examples from across every dimension, such as a framed photograph of a dress that some might see as blue and black, others white and gold, and other interesting exhibits. There are, of course, plenty done in more traditional mediums, but even those tend to be experimental in some way.

Special Collections
Special collections is located in the basement levels beneath the museum. An elevator provides access to those with either a keycard or the abilities to hack past the security system, and then characters are presented with a massive open-air chain-link framework serving as a gated wall, protected by its own locks. These no keycard will pass, and must be dismantled with other means.

Beyond is, at first, actual art. Several levels have nothing but vertical slide-out racks containing carefully preserved paintings and other works, and one must wander past them to encounter the final door before multiple floors of stairs that descend to the server farm. It's impossible to miss the transition, as the final door is a chambered air-lock they must pass through into a space fully devoid of air.

Heart of a City
Similar to Aurora's server floors for those who've been there, there's an additional sub-basement level with machinery for constructing companion bots, the equipment non-functional and utterly silent in the vacuum. Without air to carry vibrations, sound is impossible -- hopefully, anyone pursuing this has another way to communicate.

One more level down is a massive white-walled cavern, the stairs simply ending, cutting off abruptly above a pool of cool blue liquid stretching out before them. Bulky inert vines of mixed organic and inorganic matter wind across the ceiling and down the walls toward the liquid.

Set in a wall to the side of the stair's landing is a more conventional computer terminal, and a place to key in commands. A softly blinking red light indicates emergency. Opening the briefcase Aurora had provided with the associated keychip reveals not a hard drive but a mechanical seed resembling the winding vines.

Booting up the terminal will prompt a series of questions, and for those with enough computer knowledge to move through them, ultimately, instructions: throw the seed into the pool.

❬ MISSION NOTES ❭

📌 — Please make sure to use the major events comment thread specifically to announce character actions that have a significant impact on the mission outcome or other characters. In this mission, the outcome will be largely determined based on events reported here. Please also report if your character dies while in Pollux.

📌 — This is a meta-plot heavy mission with opt-in heavy / intense content. It will last until there is enough IC activity to determine how it ends. The mission wrap-up post will summarize actions taken by characters and what the ultimate outcome is.

📌 — For all questions relating to this mission, please refer to the mission queries comment on this post. Other questions can be directed to the FAQ.

🔵FULL NAVIGATION🔵

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[they draw close and gingerly cup his face in their hands, looking over the healing-but-still-blackened eye.]

Given...how you reacted to my magic the first time, it feels...right to just be sure.

[it was also an excuse to touch him. they'll hold his face for a beat longer than necessary before letting go, withdrawing to sit in the seat next to him.]

I am glad I heard you when I did.

The first time must have been a fluke. We still need to study the properties of your magic. What the function must be…

And I’m very lucky you did.

[He closes his eyes as they hold his face.]

Well, Doctor Tristan?

[He looks to the bottles with no bottle opener. A conundrum. But a mild one. He undoes his belt.]

Oh, I'm no doctor. [they're certain!] But, in a few hours...if you are still in pain, tell me? I will be able to help...again...

[their voice trails off as they watch him fiddling with his belt.

...

what is he doing.]

I’m teasing you, not to be unkind.

[Daniil unhooks his belt buckle entirely. It’s got two snakes on it entangled. He flips it to the inside part, grasps the bottle firmly and uses it as a lever to pop off the top. He hands it it to Tristan.]

Enough procrastinating. Talk about what troubles you.

[Huh.

interesting trick. Tristan blinks, taking the bottle, not bothering to mask their curiosity. where does one learn such a thing? pubs and taverns of his homeland, most likely. they can't say the recall a similar move, back in Traint (can't really do that with corks, most likely).

another blink, and the still-curious expression fixes on Daniil's face - an expression that sobers as they process the request.]

Daniil...you...said you were not good with feelings, did you not?

I’m forced to do things I’m bad at all the time. What’s one more? Come now, I’m asking. [There’s a tinge of impatience in his voice. He doesn’t want to beg for this. He takes a sip of the alcohol.]

[Sweet Jesus.]

[well, they miss the expression taking in that drink, given that Tristan's gaze drifts. it'd be rude to dismiss his concern, no? even for the sake of sparing his time of more trouble. one must...endure trouble regardless, they suppose; it's better to be able to choose it.

...right. it's...what they insisted of other people, learning of their entanglement with their fate in the Mothwood. so...

so...speak to it?

how, though. they hum a note, acknowledging the ask while begging pardon for time to consider it; things put in place with pins seldom get recontextualized to be shared once more. they try to pull at what they'd said to E-Soul.]

I am...new to grief. I think. Grief that...belongs to me alone. New to it...as I am now, having...no recollection of the past. I can...feel pain for others' pain, of course. But it is selfish of me to do so; it is not mine to feel. And... [they pause to consider better; there's a poet's heart in there that lacks all the vocabulary.]

And to think, I...wanted to have my own. Because I thought it would make me...more of a person in my own right. Lived. [they nod vaguely.]

I believe I have...traded one foolishness for another. And I do not think I came out the better for it. At least, I think...it will not make me better for others.

Ah, but you get no choice in the matter. Life grinds us down and we have no choice but to try to build ourselves sup quicker. …And grief comes to us all eventually, whether we will it to or not. The best thing we can do is try to educate ourselves so that this grief cannot make utter fools of us, turn us into wretches or drunks. The more you know, the more control you can have over your existence.

[Somewhat… true. But not true enough.]

I doubt you chose that trade. It’s all an illusion.

So is all choice, it seems. It...feels. [they smile bitterly, closing their eyes. they lay their hands atop their knees, palms up, letting their fingers go slack, twitching as they please.]

It must not be so, or...they'll all die. If Ardul is...truly dead, then...it's already begun. I do not yet...know how to stop it. But stopping it...is the only choice I can make. If I cannot do that...

[their fingers curl, then relax with their exhale.]

I...suppose it will be...as the story goes.

Explain your story properly, or you’re really only telling it to yourself. I have no idea what you’re talking about.

That’s what the purpose of the drinks are. To keep us company while you explain. [He takes another sip and claps his hand over his mouth. It’s so bad. Maybe he’ll get used to it. He’s drunk worse. His sense of taste will decline as he becomes intoxicated, this at least he knows.]

This isn’t wine. Wine is for sipping. This… might be best to drink quickly.

Forgive me, I-- [they double-take, eyes lifting as Daniil gags down another sip, staring in concern as he explains.

Is he...sure he's alright? their eyes flick to their of-yet untasted bottle, then back to him.

tentatively, they pick the bottle up, watching for some sign that maybe they...not? do this?

no?

...right.

they take a swing and immediately regret it, but they do choke it down before turning their head away.

after a second swallow to steady:] Daniil, this is...very unpleasant, I'm afraid. [but they recover rather quickly, despite the unhappy frown.]

I know, I know. But we have no options here. The second one will probably be better. [He stands and chugs the bottle, shuddering and shaking his head as he scrapes the taste off his tongue with his teeth.]

I’ll go get it. [He fastens his belt just for the trip down the elevator. With noone else riding it, he’s back in just a minute or two with the entire case.]

Look. Grief and alcohol go hand in hand. Usually it burns, and that satisfies us in those moments. This also burns, yes. But in a different way.

[As he lifts a second one to the light, he can see the simple syrup swirling in and clouding the drink.]

We’ve dealt with worse.

[the appeal...must be a racial thing. rather, a thing their own race doesn't find much value in. even so, Daniil going out of his way to extend this gesture isn't something they should snub, so Tristan dutifully drinks. but only when Daniil does, because why would they do this of their own volition.

truly, this man is...a trove of bad habits.

they know Daniil's expecting them to stop dawdling, and so the next time they meet his eyes, they nod, looking away all the same.]

Many generations ago, the sun ceased to move. Half the world clothed in dark, half in perpetual light. For those in the dark, sun elves crafted artificial suns to help nourish the land. Despite that, the dark was blighted, and the penumbral disease grew from it and drew in many people.

The story in basic speaks of a hero named Tristan, who is quickly accompanied by a handful of loyal and powerful companions. They all set out to cure the blight and restore the sun.

The...details change, telling to telling, but those companions fall away one by one. Taken by the disease, killed in battle...until Tristan is all alone.

The hero vanishes at the Throat of the World, and no one hears from them again.

[and it happens again, apparently. again and again.]

[Daniil was admittedly too sick and fucked up to really pay attention the firs time he heard this. But now… Now. Even if Tristan was from a different universe with different rules, would the cosmos be so different, too? Is there no gravity?]

The sun doesn’t move. Ever. The planets move around the sun. So it would have to be the planet that stopped somehow, which is impossible.

But you’re telling me this just, happens over and over again? How many times has it happened?

I don't know. Enough that...Yoen was forced to hunt Tristan down, again and again. He remembers flickers of those lives. Of dying, rising again, having no choice but to hunt once more. That was his vow.

[they close their eyes. Yoen...are you alright? If I am not there to commune with the glaive, are you...do you even notice my absence?

part of them hopes he doesn't. part hopes he does.]

Enough times that...details changed. Sometimes there are dwarven companions. Sometimes ursine. The pathways go the same ways, across the continent, to the great chasm at the edge. Disappearing.

Does the sun always stop moving?

[Daniil is trying to pay attention to the story, but he finds mythology torture. And this feels like mythology. He doesn’t remember the details from the first time, not really. He sort of remembers being wowed by artificial suns, but that bothers him too. Wasn’t that just a lamp? What had he been imagining?]

And this has been going on for… ever, was it?

[Daniil cracks open another bottle. Best to drink it while it was cold. He cracks one open for Tristan as well and drinks his own in hasty, unpleasant gulps.]

We used to think the sun rotated around the Earth, too, hundreds of years ago. But- If this has happened again and again, wouldn’t it be different every time anyway? I’m trying to figure out if you’re literally telling me that this has occurred a dozen times in what, a thousand years?

Edited 2026-06-01 23:11 (UTC)

The sun has been still throughout the story. [they sit upright, watching Daniil throw back.] It is the journey that repeated. It's... [they exhale, accepting their fate in the matter of finishing this first bottle. awful to the last drop.

they manage.]

Something about...the world is... It's sick. In...a number of ways. The farther we've gone, the more we've seen that...that there's...things besides the sun that are stuck. Because even when people die, the roads they took, the outcomes...they keep repeating. The fate is being forced upon the ones born after. Patience has...corroded into Stagnation. And there's this...spiral... [they shake their head.] It's what forced Yoen to keep hunting. It keeps...pushing Traint to war. It... I don't know what it's going to do now that...that the sun is moving again.

[they look back over.]

That's...what's different. This time. The sun is moving again. [their eyes well up.] And...and the false sun over Traint has...fallen. And scorched the city to embers.

[He frowns as he tries to listen, tries to undertand.]

“Many generations ago, the sun ceased to move”, “The sun is moving again” were your words! I need paper. We need a diagram-

[He stands and turns, looking for something, anything here.]

I don’t usually write things down since my memory is so keen- [It could certainly be better.] Listen, I will follow you on this story, but this part seems incredibly important, and the cosmology of this is bothering me. We need to deal with this false sun as well. How big was the false sun? How far away? How could they let it fall and burn a city?

[He gets up and paces for a moment, thinking. Then he zips off down the hall and comes back with a stack of printed signs. He flips them over and retrieves his pen from his carpet bag.]

[He draws a circle in the middle of the paper.] This is the sun. [He labels it.] Now you draw your planet in relation to it.

[remembering Traint has sent them back - back through the eyes of the stranger they were forced into. the one who lifted their head, saw the false sun fall. and just before they blinked away, the searing burn of encroaching death.

Daniil returns to the elf with their head buried in their hands, elbows on their knees. they can hear him, hear the asks, but--]

It was my fault. [their voice is thick with the grief their body isn't letting them fully embrace.] Because I didn't...just die. All those people-- Now, Ardul. Ardul.

[they drag their hands up, grasping clumps of their hair.]

They're all dying. Because I...can't...

Oh dear. I’ve made a mess of this, haven’t I-

Tristan, pumpkin, listen… Hey. [He tries leaning over from his chair, then sighs as he stands and kneels next to Tristan. He places a hand on Tristan’s hand and tries to ease it out of their hair.]

[He shushes him, like one might a child. But he seems to be doing his very best here.]

Take a deep breath, please.

[Breath is the last thing I should--

well, no. that is useless to think, isn't it. and an affront to the dead in a way, no? and in a city rife with affronts to the dead, why add one more?

even so. it hurts. hurts and hurts and changes and hurts worse until it makes them want to shriek, but they can't, and besides--

it surges. they balk at the effort made to coax them. they shudder, and then the hurt gets...muted. as it always seems to, when it gets too much.

Tristan lets Daniil coax their now-slack fingers out of their hair, lifting their head to look blankly at him for a beat before starting to smile in apology.]

I think we...should put a pin in it. No? There is...a lot to manage here.

I think today has been long enough. I won’t force you to talk, but I do think we should lay down and rest. Are you capable of sleeping, or… just that trancing you do? Maybe I’m asking something foolish of you.

[Daniil’s gut just ached. Not enough alcohol to feel it, too much sugar to feel well. Mistakes were made.]

[Daniil nods towards the sleeping pods, then leans in to whisper to Tristan.]

Come on, we can cuddle. [He says it near their ear as if it were scandalous on its own.]

Edited 2026-06-02 15:04 (UTC)

[a little lucidity makes its way into their expression, brow furrowing. would that not trouble him? were other people to see.

but they want the proximity, so if it is offered, they must decide to trust him at his word. there's no good road to tread in their present state of mind as far as wondering goes.]

I...would like that. Yes.

[Daniil decides to leave the drinks right where they are. Hopefully someone will scavenge them. He lifts a half-full plastic bottle out of his carpet bag and takes a swig to clean his palette.]

Would you like some before we lay down? It’s just vodka.

[Tristan stares at him. at the bottle.

they mutely shake their head, rising to their feet and standing idle to settle, to let gravity make them feel more like a body, like some being, before unbuckling their belt and removing their layer of padded leather.

looking down at their chest, they notice there's still some sign of scorching on the fabric from where the hand had struck them down. Ardul's hand. it could be cleaned, perhaps, but not right now.

when the ordeal of boots getting removed is done, they idle, waiting to move when Daniil does. letting him make the choice to move was easier in that moment than doing it themself. and--

they blink slowly, frowning to themself.

What was...what was that about pumpkins...?]

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