memestertrucks | MAY TDM

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Things are a little stranger than usual at the gas station and garage. Namely that gravity just isn't working as it should. Objects float, pieces of the floor float... Even unlucky new arrivals can also find themselves floating! It's going to be a challenge to get around without any scrapes or scratches... Though at least there's what looks like a hospital nearby? Granted, it's an upside down hospital, but it's better than nothing.

01: SUMMONING CIRCLE

Drifters come to with an odd floating sensation hooked into their stomachs, and instead of laying on the concrete find themselves drifting a foot or two above the floor. An unfortunate few may be stuck on the ceiling. Whether they crash down hard into the floor (and the various vials, daggers, and broken glass scattered about) or remain floating in the air is a coin toss.

Still, it might be best to lend a hand with pulling them back to the ground, and hoping gravity will work as normal in another breath or two.

Once they make their way out, they can see a gas station and garage located in the midst of strange, floating rocks… And an upside down hospital close by, for those who had a rougher landing.

02: START UP 

New arrivals will have a similar experience to before; a Convoy waiting for them, and a collection of vehicles, one of which feels like it belongs to them. The key to the vehicle may already be in the ignition, on the dashboard… It may have even been on their person, ever since they woke up in that garage. Either way, Drifters have the keys to the vehicle now.

…But there’s a few rough edges on these vehicles. Flat tires, cracked windows and mirrors, maybe some stuck doors and locks; all of them the sort of thing that requires two pairs of hands and supplies. The garage can take care of the (sometimes floating) supplies… Now it’s just a matter of finding some extra hands.

And hopefully no one's vehicle has decided to float. But one can never be sure in a place like this.

03: HUSKS AND HAUNTS

The inverted hospital seems to have trouble deciding the exact formation of its hallways, whether the new arrivals should be walking on the ceiling, floors, or walls. But one thing that is certain: this place isn’t entirely deserted. Warnings of “Beware the Husks” have been spray painted on the walls. Metallic bodies line those same halls, some of them broken open. A wet trail leads from the broken Husks to the rafters… Where several odd monsters wait to drop down. Some look like they’ve merged with the hospital equipment, while others look like they’ve been cobbled together from different body parts. And all of them look ready to turn the newcomers into a corpse, or part of a specimen collection.

Strange, malformed chimeric creatures that are Unknown stalk the hallways. Unknowns come in three different colors, red aligned with fire, green with poison, and purple with lightning.

Adding to that are the various screens flickering on, and diagnose new arrivals as infected. The screens declare the infection seems to be contained, but requires further study… And if the monsters aren't enough to worry about, there’s also the restraint systems trying to activate and tie the new arrivals down.

04: TESTING (CW: Needles)

The deeper someone plunges into the hospital, the more the building reacts to them. More defenses are deployed, treating them as thieves or intruders. Traps and monsters alike wait for them, with syringes melded into the forms of attackers, or lining places where someone might step or reach for. The syringes make a quick bite on skin… But it’s only a few minutes later where the effects become clear. Something in those syringes is now in the blood and forcing monster transformations. There might be an antidote amongst the supplies… Or the newcomers might need to rely on each other, in order to stay anchored.

The needles can also force temporary Swarm traits, along with:
+Group Mind: compelled to link thoughts with other Drifters, to share emotions, memories, and achieve cohesion.
+An increasing reliance on telepathy/empathy/etc in place of speech.
+Increasing collectivist mindset. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few; this becomes more evident during high stress situations.
+Compelled to hunt and share their prey with others.
+Gravity Affinity: If possessing wings or the ability to wall climb, may freely hunt/traverse corrupted gravity areas.

05: LONG WAY DOWN

A portion of the gas station breaks away with groan and a rumble. And it is slowly pulled up and up, taking a portion of new comers with it! They (and anyone watching) will need to act fast, as gravity starts to go weird the further they rise. They’ll need to find a way back down, taking any supplies from the now-floating garage that they can grab.

What’s more, they are drifting closer to the broken moon, and that seems to be having a strange effect on those stranded on the new floating ruin. They may start to feel their control fray, and their forms shift, the higher they rise.

In terms of getting back down, there’s a handful of tow lines in the ruin that might work as ropes. There’s also a few pieces of rock that are floating up more slowly, and could work as stairs back down… Or there’s just jumping and falling fifty feet and hoping for the best.

06: PSYCHIC ECHOES 

There's one last quirk to this area; a few scattered bits of odd plantlife, and the odd dead brain monster. While these things aren't a threat on their own (beyond being unnerving) they still pack a psychic punch; mainly in the form of temporary psychic abilities.

It's possible that after coming in contact with either plants or corpses, newcomers will find themselves gifted with either empathy (projecting or receiving emotions) telepathy, OR the ability to share their dreams with others, and having their dreams influenced by others in turn. This effect fades in just a day or so, but is still capable of causing mishaps.

MICRO ENCOUNTERS:

PLEASE NOTE! These are small bits of set dressing for players to include in threads if they wish, rather than full fledged prompts or events. You may handwave your exploration of these areas, or thread them out.

Broadcast: The garage contains a few burnt out monitors. But a handful of them are playing a message over and over again on loop, filled with static. It’s a recording of important looking people in lab coats advising people to remain indoors and avoiding all objects falling from the sky. Especially “moon shards.” They insist that they are working to contain and cure the infection, but the safest action is to remain inside.

Warped Air: As seen in Long Way Down, the air overhead has strange warped pockets in it. There seem to be slightly different shards hanging suspended in the air, looking more silvery than the surrounding rocks. Almost like it could have fallen from the broken moon overhead.

Medical supplies: Most of the medical supplies found in the hospital seem to consist of healing salves and potions, a handful of healing herbs, and a few antidotes for poison or sickness. As for reverting transformations… It’s advised that new comers be careful of taking any experimental medicine. It may revert a change. It may also leave them hallucinating nightmares and fears, and they’ll be wanting someone close by to help administer the drug.

NAVIGATION || RESERVES || APPLICATIONS

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[There's other Drifters lurking in the halls of the upturned hospital, fighting or scavenging as they prefer, but Sephiroth is actively hunting in it. The coincidences of familiar monsters could be ignored, if multiple worlds had chocobos and humans, why not griffins or anzu? Worlds with both cybernetics and mutants could create these cyborg nightmare horrors.

The Unknowns however, are not accidents and not coincidence. He knows where they come from, or more specifically who made them, and his patient hunt through the hospital will deal with any feral monster he crosses, but it's those warped Unknowns he's actively pursuing.

And it's one of those Unknowns that's been skewered by the sudden appearance of Diarmuid, drawing the SOLDIER to a stop to return assessing gaze with an equally measuring one as the mutated monstrosity's struggles slow, and then stop, dissolving in a way that is both familiar and now deeply unsettling to empower the strange man. Diarmuid still looks human. Capable enough on a glance, skilled enough to ambush a dangerous monster without harm in return.

Sephiroth can pass for human if one doesn't watch too closely. If one ignores the half-sheathed claws at the tips of his gloves, or the strange eyes, or the scattering of faint, silvery scales. Nothing unusual here. Nothing at all. Not even a seven foot long sword in the middle of an upside down hospital, just as practical as a spear in such enclosed spaces.]

...Be cautious of those kind. Their life force may be corrupted.

[ A two-meter weapon is perfectly practical, when it's commanded by a warrior who knows it well enough. Gáe Dearg moves as effortlessly in Diarmuid's hands as if it were a part of his being, coming to rest on his shoulder as he matches the measure of the man before him.

Someone who holds himself with the deadly custom of a respectable swordsman, even if Diarmuid can't sense his spirit. There's a keen sense of acceptance in his eyes, a warm yellow-amber the colour of honey or a hunting hawk's, as he lifts his chin in acknowledgement. ]

You're familiar with them?

[ A question that's less uncertain than it is an invitation for the man to offer however much or little information he's willing to share on the matter. He's not wrong; though the twisted beasts bear only the most superficial resemblance to anything else Diarmuid has encountered, it's not pleasant to absorb them.

Like grasping at mouthfuls of soured meat. He can't be certain that the mana he's taken into himself isn't poisoned, in some way, like the ichorous mud he thinks he still feels clinging to him; when the only alternative would be attacking the other Drifters, however, it's not like he has that much of a choice.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. ]

Unfortunately.

[Although Sephiroth's controlling his tone carefully, there's an undercurrent of unmistakable distaste in spite of it; whatever his opinion on these things, it's not even remotely favorable.]

They are the byproducts of a wretched man I had hoped to never encounter again. A swift death is the closest thing to mercy they will ever know.

[The others.. they were closer to the other monsters here. Warped, yes, but not in the style favored by Professor Hojo. These things though, they are no different from the ones he'd occasionally have to dispose of per company orders.

The choice of a spear to fight any of them is a better one than anything shorter, to prevent unnecessary contact. After a long moment of silence, he sighs.]

And for all that my warning is genuine, they must still be exterminated. You are new to the convoy?

[ Diarmuid has no cause to disbelieve him. He stands at the ready even as he receives the man's explanation, head tilted slightly to track a creaking sound in the distance. To discern whether it's another of the building's groaning shifts or more warped monsters hoping to get the drop on them. At least it's convenient that he never has to wait long to find another target.

As if expressing the fortuitousness of having crossed paths, he answers with an agreeable air: ]

It would seem that at present I have no higher calling.

[ Even if they were to part ways, it's likely he'd continue hunting those strange things as well. There's no indication of doubt for his own abilities, or those of the man beside him, but he doesn't feel the need to suggest they split up either. The question offers another benefit to cooperating, after all, since his hasty flight from the broken summoning did leave him somewhat lacking in explanations for his circumstances. ]

Is it this convoy that summoned us?

[ A simple enough affirmation, but a quick listener could easily peg the assumption in his own question: it's not being summoned that's unusual to him. ]

[When Sephiroth turns to continue the hunt, there's something deliberately not stealthy about it, albeit casually done; the scrape of a boot, the jingle of bits of metal. The monsters here were ambushers, and he was going to continue to make himself a target.

It's always easier to find monsters when they were seeking him, too.]

The other ones, the cybernetic creatures, are unlikely to be as tainted. If you require their power, I will leave those to you and deal with the experiments myself.

[At this point, what's a little more corruption? A little less humanity?

The thought is shoved aside. He's willing enough to work alongside someone else, and Diarmuid is more likely than most to know to stay out of range of his own blade as it would hamper the use of spear as well. And if the Servant was going to be part of the convoy now ... a better idea of what he was capable of and how he fit into Sephiroth's mental hierarchy was a perfectly good way to spend time.

Being bait is probably also why he doesn't bother to lower his voice the way one probably should when hunting.]

We only have theories. The convoy itself is automated, but someone had to have designed it, just as someone had to have made the summoning circles and branded us. Who is unknown. Our destination is a place called 'Nirvana', though how far it is and ... how human we will still be by then remains to be seen.

[ The strategy isn't lost on him, though he doesn't amplify his own presence to add to it any more than he does the opposite. Their quarry will come to them—is coming to them—and the most effective thing he can do in the moment is simply wait and preserve his advantages as they continue.

What the man describes is all a little bit off from the understanding he was given when he answered the Grail, and what he'd been able to conclude listening to the words his former Master had spoken without regard for being overheard by a mere construct bound by the will of magecraft. Still the pieces are near enough that they fit cohesively into an impression that gives Diarmuid as much reason to be wary as it settles into him with a sense of purpose.

He cannot help his nature as a Heroic Spirit, but he can burn regret for crossing him into anyone else who might seek to misuse it.

Perhaps that's why the initial suggestion sticks with him, though he let it pass by without comment at the time. He doesn't dismiss that Sephiroth could be withholding some further information that would cast it in a different light, and still...

His pride cannot allow for the possibility that the man could think it necessary to take on a greater risk or sacrifice for his sake. Eventually, it compels him to speak up again despite his distaste for the grim acknowledgement. ]

...This body was already tarnished before it was summoned. Unless you have some other reason to seek this corruption, I won't have you shouldering its burden on my behalf.

And yet as far as I can see you lack fangs, or claws, or a second head and so on. You remain reasonably intact.

[That's an interesting way to put it, but Diarmuid may not yet know what fate awaits them. He raises his right hand, palm up, and flexes his fingers slightly, unsheathing dark, sharp looking claws through the holes in the tips of his gloves.]

I am not. I have less to lose.

[For all that it's said as calmly as one might hope, it's a fact that displeases him terribly. And already they're drawing attention, by the sound of things shifting above and in front of them. Sephiroth seems to ignore it, but it's certain he's not actually doing so. Bait that startles too early is terrible bait indeed.]

[ 'Reasonably intact' is such a narrowly applicable assessment that it's almost painfully funny, and Diarmuid is helpless to resist the small spark of admiration the man's decisive answer has kindled in his heart; it may only be temporary, but it softens some of the sharp, unwelcoming edges of his disposition. ]

On that it seems we may not find agreement. [ It's hard to have less than nothing. A wry smile turns the corner of his lips, and he adds in the exaggerated tone of a joke at his own expense: ] I must be humbled to have met a truly selfless spirit, if you'd insist on surrendering what you have only to protect my vanity.

[ Be that as it may, their company isn't going to wait around forever. Diarmuid's gaze turns under his lashes to follow a malformed beast crawling above them, then he shifts his grip on Gáe Dearg and takes an easy step back as it drops. ]

But don't say I didn't warn you.

[That turns Sephiroth's attention back to Diarmuid, once more assessing. It's possible he missed something, and he chooses to be certain that is literal and not a metaphysical - he can do nothing about wounds to the soul or mind.]

Are you injured?

[The monstrosity above, a hellish amalgamation of body parts and faces, opens several mouths in a silent scream as it gets slowly into a pouncing position. It might have been human once, or perhaps four or five of them. It isn't anymore. Maybe it seeks to add them to its collection.

People did not generally accuse Sephiroth of being selfless, and he's not certain how to address that particular part beyond a quiet huff, turning back to CLEARLY just continue on their way as the amalgamation of creatures pounces. The halls are wide enough to not impede the longsword as it's brought to bear, cleaving the thing squarely in half in one fluid motion.

This both helps and doesn't. Something with that many heads and arms also has redundant internals too, and falling into two bloody pieces merely means it can now attack more than one person at a time, and Diarmuid is just as good a target, one half dragging gore behind it as it scrabbles after the spearman.]

[ Unfortunately, there's no distinguishing between literal and metaphysical when the person you're talking to is only a spiritual vessel containing the emanation of a higher soul...

It's a question that, in his current state, is difficult to answer simply without being entirely dishonest.

His core is damaged. Whatever brought him here seems to have been limited in its capacity to repair it, and though the creatures infesting these ruins seem to provide enough energy to sustain him in the short term—it's dire. He is severely weakened, and his existence continues in spite of the natural order. ]

I'm unfamiliar with the magecraft involved in this summoning.

[ As it is, he's already accepted the likelihood that this persistence will come at the cost of a slowed but excruciating degradation. Recovery may not even be possible. And for all that, this man is not guaranteed to be an ally.

It's why Diarmuid is being as cautious as he is, mindful of his surroundings but not going out of his way to respond to the creatures approaching them beyond giving himself a fair amount of time to evade their attacks. Nimble, leisurely movements and efficient strikes rather than showing off: the amalgam beast crawls in his direction and he simply flips Gáe Dearg to jab its blade down into one of the rasping heads. ]

It's possible it was incomplete, or that my arrival in this state is the intended outcome of its variation.

[ Plucking the spear free, another step, another strike down on its other head. The creatures are their opponents, but he's gauging the way the swordsman responds to them—and expects he's being gauged as well. At this point, he has no intention of revealing the full extent of his capabilities, let alone his current vulnerability. ]

None who've been summoned here recognize it either. We can only hope there's answers in Nirvana.

[Which sounds utterly ridiculous to him and some of that disparaging thought about whether nor not Nirvana holds all the answers edges its way into his tone while the grim but somewhat mindless process of dismembering the monster continues. And for him, it's definitely dismemberment; he's watching the one Diarmuid is seeing to, and keeping track of how much damage it takes to actually stop the thing, how many heads needed to die before the whole stopped moving.

'All of them' apparently, its efforts to crawl right up the spear to get at Lancer proving to be a feeble effort at most. Both halves are at least, dying. Slowly, and with no reactions that suggest pain, only hunger and almost mindless persistence, which might be why an intended quick and merciful kill gradually becomes a patient puncture what would be vital points on a normal person one by one until it stops trying to climb his sword or reach him with scrabbling, hungry fingers.

It's grotesque.]

If you mean by way of lost strength or power, that's a common thread. As far as I have learned, no-one is where they should be, unless it is a completely mundane skill. The ... monsters we are becoming seem to fill in the gaps, however incompletely.

[This comes with a sobriety that suggests he's being completely honest, and not bothering with things like half-truths or deceptions to try to spin a story.

The last feeble efforts of the bisected and now thoroughly kabobed monster is ignored in favor of stepping with catlike finickiness and grace around the spreading blood pool with a frown; this one doesn't dissolve into useful energy as the previous did, some hungry monster will see to it eventually.]

... I myself lack much of the resilience and regeneration I ordinarily possess, and none of my spells function at all.

[That's sharply and deliberately candid when speaking to an armed stranger, a gamble that may eventually pay off.]

[ It's never been a particularly merciful intent that's guided Diarmuid to make short work of the things he's encountered here. Though he's at least passingly grateful they lack the regenerative properties of Caster's creations, the consideration is a practical one; however grotesque the effort, it's plain he's unaffected by it as he follows the path Sephiroth took around the remains.

Less out of a sense of finickiness, perhaps, and more for some other reason. But that gamble, or maybe something in the words before it, wins a sigh from him. ]

The more you talk, the more I dislike what you're saying. [ His humour comes with a more familiar turn of phrasing; if he's been formal until now, that definitely wasn't. ]

If this pursuit of Nirvana bears any resemblance to Heaven's Feel, you should anticipate the betrayal of any hope it's promised.

[ There's a bitter resentment coiling at the roots of those words that he'd rather ignore, though it's inescapable. A tight grip on his heart is only enough to keep his restless anger in check so long as he doesn't linger on it, and speaking of a part of it so directly strains that hold.

It manifests as a flicker in the substance of his being, too brief to be parsed easily, where difference settles over his unblemished appearance like an afterimage.

He doesn't address it, if its occurrence is something he's even noticed; instead, he seems to consider the man in front of him for a few seconds longer before apparently coming to a conclusion that prompts him to continue: ]

You've treated me fairly, and I have no desire to treat unfairly with you in turn.

[ It would be remiss of him not to offer as much, after all that Sephiroth has shared so much information without making any requests of his own. ]

My name is Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. Know that in this place I have not sworn myself to any Master, nor is it my will to do so.

Nonetheless, it may be right that I lend my aid in this journey—if that is true, then you need not doubt I will honour it to the most of my abilities.

[Though a faint smile crosses Sephiroth's expression, it doesn't last. It rarely does, and this one is a touch wry]

If only I had something more positive to offer than nebulous uncertainty at unknown hands.

[It's not a situation he enjoyed, but over the past weeks was .. sort of coming to terms with, much better than the whole 'becoming a monster' thing. It had been worse when he'd first arrived, it would likely be as distressing for any other new arrival.

There's a moment where he's certain something changes, as if a picture had gone out of focus or the image had flickered, but Diarmuid is .. certainly still there, and though it's not mentioned it's mulled quietly.

Nearly ten years now, since he'd seen something similar. As bitter resentment - easily recognized - gives way to an introduction, that brief, faint smile returns. Maybe it had paid off after all, a gamble with open weakness.]

I am Sephiroth. For the time being my allegiance is only to the Convoy and those souls within it, should you join our travels that extends to you as well.

[That name has a sound to it that he'd have guessed to be from the north somewhere, but he suspected it's not of Gaian origin at all. He wouldn't have to introduce himself at all if Diarmuid was from his world. Or any similar one.]

... But your warning of what to expect, I suspect, will be very accurate.

[heaven's feel he doesn't recognize, but empty promises by those who lie as easily as they breathe? They were a daily occurance most of his life. Why change now?]

We are promised paradise to keep us moving while we are corrupted and defiled. It would not surprise me if an arena waited at the end, for us to butcher each other like animals for the amusement of others.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

MAY TDM

Hunting Party

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seph's gonna fucking hate it when he finds out how few physical changes diarmuid's getting...

Clearly it's the lack of eating Hojo's experiments. He's proud of himself for preventing it!

[dog eating crinkly plastic sound effect]

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