Perennial Ascent

[Aleksandyr Gaillard]

Echoing out across the galaxy are numerous signals; signals pertaining to a very specific set of coordinates… These derelict ships seemed to have come out of nowhere and addressed a location that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, a dwarf star somewhere near the outer circle; illuminating a cold, distant, dead world.

A sleek space station of several metallic towers eerily floats outside of the atmosphere, all who draw near can make out a faint subtle whisper; just noisy static of inaudible words. The world’s moon slowly escapes the shadow as some of the pillar-like structures attached by tethery tubes slowly and silently fire bursts of air to adjust and modify their position.

At the center several hangers appear, dotting it the plague, each one reaching out with a tractor beam for any stray objects, catching nearing ships and drifting debris into its pull and towards one of these bays. Unlike most craft they do not seem to be built in any orderly fashion and instead build off almost like a maze, as if whoever constructed this colossal station had greater more covert motives.

Whatever -- whoever -- is aboard that ship; soon they will make themselves known.

You are nearing the Ascent. A passageway to the uppermost reaches of Perennial Station. A seemingly abandoned superstructure hidden away in the most bizarre location; above a cold, icey world. Here each ship to approach will be pulled in by a tractor beam, singled-out, and individually brought into port. Isolated from the rest. The only hint you have of its nature is the strange faint whisper that could be heard nearing the station but once aboard it becomes utterly silent, except for the static noise of the ship’s processes lazily keeping the station alive and in a constant existence that is similar to hibernation.

Almost immediately -- the moment you step out:

“Alert!”, the ship repeated in two languages: Basic and Umbarese.

[Alarm noises]

“Life-support disabled on floors seven through twelve; Requires manual reactivation.”

[Alarm shuts off]

In each hanger there is a single doorway leading into floor one of the station’s upper half. Around the room there are various objectives that may be worthwhile to investigate.

[member="Chiasa Kritivaas"]
[member="Darth Tsolan"]
[member="Keira Ticon"]
[member="Xilo Gale"]
[member="Rain"]
[member="Geronivous"]
[member="Dredge"]

 

[Rain]

He only owned what he could carry, and even then, the terms of that ownership were suspect. Or maybe they weren’t. None of it was borrowed or stolen. Just a dagger and some clothing made from kills downed by his own hands…Rain just never really thought of himself ‘owning’ anything before he left Dathomir. It just wasn’t really relevant, wasn’t really necessary.

But out amongst the conquered worlds of the Fanged God, ownership was paramount. Particularly when it came to promissory notes. These notes, these credits, of matter and electronic data communicated quantified value to the universal tribe; all work, all luck, all virtue, all vice, translated into variables and crunched into numbers in an account which occupied no space anywhere. Of course, Rain was not of this tribe, nor had he any intention of joining it. So, he owned literally zero of these credits.

And that was a problem out here in the middle of space, aboard a public transit system that ran on fuel, poverty, and tokens. Did they not see that he did not need them to survive? Did they not see that he was only here to help them?

They could not. Not without the credits indicating as much.

There was a confrontation with security, an expected unwillingness to submit to a bogus authority, and a hole, torn in the hull of the well-worn, outdated, space-faring craft; but while Rain had been so resistant to be placed behind the bars of a temporary holding cell, he greeted the cold, star-flecked void of space with passivity while his oppressors and their innocent supporters were sucked, screaming, from the shuttlebus.

It was the Great Always, the dark from which all are born and to where all will return. Be not afraid.

Everything hurt. Breathing was impossible. Soundless. Freezing. He watched as best he could from his vantage as the others died, horror etched onto their faces, terrified of the dark as so many out here were. Their soul ichor exited their body in smoky green trails, fading to rejoin nagi’tanka. Fear coloured his Trust in the Winged Goddess.

But then again, it wasn’t really Fear, was it? It wasn’t Trust, either. Was it Inspiration? Bravery? A sense of Duty?

What was it the lungfish felt when it made that first dreadful bellyflop, its gills clogging with sand as it struggled to move on alien terrain? How do you describe its relief to find it didn’t matter anymore, that it was too big a fish for such a small pond?

Rain’s blood remembers, even if Galactic Basic Standard does not.

The spirits came for him, of star-eaters, and space whales and lost travelers, of the undreamed maybes from the Not-Yet. They bound their ichor, bubbling around Rain, shielding him in a placenta of translucent green; from the phallocentric blast-off of the Fanged God to the star-birth of the Winged Goddess.

To conserve resources, he was lulled into a dreamless sleep, floating in this jade bliss of Kubrick, Jodorowsky, Aronofsky, and, hell, even Bowie. Hunger built in his guts as the energy was used to maintain heat, oxygenate blood, as he bobbed almost arbitrarily into the tractor beam of the Perennial Ascent.

It was the sound of the sealing airlock that woke him, gravity once more taking hold and pulling him to the floor. He resumed his bearings, catching himself in a low crouch and remaining there, cautious, as he peered around the darkened hangar. Closing his eyes, he then “clicked” his tongue for good measure, getting what he could of a look at the room by way of any resonance that might transcend the static hum of hibernation.

Finally, his oculars went a milky white, his head relaxing as he projected his dreamself outward, a scout for the room beyond. Floating in the ether, it perceived the world not by traditional sensory mechanisms. It saw in symbol, it communicated in intent and desire, and while Rain may not have been able to identify some of the technology by way of sight, in the dreamscape, it may be possible to intuit the language spoken by its design.

His ghost passed through the door and into the next room.

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]

 

[Vulpesen]

Another call. They were seeming more and more common. Not a man, nor a ship, but the force itself. Its power buzzed into his mind and he felt its pull on his consciousness. "Ace, onto the ship. Of course, the ashlan couldn't feel the force, but anything that happened in Vulpesen's mind happened in his and it only took a second for Vulpesen to convey the feeling to his companion. Leaping onto the Twilight Vixen, Vulpesen headed out to the stars.

It didn't take long for him to reach the location of the Perennial Star, and looking out his view port, Vulpesen narrowed his eyes at the station. "What in the f-" He was cut off as the Vixen lurched under him, nearly slamming his head into the controls. "Ace, diagnostic!" The wolf barked, his mind informing Vulpesen of a tractor beam. "And here I thought we had found a derelict." Seeing no reason to fight the beam, he ran out of the cockpit and made his way to the storage compartments, pulling out his armored coat. With a swirl of fabric, he placed the armor on and called his saber and Dagger sets over to him. On his way out, Vulpesen pulled a bandoleer of grenades to himself. Three emp's, three frags, and three flashers. Basic battle preparedness for him. Was he sure he'd meet hostilities? Nope. But the forced entry didn't inspire much confidence.

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]

 

[Aleksandyr Gaillard]

[member="Darth Tsolan"]

Spoiler

The hanger was unusually empty. No guards, no droids ready to process automated refueling, and sure enough no one waiting to ask him why he was here or answer any questions he might've had. Instead there was just that alarm alerting him that the life support was out just a few floors ahead and the single entrance way leading into the heart of the first floor. Around the hanger there were a few oddities still and carefully checked might yield something useful. Otherwise perhaps it was best to navigate ahead and see if perhaps there was anything worth finding in the rooms ahead.

[member="Rain"]

Spoiler

Into the next room sparks of electricity went flying from a few broken lights; it looks like something happened here at some point. The whirring sound of droid wheels -- if he could hear -- would become audible as an old model astromech droid slowly patrolled one of the corridors. Otherwise most notably were the various doors leading into other rooms. So far it all seemed rather calm and quiet, perhaps too calm and quiet for some. It was probably unusual to be in such a large station that was obviously functional only to find that for the most part no one was home.

 

[Rain]

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]

He could hear “in a sense of the word,” just as he could see, and feel, and smell, and taste. But it was not waves nor particles that he was utilizing. His being had become untethered; his mind free from the governance of the brain and its sensors.

It was wild communication, Meaning no longer suffocated by the constriction of words. Essences, universalities, primal wishes and musings, unconvoluted by the politics and protocol of the modern social context.

But for all this receptivity, there was very little to actually receive.

The room was vacant, sterile, unthreatening. No turrets marking borders, no lines in the paneling, subconsciously drawing trespassers toward and into hidden traps. It was by no means welcoming, either – the little astromech making no effort nor taking no risk along the “Uncanny Valley.” It navigated this hallway for the sake of maintenance, its artificial nature not prone to stir-craziness or wanderlust. Still, its design was deliberately charming – round, faintly adorable. It bleeped and beeped for its own sake, approximations of dialog, indecipherable to most owners. It was made to invite anthropomorphization; a pet that thinks it’s a person.

Perhaps it was for all this projected attention that these droids wound up harboring such a bizarre energy.

Rain’s ghost haunted the astromech, searching for something to be revealed in its trajectory.

 

[Vulpesen]

His golden eyes observed the room as he mentally told Ace to check the room. "Watch yourself. We may have a welcoming party later." The red beam of his saber rose from his grip and he started to walk around the area, searching the various bins and checking out the items around him. With his ship so close, there was no reason for him not to find any treasures for the trip home.

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]

 

[Chiasa Kritivaas]

Chiasa was afflicted with a sometimes unfortunate sense of curiosity. The majority of the time, the even stronger force of pragmatism kept her out of trouble, but every now and again curiosity slipped one in under the radar. As was currently the case.

The Twi'lek cursed as her small personal transport, shiny and new, a gift to go with her new title and allow her to zip about doing what she did best for the Ravens, talking, manipulating, wheeling and dealing, finding the edge, the advantage, seeing the coming storm and finding a way to outrun or hunker through it, got trapped in a tractor beam and pulled towards the odd station with it's odder signal. After recent events the orange female had every reason to be interested in sneaky signals, but this one may have been better off unreceived. Time would have to tell.

Throwing her hands up with an annoyed 'tch!' when it became clear she could not break free, she did a very Chiasa like thing. She went to change her clothes, check her makeup, and make sure anything she judged needful was in her purse. As well as making sure she had the small, glitter covered holdout pistol she'd had Casino security.. secure for her.

The ship had just finished it's forced docking by the time she'd decided she was presentable and met her own standards for being kidnapped, in a surprisingly utilitarian if form fitting pair of black leather pants, black boots (also practical, the heels were only two inches and hardly serrated at all), black tank top and a black cloak over top. In case these were the sorts of folk who got upset by the sight of the odd bellybutton or upper arms. You never knew. Folks were strange. Plus it might be cold! Depending on the greeting she got she could always go back and fetch a slinky dress. One should always keep a slinky dress handy. In fact she had a particularly slinky and wrinkle resistant one rolled up in a tube in her purse.

Stepping out, a ship-issued alert sounded. The Basic she recognized and understood immediately. Her Umbarese was rusty, but she at least recognized it for what it was and since she could compare it to the Basic could be certain of her interpretation. An Umbaran station then? They could be useful allies, but quite frankly Chiasa liked her allies to be a little bit stupider than she, and not to be playing the same games she was.

Well

She thought looking around

Here I am. Where is everyone? I'm not the bloody mechanic, surely someone else must be attending to this life support issue? And surely it doesn't take all of them. You would think if they were going to pull me in here they'd have the manners to be present. Really.

Unless they were throwing a party on those floors and they're all dead I suppose. I wonder how easy it is to fly a space station.. Wouldn't that be fun to bring home!

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]

 

[Beowoof]

The kaleesh war chief had been out perusing the catalog of planets to attain, either by colonization or by slaughtering the inhabitants for the greater good. The rinky dinky little corvette he had taken for this scouting mission was great for not attracting unwanted attention, but he got a bad feeling about this when the rustbucket began to buckle under the stress of some tractor beam. Glaring out the viewport, Geronivous made out a shadowy space station that no one had warned him about before. Perhaps it was time to find some new sources.

His ship was dragged further towards the orbital monument in a parabolic route, oddly, allowing the kaleesh to observe this mysterious structure from the sunny side, brilliantly glistening in an inviting fashion. But Geronivous did not like being invited, nor did he like hearing this ominous whisper because it tickled his ears. He liked making his own rules. And so he angrily stomped his feet and tossed his pilot aside as they were pulled into one of the many hangar cavities.

The old corvette was placed on the hangar floor as softly as could be, but the ship still popped and croaked due to its arcane build. Grumpy as ever, the war chief rumbled down the boarding ramp with bowcaster at the ready, bloodthirsty for whomever had made the mistake of kidnapping him. But he found not a soul in the cavernous port, and eventually made way for the doorway that led further into the station. Wrenching the portal open, he retrieved his electrostaff and wedged it in between the retracting blast doors before skulking further into the strange structure.

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]

 

[Aleksandyr Gaillard]

[member="Rain"]

Spoiler

The astromech droid continued down the fist floor; passing by the entrance that lead up a small stairwell into the second floor and as it navigated the faintly lit corridors, several rooms became noticeable. There were rooms filled with skeletal figures, countless crates -- most emptied -- scattered as if refugees once housed the area. Whatever they were there for seemed lost to their memories and any sign of life in both force and biological seemed to have passed.

[member="Darth Tsolan"]

Spoiler

The hanger was quite bland but there were a few boxes, and on one of the walls some kind of terminal that seemed to control the door; on it were flashing lights and a list of information all written in Umbarese and basic. If one could read the languages it would show a map layout of the first floor listed as 'Introduction Suites', whatever that meant... What was important though is it listed the emergency floors.

Maintenance -- Floor 6
Armory -- Floor 8
Stasis Chambers - Floor 7
Medical Labs -- Floor 5

[member="Chiasa Kritivaas"]

Spoiler

The hanger was rather empty. In sight was the single doorway leading into the first floor at a different point as the other hangers; each floor was rather large but the entrance way to floor two was singular. Near the doorway was an odd terminal that seemed to control it and perhaps listed basic information for visitors. A sudden loud hiss could be heard as one of the oxygen tubes snapped off due to stress, obviously a sign that the station was not kept maintained - at least not for many decades.

[member="Geronivous"]

Spoiler

In the next room, as you entered the first floor, the light of the hanger faded into the faintly lit hallways. Several doorways -- some shut others open -- dotted the dark corridors at which point you might've noticed at least the sound of the droid down the other hallway, the same one unknowingly possessed by Rain. Otherwise the first floor was devoid of all signs of life.

 

[Chiasa Kritivaas]

The Twi'leks lips curled into a mixture that was half distress and half unimpressed as an oxygen tube snapped. Sure there were others, but Chiasa had very firm ideas about oxygen on ships and stations. Time to get a scurry on. She wasn't going to wait around for a welcoming party if there was a chance she'd wind up breathless and not because of a handsome man. If the oxygen died before the tractor beams did.. Nope. Dying out here, with no one to see and no legacy was not on her list of things to do today thank you.

Still, she didn't just run through the next door. It had lasted this long, it could last a little bit longer (hopefully). She moved to examine the console, to get some idea of where to go next.

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]

 

[Vulpesen]

Vulpesen read the sign, easily recognizing the writing, years of training as an Amaran merchant having provided the experience of multi-linguistics. "Ace, don't expect a lot of lighting in this place." Another mental command and Ace ran to the ship, returning with a miniature life mask. After letting his companion climb to his shoulder, he went onward, moving up to the next floor.

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]

 

[Rain]

-Most,- but not all.

Rain took advantage of the astromech's leisurely pace, the relativistic nature of time in the Dreamscape. His disembodied presence would pop into these assorted rooms, reading the residues of fallen mysteries -- Eyelines of dead men, the roll paths of dropped objects, the slacked posture and resting places of final goals and tasks, and even the ruin of memory, of conversations, of wishes and intentions, echoing along the Force, carried in the mouths of spirits.

Should there be anything of consequence here, it would ideally reveal itself to him. If there were any information regarding who these people were and how they'd perished, hopefully, he'd glean it.

Meanwhile, back in his hangar, his body rested; wrapped feet and hands pressing their flesh against the metal of the ship, grounded. His breathing was slow, relaxed, naturally conservative of oxygen; and his senses, albeit distantly, remained open for changes to his current situation.

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]

 

[Aleksandyr Gaillard]

[member="Chiasa Kritivaas"]

Spoiler

The console showed a layout of the first floor and a straight path to the second floor. If read closely enough one might notice that it also lists all the emergency floors:

Spoiler

Maintenance -- Floor 6
Armory -- Floor 8
Stasis Chambers - Floor 7
Medical Labs -- Floor 5

[member="Darth Tsolan"]

Spoiler

The second floor was unlike anything else before... Walking through the entrance was like stepping into another world. There were trees, gardens, and slowly coming into light were what seemed like the ghost of people living and happily relaxing in this pleasant paradise. In reality, however, this was an illusion cast on the room -- haunted by the ghosts of the dead, their bodies long since decayed in the large empty room. On the far side was a doorway to floor three, but unless one could break the illusion -- realizing it for what it was -- or find a way out from within, they would be lost there. To the poor victims, they were trapped because they grew attached to the environment and slowly their physical bodies shut down from starvation, physical exhaustion, and other means: Leaving them trapped in this false paradise.

[member="Rain"]

Spoiler

The fingerprints of life once there echoed outward, revealing a more sinister nature. These people were trapped inside the first floor long ago. Slaves of someone they revealed only by one name "The Prophet". Visions of chitin-clad guards could be seen corralling them into the quarters and forcing them to live off of what supplies remained and eventually each other; most died due to infighting or starvation amongst other more sinister paths.

 

[Chiasa Kritivaas]

Alrighty. So second floor was easy enough. Med labs and Maintenance were doable. Stasis Chambers and Maintenance had no life support, so no point heading there yet. Second, third and fourth were mysteries, as were the floors after eighth, how fun. Med labs might have things worth stealing, and maintenance would probably have the manual whatever needed to get further up. And maybe she could turn off the bloody tractor beams. That would be good. This whole not having an escape route schtick was stressful.

With a mental shrug the Twi'lek moved off, heading for the path to the second level, eyes scanning for anything of interest, any alternate routes, open doors or most importantly.. threats. That little voice in the back of her head was insisting that this place wasn't quite as deserted as it appeared. One hand slipped down to touch her purse, and she took some reassurance in the solidness and weight of it. As long as she had her bag of tricks, she was fairly certain she'd at least survive.

She liked to do better than just survive though.

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]

 

[Rain]

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]

He experienced it all -- The capture, the cruelty, the cannibalism. Good, humble spirits braced him, helping him to bear some of the weight as he was forced to relive it through the relative passing of dreamtime. Weeks of starving, occurring in seconds. It was becoming too much. He closed his eyes and awoke, returning consciousness to his material form back in the hangar where he'd left it.

He rubbed his eyes free of the dream, the color of his irises representing alongside a light red staining of strained sclera. It was unnatural, this fate which fell upon this ship -- this "Prophet" that wrought it ; but Rain was by no means disturbed, or even surprised. This was symptomatic of the disease which afflicted the bulk of the known universe. He had know this going in.

He moved carefully through the corridors (even hiding, should he hear Geronivous decide to move again), returning to the astromech, rapping his fingers upon its trashcan lid of a head as he considered advancing to the second floor.

 

[Vulpesen]

Vulpesen's eyes observed the room and for a moment, he almost took off his mask when Ace placed his tail on Vulpesen's ear. In but a mmoment the zorren's senses sharpened to search for any signs of reality. These people made no sound, not a whisper, not a breath, not a heartbeat. Such illusions could fool his eyes, but that was about it. "Ace, check the bodies." A moment later and his companion started to search the corpses for equipment and treasures while Vulpesen headed to the door.

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]

 

[Aleksandyr Gaillard]

[member="Darth Tsolan"] [member="Chiasa Kritivaas"]

As Chiasa entered the second floor she would soon notice the same illusion that Darth Tsolan did. It was like stepping into another world, grass, plants, and even people enjoying what seemed to be a park of some kind. The only thing lacking was sound, taste, feeling. The Sith Lord was not fooled but perhaps Chiasa would be; if not she would still notice him heading towards the other side of the room, where the exit was. In the corpses which Ace was checking would reveal trinkets and oddities, mostly toys and heirlooms meant to give hope but one corpse would yield a small data chip that could connect with most datapads.

[member="Rain"]

The Astromech tried to turn in place, but was already low on energy; likely on its way to the recharging station. In a defense maneuver the little droid shut itself down and put up firewalls. The beeps and boops of alarm vanished as the droid went silent.

Spoiler: OOC

I received a few messages that the spoilers were a bit confusing and isolating, so I decided to try and break what's going on via @Mentions to show what paragraphs pertain to whom.

 

[Rain]

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]

No longer distracted by the apparently useless astromech, Rain finally dared venture upstairs, likely to confront the same illusion as the other two. The spell of lights and nature was cast, immediately betrayed by the cold, hard floors beneath Rain's wrapped, but ultimately exposed, feet. The grass was a lie, sure, but it really only saved him seconds -- Who wouldn't recognize that there was not a sound in the room? Of course, save for the breathing, the footsteps, of the others. His sense of Hearing refined and keened by years of dwelling in the dark, he gauged their approximate position and carefully moved away, his feet padding noiselessly upon the metal, carefully considering the corpses on the ground.

Serendipitously, one of these hopeful heirlooms, these trinkets, these toys, would catch between his toes. He would pick this up and keep it.

Presumably isolated, he could once more ponder the scene. The nature of its functional purpose never really entered his analysis, considering it more as an expression of art and a manifestation of dream. By and large, he didn't recognize too great a divide between the two realms in which all Man walked. He sought eye contact with one of the illusions, color fading in and out from his irises as he probed the material and spiritual planes simultaneously, searching for some semblance of sentience of which he could engage.

 

[Chiasa Kritivaas]

Chiasa paused, though perhaps froze would be more accurate, when she first entered the room. It was beautiful but.. If she'd had body hair, it would have been standing up. Something was off. Something was wrong. It took her a moment to work out. It had been odd enough not hearing all these people, or having any indication that they were here before entering the room. She still couldn't hear them. There was tech that could do that of course but.. Why? She supposed it was possible that a space station might have a place of enforced silence and restfulness, but when combined with other.. uncanniness. Wrong. Scent for one thing. As the Twi'leks nostrils flared, she analysed what her senses were telling her. She was getting none of the green smells such a place should have. In fact the only change in scent from the slightly stale metallic air was that there was now a faint hint of decay. So. If she could not hear these people, could not smell them.. Holograms perhaps? That was dangerous.. Who knew what they were concealing. There could be pits or other more esoteric hazards.

Was that one moving more purposely? Yes, and those were footsteps. Was this another being pulled into the station though, or the one who'd trapped her here. Friend or foe? She took careful note of where he was going, since he seemed to have a destination in mind.

That direction was as good as any she supposed. She moved slowly and carefully, not quite shuffling, but close enough. She had no intention of falling into and holes or tripping over hidden obstacles. One such obstacle did impede her, and a quick investigation showed it to be a body.

"Ew."

This only reinforced her paranoia, the feeling of being watched. Still, she was above all pragmatic. The body was old, dessicated. Her lip curled slightly in momentary distaste as she picked up a femur, shaking the few bits of rotted clothing and flesh off it. It might be useful in a pinch. Besides, if folks thought she had to arm herself with a bone club they'd be extra surprised when she shot them. Plus, the bone meant she could prod at the holograms of beings around her without actually risking any of her limbs.

A new and more distressing thought occurred to her, with the bone of a dead man in her hand. They were holograms right? Surely. You couldn't have ghosts of grass on a space station. She eyed the beings with new concern. Was one of them going to take affront to her desecrating the corpse?

Nope. Nope. Nope. Did not want. Watching the beings very closely for any sign of acknowledgement and prodding at any that came to close, she continued her careful journey to the door the other gent had gone through.

[member="The Primeval Storyteller"] [member="Darth Tsolan"] [member="Rain"]

 

[Vulpesen]

Vulpesen held out his hand and took the chip, placing it into the datapad while Ace tucked anything valuable into his coat. As the screen turned on to display what they had found, he felt a presence touching at his mind and immediately shut down the contact, walling up his mind in case of any intrusion. Not looking over to find it, he kept his eyes on the datapad as he spoke. "Reveal yourself."

[member="Rain"]
[member="The Primeval Storyteller"]