trans_9 | Podpop

Entry tags:

Podpop

[ooc: Newbie Helpers List | Instructions: Post your character with one post establishing them as being podpopped. Tag each other in groups of 2's, 3's, and 4's, to get some interaction to start with. If a thread doesn't already have 2 or 3 people tagged in, tag it with your character's podpop popping near the other people, rather than making a new subthread. If you would like to play out them talking to the AI, please send an email to the mods making the request--we do this only by request. Then move onto the big Newbie Meeting. Once your character has gotten the rundown from the old crew, you may start posting entrance posts and freely tagging.]

||Pod Release Protocols Initating|| Stacy's familiar voice sounds out to all the podmates through the ship.

In the Pod Caverns, there are the sounds of: Pop. Pop pop pop. Poppuhpoppoppop. KASCHUNKhiiiiiiiissssss.

There is condensation and mist spraying out from cracks in the pods, as the people inside slide out onto the floors, covered in slime.

--

There was nothing. You were going about your normal life, then there was a bright light, and then? Nothing.

Then the world lurches.

The chamber here is humid.

Actually, "chamber" isn't quite accurate. You're in a cavern, half-lit by an eerie greenish light, going on and on as far as the eye can see. The light is coming from what can only be described as pods, glistening, round greenish-yellow things, glowing with a pale inner light, outlining human -- and not quite human -- forms. Each is rooted to the floor, to the walls, with something black, twisted, and unidentifiable.

They line the walls of the cavern, go up in maddeningly high columns, curling and corkscrewing up into the darkness, until the light from them is like that of the stars, glowing pale and mournful in clusters in the darkness above. Twisted walkways and stairs crisscross, traverse the platforms in front of the pods, wending their way back and forth, up and down through the chamber.

You just came from one of those pods, broke free like a butterfly from a (slimy, nasty) chrysalis.

Now you stand alone but not quite alone, naked, not knowing how you got there, who took you, or why you were taken.

As your body heats up again, you realize the air is warm -- just a few degrees too warm to be comfortable -- and muggy; it smells acrid and organic, like freshly spilt blood and sweat. Your mouth tastes of salt.

The floors are pulsing under your feet, throbbing...

Wherever you are, this entire place...is alive.

Oh, and also you're naked and covered in alien snot.

When you call out, ask where you are, a voice speaks to you, in your head. She tells you:

||You are here.||

When you ask who she is, she tells you that her name is STA'C K'LTRRB'TXFT, but that you may call her Stacy. When she tells you who she is, there is a gush of emotion, love, maternal warmth. You are on a ship. She is that ship. Her name is Stacy and she loves you. Her voice is warm and motherly, even if these messages sound almost automated.

Glowing phosphorescent lights appear in pustules along the floor. They lead you up a massive spiraling walkway that gives you a view of what are possibly millions in stasis. At the top is a room with moving vines that clean you and clothe you in a plant-like body-suit--soft, but durable. After that, the lights lead you to a great cavernous room with a clear floor that lets you see all the holes and tunnels in the walls of it. When you reach the center, the last thing she tells you before whisking you away to gather your belongings and meet the rest of the crew is this reassuring thought:

||You have been Chosen to accomplish a Great Purpose. You have been Chosen to help fight the Ohm, a race of insectoid beings that are the destroyers of worlds.||

||You have been Chosen as champions of life, as protectors of the worlds and peoples that are left. The others are waiting for you. They will explain everything.||

She will tell you nothing more. Your answers lie with these "others" she speaks of.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Spells. He didn't roll his eyes, especially given that there was no denying that Aibghalien had power, but nodded his understanding. "Right, of course."

Interesting. Aibghalien took note of the skepticism in Turlough's voice, analyzed it, and determined it to be not personal. In other words, the man appeared to doubt the concept of magic itself.

A curious doubt indeed.

His feet rose off the ground slightly as his flight spell lifted him once more. "That way, I suppose," he said, pointing towards the most obvious exit.

"I see it," he replied, feeling that the hover thing was perhaps a little redundant. He headed in that direction, assuming Aibghalien followed.

Aibghalien hadn't begun to demonstrate the advantages of flight. With luck, he would not have to.

Spells ready and senses alert for trouble, the two went ahead to be... well, clothed. Probably the last thing he'd prepared for.

Turlough arrived in the next room. "Looks like some kind of storage room," he remarked to Aibghalien.

"It does!" Aibghalien spoke a few words of power, then pointed in a mixture of joy and relief as a pile of belongings began to glow. "That would be mine! Yours must surely be present as well."

"Surely," he echoed. Unfortunately, what Turlough had in terms of possession, was all of nothing, so he found little, apart from a school tie.

Had his things not come, or did he simply have so few? In the midst of donning his various pouches, wand braces, and staffs, Aibghalien paused. "Do you need a weapon?" he inquired, making no judgments.

"I hope not," he replied, especially seeing as he had none.

"I can loan you one," Aibghalien said. He'd come to his sword belt. He drew the blade, checked it, then sheathed it once more. Quickly he repeated the inspection with the dagger on the other side.

He considered the offer, it would make him feel better, at least until he got settled. "That's very kind of you, thank you."

"I have my knife, my sword, and..." He checked in one of the bags hanging from the main body of his backpack. "Yes, my bow made the trip as well. You're welcome any of them."

"I'd prefer the knife, thank you," he replied. Swords are rather cumbersome and bows tends to strike Turlough as more an offensive weapon and Turlough wouldn't like to start shooting anyone.

Deftly, Aibghalien drew the knife, reversed it in his grip, and offered it hilt-first. A high-quality knife, with a slight glow to it, the weapon had magnificent balance. Certainly a suitable weapon.

Aibghalien himself brought no weapon to hand. His right hand seemed more ready to draw one of the wands than the sword. In a strange environment such as this, he trusted his spells more than blade by far.

Well, it was certainly better than offering it blade first. Turlough took the knife, though he wasn't a connoisseur by any stretch, he recognised the quality. "Very nice," he said. He slipped it out of sight, not wanting to give people the wrong idea of him. "Thanks again."

Whatever this suit was, it was certainly comfortable... but not his style. He raised a hand to his head, then lowered it with a sweeping motion, so that his accustomed robes billowed out around him before settling.

Then, he took a moment to look at his companion, wondering if he should ask more -- but in a situation like this, what could you do but trust and hope? "Onwards?" He tipped his head in the vague direction of out and forwards, wherever that might lead.

Turlough looked out and then back the way we came. "We should make sure that everyone else is all right," he shook his head.

Turlough just went up a couple of notches in his estimation. "That seems like a good idea. I have to admit I almost blasted those things when they grabbed us.

"I wonder why our own clothes were inadequate," he added, looking down at the plantsuit.

He nodded, taking a few plantsuits for whoever they might meet. "Perhaps the tranmission procedure would have caused the fusion of our clothes to ourselves. Why they're not here, I have no idea."

He moved into the pod room.

"I was wearing most of those items," Aibghalien mused as his followed, not meaning to contradict but simply thinking out loud, "or at least I was to the best of my knowledge. This is all fairly alarming."

"But you weren't 'stored' here with them," he replied. "Either they were separated, or copied."

The very idea brought Aibghalien up short in total shock. Lucky he was holding nothing; he'd have dropped it.

After a long moment, he shut his mouth and shook his head. "I can't imagine the latter. The amount of time and energy it would take to recreate these items, perfectly, is almost beyond comprehension. The total cost would be prohibitive. No... no, I'm certain these items are the originals. Simple transportation is substantially easier than creation after all.

"It strikes me that the logical conclusion is that whatever is in control of this process wants us to wear these odd suits, specifically, rather than our normal clothing."

He looked down at the robe he had conjured. "I hope wearing clothes over it doesn't have repercussions further down the line."

"Consider the size of this place, the number of people taken, and the power it takes to create a sentient AI in the first instance before you make such an conclusion," he replied. "If they aren't copies, then it's for another reason."

"I did. Don't think for a second I'm not impressed," Aibghalien said fervently. "But what sways me is the fact that I created some of these items, which means they bear certain arcane hallmarks of mine. To replicate those exactly would require a substantially greater level of magic than simply to duplicate the power and purpose... On the one hand, I can't imagine a reason why an exact duplication would justify that..."

He looked around at the immense caverns, then back towards the clothing room, thoughtful. "And none of this seems to be magical."

"One man's magic is another's science," he replied.

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