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phantasmalrift2018-06-10 11:47 pm
phantasmods) wrote in phantasmalrift2018-06-10 11:47 pm
Entry tags:
IC INTRO - JUNE '18
After the fight with the siren has settled, those characters with phones hooked to the KEystone network will get a text -
Okay, everyone, you had better come back in. There's a storm brewing just off the coast.
Even given Up's usual professionalism, it seems rather... subdued?
----
For once, there are no androids at all to greet you upon your return, or arrival, as the case may be. A shelter has been set up for the boats on the shoreline of Glitterstone, however. By the time you tromp up the lighthouse stairs to the level of the Station itself, the sky is beginning to grey with the promised storm.
There's not the typical feast outside, but there is a fairly extensive taco bar set up in the common room, left unattended as well. The room sign-up sheet and boxes of freebies are also there, complete with the Braille versions, and a note at the bottom of both room sheets reads "If all rooms are full, space has been made in the meeting rooms on the top floor. We'll have additional rooms available as soon as possible."
It does appear that someone has updated the murder counter while you were away, however, for the turning of the week. It now reads 15 weeks without murder.
Other than that, you're free to explore, including in the newly finished sections of the Annex (should you be willing to brave the storm to get between buildings). However, wherever you go, the androids are almost conspicuously absent - even in the medical bay and Down's workstation in the command center.
The meeting room they have for their own private use is securely closed and locked.
Okay, everyone, you had better come back in. There's a storm brewing just off the coast.
Even given Up's usual professionalism, it seems rather... subdued?
----
For once, there are no androids at all to greet you upon your return, or arrival, as the case may be. A shelter has been set up for the boats on the shoreline of Glitterstone, however. By the time you tromp up the lighthouse stairs to the level of the Station itself, the sky is beginning to grey with the promised storm.
There's not the typical feast outside, but there is a fairly extensive taco bar set up in the common room, left unattended as well. The room sign-up sheet and boxes of freebies are also there, complete with the Braille versions, and a note at the bottom of both room sheets reads "If all rooms are full, space has been made in the meeting rooms on the top floor. We'll have additional rooms available as soon as possible."
It does appear that someone has updated the murder counter while you were away, however, for the turning of the week. It now reads 15 weeks without murder.
Other than that, you're free to explore, including in the newly finished sections of the Annex (should you be willing to brave the storm to get between buildings). However, wherever you go, the androids are almost conspicuously absent - even in the medical bay and Down's workstation in the command center.
The meeting room they have for their own private use is securely closed and locked.
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[This probably does not help. She is aware that this probably does not help.]
Of course, there's always the Correspondence, but this sitting room's far too flammable for that.
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Wasn't making up a thing, though. If you're actually interested I'll try to put it in layman's terms.
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Onierography is the practice of recording and interpreting dreams for the purpose of mapping those parts of the realm of Parabola which the human mind may gain easy access to. It's not much studied on the Surface - damn. I'm not certain where to start. It probably doesn't mean much to you when I say I've made my home in the Neath of late, does it?
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Most people in the world live on the Surface, and the geography and natural law there seems to be roughly same as many other people's worlds. Death works properly, dreams are mostly figments of the mind, the great powers of Europe control colonial holdings throughout the world.
When you get to the secret places under the world, things get odd. Weird with a capital W, as you say. The greatest of these spaces is the Neath, which lies about a mile under the Mediterranean. I'm not certain anyone's managed to measure the cavern's length and breadth - the further you travel east and north from the entry point, the less reliable the charts get - but it's large enough to contain its own ocean and home to a great many strange things. And some aspects of natural law don't hold fast, because on the Surface they're enforced by the Sun, and that Judgment can't see what's going on down in the Neath.
And from the Neath, it's possible to reach regions where time and space don't function at all in the way humans are accustomed to. Parabola is one of these; our dreams naturally wander there from the Neath, or there are more direct ways to travel there if the traveler is willing to take the risk. Hell is another. In some cases it's possible to travel into the mind of another person, but the necessary preparations are dreadfully cruel.
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...I've heard some fucked up things about where people are from, and that's...that's pretty up there.
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Bordering Hell does cause some problems, although there would be fewer problems if the Bishop of Southwark would stop trying to get approval for another wholesale invasion of the place, I think.