![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Uh Oh....
The... Start of something?
By now everyone is used to the summons to the bridge every month. Yet it doesn't come, and as the days pass by, bleeding into one another, a growing sense of unease settles deep in the bones of every soul on board with each groan and shift of the derelict ship.
A ship that seems to be under some vast, unseen strain. Its metallic sighs and creaks are no longer the familiar sounds of a vessel in motion, but almost like the strained vocalizations of something in pain. The "dangerous" areas, once clearly demarcated and avoidable, now seem to shift and expand their shadowy borders when no one is looking. A fleeting movement in the corner of an eye, a whisper in the static of a malfunctioning comm — the feeling of being watched by unseen things lurking in the deepening shadows is a shared, unspoken dread.
Reality glitches at times. Blue hair. A yarn person. A day of heat then a freezing blizzard. Anything and everything starts to happen on the ship.
Compounding this is the increasingly unhelpful nature of Navi-No. The ship's AI, who isn't that helpful despite it's best attempts, now responds only with cryptic nonsense, frustrating loops of logic that make little sense, or simply, unsettling silence. Questions about the ship's status are met with irrelevant data streams or corrupted audio files that sound like the screams of the damned - or maybe just Tasmanian Devils. It's hard to tell.
It's as if the very mind of the vessel is succumbing to a creeping sickness, and a deeply personal and constant reminder of the ship's decline also rests on every crew member's wrist. The bangles, once vibrant and steady, have grown dull. The central jewel now flickers erratically, its light weak and threatening to extinguish at any moment. The network it connects to is just as unreliable, sputtering in and out of existence, severing connections and leaving everyone feeling more isolated than ever before.
Some might even find they can almost slip the bangle off - freedom? Yet no. The longer it's almost off, the worse they feel. Nausea, weakness of the body and haywire powers. To say nothing of how harder breathing becomes all of a sudden.
Every sign points to a single, terrifying conclusion: Something is failing. The entire vessel, from its grandest systems to its smallest personal devices, is running down, slowly and inexorably fading into a state of decay.
The Mushroom Rings
While the Noanga's systems continue their slow, grinding decline, something else springs from the cracks - mushrooms of all manner and form. They are wild and untameable, and attempts to remove them only result in more mushroom rings sprouting.
And leaves - dull, red, maple leaves can be found in these circles. Don't look too long as the colour might look like blood.
They are on the walls, on the floor, on the beds and on... you? That's weird. How'd that happen.
At least they are pretty, if eerie as they pulse with a soft, internal light, casting an ethereal glow in the already flickering lighting of the ship.
The Vison
It's dark and you sit in a chair, half curled up as you hear the groans and creaks of the ship around you. You're so tired, but you can't sleep again. Not when going to sleep will doom them. Your guests. Saviours.
Your people.
A male voice, scared, comes from beside you. "Sister -"
"We couldn't - he took them - we need to run! He's closer. I can feel him -" Your voice is near panic.
"We have them. They found the Fountain -"
"No. No. It was destroyed when they -"
"It was hidden from us."
"In our -"
"Yes."
"We need more -"
"How? He's taking them."
"Others?"
"N-No... Not strong enough." She whimpers and you curl up. "They must be so afraid. Can we -"
"I.. think so."
"They liked the durian, Brother. It's a sweet scent to them."
"And kiwis. And sheep. They liked the wool." you can hear a grin in his voice.
You'll give them something so they're less afraid of the darkness.
"I'm... Please be brave, little ones. We're trying."
Bird.... fruits? and sheep.
It's hard to say where the first one comes from, but as if the fungal circles weren't bizarre enough, the ship now has new inhabitants. Small, flightless birds the size of kiwi fruits with fuzzy brown bodies have emerged and they are both adorable and very, very uncanny.
They are kiwi-fruits, in a fashion. However, while they may be birds, their behaviour is anything but bird-like; they act more like playful kittens as they exhibit boundless curiosity and energy. They will stalk you. They will pounce on you, and on loose wires - on anything really. They even manage to climb you enough to sit on your head, to bat at the bangles, and chasing dust bunnies with an adorable ferocity.
Yet their friendliness is almost overbearing - they tumble over the feet of passersby or enthusiastically nudge crew members for attention, sounding much like a seagull when they don't get it fast enough. While their antics might offer a moment of levity, their presence is accompanied by a uniquely potent and bizarre aroma: a scent that is a strange mix of durian and oranges.
Some are more durian than orange, while others, are, thankfully, more orange than not.
Also they seem to be multiplying. and or stuck in your cup. How'd that one even get on the ceiling of all places?!
And where did that Earth sheepgoat come from?!?! And why is the size of a brown bear?!
The Solution?
While there isn't really any solution that can be done solve this, the following will actively help the ship maintain some semblance of liveability.
Offerings: The mushroom circles are the most visible manifestation of the Fae's power and these are these are the perfect places to make offerings using things that hold meaning, such as a hand-carved trinket, a poem written on a spare panel, a piece of jewellery filled with personal memories.
Performances: Gather in groups and tell stories, sing songs — not just any songs, but songs of hope, memory, and home. Play instruments if they can be found. The act of creating art and sharing it collectively generates a powerful, positive energy that can further drive the shadows back.
Active Belief: Treat the ship as a living entity by thanking it when a door opens. Apologize when you bump into a wall. Verbally ask Navi-No for help, even if it can only spout gibberish. The focused intent and act of acknowledging the ship can help the fae that brought you here.
Embrace Absurdity: Lean into it - If a hallway floods, don't just complain; actively race the rubber ducks. If someone is stuck in a rainbow onesie, treat it as a fashion show. Etc.
Attempts to Contact the Fae
Attempts can be made through the bangles! Who knows, maybe they'll answer.
By now everyone is used to the summons to the bridge every month. Yet it doesn't come, and as the days pass by, bleeding into one another, a growing sense of unease settles deep in the bones of every soul on board with each groan and shift of the derelict ship.
A ship that seems to be under some vast, unseen strain. Its metallic sighs and creaks are no longer the familiar sounds of a vessel in motion, but almost like the strained vocalizations of something in pain. The "dangerous" areas, once clearly demarcated and avoidable, now seem to shift and expand their shadowy borders when no one is looking. A fleeting movement in the corner of an eye, a whisper in the static of a malfunctioning comm — the feeling of being watched by unseen things lurking in the deepening shadows is a shared, unspoken dread.
Reality glitches at times. Blue hair. A yarn person. A day of heat then a freezing blizzard. Anything and everything starts to happen on the ship.
Compounding this is the increasingly unhelpful nature of Navi-No. The ship's AI, who isn't that helpful despite it's best attempts, now responds only with cryptic nonsense, frustrating loops of logic that make little sense, or simply, unsettling silence. Questions about the ship's status are met with irrelevant data streams or corrupted audio files that sound like the screams of the damned - or maybe just Tasmanian Devils. It's hard to tell.
It's as if the very mind of the vessel is succumbing to a creeping sickness, and a deeply personal and constant reminder of the ship's decline also rests on every crew member's wrist. The bangles, once vibrant and steady, have grown dull. The central jewel now flickers erratically, its light weak and threatening to extinguish at any moment. The network it connects to is just as unreliable, sputtering in and out of existence, severing connections and leaving everyone feeling more isolated than ever before.
Some might even find they can almost slip the bangle off - freedom? Yet no. The longer it's almost off, the worse they feel. Nausea, weakness of the body and haywire powers. To say nothing of how harder breathing becomes all of a sudden.
Every sign points to a single, terrifying conclusion: Something is failing. The entire vessel, from its grandest systems to its smallest personal devices, is running down, slowly and inexorably fading into a state of decay.
The Mushroom Rings
While the Noanga's systems continue their slow, grinding decline, something else springs from the cracks - mushrooms of all manner and form. They are wild and untameable, and attempts to remove them only result in more mushroom rings sprouting.
And leaves - dull, red, maple leaves can be found in these circles. Don't look too long as the colour might look like blood.
They are on the walls, on the floor, on the beds and on... you? That's weird. How'd that happen.
At least they are pretty, if eerie as they pulse with a soft, internal light, casting an ethereal glow in the already flickering lighting of the ship.
The Vison
It's dark and you sit in a chair, half curled up as you hear the groans and creaks of the ship around you. You're so tired, but you can't sleep again. Not when going to sleep will doom them. Your guests. Saviours.
Your people.
A male voice, scared, comes from beside you. "Sister -"
"We couldn't - he took them - we need to run! He's closer. I can feel him -" Your voice is near panic.
"We have them. They found the Fountain -"
"No. No. It was destroyed when they -"
"It was hidden from us."
"In our -"
"Yes."
"We need more -"
"How? He's taking them."
"Others?"
"N-No... Not strong enough." She whimpers and you curl up. "They must be so afraid. Can we -"
"I.. think so."
"They liked the durian, Brother. It's a sweet scent to them."
"And kiwis. And sheep. They liked the wool." you can hear a grin in his voice.
You'll give them something so they're less afraid of the darkness.
"I'm... Please be brave, little ones. We're trying."
Bird.... fruits? and sheep.
It's hard to say where the first one comes from, but as if the fungal circles weren't bizarre enough, the ship now has new inhabitants. Small, flightless birds the size of kiwi fruits with fuzzy brown bodies have emerged and they are both adorable and very, very uncanny.
They are kiwi-fruits, in a fashion. However, while they may be birds, their behaviour is anything but bird-like; they act more like playful kittens as they exhibit boundless curiosity and energy. They will stalk you. They will pounce on you, and on loose wires - on anything really. They even manage to climb you enough to sit on your head, to bat at the bangles, and chasing dust bunnies with an adorable ferocity.
Yet their friendliness is almost overbearing - they tumble over the feet of passersby or enthusiastically nudge crew members for attention, sounding much like a seagull when they don't get it fast enough. While their antics might offer a moment of levity, their presence is accompanied by a uniquely potent and bizarre aroma: a scent that is a strange mix of durian and oranges.
Some are more durian than orange, while others, are, thankfully, more orange than not.
Also they seem to be multiplying. and or stuck in your cup. How'd that one even get on the ceiling of all places?!
And where did that Earth sheepgoat come from?!?! And why is the size of a brown bear?!
The Solution?
While there isn't really any solution that can be done solve this, the following will actively help the ship maintain some semblance of liveability.
Offerings: The mushroom circles are the most visible manifestation of the Fae's power and these are these are the perfect places to make offerings using things that hold meaning, such as a hand-carved trinket, a poem written on a spare panel, a piece of jewellery filled with personal memories.
Performances: Gather in groups and tell stories, sing songs — not just any songs, but songs of hope, memory, and home. Play instruments if they can be found. The act of creating art and sharing it collectively generates a powerful, positive energy that can further drive the shadows back.
Active Belief: Treat the ship as a living entity by thanking it when a door opens. Apologize when you bump into a wall. Verbally ask Navi-No for help, even if it can only spout gibberish. The focused intent and act of acknowledging the ship can help the fae that brought you here.
Embrace Absurdity: Lean into it - If a hallway floods, don't just complain; actively race the rubber ducks. If someone is stuck in a rainbow onesie, treat it as a fashion show. Etc.
Attempts to Contact the Fae
Attempts can be made through the bangles! Who knows, maybe they'll answer.