pedalbike | First TDM: Sterile Blues

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First TDM: Sterile Blues

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Arrival

Not all characters (known as Wickie, singular or Wickies, plural) arrive at the same time, surprisingly enough! That’s life for you. Some Wickies find their way to the island at a pivotal (or very mundane) point in their life, or even after or during their death.

Wickies who were standing or walking often find themselves entering the town South Sister, located on Lighthouse Isle, through an open doorway. Those that were laying down, or sleeping, tend to be found lying prone in beds, bathtubs, showers, couches, and similar places within the cottages on Cottage Row. There’s no rhyme or reason to it all! To Wickies familiar with the era, they will realize that everything looks as if it’s come from the ‘90s.

The house which a Wickie finds themselves within could already be occupied. This includes walking into a fellow Wicke, waking up in the same location, or accidentally scaring a room full of people with their sudden appearance.

Oops.

Sterile Blues

After arriving, Wickes will find that food and water are easy enough to come by, as they can be readily found in the various houses which populate Lighthouse Isle. Medical supplies, on the other hand, are not so easily acquired. Bandaids and other simple trappings can be pilfered from the odd medical cabinet, but otherwise you’re on your own.

Thankfully, if a Wickie or their friend are in need of medicine or a pair of trauma shears, while you won’t find a full-fledged hospital on the island, there is a clinic. The clinic, named Sister’s Helpers, is like the rest of the buildings in town. Its appearance is well kept, and the doors are unlocked. Whether the Wickie goes in through the windows (because they can), or through the front door like most would, they’ll find that the clinic’s interior is crisp, clean, and orderly. There are plastic chairs, a desk where a receptionist would sit, white walls, but then—

There’s a sound. It could be mistaken for a breeze, at first. But as the sound goes on, it becomes more obvious that the ‘breeze’ is an exhale, prolonged and forced. At the end, there’s a murmur, professional and assuring.

“That’s good. Breathe.”

And with that, the clinic becomes awash in shades of blue. Sister’s Helpers itself hasn’t become warped in any way. There is only monochromatic coloring which, upon further realization, is not truly in the building, but a problem with their vision. Leaving without investigating further will mean having blue vision for the next twenty-four hours.

But for Wickies who choose to stay and explore, there is a chance at clearing their vision. This is is especially difficult for those who have a history of not taking care of their injuries. Gradually, it becomes more difficult to walk, as if there are weights on their feet. For Wickies are especially guilty of not tending to their wounds, their movements will become even more sluggish, and weight will settle on their arms and chest, forcing the worst of offenders into a crawl as they explore from room to room.

Laying on the patient beds will alleviate the situation for a short amount of time. The cure, however, will come from characters taking the supplies which they need for themselves and not for others.

If the Wickie fails this, over the course of an hour they will be crushed to death, and will eventually wake up outside of the clinic. Their vision stuck in shades of red with a weakness in their limbs for the next twenty four hours.

The Wickie’s only cure for that is either taking medical supplies for themselves or by doing some form of self care.

Ashes, Ashes

It’s the middle of the night when all the Wickies are jarred awake from sleep by the blare of a broken siren. Wailing into the dark, the siren functions as a foghorn might, warning of hazardous conditions to come. Beneath Wickies feet, the ground trembles, pulsating once. Twice. Three times. And again, and again until—

The world changes, and it is no longer the foggy island the Wickies knew.

Ash falls steadily from above, blanketing the ground, and at first glance it can be mistaken for snow. Whether by scent, by touch, or even by taste (an option for the brave, the bold, the few), the truth of the ‘snowfall’ can be easily revealed. It is strange, though, that there are no signs of fire in the vicinity. In fact, there doesn’t seem to be much of anything at all. There’s still no sign of the mainland. There are no buildings in this desolate place, either.

Lighting in this new landscape is hazy and sullen, but still conducive to exploring despite it being the dead of night just moments ago. But while Wickies walk, there’s a growing feeling of foreboding. There’s something… something else with them.

And it conceals itself in the ash.

It attacks by lashing out to grab at the ankles and the calves, attempting to drag the unsuspecting victim down, to somewhere far deeper and hidden by billowing piles of ash. It’s easy to save a Wickie from the pull, so long as they’re quickly freed from their assailants grasp. Retrieving someone out of the ash itself is nigh impossible, though.

Grabbed Wickies who lived to tell the tale, may find themselves bitten. The stalkers in the ash sink their teeth into the foot or calf of their prey, leveraging the force of their bite to take down their target. And once there’s blood, more of these creatures will be attracted to the smell.

If a Wickie is clever or strong enough to draw the stalkers out of the ash, they will find that the attackers are shark-like people. Most of their head consists of oversized jaws housing an impossible amount of teeth, and lacking any eyes. Their bodies are covered in ashen chitin and bone, with elongated feet and thin, taloned fingers. These Ash Sharks do not like being exposed, and will respond accordingly.

Ash Sharks cannot be reasoned with. Trapping one in ropes, magic, or other means will elicit angry shrieks which will attract other Ash Sharks, either to eat the trapper, or trapped, or both if they can. Being dragged completely under the ash will start a feeding frenzy, and the Ash Shark will proceed to rip and tear chunks out of its prey.

In dying, Wickies will reset to a random location within the ash filled fields, completely intact but for a purpling bruise where the initial bite took place.

Good luck.

Network Time: The Heart Game

There’s a beeping alert on all Wickie’s smartphones that refuses to stop until a particular notification is read. The notification is for something called the Heart Game (which, yes, looks annoying, overly bright, and cheesy). And surprise! The game opens up automatically with a loud ping!

The game begins (and ends!) with a question, one which will not go away even if you try to close out of it or shut off your smartphone. It reads:

It’s time for everyone's favorite game! Confession! Heeeeere is today’s question which you must confess!

What is… the scariest thing you’ve experienced? It can be anything!

code bases by tricklet

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I mean, that is useful. No one likes cockroaches.

[She chuckled, but the amusement didn't reach her eyes. Her? Suspect a priest of fibbing? Little bit. Slightly.]

I guess it would be best to be frugal then! But we don't know the consequences of anything we do here. Then again...too, that may mean a decrease of looting and stealing.

Which is worse Father? Enacting on greed without harm to others, or stealing?

Goodness, you're putting me on the spot, here. But that's what you get when you're a priest, I suppose.

[He gives a couple more sips of the coffee, thinking.]

Well, first of all, you can't enact on greed without harming others. That isn't possible. For whatever you take, there's less of it available. You get greedy for food, and there's less food for the starving. You get greedy for clothing, and there's less chance for a person stuck outside in the cold to survive. Unless there's an endless supply of something, you will always be taking something that could potentially belong to someone else. So, in a way, they're both the same thing. Enacting on greed, and stealing...

[Hmmm.]

Well. I think in the end I'd say enacting on greed in general is worse. At least stealing as a singulair might have a valid reason behind it, such as stealing food to save your family. But doing it because you simply want it? That's altogether sinful.

What can be said? Priests are seen as great thinkers, intellectuals. Educated men that have given their lives onto God and the people.

[She offered an elegant little shrug, sipping more of her coffee. She'd have to get more to refresh her cup; it was getting rather low. Still, his answer...

Naturally she had to follow up on it.]

So would you say what I did- getting coffee and setting it up for any to drink- was that a forgivable sin, or do I need to learn discipline?

Or something else?

[She smiles at him. And-]

I'm sorry, I'm being rather rude, aren't I? And we're all under duress already.

Ah, well...

[He gives a little shrug at that - ah, educated? Great thinkers? He supposes that's right. Depends on the priest, he thinks.]

[He sips more of his own coffee but the question makes him glance over. His smile, more amused than anything else, plays over his lips.]

Haha. No, you're not being rude. In this special case, considering everything...I'd call this "charity".

[He shrugs, eye closing as he dips the rest of his coffee down.]

You provided something like this for a humble citizen like me. How could I say that's a sin, hm?

Oh, you know how some things get twisted around.

[Sokie made a dismissive hand gesture, chuckling under her breath. This was fun to her.]

I think I have no choice but to thank you for your kind thoughts- and to offer the coffee pot. You're looking low, friend.

Believe me, I do.

[He raises an eyebrow looking low? Perhaps. They're all in this strange, strange situation in an even stranger place. Sure, he might act casual about it, but...]

Thank you in return. The coffee certainly cheered me up. [He gives her a nod.] The name's Hansa Cervantes, by the way. It's a pleasure to find a like-minded soul, in a place like this.

[They're more or less acting the same way, she thinks, especially with that expression on his face. She offers him a smile and a nod.]

Aye, likewise. I'm called Sokie Undertown. And I was speaking of your coffee, not your demeanor.

Sorry. Wasn't being clear.

Oh. [And he lightly chuckles.] No problem. I'm always low on coffee, constantly, so...you're right on that part.

[He might go and get a refill, actually, hold on. Sipping it when he comes back.]

Sokie Undertown, huh...and where are you from, Sokie?

Oh, me too, even if the pot is full.

[She'll be right here, sipping on her own coffee as he comes back.]

Honestly? Everywhere. If you want to know where I was most recently...New York, then Aefenglom, worlds away from here.

New York, I know. Aefenglom, though...

[Hm.]

Where might that be?

In a realm known as Tala-something. It operates by different rules then Earth, in where there are city states and politics on whether someone counts as, well.

Human, as much as they skirt around it. Very particular place.

Whether someone counts as human?

[He raises an eyebrow at that.]

If you don't mind me saying, that just sounds like a can of worms I don't think I'd want to open. "Human" is such a vague word in the first place.

Oh, neither did I. I'm old enough to know that that sort of nonsense will turn into war fooder given enough time.

[She wrinkled her nose briefly. It wasn't fun!]

It's all because there were people who could use magic, and there were people with animal traits that needed to- well- eat magic.

A lot of nonsense really. They called the magic eaters monsters, but they were just people.

Magic eaters...

[He frowns. He doesn't like the sound of that, since it raises a red flag at the back of his mind, but...well, this seems to be different from the vampires he knows, perhaps.]

Was there a surplus of magic that these magic eaters could feed on? Or was it a "take what they can get" sort of deal?

Oh, there was. The new magic users needed them, since...according to rumors, magic users were liable to explode from having too much in their system.

Even if they used spells on a daily basis. Weird, right?

Oh.

[He makes a face at that.]

That's...that's not good. [Yeesh.] So why go after the magic eaters, then? They're just providing a necessary service.

Oh, because if they don't get enough, especially by the full moon they go...feral.

Which is a nice way of putting attack people in various forms. Which was...for sure a problem with people who had trust issues and didn't want to do it the standard way, which was basically having a magical and emotional bond with a stranger.

It's pretty messed up.

[Hm.]

[The grip on his mug tightens ever so slightly, then relaxes.]

How terrible. [He finally says, after a moment.] And I suppose that balance between magic haver and magic eater was harder to maintain than it seemed. What a troubled world you come from.

It's very...particular, and I'm glad to be rid of it.

[She sighs, and stares down into her coffee mug. She doesn't miss the world, but the people in it...

There were some good people there.]

And I'm glad my magic is my own again too. I'm not sure who changed it, but it feels...better to be normal.

Ah, so coming here, the effects of that world have stayed.

[It sounds almost like it was something superimposed, then. Like a poison, more than anything else. He shrugs, slightly.]

I guess that even though you jumped out of the frying pan into the fire...at least there are little blessings to be found. What sort of magic is your own, though? You've got me curious.

Something like that. I don't need someone to "eat" my magic anymore, which is a blessing.

[She smiles. You know what? What the heck.]

I know all sorts, but technically? I'm a necromancer.

[His eyebrows raise.]

A necromancer? [A moment of silence, and then he chuckles.] Now, now, should you be telling that to a man like me? You know that I might not be the biggest fan of raising the dead willy nilly.

I mean, if you were planning on killing me, you would have done that rather then pause.

[Her eyebrows wiggle briefly, even as she sips more coffee.]

Though I don't willy nilly, intentionally or by accident. I can, however, bring you back to life if you die.

Clearly, my reflexes are just really slow this morning. Must be the lack of coffee.

[He says, smirking briefly, but her offer actually makes his expression fall, slightly.]

Ah, don't do it to me. I'm a holy man, after all, and I'm sure the Church would raise a fit, and I don't want to deal with that headache. Better someone else, instead.

Guess I'll have to pour you another once you finish this one.

[She smiles, and offers a small shrug.]

But I understand. I'm not going to do something that you don't want. If you want me not to magic touch you at all...

I'll abide.

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