May 25, 2024 1:58 pm
The tremors struck a week ago. It was over in a few seconds, but in that short moment their Ark shifted its position a couple of feet, sliding aft-wise further into the moss-murky waters it used to float on. For as long as they could remember the People had lived in this Ark. It was known as a cruise ship, or at least that’s what the Elder called it. It was a good location, the Elder had assured them whenever any of them suggested finding a different place to migrate to, with the only source of potable water miles around. The filtration tanks were old and needed regular maintenance, but so long as a dedicated roster stuck to their schedule, they were in no danger of running out of the one essential for their survival.
The seismic jolt was unfortunately calamitous in other ways though. The lowest decks were forever submerged, beyond access, and this last shift pulled another two floors below the waterline, causing the ship to list towards starboard a couple more degrees as well. They lost a significant stash of supplies the Elder had instructed them to hoard, with food being the most concerning. Contaminated, washed away. The true tragedy was that the dozen or so slummers living in the hold drowned before anyone could get them to safety, but no one had the time nor inclination to mourn them.
Boss Irfan, whose fanatics walled up the entire observation deck in response, declared the entire incident a test from the titan gods, and retreated to meditate on finding an answer. His vision was always the same though: that the DawnWorld would rise from within. Boss Marlotte had the exact opposite response and immediately commissioned a foraging expedition into the Zone, a direct defiance of the Elder’s law which forbade explorations to the outside without their clearance.
But no one had seen the Elder in over a month. The chroniclers of the Dawn Vaults, keepers of the sacred artifacts, were silent about where and how the ancient one was. The term was one not only in deference, but also for the vast age difference between the Elder and the rest of the People. The Elder was also unlike the rest of the People in one distinctive aspect, they were the last archetype of what humanity was said to look like. The rest of them were, as explained by the ancient one, mutants, whatever that term meant, adapted to survive in this unforgiving world.
The mood now was a desperate one: without grub to last the week they would have to resort to extreme measures. Last night boss Johammed had summoned his allies to the upper lounge for an urgent confab. Those who tried to spy on them heard raised voices and thrown objects towards the end of the meeting, before a bunch of people stormed out in anger. This morning the acid rain kept everyone indoors, below decks, a seething, festering atmosphere abounded. Like their Ark, everything felt on the brink, expecting, waiting for something to tip them over completely.
The seismic jolt was unfortunately calamitous in other ways though. The lowest decks were forever submerged, beyond access, and this last shift pulled another two floors below the waterline, causing the ship to list towards starboard a couple more degrees as well. They lost a significant stash of supplies the Elder had instructed them to hoard, with food being the most concerning. Contaminated, washed away. The true tragedy was that the dozen or so slummers living in the hold drowned before anyone could get them to safety, but no one had the time nor inclination to mourn them.
Boss Irfan, whose fanatics walled up the entire observation deck in response, declared the entire incident a test from the titan gods, and retreated to meditate on finding an answer. His vision was always the same though: that the DawnWorld would rise from within. Boss Marlotte had the exact opposite response and immediately commissioned a foraging expedition into the Zone, a direct defiance of the Elder’s law which forbade explorations to the outside without their clearance.
But no one had seen the Elder in over a month. The chroniclers of the Dawn Vaults, keepers of the sacred artifacts, were silent about where and how the ancient one was. The term was one not only in deference, but also for the vast age difference between the Elder and the rest of the People. The Elder was also unlike the rest of the People in one distinctive aspect, they were the last archetype of what humanity was said to look like. The rest of them were, as explained by the ancient one, mutants, whatever that term meant, adapted to survive in this unforgiving world.
The mood now was a desperate one: without grub to last the week they would have to resort to extreme measures. Last night boss Johammed had summoned his allies to the upper lounge for an urgent confab. Those who tried to spy on them heard raised voices and thrown objects towards the end of the meeting, before a bunch of people stormed out in anger. This morning the acid rain kept everyone indoors, below decks, a seething, festering atmosphere abounded. Like their Ark, everything felt on the brink, expecting, waiting for something to tip them over completely.
OOC:
An introduction to the current state of your Ark. Please use the prompts here, plus the ones in your individual threads, to start. This thread will be unlocked when you come together.