ic Lunar London

[Supercape]

GM

Dec 5th, 5.48 AM, Freedom City Junior Ballet

 

"Special delivery, special delivery!"

 

A young man, not yet in his twenties, just off his bicycle, came into the practice hall waving an envelope. It was a chilly day, but he was sweating. Part of it, surely, from a morning of bicycling, but perhaps coming into a hall full of lithe women stretching might also excite his inexperienced hormones. 

 

He tried not to look too much, and read out the address on the envelope. 

 

"Miss Cor-reen Conrad? Miss Correen Correen Con-rad?" he blurted, looking around without trying to let his eyes linger on any one form in particular. A few dancers gave a little laugh at his glowing cheeks. 

 

The envelope in question looked rather old, and had elegant inked handwriting on. It felt, and indeed was, rather antique. 

Edited December 6, 2017 by Supercape

[TheAbsurdist]

Corinne was an easy person to spot, which given it was ballet practice, and everyone was practically wearing varying shades of unitards, or leggings and tops, having a young woman who was, as near as made no difference six foot three helped.  She rose up from from the ground, and the stretching she was doing there.

She pushed herself up fully, and waved to the kid, walking over to him in a non-made up sort of way that was expected.  Her skin flushed a bit from exertion she had already gone through.  She moved over towards the guy, not bothering to correct him.  "Need me to sign?"  She arched a brow as she looked at him carefully, her breathing slightly labored from her efforts.

[Supercape]

GM

 

"I ah errr...yes..." blubbered the delivery boy, producing said document to sign. 

 

"I...errr...excuse me miss, but we at the office are dying to know. Who are you?" he blabbered. "I mean, this envelope has been lying in storage since...well, I don't know when. I mean, years. Longer. With explicit instructions to give it to you, on this day, at this time, at this location" said the boy, scratching his head. 

 

"Its been like an office mascot, or something, that has. We don't have records far enough back for it. Just the instructions. We kind of had a bet that it was all a big hoax. I mean. Are you that person?" he asked, almost suspicious. 

[TheAbsurdist]

Corinne blinked, taken aback by what he was saying.  She shrugged then.  "Nothing?  I am, like, no one.  I dance, and I am in high school.  But it's a weird world, so like that's totes probably it."  She tried to play it off, not that she was terribly deft.  After all, how would she know what was in a thing waiting years for her?

 

She was sixteen.  She was not exceptionally wise.  And she was under no delusion of herself, her importance, if fact she tried to diminish it in her mind.  "So I guess I am that person, but you're kinda putting me on the spot so..."  She signed for her, and offered up her hand to take the thing.  "I'll just, like, go somewhere quiet to open it..."

 

[Supercape]

GM

 

And so the letter was opened. It had a rather flowery style, and looked a hundred years old, written by hand in old ink on old paper but very well preserved; probably due to the whiff of chemicals that laced the paper. 

 

Madam,

 

Forgive the strange manner of this delivery and allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ebeneezer Fiddle, of Goodge Street, London. By the time you are reading this I will, bar divine intervention, by long dead and buried, for I have already more years behind me than ahead of me, and the year of my writing is 1858. 

 

You may well wonder how I came to write to you, for I do not even know your name. Suffice to say I have access to prophecy and vision of the future through means I will not describe here. 

 

I have come to know that strange events of my time have echoes in the future. A man by the name of Randolph Armitage, a master of Eldritch forces, has travelled to the lunar surface by astral projection and activated some terrible force in that place. I do not understand fully what this means, despite sage advice from somebody who knows far better than me on these matters. Whilst I do not know you at all, the same force of precognition that alerted me to these events has also indicated that you have great ability to hold the fractures in time and space and other dimensions in place, nay, perhaps even mend them. It is bold of me to ask you to help, but I fear that if you do not, terrible consequence will occur. 

 

Tell no one you need absolutely not, and even then tell only the most trustworthy of men or women, for, as I understand knowledge of what will be will only hasten the fracturing. 

 

If you do need advice, then I would consult Mr. Murke, of London, a lawyer. Or, I hope he shall be. 

 

In any case, you must make haste to the Lunar Surface. There is another who has been touched by the fracture, and her name, I understand, is Red Moon. With her help, I believe the grave scars on the fabric of reality can be mended. 

 

God go with you,

 

Mr. Ebeneezer Fiddle. 

 

 

 

[TheAbsurdist]

Corinne scrunched her nose, and made a face, before she let out an ineffably elegant, "F***."  

 

So she read it, and re-read it.  Again, and again.  Uncertain how to get there, in the slightest.  Or if she should.  This wasn't her life.  This was madness she was drawn in because of indiscretions of her mother, and a man she hardly knew!  She crumpled the paper, and excused herself.  Leaving the dance studio, having dressed in a hurry, and going to the train and just getting it.  She was having a hard time breathing, clearly upset and only getting worse as time wore on.

 

She didn't know what to do.  So going back to school and showing the teachers seemed like the best idea?  She felt like just going to the river and throwing the letter in water.  Who the hell was this guy?  What was she supposed to do?

[Supercape]

GM

 

Meanwhile...In a high-tech cave on the Moon...

 

Vortex Ming was an exceptionally tall, exceptionally slender Lunar inhabitant, with very odd, misplaced eyes. Guardian of secrets for the Lunar colony, spymaster, manipulator, and genius, he was surprisingly nice in person. Or maybe that was his facade. Whatever, his reputation was generally well liked. 

 

He had no psychic abilities of his own, but had an unusual brain. It was completely impenetrable to psionics and mind reading. Perfect for his job. 

 

"I have some important information for you, Red Moon, some very troubling information. To do with Earth. And the Moon. And may be a little bit of complete destruction of the universe" he said, airily. 

 

"Would you let me in. Perhaps you have some of those Earth meats I like so much. What do you call them? Sausages?"

[Ari]

The cave's exterior was deceptively rustic, stark stone that cycled open without even a breath of inner air to reveal a sparkling, glistening metal wonderland burrowing into the Satellite's crust. Atraxia stood behind it, her shoulders hunched and head thrust out on a stalk-like, shriveled neck. Her helmet was off, so there was nothing to hide the lifeless blue eyes, withered flesh and the rows of needle-like teeth gleaming between rotted black lips. Her limp black hair curtained the nightmarish face. A skeletal hand held a slim silver wire to her neck, a strand touching Vortex's skin-tight suit. Her rasping voice echoed tonelessly into his ears.

 

<"Enter. Good to meet another mindblind. Leave the meat at the door."> With that out of the way, Atraxia turned and flew deeper into the complex. She flew slowly, so Vortex could keep up. The mirror-like metal plating the walls, ceiling and floor let her surreptitiously watch her guest. She didn't get many, and even fewer of such distinction.

 

<"The transpad can take us to any point on the Garden. Would you tell me all you know?">  Red Moon couldn't help but feel pretty certain that, if this really was so dangerous and important, she wouldn't have anything to do with it.

[Supercape]

GM

 

Vortex Ming entered as smoothly and calmly as he could. He was pretty good and being smooth and calm, what with his position, but this was extraordinary circumstance. 

 

He turned his odd coloured eyes to Red Moon, speaking like heavy silk. 

 

"You recall, I am sure, your contact with the Moonstone and the replica you made" he started. "And some of the readings. Well, anomalies, yes?" he asked, already knowing the answer. 

 

"We have been suspicious, although this is beyond top secret, that some anomaly with the Moonstone was inserted around a hundred years ago. Perhaps further. Less than quantum, initially. Psychic, probably. But growing, like a virus. It is quite possible that your interference might have accelerated the growth, although at that time, it was extremely small in nature. Possibly so small that it did not exist. Or did"

 

He shrugged. "I'm a keeper of secrets, not a quantum scientist" he explained, apologetically. 

 

"In any case, the anomaly has now developed to a measurable state. And the growth is beyond expodential. If left, its effects could be quite cantastropic. Whatever psychic virus is with in could change dimensional reality locally. Or something like that..."

 

He paused. 

 

"We need you to fix it...."

 

 

 

[Ari]

Atraxia's heart no longer beat, nor could she feel a chill run down her spine, but in that instant it was as if the years had peeled back and the comforting fog torn away. Shivering, the astrally-displaced conciousness directing her corpse turned its head to look Vortex in his face. 

 

<"I thought they had banned me from ever touching that...why me?"> Lights in green, red and white pulsed through the corridor, shifting and mingling into dizzying patterns as energy was relayed through the technologically-uplifted caves. It played on the skins of the two Farsiders in stark contrasts, illuminating her in pink and him in mauve.

 

Red Moon turned, blindly staring into a dataplate <"Why me?"> she asked again <"You have so many thousands, hundreds of thousands of people, surely one of them must be better suited for this than I? There must be someone left from the old days who can understand the Source?"> When Lady Lunar had taken the throne, so many years ago, she had culled much of the top-tier intelligentsia and science corps who had been loyal to her parents. It had never dawned on her warped mind that they might have proved loyal to her as well. As a result, as well as spymaster Atraxia had served as overseer of the Waning Witch's ludicrous projects.

 

Not everyone had been pleased when Prince Mentat had pardoned her, upon his sister's defeat.

 

Was this a chance to make up for all that? To her own people, as well as Garden's?

 <"If-if I must, I must know more. Tell me on the way to the transpad.">

[Supercape]

GM

 

And so...one trans mat transmission of matter later....

 

It was but a short hop to the chamber of the stone. RIght now, several lunar scientists were studying it with equipment of various degrees of utility and style. They tried very hard to look like they knew what they were doing, but clearly this was a facade. They speculated, and made this and that hypothesis about the readings. But no coherent pattern emerged. 

 

The stone itself seemed to shimmer slightly, if one studied it hard. It gave the eyes a strain. 

 

"There it is, in all its flawed and horribly dangerous beauty" sighed Vortex Ming, admiring it for a moment. He exchanged a few pleasantries with scientists, so that he could keep abreast of the zero progress. 

 

"And we are no further in our understanding. It is cracked in several dimensions, some so small it is debatable if they exist. Its quantum, apparently. And this helps us not at all" he sighed. 

 

"We need someone, it seems, he could alter the fabric of reality itself to repair the stone. A tall order, and not one we can meet on this moon...."

[Ari]

Wrapped now in her comfortably close and concealing red, black and grey terrasuit, Atraxia only paused for a moment before stepping closer to the pedestal and its precious, irreplaceable burden. The Moonstone's white-blue glow would have dazzled any living eyes, but Atraxia's looked past the brilliance to the tell-tale signs of cracks in the psi-silicate matrices, to the faints pulses of psionic energy emissions, the foreboding drone of unconsciousness being twisted slowly into a blur of mental white noise.

 

Pulling away from the malfunctioning chunk of psychoactive space rock, Red Moon unfolded back to her spidery full height and spoke softly, her suit recombining her words into speech mingled with garbled snatches of uncounted possible variations.

 

<"I doubt even Chase or Victoria of the Atoms could heal this. Perhaps it was damaged during his battle with the Cosmic Mind, if it took such a toll on Mentat's son, who can say what stresses the Stone endured?"> Reaching out gingerly, Red Moon let a gloved finger caress Farside City's greatest treasure. If it broke the Farsiders were doomed. If it weakened, doom would merely come slower. The Moonstone was the heart and life of the Refuge, like its slowly-growing twin on Garden would one day become...

 

<"You know where this saviour can be found? If not, my instruments might give us a clue.">

[Supercape]

GM

 

"As I understand it, the Stone was probably fractured over a century ago" said Vortex. "Possibly eldritch, possibly not. Something visited the stone. An astral projection? A psychic force? Some interdimensional being? The unspeakable one himself? The origin of the hammer that cause the crack, we can speculate on, and plot. A place called London, 1863. We even have the coordinates pinned down in both time and space. Or so they tell me..."

 

He peered, carefully, at the stone. 

 

"As to whom might heal it, we are not sure of that either. And here, we cannot even speculate. It may be that Moonstone itself might have answers, if anybody dared to merge minds with it. Which, given the chance it could fry your brain completely, nobody is keen to do..."

 

"If you want to take the risk, I won't stop you. My feeling however is that you would be best placed to do the detective work. What happened in 1863 in London?"

[Ari]

<"My brain frying would be the least of my worries, Vortex."> Atraxia forced a bitter, thin smile, before remembering her face was hidden by the helmet <"Time travel is both dangerous and, as well understood, futile for physical efforts. But information, that may prove light enough to carry back. Besides, 1863 is not the Age of Atlantis, I should be able to go there and back.without running into the great maelstrom.">

 

The distant past, before the Cataclysm that destroyed the worlds of the magicians, was a time so distant and dark that even in the ancient days of the Refuge no Farsider had dared to risk travelling there. The summoning and exploitation of uncomprehended intelligences had turned the streams of time into a roiling, deadly sea through which nothing could pass. Even the Master Mages, even the man known as Dr. Tomorrow, none could truly touch those days or breathe that air again. Thousands of years, an eyeblink of cosmic time, but to humanity an epoch of wonders and monsters that drew fascination and greed throughout the timestreams.

 

It was rumored that the descendants of the Atlantean Order of the Seaworn Stair, the wizards who had brought the Nameless Ones to Earth, had found secret ways. But you trusted the word of someone who claimed that extradimensional beings were good for humanity as far as you could evaporate them. For their part, the Farsiders considered Atlantis and Lemuria a bad job best forgotten. A dangerous and false start that had undermined humanity's glorious destiny.

 

Atraxia's mind jumped the tracks back to reality. This was just a hundred and a half years ago. A primitive and barbaric land. A fact-finding job her city depended on her seeing it to the end.

 

<"Give me the coordinates, I will find you your saboteur. This...other. What do we know about them>"> 

[Supercape]

GM

 

And so...on the blue planet...in the City of London...

 

1863

 

The Moonstone itself had many powers, many untapped ones. And Vortex Ming had made it his business to know every bit of dangerous or useful technology on Lunar City. 

 

Temporal Projection was one of them. 

 

Red Moon had been projected into the past, on a psychic rubberband. It would pull her back to the "Present" in a day. Maybe two. BAck into her own body. 

 

But, here was the warning; if her psychic projection died or came to harm, so would her "real body". 

 

As for her landing. It was pre dawn, on a musty summers day in London. On a cobbled street. 

 

"Who are you then?" 

 

It was a tramp. A filthy, smelly, tramp. 

 

On the docks of Deptford, with the slime that was the River Thames flowing slowly past. 

 

"You look well strange! What are you, Chinese?" asked the Tramp. 

[Ari]

<"Greetings, friend. I am indeed a visitor, but from much farther away than Chiné. I am a stranger to this land, could you tell me where I can find your royal family?"> Atraxia knew better than to try and smile. She didn't have half so much flesh as the pillowy, dirty, barrel-like creature she addressed. 

 

<"I come from the Court of the Moon, Refuge of life should this Garden wither and its Guardians perish. There is a grave danger I must avert, but I need directions to the palace. If you would point me in the right direction, you will be rewarded.">

 

The smell of blood was everywhere. Red Moon had to fight the urge to hunt it down, she had a job to do and synthetic blood packs pumping into her veins. 

 

Unlike the sacred quiet and stark shades of the Moon and Farside City, London was a riot of muddied greens, browns, reds and yellows. A sky thick with smog hung overhead and the din of the city churned all around her, the gruff barks and snarls of English and other Garden dialects buzzed into her audio receptors. 

[Supercape]

GM

 

"Royal Family?" chortled the tramp. "Why, you think you can march up to Buckingham Palace and have tea with Queen Victoria just like that! Ho ho ho!"

 

"I ain't ever heard of no court of the moon, and I don't reckon no courtly lady takes naps on the streets of Deptford. Unless by court of the moon you mean you are a lady of the night...ho ho ho! That's one way of puttin' it, har har!"

 

"Sounds like you been at the gin. Or maybe the opium pipe. Either that, or you need cartin' off to Bedlam" he said, quietening a little. "Say, who are you really?" he asked again, a little more suspicious. 

[Ari]

Atraxia blinked, belatedly remembering that superheroes did not yet exist.

 

 <"...Ah, I am not a...that. I am merely from...a dry, cold climate. Yes, that is why I need this apparatus to keep myself getting soggy, you see?">

 

This was going to be significantly more difficult than she had expected. Why couldn't she have come down in Shambhala Vale, or Utopia Isle, or Ultima Thule? Somewhere that would have known her for what she was.

Well, that would have its own problems...

She shoved that thought bodily aside and followed on eagerly.

 

<"Buckingham Palace, you say? Can you guide me there? I can repay you with Moon's blood, what you call silver. I am called Raxia."> Red Moon withdrew a slim but weighty box from her utility belt.

Technically it wasn't silver. It wasn't anything. But if he thought it was silver, that's what it would be to him and anyone else who had cause to find out he had it.

[Supercape]

GM

 

"Buckingham Palace, are you serious?" said the Tramp, looking concerned now. 

 

"Looky here, sweetheart, you don't want to going to Buckingham Palace. No ways they be letting you in there. You can't just march up and ask to see the Queen you know? Not unless you are invited, or you are lord, or lady. Or maybe a member of parliament. At best, yerl be kicked out with a boot up your arse. More likely, they will arrest you and throw you in prison, or worse, Bedlam. If you are really unlucky, they will just shoot you..."

 

He took off his cap and scratched his head. 

 

"What you want to see her Majesty for anyway?" he asked, politely. "I mean, If yer paying silver, I'll help you the best I can, hey?" he added, cheering up at the thought. "But I ain't going to do it and get a dead lady on me con-shence" he explained, emphatically. 

[Ari]

<"We have had business with this nation in the past. Much of it, sadly, unfriendly. Recently we have discovered that our...fuel has been tainted. This puts our industry and very civilization at risk. I believe the people or person responsible may be hiding under the cover of your royal court. Thus I have come to discover the truth for myself and for the people of the Moon Court."> Atraxia bowed slightly <"I have learned certain arts and sciences that will permit me free reign of the palace, if you would be so kind as to escort me there. Rest assured, good man, you are putting me in no peril.">

 

Atraxia studied her reflection in an oily patch of the Thamses sliding below her.

 

<"However, I think we should visit a clothier's, first.">

[Supercape]

GM

 

"Your fuel, eh? Someone give you bad coal? Eh. the pollution these days!" grumbled the Tramp. 

 

And so, a little while later...

 

Threadfellow's was a rather cheap tailors that made great and unsuccessful attempts to appear regal and expensive. It sold men and womens clothing, of rather poor quality, for rather cheap prices. 

 

"There you go, Lady" said Mr. Ignus "Boots" Mudfield, the tramp who had struck up a friendship with Atraxia. He was named Boots, after his habit of constantly complaining about the ragged and worn state of his boots as he trod the cobbled streets. His boots were indeed, ragged and worn, but even the most patient of men or women would soon find his constant complaining about the fine detail of such raggedness and worn-outness irksome after a few minutes. 

 

"Cheapest yerl get, round here. I hope you have coin to spend. Or nimble fingers. And if you do fancy buying some boots for me, I would be much obliged, I would!"

 

Boots had formed a transparent opinion that Atraxia was one for Bedlam, on account of her lunacy. However, the prospect of manipulating her into buying him new boots was simply too enticing.  And besides, he was quite fond of such eccentricity. It was, he judged, of a benign sort. 

[Ari]

'I look like a ghost' 

 

Atraxia swirled experimentally before the streaked and cracking mirror, the long red coat and black scarf doing their job splendidly to conceal her terrasuit and make her look faintly ridiculous at the same time. She didn't add on any more boots or gloves. She needed all the feeling she could get trough the suit's synthetic nervous system. With great care, she tied a tall red hat under her helmet's chin. 

 

<"Boots? Certainly.">

 

A moment later and two pair of thick, tough leather boots were on the counter alongside her new clothes. As the sleepy-eyed man behind the till sorted out the price she ran a finger along her new coat. Red. Her favorite color, even when she was small. A rare thing to see beyond the eyes of her people, who surrounded themselves with the blue and white of the Preservers.

 

She distantly realized the total was being announced. <"In silver, then?"> she asked, taking a great handful of the stuff and placing it before the clerk's astonished eyes.

 

<"Now then, Mr. Boots."> she said as the pair left the shop <"Where is this palace?"> 

[Supercape]

GM

 

And so...by mid-morning at this time...

 

Outside Buckingham Palace...

 

"Cor blimey, these are a splendid pair of boots, and no mistake!" said Boots, smiling from ear to ear. The acquisition of so splendid a pair of footwear had put him in a most jocular mood, and, despite all evidence that Atraxia was a lunatic, he was thus inclined to aid her for as long as the boots lasted. 

 

Buckingham palace was large, expensive, and surrounded by a guarded fence. The guardsmen wore uniforms, tall black hats, and rather long rifles complete with bayonets. 

 

"There you go, M'lady! Queen Victoria's hovel in all its glory. Her official residence, that is. 'Course, she may not be in there. But its her official residence none theless!" he proclaimed.

 

He looked more concerned now. "Seriously, luv, you don't want to go marchin' in there, no matter how much silver you got or how splendid your dress in. Private property and all that. You don't want to be run through by them there guards with those bayonets. They are pointy and sharp!"

[Ari]

<"My good man,"> Atraxia turned to regard Boots, looking down with a faint bemusement <"I told you before, I am in no danger.">

 

She glanced at the high walls, observed the marching, attentive guards. This would be the easiest mission in her entire life.

 

All that rode on it was her entire civilization.

 

Swallowing, a meaningless reflex here, Atraxia turned one last time to Boots <"Thank you, kind sir. I will not forget your kindness and good service. Please, take this."> Her hand went to the pouch at her side and retrieved something which she placed gently into his hand. Metal of a bright, yellowy colour, in the shape of a small but meaningful amount of gold sovereigns.

 

<"Use it wisely. Farewell, my friend.">

 

With that, Raxia vanished from sight.

 

<"Live long and well.">

 

Turning to the walls Red Moon took a firm hold of the corpse she directed and anchored herself from, launching herself over them with hardly a sound. Now all she needed was an open window. A balcony. A door. A wall.

[Supercape]

GM

 

"Cor Blimey! Gold!!! Gold, it is, and so be it!" shouted Boots. For one sweet moment in his life, boots were not on his mind. 

 

Red Moon could spy a couple of open windows. It would do good to air the building in such air. Unfortunately they were on higher floors. The plebs, after all, might have access to the windows on the lower floors. 

 

The upper windows, it seemed would be a climb, or a vault. Or, in Red Moons case, a little bit of flying. 

 

Picking a window almost a random, she flew in, and found herself in a very ornate and extravagant room full of reds and purples. A man was scribbling away at a desk with his back to him, putting ink to parchment and consulting various books. He looked old and important and was dressed in resplendent clothes. He also had appeared not to hear Red Moon.

Edited January 29, 2018 by Supercape