It's difficult to project your telekinetic field past the metal door - you have a great deal of trouble 'penetrating' it, for lack of a better word, and what little force does get past the door itself disperses nigh-harmlessly on the body of the creature past.
Still, the effort is decent practice, and after a few more minutes of hammering away the creature wanders off.
The moment the Squirmer's gone I dash out of the office. I need to get to the tram, and the cyborg had giveen me a better idea of where to go. This time I let my telekinesis experiments fall behind and reach out with my telepathy again. If I can sense something coming before it senses me, then all the better.
The moment the Squirmer's gone I dash out of the office. I need to get to the tram, and the cyborg had giveen me a better idea of where to go. This time I let my telekinesis experiments fall behind and reach out with my telepathy again. If I can sense something coming before it senses me, then all the better.
It's awhile longer before you finally find an elevator that leads out of the administrates, but when you come up you find yourself in a large room - whose prominent feature is the set of tracks for a tram along one wall. There is no tram in sight, but a bit of exploration reveals quite a few other paths out, a map of the ship (unfortunately with details focused on where the tram goes).
Besides that, there's a small shop... and another layer of that green moss scattered about the place.
You've got a bad feeling about sticking around.
@Gamerlord
You wake up on your feet and running, loaded down with a great deal of heavy equipment and a gun in your hand.
Also, there's a large, angry-looking mutant crocodile with more teeth than an orgy between a goblin shark and the Osmond family moving at a disturbingly quick rate for its' ploddish six-legged frame.
You're currently in a long hall, two stories tall, with deep-set cells on either side and the sound of bones snapping and flesh being rent coming from nigh-everywhere.
((I'm assuming I know the basics of how to operate the safety/trigger and that I'm holding the pulse rifle ATM. Also that Teethy McFangFace is behind me, with some kind of choke point ahead.))
I stumble for a moment, glancing around before redoubling my speed, clutching the hunk of deadly metal and plastic close to my chest, sprinting as fast as I can move for whatever is in front of me, be it exit hallway, stairs or just an empty cell. Coughs slow my stride as I acclimate to the stink of blood and offal, forcing the *crunch* *crack* *squish* of meat out of my mind. Once closed in by walls or a railing I spin and line up the sights of the rifle. Setting the hideous hexapod dead ahead I flick the safety and clamp down hard on the trigger.
The shooting seems less a conscious decision and more a matter of pure reflex, built up and reinforced by what must have been constant terror and danger.
The surroundings were quite clearly not for people with a height of Prussian Guard requirements: the second pipe I nearly ran against made that quite clear and lead to me ducking my head as I slowly pushed myself through the hallway, keeping my eyes up and open as they reamed from the side to the top: getting jumped on from above was too much of a horror cliché after all. At least the whole thing seemed to be utterly deserted – with no traces of bodies or fleshy egg sacks with face-hugged insides of them. Closing another door that lead to nothing more than a bathroom, I could only wonder what kind of purpose this floor had: miscellaneous tool sheds? Must be something along those lines, even if I didn't have the look to see a large openly positioned map of the station I was on.
Quite a bit more worrying was the damage that was pilling up across the floor. The dents might be attributed to something a bit too large for this corridor acting like the elephant in the china shop and impacting everywhere it went: Or of course I was going to have to deal with a made telekinetic or a swarm of jumping hard shelled beings: joy. The black marks on the walls wasn't much better: leaning closer I might have mistaken them for bullet marks, but they don't really show much signs of impact: more of melting wherever they hit: so, flames or an energy weapon/tool of some kind? Not as bizarre as the lines.
The small dents were hard to see at first, even if they were distinguished from the heat-based scorch marks and they frankly didn't make any sense: what kind of dents were these? What were the lines all about? With my luck there's going to be a tentacle beast with lamprey like heads full of tiny teeth and…no idea: a horn in the middle of them? This was the set up for a horror movie, wasn't it?
It didn't help that the mind of the being…person I was approaching became ever clearer as I closed up and it was in a terrible state. Going past all the fear, didn't improve my outlook at the situation – instead I could feel the urge to retch well up inside of me as I took in the coppery smell of blood and maddeningly strong scent of rotting meat. Stumbling through the corridors, I made my way towards it, even if I was getting worried that this wasn't the Spawn I was searching for – after all it could be anything from a sapling to an acorn, depending on how the Great Green Ones grow.
Of course this musing is cut short when I reach my destination and my sparkling new telepathic powers scream at me to get out of the way. Hugging the floor, not minding the dirt that gets on my clothes, I roll to the side and behind the wall – out of the way from the door, my powers reaching out and trying to get a grip on the beings mind as I throw the flowers I had brought with me into the room…and then press my own experiences from just a few minutes alongside with them: the ease and feeling of safety, together with the sweet pleasing scent. It might be hard to replace reality with these experiences for a few moments, but I didn't want to end up as completely burn victim…and it was a try wasn't it? Too bad I didn't get a view of just what was inside – right now I'm just happy not to be hit and can work in getting that terror toned down a little.
@Troglodyte
You appear to be on some sort of tram.
It's very dark, and you don't seem to be at any kind of station. You can see a faint light from somewhere ahead of the tram.
There's something in your hand, but it's too dark to read at the moment.
You can feel a sort of... niggle, at the back of your mind. Your new-found skills of magic inform you that something probably died here within the last few minutes or hours, depending on what precisely it was.
What does the air feel like? Choked and musty? Cool and artificial? Warm and moist? Dead and sedentary?
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Sit down, cross-legged and riffle through the...pamphlet? Book? Magazine? in my hands. Focus on the feeling of it, smooth and glossy? Old and worn? Does it have a fabric cover or is it synthetic?
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Feel the ground underneath me, I've been on buses and the like before is the stuff I'm sitting on old and grimy? New and still smooth? Stand and brush off the butt of my pants.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Do a slow walk around the edge of the tram, feel the seats and blindly grasp for the loops standing folks tend to hold, are there any of those? Are the doors of it easily opened? Keep them closed for now in any case. Move around to the front of the tram, take a seat in the drivers spot. Place the book in my lap and try to figure out what all the controls are, use both hands and gently- carefully, I don't want to trigger anything yet -trace over them all, get a good mental image of where they are.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Stop, focus on what's ahead. What color is the light? How strong of a light is it? Dim and weakly shining? Strong and far reaching?
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Something died here recently, that's no good. That's no good at all. I'm not good at the recent stuff, still, getting an idea of what died is better than having no idea. Reach out and- god how do I do this I've never done this before -bind the ghost to me- I know how to do this I don't know how but I do -just focus on figuring out how it died, from what it died.
((I'm assuming I know the basics of how to operate the safety/trigger and that I'm holding the pulse rifle ATM. Also that Teethy McFangFace is behind me, with some kind of choke point ahead.))
I stumble for a moment, glancing around before redoubling my speed, clutching the hunk of deadly metal and plastic close to my chest, sprinting as fast as I can move for whatever is in front of me, be it exit hallway, stairs or just an empty cell. Coughs slow my stride as I acclimate to the stink of blood and offal, forcing the *crunch* *crack* *squish* of meat out of my mind. Once closed in by walls or a railing I spin and line up the sights of the rifle. Setting the hideous hexapod dead ahead I flick the safety and clamp down hard on the trigger.
Ramming traight ahead through the center of the prison hall, you enter a security station and spin about.
A burst of not-quite-bullets sprays from your weapon, and the crocodilian abomination is very shortly rent into several pieces courtesy of the original Space Marines. Taking another moment to assess your situation, you're able to zone in on several buttons that control all of the celldoors in this block, plus the door to the little office you currently reside.
The surroundings were quite clearly not for people with a height of Prussian Guard requirements: the second pipe I nearly ran against made that quite clear and lead to me ducking my head as I slowly pushed myself through the hallway, keeping my eyes up and open as they reamed from the side to the top: getting jumped on from above was too much of a horror cliché after all. At least the whole thing seemed to be utterly deserted – with no traces of bodies or fleshy egg sacks with face-hugged insides of them. Closing another door that lead to nothing more than a bathroom, I could only wonder what kind of purpose this floor had: miscellaneous tool sheds? Must be something along those lines, even if I didn't have the look to see a large openly positioned map of the station I was on.
Quite a bit more worrying was the damage that was pilling up across the floor. The dents might be attributed to something a bit too large for this corridor acting like the elephant in the china shop and impacting everywhere it went: Or of course I was going to have to deal with a made telekinetic or a swarm of jumping hard shelled beings: joy. The black marks on the walls wasn't much better: leaning closer I might have mistaken them for bullet marks, but they don't really show much signs of impact: more of melting wherever they hit: so, flames or an energy weapon/tool of some kind? Not as bizarre as the lines.
The small dents were hard to see at first, even if they were distinguished from the heat-based scorch marks and they frankly didn't make any sense: what kind of dents were these? What were the lines all about? With my luck there's going to be a tentacle beast with lamprey like heads full of tiny teeth and…no idea: a horn in the middle of them? This was the set up for a horror movie, wasn't it?
It didn't help that the mind of the being…person I was approaching became ever clearer as I closed up and it was in a terrible state. Going past all the fear, didn't improve my outlook at the situation – instead I could feel the urge to retch well up inside of me as I took in the coppery smell of blood and maddeningly strong scent of rotting meat. Stumbling through the corridors, I made my way towards it, even if I was getting worried that this wasn't the Spawn I was searching for – after all it could be anything from a sapling to an acorn, depending on how the Great Green Ones grow.
Of course this musing is cut short when I reach my destination and my sparkling new telepathic powers scream at me to get out of the way. Hugging the floor, not minding the dirt that gets on my clothes, I roll to the side and behind the wall – out of the way from the door, my powers reaching out and trying to get a grip on the beings mind as I throw the flowers I had brought with me into the room…and then press my own experiences from just a few minutes alongside with them: the ease and feeling of safety, together with the sweet pleasing scent. It might be hard to replace reality with these experiences for a few moments, but I didn't want to end up as completely burn victim…and it was a try wasn't it? Too bad I didn't get a view of just what was inside – right now I'm just happy not to be hit and can work in getting that terror toned down a little.
It takes a few minutes, but you manage to get into the rhythm of calming his - yes, his - mind down. Like digging a trench, slowly carving away the fear, reaching the person beneath, letting his thoughts and emotions and memories take a moment to breathe.
By the time you're done he just falls dead asleep, too exhausted to do anything else now that he isn't held up by terror alone.
Certain that you're not going to experience a second panicked spray of fire, you glance back inside the room.
Yep. Sickening. It seems to have been a meeting room at some point, but the lights were torn away when something rent a great big hole in the ceiling, the table is nothing more than splinters, and the floor is covered in a carpet of death. Corpses big and small, body parts, excretions, a dozen different species are on display and you recognize none of them. Hell, there's probably more than just the dozen - you see several parts that don't look to belong to the same type as any of the others, they're just not whole enough to give a real impression of what they came from.
And lying right on top of it is the poor thing that's been hiding in here.
Some five foot tall, it's garbed in a ragged shift with a security guards' vest choved over the torso (uncomfortably, too, given said vest seems to have been made for human dimensions). Its' weapon is an oversized rifle bearing three separate red canisters which seems to contain the fuel, though there's no pilot flame visible.
Proving its' mind once more, it seems dreamless. The fear is ebbing away on its' own now, though you can sense that plenty of it has "seeped in," for lack of a better word, and continues to cement itself inside the creatures' mind as long-term trauma.
Still, now that it is passive and unresisting, you're able to get significantly more information. You know that he is named Nilbr, he watched his herd die (more creatures like himself), and that for a very long time he has hidden inside this room because, despite it being where the Hunters lay their food, they do not actually enter or examine it.
The Hunters seems to be... very malleable-fleshed creatures that have been cybernetically enhanced, and are driven to collect and store food despite no longer being able to consume it.
What does the air feel like? Choked and musty? Cool and artificial? Warm and moist? Dead and sedentary?
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Sit down, cross-legged and riffle through the...pamphlet? Book? Magazine? in my hands. Focus on the feeling of it, smooth and glossy? Old and worn? Does it have a fabric cover or is it synthetic?
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Feel the ground underneath me, I've been on buses and the like before is the stuff I'm sitting on old and grimy? New and still smooth? Stand and brush off the butt of my pants.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Do a slow walk around the edge of the tram, feel the seats and blindly grasp for the loops standing folks tend to hold, are there any of those? Are the doors of it easily opened? Keep them closed for now in any case. Move around to the front of the tram, take a seat in the drivers spot. Place the book in my lap and try to figure out what all the controls are, use both hands and gently- carefully, I don't want to trigger anything yet -trace over them all, get a good mental image of where they are.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Stop, focus on what's ahead. What color is the light? How strong of a light is it? Dim and weakly shining? Strong and far reaching?
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Something died here recently, that's no good. That's no good at all. I'm not good at the recent stuff, still, getting an idea of what died is better than having no idea. Reach out and- god how do I do this I've never done this before -bind the ghost to me- I know how to do this I don't know how but I do -just focus on figuring out how it died, from what it died.
The air is artificial, but there is no breeze and you catch the faint scent of grass from somewhere.
Rather than a large object, it seems to be a small piece of crisp, but normal paper, slightly larger than the average business card.
The ground is made of metal, and smooth enough that you imagine it looks nice while retaining several small lined ridges for traction. It is slightly painful to sit on them.
Otherwise, the tram seems pretty normal. As you grope the controls you make a dial twitch slightly, and the entire dashboard lights up dimly, various little icons and indicators popping up for the driver to review. They're not bright enough to actually let you see anything except the lights themselves. The most important is a stylized map showing where on the ship the tram is - no destination names or the like, unfortunately, meaning that all the little blinking dot tells you is what you already know - you're inbetween stops.
At least you can see how to direct the tram, now. And you could hit the lights, make the entire tram bright enough to be day or turn the little icon lights back off.
Up ahead and back behind you, there's no change. The light you can see ahead is nondistinct, simple slightly-less-dark somewhere around a bend.
Unfortunately, you can't seem to grasp anything in a mystical sense. If anything big enough to be handled has died here, it's either super fresh or the leftover spirit moved along.
Ramming traight ahead through the center of the prison hall, you enter a security station and spin about.
A burst of not-quite-bullets sprays from your weapon, and the crocodilian abomination is very shortly rent into several pieces courtesy of the original Space Marines. Taking another moment to assess your situation, you're able to zone in on several buttons that control all of the celldoors in this block, plus the door to the little office you currently reside.
Without hesitation I slap the lockdown buttons, shutting every door to give myself a moment to think. Sitting against the wall I shuffle my hands through my gear, looking for anything, anything that explains what's going on. While I do so I flick glances around the room, checking the walls, checking the doors and looking for any vents, lights or furniture. After rifling through my pockets I lay out my finds - along with my weapons - on the floor; guns, magazines, stray ammo, everything I can find. My hands never stray far from the rifle though, and every shift in the sickening din sends flinches down my spine.
Some five foot tall, it's garbed in a ragged shift with a security guards' vest choved over the torso (uncomfortably, too, given said vest seems to have been made for human dimensions). Its' weapon is an oversized rifle bearing three separate red canisters which seems to contain the fuel, though there's no pilot flame visible.
I guess if I would be able to retain these abilities, I might become quite rich as psychologist? For now, I could only reach up to swipe away some sweat that had gathered on my brow from the whole concentration I was pouring towards the scared individual on the other side of the door. Taking a few careful breaths, trying my best to breath through my mouth as I might begin to gag otherwise, I gather my courage to peek into the room – and thankfully no second burst of flames comes at me to take off my head. Would it have been worse than what I got to see instead?
With my vision going black I stumble and lean against the wall of the hallway once more as I bend over and begin to dry heave – quite thankful that I didn't take a bite when we headed here. Only after blinking a few times to get the tears out of my eyes and the nausea out of my head, I moved back towards the door, forcing my eyes to stay open as I took in the carnage. The smell I had gotten out of his mind before might have given me a dark inkling of what was going on, but to see it? The room might once have been a large meeting room, with splinters of various sizes marking the position of the table and most likely the chairs were also somewhere down there.
I didn't dare to let my eyes linger too long, because at least none of the death were human: that would have been more real. But instead there were dozen of species strewn out over the floor: chopped into pieces, rotting and assaulting me with their stench as I tried to make a sense out of what I saw: but I am not an zoologist who can guess about a species just by seeing a few splinters of bone. Still enough of them were human enough in shape and size that I couldn't just think of them as pets or livestock…but why were they on a station that cultivates tomatoes of all things?
Nilbr – or at least a name sounding like that came to my mend when delving deeper into his resting mind – had an odd appearance: humanoid but distinctly inhuman – something not really helped by his sorry state and the tendency to lie on a mound of rotting body parts. His clothes are scavenged and the armoured vest not really suited for his bulk…so most likely he had gotten the weapon from some kind of armoury or one of the corpses around us too. With a shake of my head I could only stare at them and wonder: could I just take them away and leave him without anything to defend himself? Judging by his memories he hadn't needed them in a very long time – but at the same time his mental state was delicate and taking them away might shatter it once more upon his awakening.
Not getting any closer for now, I merely concentrated myself on his mind once more, trying to find out if there was an armoury of some kind on this station…and if he knew humans or could speak a language that I was also able to use: after all the signs on the rooms had been perfectly readable for me so far and his herd seemed to arrive here before everything came to an End. Maybe there's something more to be known about the hunters…but for now equipment would be nice.
